Miss Goldsleigh's Secret (13 page)

Dalton’s eyes narrowed into ice-blue slits, and his voice took on a hard edge. “It’s time to stop playing games, Olivia, and tell me what the devil you’re hiding.”

Oh, she wanted to, really. But the risk was much too great. If she had any hope of saving herself, she’d take it, but her greatest desire for now was to distance herself and her nightmare from this family, from this gorgeous man, from the only family she had left. What was the saying, sacrifice one for the many? Something like that.

“It doesn’t matter.” She waved dismissively, but he didn’t appear dismissed. “Since our conversation last night…”

“Oh my God.” He ran his hand through his hair, incensed and savage. “This is about last night? You’re still angry about what I said? Olivia, I am truly sorry. I thought you understood my words came out wrong.”

“No, I accepted your apology last night, and I haven’t thought one word about it since.”
Liar.

“Then you’re leaving because of the kiss.”

“No.” But she couldn’t meet his eye when she said it.
Besides, that was hardly just a kiss.
She didn’t even try to say she hadn’t thought about
that
since it happened.

Henry laid his hand on Olivia’s upper arm, lightly squeezing her through the layer of her dress. “I apologize again for last night. I can’t imagine what came over me.” He truly didn’t. He’d acted like a lust-mad debaucher of women, and he’d be horrified if he didn’t want to do it again right this minute.

He’d nearly choked on his cheroot and brandy when she walked into his study, her hair sleep tousled and unbelievably sexy, and completely ignored him to admonish her brother. Her ignoring him was just as well since he couldn’t have immediately formed intelligent words. His mouth dry and all the blood rushing south were not conditions conducive to nimble conversation. He endeavored to be very careful with her now. With last night’s debacle so fresh in his memory, he didn’t want to flub it again.

“I’m not angry at you for anything, Lord Dalton.” Damn it, why wouldn’t she call him Henry? “I was just as culpable for last night as you were. I could have stopped you earlier if I’d wanted to.”

He seriously doubted it. Fortunately, he wasn’t that kind of gentleman, and it never would have come to that point. Henry wondered where things would have ended up if he’d pressed his suit a little harder. Images of creamy skin, tangled flaxen hair and handfuls of breasts filled his imagination and shut off all sound but the roaring of heated blood in his ears. He exhaled a controlled breath in a desperate attempt to calm himself.

“…last night, it’s just that much clearer.” She finished a long sentence Henry suspected was rather important.

“What about last night?” he asked, trying to back everything up and get a handle on the situation.

“Those men you saw last night, and the one today.” Olivia waved her hand in an expansive gesture. “I have to leave here. Not just for my sake, but for yours and your family. I’ll never forgive myself if anything should happen.”

“You’re not leaving. I’m finally starting to unravel this mess, and I won’t allow you to run willy-nilly out in the streets of London because you seek to make things easier on us. No one here wants you to leave.” He barreled on when Olivia stared back at him with a look of implacability and determination. “I received word from my man earlier today. I’ve been waiting for you to recover from your migraine so we could discuss it.”

“What man?”

Henry didn’t like the look of fear that overtook her delicate features. “I sent a man to Draycott in the Moors straightaway to find out what he could about your cousin and the situation. I received an express packet from him this afternoon.” Dear Lord, she wasn’t going to faint again, was she? One slim-fingered hand trembled at her throat, and her face had gone alarmingly pale. He led her to the sofa and sat next to her, wisely not settling her on his lap as he had the previous evening. He continued gently since she stared up at him with owlishly large eyes that urged him to go on. “Curiously, your cousin hasn’t been seen much since about the time you and Warren fled for town.”

Olivia moaned, wrapped her arms about her middle, and hugged herself tight. Her panic seemed overwrought to him, but what did he know? Henry had never been at the mercy of someone much bigger, stronger and more powerful than himself. He tried to imagine the terror of being forced to lock himself in a room, barring the door against imminent rape. How did a woman as petite as Olivia protect herself from a grown man? Wasn’t it just minutes ago he’d thought to himself that if he’d really wanted to pursue relations with her last night she would have been unable to stop him? Of course, he’d thought of seducing her, not forcing her like her cousin had intended, but the point was the same.

She loosened the hold on herself long enough to dash a tear from her cheek.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, Olivia,” he rushed to reassure her. “You’re under my protection here, in this house. He can’t get to you now.”

“No.” Her voice was modulated and eerily calm as she agreed with him. “Reginald can’t get to me now.”

“So you’re agreed then. Excellent.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“With all you’ve already done and all you’ve implied you are still willing to do—well, I don’t know where we’d be without you. Still in the park or someplace much worse, I’d imagine. I have no right to ask more…”

“What do you need, Olivia? I haven’t heard from the solicitor yet, but that should be soon. I’m at your service. You should know that by now.”

“Please let Warren stay here for a little while. Until I can get settled somewhere.”

Dalton catapulted from the sofa like a furious rocket.

She rushed to continue. “Please let me finish. He won’t be any trouble to you, I’m sure. I will reimburse you for his room and board somehow. I’ll figure it out.”

“Hells bells, Olivia,” Henry thundered. “Are you determined to get yourself killed?”

She snorted at him. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Then why are you so insistent on wandering off into the slums of London as opposed to accepting my help and protection? It’s really quite insulting.”

“It’s for your own good. And I wasn’t thinking of London at all,” she said, the flash of her eyes and the set of her mouth defiant. “I’m thinking of America or the Continent somewhere. Things are different in America. I could get a job there without a reference. I am educated after all.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“I am not ridiculous. I’ve thought about this plan quite a lot actually.”

Hands on his hips, Henry stared down at the lovely bird-brained woman perched on the edge of his sofa. “Oh really,” he challenged. “You’ve established a plan then. That’s good to know. Is it a better one than what guided you in London? Have you decided on a locale with balmy nights and rainless skies, because you won’t last thirty seconds sleeping on park benches in the cold rain.”

Olivia rose from the sofa, her mouth agape and her eyes pinched in anger. “Sarcasm is mean, Lord Dalton.”

“You’re a fool with this idiocy.” He wanted to shake her until he could hear some sense rattling around in that gorgeous head of hers. Instead, he had to satisfy himself with another swipe of his hand through his hair. Jesus, she was sure to make him bald in a fortnight.

“I should go now.” Olivia made for the door, but he grabbed her by the arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He dragged her back until she stood in front of him.

Olivia glared at him like an errant and petulant child. “I meant back to my room, my lord.”

“You will be attending the ball tonight with the rest of the family, then?” He should kiss her right now and wipe that maddening pout off her face. In minutes he would make her soft and pliant in his arms again instead of prickly and antagonizing.

“That seems frivolous, doesn’t it?” she asked. His gaze slid down to her lips.

“Yes, I suppose it does, but it will make my aunt and sisters very happy, and that’s the price I’m putting on my succor.” She wanted a price to repay him. Well by God, he’d give her one.

“Fine.” Her words acquiesced but her tone remained defiant. Whatever, he didn’t care. She didn’t have to like it so long as she did what she was told.

Chapter Eighteen

Olivia wore a high-waisted pale blue dress with a sheer, silver overskirt. The effect made her dress shimmer with every step. The short bell sleeves were interwoven with blue and silver ribbons which were mirrored around the hem. Regardless of her attitude, the dress made her feel beautiful.

She resented the dictatorial way Lord Dalton bullied her into attending the evening’s ball. However, when Aunt Evelyn came to her room to inquire how she was feeling, it was apparent the dear lady had genuine concern for her, and it would have broken her heart if Olivia had canceled the plans. The damn man may be forcing her to attend, but since she couldn’t leave tonight anyway, she may as well do what she could to make the ladies happy.

Olivia had no idea how a dress could make her feel powerful, but it did. She knew she looked lovely—the mirror didn’t lie. Even she could see past all her faults, all the pieces of herself she wished she could change, and perceive a pretty girl. The powerful part came when she strode down the stairs, chattering away with Penny and Cassie, and Lord Dalton was staring up at her.

Gone was the fierce anger from earlier. Instead his eyes lit with another kind of fire altogether, a fire that seemed to leap from his gaze to ignite a slow burn under her skin.

“Good evening, Henry,” Cassie said.

“Are we all ready to go then?” Penny looked across the foyer. “Are Mother and Auntie down yet?”

Dalton ignored his sisters and extended his hand to Olivia. “You look stunning, Olivia.”

“Thank you, Lord Dalton.” Olivia smiled at him. “You look very beautiful yourself.” He did. Saying the man was handsome was an understatement. There couldn’t possibly be a man alive who wore formal wear than Lord Dalton. The fitted shoulders of his coat, the long line of his formal trousers, the cut of waistcoat framing his broad chest—it all begged for a leisurely look.

Which she did as surreptitiously as possible on the carriage ride to the Dartleby ball. Not even a scowl marred his handsomeness. The scowl wasn’t his normal expression, and even his family commented on it on the ride over.

“I’m not in a bad mood.” The way he growled when he said it ensured no one was convinced. How much of his foul temper was because of her she had no idea, but based on the number of times she caught him aiming the scowl at her, she guessed it was plenty her fault.

She tried to ignore him once they’d navigated the walkway and entrance hall and joined the throngs of fancily dressed London elite milling about the ballroom, terraces, and cardrooms. Aunt Evelyn and the Cavendish sisters, made it easy to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. It was hard not to when faced with the beauty of the lavish room and the attention they received from the young men in the crowd. Her dance card filled with stunning rapidity, as did Cassie’s and Penny’s. Before she knew it, she was whirling around the dance floor. Once again, she was able to live in the moment, distance herself from the reality that was her life, and enjoy the simple pleasures of being young and pretty.

Oh, if this was my life.

No matter how distracted she endeavored to keep herself with dancing and conversation, ignoring Lord Dalton was impossible. The man was unfailingly within her field of vision, and he was incessantly scowling at her, a fact which hardly seemed fair to the young ladies he partnered with on the dance floor. Though, if the girls in question weren’t so simpering and outrageously flirty with the marquess, she would have felt worse for them. As it were, she couldn’t believe the bald-faced overtures, and they didn’t appear to be coming from only the wives and widows either. She didn’t have to be near enough to hear the words, it was all in the body language, and Olivia was appalled.

And he had the nerve to shoot her a look from across the floor because she laughed at something inane her current dance partner said.

“You’re having an awful lot of fun for someone who didn’t even want to attend,” Dalton hissed at her when they crossed during a quadrille. Olivia kept a smile plastered on her face. How lovely to have the time between their next steps together to think of an appropriately witty response—a luxury that so rarely happened in real life.

They met in the middle of the line of dancers yet again, joined right hands and passed down the line. Olivia flashed her brightest smile at him. “I am having a wonderful time.” They turned counterclockwise. “I can’t tell you enough how much your encouragement has meant to me.” She hoped he heard the irony, but she couldn’t tell for certain since his scowl changed not one iota.

Upon arriving at the end of the line of dancers, they dropped hands and threaded between the opposite line, meeting again to clasp left hands and
chasse
back up the middle. “It warms my soul to see you with so many admirers.”

“At least my admirers,” she began, but then they split at the top of the line, crossed to opposite sides and traveled down the outside to meet once more at the end of the row, “keep their hands to themselves.”

His scowl intensified, his slitted eyes boring into hers from across the column. Fortunately, he didn’t have the opportunity to respond before they were joined by their partners and the quadrille was over.

Cassie and Penny wanted to introduce her to yet another influential couple. Her friends suggested meeting many of the notable members of the
ton
to help her cause of finding a husband this season, and Lady Evelyn agreed. Of course, the ladies had no idea all the prestigious people in London couldn’t help her. No matter how much they liked her now, they’d all run screaming the minute she was found out and the noose was slipped around her neck.

“Besides,” Cassie whispered as they made their way through the crowd, “these are particular friends of Henry, so they will be inclined to assist you in any way possible.”

Olivia resisted an eye roll.
I’m certain any friend of Henry…

Lord Dalton stood at the back of the room in a small cluster of the most beautiful people Olivia had ever seen. Next to Dalton stood two men at least as tall as him, each with raven-black hair and staggering good looks. One gentleman stood with his arm wrapped casually around the waist of a gorgeous, willowy redhead, his hand resting easily on her hip. The lady gazed at the man as he spoke, an intimate smile playing about her mouth before she tilted her head back and laughed. The third man shifted to one side, resting his weight on the other leg in a move of languid grace that revealed a second woman in their group. The lady’s coloring mirrored that of Olivia. In fact, even her size was reminiscent of her own. A small, pretty blonde with a quick smile and animated features, she seemed to have the five of them amused with a comedic tale.

Lord Dalton must have sensed the approach of his sisters, because he turned his head towards them, catching Olivia’s eye, and she could have sworn his smile wasn’t due to the witty remarks from the lady. At the very least, it wasn’t a scowl, and she was thankful for that. He stepped aside to make room for the three of them.

“You all know my sisters,” Dalton began, and all assembled responded with nods and smiles and murmurs of welcome. “This is Miss Olivia Goldsleigh, a friend visiting from Staffordshire.”

The tallest of the gentlemen stepped forward. “Hello, lovely,” he cooed, and took her hand in his. His wolfish courtliness, coupled with dusky black hair and piercing green eyes, surely turned many female heads in London. While Olivia did agree he was handsome—there wasn’t any argument against it—she didn’t feel the catch in her chest and the thud of her heart racing the way a similar look from Lord Dalton would have affected her. She glanced askance at the marquess and was somehow not surprised the scowl was back. Olivia extracted her hand, substituting a friendly smile to ease the moment.

Lord Dalton took up the space immediately to her right and confiscated her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “Olivia, this scoundrel is Christian Bellings, Duke of Morewether. Don’t find yourself alone with him.” Girlish titters came from the general direction of Dalton’s sisters.

“You wound me,” Morewether confessed, but to Olivia’s ears, he didn’t sound very put out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Goldsleigh.”

“And you, Your Grace.” Olivia dipped a brief curtsey. “Are you the duke my young brother is so taken with?”

“Ah, the sister of Master Warren.” Morewether nodded in acknowledgment. “How is the lad? That was quite a break.” She practically smelled the charisma rolling off the man.

“Very well, I think, thank you. He’s already using his injury to garner as much sympathy as possible. Just this morning, he was trying to figure out how to get as many sweets from the cook as he could finagle.”

“Which is undoubtedly what I would have done at his age.” The duke laughed. Olivia thought she heard a lovesick sigh coming from the general direction of Cassandra.

“Who are you trying to fool, Christian?” the red-haired lady asked the duke. “You’d do that tomorrow if given the opportunity.”

“I’m happy to break his arm if you’d like to test your theory,” Lord Dalton offered in a low growl. Olivia turned to stare at the man who held her arm captive and was relieved to see the darkening scowl was not aimed at her. In fact, all other sets of eyes seemed riveted on the marquess with varying degrees of interest and surprise.

Several seconds ticked by while Olivia fidgeted and the air thickened with emotion before someone spoke up. “All right then. Miss Goldsleigh, I am Francesca, Countess of Harrington, this scoundrel’s sister.” The redhead indicated the duke who aimed his dazzling grin at Lord Dalton. Next, she ran her hand along the arm of the handsome man on her left. “This is my husband, Thomas Wallingham, Earl of Harrington.”

“Please, call me Olivia.” She extracted her hand from Lord Dalton in order to shake Lady Harrington’s offered hand, when it occurred to Olivia to whom she was speaking. This new unexpected friend was Lord Dalton’s ex-fiancée and, at her side, the man who stole her from him. Standing as nonchalant as you please was last season’s biggest
on dit
.

The countess laughed at her reaction, a merry chuckle that invited Olivia to join her. “I see you’ve made the connection.” The lady leaned in an exaggerated motion, indicating with her eyes and a gesture from her head all the members of the
ton
surrounding them. “We are a scandalous group. It just kills all these people that we’ve remained such good friends through it all.”

Olivia looked from the lady to her husband, a man who obviously adored his wife. His smile was as genuine as his spouse’s. “Miss Goldsleigh,” he said and extended his hand to her. “Don’t let my wife’s general loathing of gossip dissuade you from enjoying yourself.”

“I shant, my lord.”

“Please,” Lord Harrington added, “we are Thomas and Francesca to our closest friends.”

“But we’ve just met,” Olivia said, stating the obvious. “We’re nearly strangers.”

The pretty blonde spoke up. “But we won’t be for long, I assure you. I am Anna Sinclair.” Finally, someone she could look in the eye without getting a crook in her neck. “And don’t be fooled by all these people mingling so near.” Anna indicated the eavesdroppers much the same way Francesca had done. “Every one of them is standing by, desperately hoping someone will start a slap fight. You know, that might be something we consider as a group Christmas present—a little something from us to the
ton
.”

The group of friends, enlarged by three more in Olivia, Cassie, and Penny, continued on in this way, laughing at jokes, telling stories, and resoundingly ignoring the snoops who surrounded them.

In fact, they were so oblivious to the rest of the crowd they almost failed to notice the arrival of yet another gentleman.

A gentleman with a very different agenda.