Samantha James (6 page)

They soon left the village behind. Olivia wished desperately that she could be unaware of him, yet heaven help her, she was overwhelmingly conscious of everything about him. Every so often, his elbow brushed her sleeve, making her pulse jump wildly. She was nervous as a schoolgirl, and she could not understand it!

Seeking to attain some semblance of normalcy, she broke the silence.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He glanced over at her.

Faith, but in the sunlight his eyes were so very blue! In all her days, she’d never seen eyes so beautiful…

“The other day, you said you found it odd that a woman like me would take a position in your household. May I ask why?”

He regarded her, the merest hint of a smile lurking about his mouth. “The truth, Miss Sherwood?”

There was a faint note of something she couldn’t decipher in his tone. “Of course. I respect the truth more than anything else.”

“Nonetheless, I don’t think you’re prepared to hear it.”

“I’m hardly averse to the truth, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that.” He sounded most annoyed.

Olivia frowned. “What?”

“My lord. Don’t call me ‘my lord’.”

Olivia was at a loss to comprehend his irritation. “Then what am I to call you?”

“You could begin with my name—Dominic.”

“My lor—” She caught herself just in time. “Sir,
I can hardly do that. As you’ve already reminded me, I am in your employ.”

By now they’d reached the small grassy area around her cottage. He stopped near the pathway that led to the doorway.

“Very well then, Miss Sherwood. I’ll answer your question. Frankly, I’m surprised to find someone as lovely as you tucked away here in the northern wilds. I’m surprised you aren’t someone’s wife. If you were in London, you’d have been snatched up long ago by some rich gentleman and taken as his mistress.”

He was right. She
wasn’t
prepared for the truth—for such bluntness. Her mind was reeling. Did he truly think her lovely…? All she could think to say was, “I—I’ve never been to London.”

“I’ve shocked you by daring to speak of mistresses, haven’t I, Miss Sherwood? Such things do exist, you know.”

He was right yet again. She
was
shocked, but already it was beginning to fade. “Oh, I don’t doubt that’s something
you
know a great deal about.” She couldn’t quite keep the sting from her voice.

“There. Now I
have
offended you. Are you as innocent as you look, Miss Sherwood?” The arch of his brow was utterly wicked. “Why, I’ll wager you’ve never even been kissed.”

Olivia didn’t understand him. One moment he was kind, even gentle. The next he mocked her most outrageously.

Her eyes flashed. “You are quite forward, sir. And—not that it’s any of your concern—I
have
been kissed.”

“Have you? I don’t mean a mere peck on the lips, mind you. I mean really…
thoroughly
kissed…a
kiss that makes the very earth move beneath your feet…”

Despite all, her mind veered straight to William—his peremptory kiss this afternoon and the other time he’d kissed her; the contact was hardly stirring.

“I
have
,” she repeated yet again…but with far less confidence.

“You need not expound, Miss Sherwood. Your countenance says it all, especially your eyes. They’re really quite expressive.” He was laughing at her, the wretch! Laughing…

“Olivia? Olivia, is that you?”

It was Emily. Over her shoulder, Olivia saw that Emily stood near the cottage door, one hand poised on the door handle.

“I’m here, Emily!” she called. “I’ll be inside in just a moment.”

She turned back to the earl. “It’s my sister,” she said quickly. “No doubt she’s wondering what’s taken me so long.” She paused awkwardly. “I would ask you in for tea, but…” Her voice trailed off lamely, for what could she say? That she could not, for her sister would despise him for his Gypsy blood? So much for the truth, she chided herself. Never before had she felt like a hypocrite, until now.

“Oh, you need not explain, Miss Sherwood. I quite understand.” His laughter was wiped clean, as if it had never been. She had the oddest sensation she’d wounded him. But no. That couldn’t be…

She watched in silence as he mounted his stallion. He turned the animal toward the roadway…
and galloped off, leaving in his wake a cloud of dust.

He’d said she was lovely. Had he meant it…?

It was much, much later that Olivia remembered his handkerchief. She pulled it from the bureau drawer where she’d kept it. A fingertip traced the initials in the corner—DSB. She really should take it with her to Ravenwood tomorrow…

Instead she returned it to its nesting place deep within her drawer.

A cold wet nose nudged beneath her hand
.

Olivia glanced up from where she knelt, cleaning the floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining room.

“Lucifer!” she exclaimed softly. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Annie, the maid with whom she’d been working this afternoon, gave a most unladylike snort. “That wretched beast! Vicious, he is! Why, he growled and bared his teeth at me the other day when I tried to get him to move from the carpet in the library. Frightened me half to death, ’e did!”

Olivia dropped her rag into the bucket, then ran her fingers over his rough fur. She knew the other servants heartily disapproved of the way the hound had the run of the house. “Lucifer,” she scolded gently, “you mustn’t do such things. Now sit.”

The dog immediately dropped his hindquarters to the floor. He gazed at her, his ears pricked forward, as if awaiting her next command.

Annie first gaped, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, fer pity’s sake. No doubt ye’ll next be charmin’ the birds from the treetops!” She dropped her rag into the bucket and got to her feet. “You can finish up
here, can’t ye, Olivia?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and marched off.

Olivia dropped her head, hiding a smile. “You really should reconsider, Lucifer,” she whispered. “She’s not half as disagreeable as Mrs. Templeton.”

Lucifer’s tail swished to and fro on the polished floor. Olivia chuckled and scratched behind his ears. Getting to her feet, she squeezed the water from her rag and folded it neatly, laying it across the sides of the bucket before she picked it up and headed toward the kitchen.

A quarter hour later, Olivia untied her apron and hung it on a hook in the storeroom. She’d finished her duties early, and she had only to let Mrs. Templeton know she was leaving. She’d spent the day on tenterhooks, afraid she would encounter the earl around every corner. He made her feel nervous and girlish and immensely uneasy, and the less she saw of him, the better. But thus far today, there had been no sign of him.

“Olivia!” A voice hailed her near the entrance hall.

She turned to find the butler Franklin hurtling toward her. “Olivia, do be a dear and take this letter to his lordship. It’s just arrived.” He thrust a small silver tray at her. “I believe he’s in his study.”

Olivia grabbed the tray before it clattered to the floor. She had no chance to say a word, for Franklin had already passed. Wherever he was going, he was certainly in a hurry.

Wonderful
, she thought dryly, and just when she thought she’d managed to escape the day unscathed. With resolve, she marched toward the
study. She would promptly deliver the letter and be on her way.

The door to the study was closed. Olivia knocked, but there was no answer. Frowning, she knocked again. A hollow voice from within bade her enter—a voice that didn’t sound particularly pleased.

The earl was seated in one of two chairs before the window, gazing outside. He gave no sign that he’d heard her entrance. His profile was solemn and unsmiling, his gaze fixed on some faraway place only he could see. He’d discarded his jacket. His white shirt was rumpled, and his hair was slightly disheveled. A faint shadow darkened his jaw; she noted distantly that he needed to shave. His pose was indolent, one long leg extended negligently before him. A pungent aroma permeated the air. For a moment she was puzzled…Her pulse leaped as she spotted the source. A brandy decanter sat on a small parquet table at his elbow.

It was nearly empty.

Olivia cleared her throat. She approached him, steadying her heart—and her nerve. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but a letter just arrived for you.” As she spoke, she offered the silver tray.

He made no move to take it. Indeed, he didn’t even look at it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on her face.

“Open it.”

His intense regard was unnerving. Surely he didn’t mean for her to…She stole a hasty glance at the letter. His name was written across the front in a flowing, decidedly feminine hand.

“I believe it’s private, my lord.”

“No matter. Sit down and read it to me.” With
a shrug he waved her to the other chair.

Two steps took her to the chair. She lowered herself slowly to the edge of the chair, then broke open the seal with the tip of her nail. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.

Olivia’s cheeks flamed scarlet by the time she’d finished. The letter was from the woman the other servants had spoken of—the actress Maureen Miller, his mistress! Olivia ducked her head, at a complete loss for words. She’d been well schooled in manners, but this was certainly a situation that had never been broached! What did one say to a man who’d just lost his mistress? Did decorum dictate that she should tell him she was sorry? Heaven help her, she had no idea!

“Your reaction is quite precious, Miss Sherwood. Are you shocked that I have…pray excuse me…
had
a mistress?” he stressed. “Or shocked that she’s found a replacement for me?”

“Both.” Her answer emerged before she could stop it. Heaven help her, but she still could not look at him!

“Well then. It seems I shall have to find another to warm my bed.” There was a brief pause. “What about you, Miss Sherwood? You claim you’ve been kissed. But I wonder…have you ever had a lover?”

That brought her head up in a flash. Her wide eyes reflected her shock. He gave a short, harsh laugh. “Yes, I quite agree. It’s a ridiculous question. Frankly, I’m skeptical that you’ve even been kissed.”

Odd, but he seemed to harbor no remorse for a man who’d just lost his mistress. Indeed, he seemed almost amused. No doubt affairs of the heart meant nothing to him…Oh, assuredly the other servants were right. Women meant nothing to him. Why, a woman might be cast aside as…as easily as he might shed his jacket!

“I am not a liar,” she said stiffly. “And I do not appreciate the way you make sport of me.”

He paid no heed. “Who was it who kissed you? Your blond young suitor from the village square the other day?”

Olivia gaped. “You saw him?”

His gaze never left hers. “I did. But tell me, did you like it?”

Her mind skipped backward. What was it Dominic had said? “
I don’t mean a mere peck on the lips, mind you. I mean really…thoroughly kissed…a kiss that makes the very earth move beneath your feet…
”

That would hardly describe William’s kiss. Yet that was what she’d wanted. That was how she’d yearned to feel.

“You didn’t, did you?”

Her gaze slid away. “’Twas not what I ex
pected,” she said, her voice very low. “I expected a…a kiss—especially my first—would be a momentous occasion, a moment that would live on in my heart forever.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it. Dear God, was she mad? Why was she confiding in him like this?

“So you were disappointed, eh?”

Drat him, why did he sound so pleased? She squared her shoulders and shored up her resolve. “I’ll say no more on the matter, my lord. Indeed, I must ask you to refrain from such questions, for ’tis really none of your affair.”

“I stand duly chastised.” He mocked her openly. “But tell me—you don’t approve of me, do you, Miss Sherwood?”

Unbidden, her gaze cut to the crystal glass atop the table next to him. He saw where her eyes resided so briefly, and picked up the glass.

“What, Miss Sherwood? Is it this? You disapprove of spirits?”

A scant half inch of brandy remained in the glass. He swirled the ruby liquid and downed it. All the while his eyes locked with hers.

Olivia’s lips compressed. She said nothing. She didn’t know why, but she had the strangest sense he was goading her.

“Come now, Miss Sherwood. Feel free to speak your mind. Despite what you think, I’ll not hold it against you.”

Olivia raised her chin. “I do not disapprove of spirits. Indeed, my father was rather fond of ale. I simply think that perhaps you’ve had far too much to drink this afternoon.”

“That I have.” His agreement surprised her.
“Nonetheless,” he went on, “I think you dislike me.”

A ready denial sprang to her lips. “Nay, sir. Indeed, I think ’tis you who dislikes me. The way you stare at me so…”

He
who disliked her? Lord, but that was rich. He stared at her, for when she was near he could scarcely take his eyes from her. Even now, his gaze moved hungrily over her face, down the white column of her throat. He had the feeling that neither guile nor artifice was in her nature. No, she had no idea what a beauty she was…

And that only made him want her all the more.

He was also immensely pleased by the fact that she hadn’t liked it when her suitor kissed her…

He shook his head slowly. “I assure you, Miss Sherwood, that is hardly the case. No,” he went on, “it’s you who dislikes me.”

He was doing it again, Olivia noted wildly. She grew uneasy. “I cannot think why you should say such a thing.”

“You avert your eyes when I’m near, and I don’t think it’s fear—I think it’s distaste.” He studied her from beneath half-closed lids.

She slid away her gaze, only to return it to him. She raised her chin, feigning a coolness she was far from feeling. “Why are you so convinced I dislike you, sir? I hardly know you.”

“But what you know, you dislike.”

He would not let the matter rest, damn him! Olivia folded her hands in her lap. Very well. If it was honesty he wanted, then it was honesty he would get!

“I cannot lie, sir. Though I assure you I am not a gossip, there has been…talk.”

“Oh, but I don’t doubt that! Come now, Olivia, don’t be shy. Tell me what sort of talk you’ve heard.”

The conversation had taken a direction she’d not anticipated. Still, she had no choice but to tell him.

“’Tis said you are very fond of women, my lord.”

A roguish brow arched high. “I daresay I’m not the only man in England fond of women.”

“That is true,” she allowed. “Indeed, we would be a nation of the elderly were that not the case.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I’m glad we agree.”

“However, ’tis said that you’ve trampled many a female heart, my lord.”

He was darkly amused. “And so you’re convinced I’m a rake. A libertine.”

“Do you deny it, sir?” Olivia prayed he’d not remember this conversation. Had he not been foxed, she’d not have been able to summon the daring to speak to him of this!

“Allow me to say this, Miss Sherwood. My heritage being what it is, the dailies in London rather like me. Indeed, when I first saw you here at Ravenwood, I wondered if you hadn’t been planted here by some rag in order to spy on me. If I may be so bold, let me impart a lesson in today’s society—not half of what is printed is true.”

“Nonetheless, sir, I simply cannot abide men who use women for their own purposes.”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Another lesson, Miss Sherwood. There are just as many women who use men for their own purposes. They marry to gain a fortune and possessions. To raise their place in society. To gain a title.”

Olivia was not convinced. “Then why do so many gentlemen have mistresses? I do not understand why a gentleman cannot be satisfied with just one woman! And I despise men who discard women like—like a worn shoe!”

“And that is what you believe I’ve done.”

“Haven’t you, my lord?” Olivia was righteously indignant.

My lord
.

Dominic gritted his teeth. The voice of a child tolled through his mind. “
So which are you? A Gypsy? Or an earl?
” He was not the earl. In his heart, his father was the earl—would always be the earl. But others thought of him—Dominic—as the Earl of Ravenwood. Lord, but it was still so hard to grasp. And he was now…what? A Gypsy? An earl?

He was neither. He was caught between two worlds…

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, and standing before her—tall and utterly commanding. Olivia was stunned to see that he’d grown abruptly sober.

“My mother was easily discarded, Miss Sherwood, and I would never do that to a woman—never,” he emphasized. His gaze seemed to burn right through her. “Oh, I won’t deny I’ve parted ways with many a woman—but the parting has always been mutually agreeable. And in the case of Maureen, I would remind you that I did not discard her. She discarded me. You have the proof right there.” He indicated the letter she’d set aside. “And just so you know, Miss Sherwood, I
could
be happy with one woman. I simply haven’t found her yet.”

His tone had grown very quiet. Olivia was
shocked to her very core. He was utterly serious—this was not brandy talking. Could it be she’d misjudged him after all? That the gossip was not true?

She watched as he moved to the mullioned window that looked out upon the rose garden. He stood with his hands behind his back, booted feet braced slightly apart.

Olivia got to her feet. She stared at the proud, rigid lines of his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

For the longest time she thought he hadn’t heard. Finally he turned to face her. His expression was sober and unsmiling. “I am not angry,” he stated curtly. “I am simply tired of being judged by those with little to judge by—those who cannot even bother to learn the truth.”

He meant her. Shame washed over her, the shame of being petty and small.

He turned aside. “You’d better go, Miss Sherwood. It will soon be dark.”

His tone was heavy, almost…resigned.

Olivia gave a quick curtsy. “Good evening, my lord.” She left him standing there before the window, shadowed and silent and still, as if he were etched in granite.

She hurried down the hall and made her way outside, almost running from the house. So eager was she to be away from Ravenwood—and its master—that her steps never slackened until a stitch in her side nearly wrung the breath from her. Only then did she slow her pace.