Scandalous Summer Nights (17 page)

“I’m sorry about the letter. I truly am. But even if you
won’t discuss the contents with me, we still have the serious matter of the highly improper circumstances in which I found you.” Though he was on the other side of the door, she could just imagine his dark brows slashing downward in disapproval.

She snatched the letter from where it lay on the bed, unceremoniously folded it, and stuffed it into her bodice. Then she limped to the door and yanked it open. “I doubt I am the only one who’s engaged in such scandalous behavior.”

That silenced him for a moment. “At least I had the good sense not to get caught,” he muttered. Then, making a face, he said, “What is that dark stuff on your eyes?”

“It’s nothing. Owen, about tonight. We didn’t—”

“Stop.” He held up a palm. “I don’t want to hear the specifics. One thing is for sure—this was beyond a stolen kiss on a terrace. You’ve been traipsing across the countryside, unchaperoned, for days—and you’re not even in the same county that you said you’d be in. If not for the note from Terrence, I’d have never known where you were. I know what I saw tonight, and you know what the consequences must be. So does Averill.”

Olivia waved her brother into the room and shuffled to a chair.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” he asked again, taking a seat on the edge of the bed opposite her.

“I’ll tell you all about it later. Where’s James?”

“In the other room, washing the blood off his face.”

Olivia winced but was glad for a few more moments alone with Owen. However unlikely it was that she’d change his mind, she had to try. “I know that I disappointed you and that you are acting out of concern for me.”

“Precisely.”

“You are worried about my reputation.”

“Damn it, Olivia, I’m worried about a lot of things.”

“Consider this. No one saw James and me together but you. You would never gossip about it—”

“That’s not the point.”

“Of course it is. It’s only a scandal if people know. And no one knows.”

“You don’t think the innkeeper and his wife and all the guests will know about it before the taproom shuts down tonight?”

“Well, if you hadn’t kicked in the door—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “You brought this on yourself.”

“Yes. That’s just it. This was my fault. And if you make James marry me, everything will be ruined.”

Owen raked his hands through his hair. “I thought you were fond of James.”

“I am. But I must admit I’m disappointed that he kept the letter from me.”

He wearily dragged a hand down his face. “I asked him to hold on to it for me. He was doing me a favor.”

Olivia hung her head.

“Listen, we can talk about the letter later,” Owen said. “Can you honestly tell me that marriage to James would make you miserable?”

She sighed. “No. I love him. But I don’t want to marry him this way.”

“What do you mean ‘this way’? What difference do the circumstances make? You’ll be married.”

“He’s leaving on an archaeological expedition at summer’s end.”

“No. He’s not.”

“Yes. He must.” She leaned forward, suddenly desperate to make her brother understand. “I
cannot
be the reason he doesn’t go. He’ll resent me for the rest of his days.”

“After tonight he’s lucky that he
has
any more days. Maybe that knowledge will help him come to terms with his missed opportunity to explore Egypt.”

“It’s more than that, Owen.” She sniffed back the tears that threatened. “I don’t want a husband who doesn’t want me. I don’t want a cold and empty marriage like our parents’. I want a love like yours and Anabelle’s.”

At the mention of his lovely wife, the creases around Owen’s eyes softened. “I understand that you’re upset. You’ve had a trying day. But let me make one thing very, very clear. Averill
will
marry you. What you and Averill make of that marriage… well, that’s up to you. And at the risk of sounding unfeeling, I don’t really care. All I know is that as soon as I can arrange it, the two of you will be standing in front of the vicar exchanging your vows.”

“Please—”

“Don’t oppose me on this, Olivia,” he said, quietly but firmly. “You will not win—you’ll only succeed in exhausting us both.”

At that, all the fight went out of her. Well, almost. “Very well, I will marry James. But only if you allow him to go on his expedition afterward.”

“That’s no way to begin a marriage.”

She agreed, and just the thought of saying good-bye to him for two years made her heart ache. She could well imagine the whispers of the
ton
when they learned that she’d been deserted by her husband shortly after the wedding. But she could not be the reason James’s dream was
shattered. “This is not a typical engagement, and it won’t be a typical marriage. I want James to go.”

Owen stared at her intently for the space of several heartbeats. “Fine. Once you’re married, I won’t interfere. I won’t prevent him from going. But I will think less of him if he does.”

The future she’d dreamed of—marriage to James—was about to happen. And it felt all wrong.

“Now, if you won’t tell me about our father’s letter,” Owen said, “at least tell me what happened to your foot.”

It seemed ridiculous to talk about something as mundane as her foot while her mind grappled with the fact that her brother had discovered her and James naked in bed
and
that she had a half sister roaming around England somewhere. But Owen would not be satisfied until he heard the whole story. “It happened a couple of days ago. I was—”

“Pardon the interruption.” James stood in the doorway, fully clothed and quite respectable-looking, if one discounted the bruise that was already forming beneath his left eye. He cleared his throat and looked past Owen, right at Olivia, his green eyes full of sadness and resignation. “Olivia,” he began, “may I have a word?”

She wanted to shake him. Less than an hour ago they’d laughed and kissed and talked—and brought each other indescribable pleasure. And now they stood across the room from each other like casual acquaintances at an awkward dinner party. The distant, vacant look on his face nearly broke her heart.

“Of course. Owen, would you give us a moment, please?”

He snorted. “Whatever Averill has to say to you, he can say in front of me.”

“But—” she protested.

“It’s fine. Your brother should hear this, too.” James walked toward her and stood stiffly before her chair. “I want you to know that while I know I have not acted honorably, I respect and admire you greatly. I’m deeply sorry that I took advantage of you—”

“You didn’t. I—”

“No. I did not behave like a gentleman.” His eyes begged her to let him finish. “I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I can try to make it right.”

As he lowered himself to one knee, Owen muttered something unintelligible and turned his back to them. And in her head, Olivia was screaming,
No, no, no! Please don’t do it like this
. Even though he was obviously sincere, it felt like a mockery of her fantasy, in which he made a heartfelt proposal, proclaiming his love for her and sweeping her off her feet.

James reached for her hand and held it like he was greeting his dear grandmama. “You would be doing me a great honor,” he said, “if you would agree to become my wife.”

He gazed up at her expectantly, as if they were both actors and he was waiting for her to recite her line. There was no passion in his proposal, no happiness. This was a defeated man doing his duty—nothing more.

“Maybe we should all get a good night’s sleep,” Olivia said. “We can discuss this more tomorrow.”

James’s shoulders slumped; he released her hand and began to rise.

“Stay there,” Owen ordered James. To Olivia, he said, “That was a perfectly good proposal, and I want to hear you accept it.”

“Very well,” she said, to no one in particular, because apparently what she said and thought didn’t carry much weight. “I accept.”

Owen raised his brows as James stood, cringing as though a rib were broken or bruised. “It wasn’t the most moving proposal I’ve ever seen.” Owen shot a look Olivia’s way. “Nor the most graceful acceptance. But I suppose they’ll have to do.”

A shuffling noise sounded from the hall, followed by a gasp. “Lady Olivia?”

Gads. She’d almost forgotten about Hildy. “I’m in here,” Olivia called out.

The maid appeared in the doorway, triumphantly holding a crutch in each hand. “Look what I’ve—Oh my. Good evening, Your Grace.” Her cheeks blossomed red as she curtsied before Owen, crutches and all.

Olivia idly wondered if anyone else—perhaps the coachman or the innkeeper—would wander into the room before the night was over. And she couldn’t
wait
for it to be over.

“Thank you, Hildy. Why don’t you go to our room? I’ll join you there shortly and explain everything.” All too happy to be dismissed, the maid scurried away.

With no small amount of exasperation, Owen said, “I have yet to receive an explanation for your injury, but at this point I think it can wait until the morning. Though it goes against my better judgment, before we all retire to our
separate
rooms, I shall give the pair of you two minutes alone—no more. I’ll be standing in the hallway.”

Thank God Owen had shown this bit of compassion. Olivia desperately needed some sign from James that things were going to be all right between them, that he
didn’t view marriage to her as the equivalent of a life sentence in the Old Bailey.

Owen shot them both a stern warning look before striding out the door.

Olivia sprang to her feet in spite of her now-throbbing ankle and threw her arms around James’s neck. “Are you hurt?”

He gently extracted himself from her embrace and moved a respectable distance away. “I’ll be sore for a day or two. It’s nothing.”

“I never meant for this to happen. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Maybe there’s a way—” she began.

“No, I gave Owen my word. We may as well resign ourselves to the fact. I will do my best to make you happy.”

“I know you will.” But she couldn’t imagine being happy when James so clearly wasn’t.

“Did you read the letter from your father?”

At the reminder of the letter he’d kept from her, she looked away. “I did. I have a lot to think about.”

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I should let you rest. Things will seem better in the morning.”

And then, with a sad smile, he left.

There was no kiss, passionate or otherwise, no affectionate glance or word, no humor or charm. Just a vague hope that things would seem better tomorrow.

Perhaps it was true, for they couldn’t possibly get any worse.

J
ames chafed at taking orders from anyone. And ever since Huntford had burst into Olivia’s room the night before, he’d been issuing commands, telling James what to do and when to do it. The hell of the thing was, Huntford was letting him off easy, and James knew it.

So, when he was summoned to the inn’s private dining room for breakfast at nine o’clock, he did not question it, even it if did rankle him. Olivia and Huntford were waiting there, and neither one looked like they’d gotten much sleep. He probably had circles under his eyes, too, but they were eclipsed by the huge bruise that had already appeared on his cheek.

The mood was somber, and James supposed they were mourning the death of his and Huntford’s friendship.
James felt like a whole chunk of his history—as well as his future—was suddenly gone. He’d experienced a similar void after losing his dog, a lovable mixed breed named Hermes, a few years back. But this was worse. This was James’s fault. And if Huntford shot him blistering looks for decades to come, it was no less than James deserved.

“Good morning,” he said, before making a polite bow to Olivia. He noticed her new crutches leaning in the corner.

“Good morning.” She pushed a piece of ham around with her fork.

“Fill a plate.” Huntford pointed to the table behind him, laden with platters of eggs, toast, ham, and fruit. “Then we’ll talk.”

James poured himself coffee and sat next to Olivia, drawing a scathing glare from her brother. “What would you like to discuss?”

Huntford set down his fork. “I’ve decided that the marriage shall take place in Haven Bridge, where there will be far less gossip than there would be in town. We can say that it was your infirm uncle’s wish to see you wed and that you happily indulged him.”

“That’s quite a story,” James said. The irony of it was that Uncle Humphrey probably
would
derive great pleasure from attending the ceremony. Turning to Olivia, he said, “Would a small wedding in Haven Bridge suit you?”

Huntford crossed his arms impatiently; James ignored him.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose the location is not so very important to me.”

“Excellent,” said the duke. “I’ll take—”

“Wait,” James said. The sight of Olivia so impassionate about her own wedding was unsettling. “If location does not matter to you, what
does
?”

“I’d like to have my sister and close friends here, but we’re so far from home.”

“Yes, we are,” Huntford cut in. “That’s the beauty of it.”

“Perhaps we can arrange for them to come,” James offered.

Olivia brightened a little, but then her brother said, “The less people who are here to witness it, the better.
I
, of course, will be there to see the union take place with my own eyes. Later this morning, I shall escort you both back to Haven Bridge and see that Olivia is settled in the inn there. Averill, you’ll stay with your uncle—or anywhere you like, so long as it’s not the same inn. I plan to spend the afternoon meeting with the local vicar and arranging for the banns to be read.”

James cast a glance at Olivia. Her face was almost as pale as the simple white gown she wore—a striking difference from the lush gold confection she’d slipped out of last night. His blood heated at the memory of her boldly unlacing her dress for him and exposing delectable, silky skin. Good God. He shook his head and pulled himself together, grateful that her brother couldn’t read his thoughts.

Huntford was still talking. “I have business to attend to, not to mention my wife and daughter, so I’ll leave this evening for London. But never fear, I’ll return to Haven Bridge in three weeks’ time, before the happy nuptials take place.”

“It seems as though you’ve planned everything,” Olivia said.

“Not quite. For obvious reasons, I hesitate to leave you in the same village with one another when you have only your maid as her chaperone, but I don’t see how to avoid it. In any case, your fate is already sealed. You might as well use the time to plan your wedding—and your future.”

Olivia glanced at James, and he saw the wariness in her eyes. The adoration, the trust that had been there last night were gone. In keeping the letter from her, he’d crushed her lofty opinion of him. Where she’d once thought he was the model of integrity, she now doubted his intentions. And who could blame her?

Three weeks until the wedding. That’s how long he had to try to make things up to Olivia.

That’s how long he had to help her regain her sparkle.

Later that afternoon, James was back among the picturesque hills of Haven Bridge. He retrieved his belongings from the inn, said good-bye to Olivia under the watchful eye of her brother, and rode his horse to Uncle Humphrey’s cottage. He rapped on the door. There was no answer, so he tested the handle, found it unlocked, and walked in. “Uncle, are you here?”

He wended his way around unwieldy stacks of books and two sleeping cats, and followed the rather loud snores coming from the study.

In his sleep, Uncle Humphrey looked older and frailer. In his waking hours he wielded a sharp wit and intelligence that made it easy to forget that he was close to eighty years old. Not so now. One of the cats stirred, stretched, and leaped onto Humphrey’s leg, prodding him awake. He blinked several times, looked up at James,
and said, “Wondered where you’d been,” as though it were perfectly normal to wake up and find someone had walked into your house unannounced. “What happened to your face?”

He touched his fingers to his bruised cheek. “I took a punch.”

“You?” Humphrey’s white eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief. “You’re not usually on the receiving end.”

“I deserved it.”

“Oh.” Humphrey nodded thoughtfully. “How is she?”

“Who?”

“The girl. The one you chased after.”

“I didn’t
chase
after Lady Olivia. I was endeavoring to escort her safely to her aunt’s house.”

“I see.” But he said it in a way that suggested he knew very well the reasons his nephew had left Haven Bridge at the drop of a hat. And he was probably right, damn it.

“We’re engaged,” James said flatly.

“What’s this? Felicitations, my boy! I believe the news calls for a drink. Pour us each a bit of Scotch, will you?”

“Of course.” James walked to his uncle’s sideboard. “But I’m not sure it’s cause for celebration. Her brother, the duke, is forcing us to marry.”

“Ah. Well, a betrothal is special regardless of the circumstances surrounding it.”

James splashed the Scotch into a couple of glasses and handed one to his uncle.

Humphrey pet the cat, which had settled itself between his hip and the arm of the chair, then shifted to his right to give his whiskered friend more space. He sipped his drink in silence for a minute before asking the question that had
plagued James ever since last night—maybe even before. “What does this mean for your expedition?”

If anyone could understand his dilemma, it was Uncle Humphrey. He shared James’s passion for antiquities and exploring and was, quite possibly, even more enthused about the trip than James was.

“I still want to go.”

“Does Lady Olivia have any objection?”

“I haven’t had the chance to discuss it with her. But I can’t imagine she’d be thrilled at the prospect of me leaving the country days after we marry.”

He glanced at Humphrey, hoping for a lecture on how he’d be a fool to even consider passing up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to explore the ruins of an ancient civilization with a skilled and respected team.

“You have a difficult decision to make.”

“What would you do?”

Humphrey took a long, wheezing breath and closed his eyes. He sat like that for maybe a minute—long enough that James wondered if he’d resumed his nap. But then he coughed, opened his eyes, and said, “Take her on a picnic.”

James shook his head. Maybe Humphrey wasn’t quite as sharp as he’d once been after all. “No, I meant about the expedition. Would you stay or go?”

“I can’t answer that. I’m not in your shoes. But I remember that whenever your aunt Dorothy and I needed to work through a particular problem, we would pack a lunch and take a long walk and spend some time together. You could gain some clarity, some perspective. The worst that could happen is that you’ll have spent the day with a pretty girl.”

James stroked his chin. This wasn’t exactly the sort
of wisdom he’d been seeking, but he supposed a picnic couldn’t hurt.

“She
is
pretty, isn’t she?” Humphrey’s cloudy eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Very. Almost as pretty as Aunt Dorothy.”

“Ah. Then you’re a lucky man, indeed.”

Maybe Humphrey was right. He remembered the impromptu breakfast he’d shared with Olivia in his favorite spot atop the hill, before she’d injured her ankle. Though it afforded the best view in all of Haven Bridge, it definitely wasn’t accessible on crutches.

As if he’d read James’s mind, Humphrey said, “Take a couple of horses to the northwest corner of my property, where the river runs into the woods. There’s something almost magical about that place.”

“Magical? As in sprites and fairies?”

Humphrey ignored the question. “I haven’t been there in years, but I’ve always suspected it’s sacred ground. Promise me you’ll visit it. With your pretty fiancée.”

James shrugged. He had approximately three weeks to fill before the wedding. “Certainly.” Belatedly, he remembered the small matter of him needing lodging. “I have another favor to ask, Uncle. Would you mind if I stayed here with you for the next few weeks?”

“Not at all. Provided you pour me some more Scotch.” He held up his glass and gave a crooked grin.

James obliged his uncle, removed a stack of books from the chair opposite him, and sat. “Tell me more about the land by the river.”

Olivia was once again installed in a room at the Fife & Frog in Haven Bridge. Owen had departed the night
before, and though he’d refrained from lecturing her one last time, she’d seen the disappointment in his eyes, and it stung tenfold worse than his anger.

She shuffled about her room on her crutches, like a bird fluttering in a too-small cage. She could cross the room in four long strides, but her arms ached from exertion. Hildy pointed out that Olivia wouldn’t be so sore if she remained in one spot for more than, oh, ten minutes, but she could not help her restlessness.

In an obvious attempt to distract her, Hildy rifled through the contents of Olivia’s trunk. “We need to find a suitable dress for you to be wed in. Perhaps the rose silk?”

Olivia shrugged. “It’ll do.” If this were the engagement of her dreams, her sister-in-law, Anabelle, would lovingly craft a gorgeous gown. Daphne would alternately tease Olivia and offer her risqué wedding night advice. How she missed them, not to mention Rose and her quiet, solid support.

“It’s simple and elegant,” Hildy said cheerfully. “And I’ll pile curls on top of your head and wind ribbon through your hair, just the way you like.”

A knock at the door startled both of them. Hildy dropped the dress and scurried to the door. “Mr. Averill. Good morning.”

He stood in the doorway looking breathtakingly handsome in a russet-colored jacket, buckskin breeches, and boots. His brown hair was charmingly windblown, and the warmth in his green eyes made her heart skip a beat.

And yet, everything was awkward and distant between them. It might have been the stilted proposal—not his fault, but highly awkward nonetheless. Or, it might have been the matter of Papa’s letter.

James knew how close she’d been to her father and how deeply his death had affected her. Yet, after all she and James had shared—cozy conversations, stirring kisses, and more—he’d hidden the letter from her. Owen had explained everything, how their father’s solicitor had delivered the letter and how Owen had hesitated to give it to Olivia. He’d tried to absolve James of blame, saying that he was only trying to be a good friend.

But she’d thought
their
relationship was important, too. She wondered if she’d forever play second fiddle to Owen where James was concerned.

“I apologize for calling so early,” he said. “But it looks like it will be a glorious day, and I wondered, Lady Olivia, if you’d like to join me for a picnic.”

Olivia arched a brow and cast a pointed look at the crutches she held. Though she longed to escape her room, the very thought of traversing rutted dirt paths made her arms hurt. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t make it very far.”

“There wouldn’t be much walking required of you. I’ve brought along an extra horse, and we can ride to our destination—a little spot on my uncle Humphrey’s land. I’ve never been myself, but he says the river is so clear and cool that you won’t be able to resist dipping your toes in it.”

“I’d only be able to dip one set of toes.” She was aware she sounded like a sullen fourteen-year-old, but this was about protecting her heart, which had suffered just about all the ache it could take. Tempting though the picnic was, she couldn’t let herself get too close to James. The more time they spent together, the more painful it would be when he departed for Egypt.

“I stopped by the bakery for hot cross buns…”

Not the buns. Oh, he was good—very good. She sighed. “I suppose the fresh air and sunshine would be welcome.”

“Even if the company would not?” James’s contrite smile said that he knew he was not in her good graces… but that he’d like to be.

“I didn’t mean to imply such a thing. Hildy, you’ll join us, won’t you?”

“Er, I’m not one for riding, my lady. Could I walk alongside you?”

James shook his head. “It’s probably three or four miles over fields. Too far.”

How convenient. “Well, since we are now engaged, I don’t suppose it matters. Hildy, would you please fetch my bonnet and parasol?”

A few minutes later, James was hoisting her onto a docile brown mare with white markings. “How does the saddle feel? Are you comfortable?”