The Love Match (Entangled Scandalous) (7 page)

She still wanted to shake him, though.

A light rap sounded at the door.

“Yes?” she said, sitting up on the bed with her legs crooked under her.

“It’s Elizabeth. May I come in?”

She made a noise of assent, and Lizzie stepped in cautiously.

“Are you angry with us?”

“No. I’m angry with myself, I think,” she said.

Elizabeth sat down next to her, looking at the sad, torn apart piece of mutton on her plate. “Not enjoying your dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Her sister took her hand in a warm, reassuring grip. “You can talk to me about anything, dear.”

“I know.”

And they left it at that. Olivia wasn’t the type to spill all of her deepest secrets and desires at the merest indication of a listening ear, and Elizabeth wasn’t the type to pry.

Just then, Anne poked her head around the door. “What is this? A gathering I wasn’t invited to?”

“Olivia doesn’t wish to speak about Mr. Cross,” Lizzie said.

Her other sister sighed. “Oh, very well. Although I’m a bit put out that I’m so close to the scandal of the year and I really don’t know anything about it.”

“Surely what happened to Olivia isn’t the scandal of the year,” Elizabeth responded.

Anne raised her eyebrows.

Their older sister fell silent.

“We could place a wager,” Anne suggested. “How long do you think Thornhill and Mr. Cameron will last with our parents before fleeing to find us?”

Olivia felt a smile curving her lips. The first time she’d smiled that day. “Two minutes.”

Anne shook her head. “Michael will last longer. He’s too well-bred.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just insult my husband,” Lizzie drawled.

“It wasn’t an insult,” Anne protested with a laugh. “It simply means Thornhill will be wishing he could leave, but he won’t actually do it.”

They all laughed when, about two minutes later, they heard a disgruntled Mr. Cameron walk by in the hallway, muttering something about mad mothers-in-law.

…

During the next week, William discovered there were some things a man couldn’t get foxed enough to forget. Such as the way Olivia had looked when she’d turned down his offer—fragile but defiant, with something elusive in her eyes, flickering past the sheen of tears.

He’d dwelled on that expression all week, trying to figure out what it was. It had come to him one night as he’d lain awake, alone in his bed, wishing Olivia was there beside him, for he’d grown used to her presence next to him, the warmth of her body curled into his.

It had been disappointment.

She had expected more from him, and he’d let her down.

But he’d asked her to marry him, something he’d never thought he would ask any woman, and she hadn’t even considered the possibility because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words she wanted to hear. She’d had no right to look at him that way. So hurt and disappointed.
He
should be the hurt and disappointed one.

That’s what he tried to tell himself. It was just that, sometimes, he felt as though he’d let himself down, as well as her.

He tipped back the last of the night’s brandy, left some coins on the dirty, scratched-up tavern table, and stumbled unsteadily to his feet. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat, braced himself against the chill in the air that signaled the approach of winter, and stepped out into the street.

Everything exploded into chaos. He heard a shout, the shrieking whinny of a startled horse, the thud of hooves.

He didn’t realize it until later, but in that one flash of grim expectancy, it was Olivia’s name that had been on his lips. Her face in his mind. A silent prayer.

He threw himself backward, and a coach shot by, missing him by mere inches. He could smell the overworked animals, feel the air that whipped him as the vehicle barreled past. His teeth rattled from the vibrations.

He scrambled back onto the pavement and nearly retched. It took a long time for his racing heart to settle. When it did, he sat there—or more aptly sprawled there—and tilted his head to look at the night sky.

No stars in London. They were drowned out by the soot and the gaslights.

The realization came to him gradually—perhaps because he couldn’t accept it all at once—that he had nearly died just now. If he hadn’t reacted quite as quickly, he would have been flattened by that carriage, his life snuffed out in an instant.

And what would his legacy have been? What had he accomplished in his nearly thirty years? What would his life, and his death, have meant?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And that answer had him stumbling to his feet and racing toward his townhouse. He had no idea if Olivia could forgive him, and he probably didn’t deserve it. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try to win her back.

Chapter Seven

The calling card embossed with William’s name trembled in Olivia’s hand. “He’s here,” she whispered.

But why? Surely, they didn’t have anything to say to one another. Unless he’d changed his mind… But she didn’t want her heart to hinge on the whisper of that hope.

Elizabeth knew instantly whom she meant. “Do you want us to stay?”

Olivia stared at her, barely able to understand what she was saying. Then she shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

Under her oldest sister’s charge, her entire family filed out from the sitting room as obediently as soldiers, leaving Olivia by herself. She rested her hands in her lap, looked down at the pattern of small roses that dotted her muslin dress. And forced her thundering heart to slow.

She didn’t hear him come in, but the toes of his Hessian boots came into view. She glanced up. Her gaze flicked from his bloodshot eyes to the stubble that lined his jaw, to the disheveled appearance of his clothing. “You look dreadful.”

His lips curved humorlessly. “I feel dreadful.” He held something out to her, something a bit bigger than her hand, and rectangular, wrapped in brown packaging.

She took it and untied the string, revealing a book with dark leather binding. She frowned at the title.

Poems

by William Cross

“Open it,” he murmured.

With trembling hands, she did, pausing at the inscription on the next page.

For Olivia

And the inscription had her flipping through the book to see what exactly he’d written
for
her. Her lips parted as she read the first lines of one of the poems—

Breathe into Me

Let me steal your breath

And your life, and your heart, and your hands, and your kiss

Let me be yours

As bound to you as the earth to the sun

She continued reading as he waited, flushing hotly at some of the more explicit lines, barely able to draw breath at the lines that were so tenderly romantic that her pulse quickened and a lump formed in her throat. Finally, she had to stop, even though she wanted to read straight through to the last page. She shut the book gently, set it carefully down on the end table next to her as though it were something more breakable than glass.

She stared up at him, at a loss for words.

“There’s only the one copy,” he said. “I paid a small fortune to borrow a printing press.”

“How did you find time to write this and print it?” she asked.

“I’ve had very little sleep in the past week. Which you can probably guess by looking at me,” he added drily.

She remained silent. Waiting.

He cleared his throat—a nervous gesture. William nervous was foreign
. It
made her chest ache and her fingers itch to touch him.

“I don’t know if you can forgive me,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you cast me off
.
I’ve made a
damnable
mess of things. But I needed you to know, Olivia. Every word is true. Even if you don’t want me anymore. I didn’t—”
His
voice cracked. “I couldn’t let you think I
don’t
love you. And I want to be your husband—if you’ll still have me.”

He looked as though his whole world was hanging by a thread, and her next words would either break it or secure it. Olivia choked back a strangled sob. To be honest, she wasn’t sure how to respond. She forced herself to be brave and ask the questions that would either break or secure her heart.

“Are you certain you trust me not to leave you? Or…are you worried that you’ll be the one who leaves?” At his startled expression, she added, “Lord Ashworth told me about your mother.”

“I worried about both,” he finally admitted. “But I’ve realized there’s nothing in life that says we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of our parents. You’re not like my mother.
I’m
not like her. And I’m not like my father, either. I’m not giving my heart and soul to someone who won’t keep them safe. I’m giving them to you.” The ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “Already given,” he corrected. “I’m yours. All of me.”

And that was what she needed to hear. She went to him, then. Or flew at him, actually. She rose from her stiff position on the sofa straight into his open arms. She clasped her hands tightly around the back of his neck and tugged his head down so she could kiss him.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

She traced his lower lip with her tongue.

“I’ll take it as one,” he said, laughing.

She drew back a moment later, breathless and giddy because she’d never before experienced such searing joy. “You should have let me read your poems sooner,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But I haven’t been able to touch you in a fortnight. Let’s discuss it later.”

His fingers tangled in her hair as he lovingly pressed his mouth to hers, and he slowly undid the pins, letting the tendrils slide across his hands. “I’ve missed you,” he said, “so much. I’ve ached for you.”

“Now you’re here,” she whispered, holding him tight.

“Now I’m here,” he agreed, and captured her mouth in a loving kiss.

And that was how her family found them when they tumbled into the sitting room—locked in a scandalous, passionate, heartfelt embrace.

Her mother swooned, and her father yelled for the hartshorn before Olivia and William broke apart, finally noticing their interlude had been interrupted. Her sisters squealed, and instantly the two of them were enveloped by hugging arms and joyful tears.

William lifted his eyebrows, and Olivia laughed, and then they kissed again, in happy disarray.

Epilogue

A Few Months Later

Their marriage had been the talk of London for weeks. A few people said William had made his love match. Most people—as everyone knew some sordid version of what had happened at Eastwold Abbey—said he’d suffered an attack of conscience. Because, honestly, they whispered, how could the youngest and dullest Middleton sister inspire love in a bachelor as sought after as Mr. Cross? She must have lured him into a compromising position on purpose.

The gossip bothered William more than it bothered his wife. She’d told him she didn’t care what people said. She knew the truth. He didn’t really care what people said, either, but he was confounded by their stupidity. Olivia dull? He’d never known anyone more interesting.

But he supposed it was their loss if they couldn’t see it. And his gain.

For their honeymoon, he’d whisked Olivia away to a secluded cottage by the sea. They’d walked the coastline and spoken their deepest thoughts to each other, stayed indoors by the roaring fire and made love, read books and discussed them. As his favorite things in all the world were his wife—particularly making love to her—and the written word, it had been a glorious trip.

They’d returned to their country estate, and the pattern of their honeymoon days had continued for some time. They’d rejected most of the invitations they received until, reluctantly, they’d decided they couldn’t escape the outside world forever.

Tonight they were attending their first ball as newlyweds, and it was a mad crush. He’d hoped for some time alone with his wife. Since he’d been neglecting his estate business while on their honeymoon, he’d spent most of the last few days catching up on meetings and poring over letters. He and Olivia had arrived at the ball separately, and nearly as soon as he’d greeted her, his new sister-in-law, Anne, had dragged her off again. They’d gotten lost in the crowd, and he still hadn’t seen her in over an hour.

So he conversed, he mingled, he was charming, he danced a few times. And he enjoyed himself. But things weren’t the same as they’d been before. There was always a niggling awareness that something was lacking. He wasn’t complete without Olivia by his side.

He had just left Lord Ashworth and was making his way across the ballroom to find her when Lady Sarah cornered him.

He bit back a sigh and bowed, as any gentleman would do. Lady Sarah returned with a curtsey that was angled to strategically slant her bosom toward him. Vaguely annoyed, he kept his gaze above her chin.

“I am so glad to see you,” she said, her fan fluttering like mad.

“Indeed?”

“You disappeared for months!” she exclaimed.

“I was on my honeymoon,” he stated.

“Which I’m certain was dreadfully dull,” she replied, a suggestive smile creeping across her face.

Fierce anger twisted his stomach. “On the contrary,” he said bluntly, letting her know he wouldn’t stand for her insulting his wife. “They were the best months of my life.”

The woman’s lips parted in a surprised “O”.

“I would highly recommend marriage,” he added.

“Would you?” she asked faintly.

“There is nothing like finding someone to share your life with. Such intimate companionship is…incomparable.”

Her mouth thinned. “
Hmm
,” was all she uttered.

Past her shoulder, he finally saw Olivia winding toward him through the crowd. Their gazes caught, and he smiled slowly. Lady Sarah glanced over her shoulder, then back at him, a startled frown curving her brow. He had trouble dragging his attention away from his wife.

“Is something troubling you?” he asked.

The movements of her fan were starting to slow. “It truly is a love match,” Lady Sarah said bitterly, but a little wonderingly, too. “The way you watched her just now…”

“How was that?” he asked, confused. He hadn’t realized he’d been looking at his wife in any particular way.

“As though…” She faltered. “As though you’d just found your home.”

He smiled faintly but didn’t respond. She left a moment later, and he was relieved to be rid of her.

When Olivia appeared at his side, slipped her delicate hand into his, and leaned slightly into him so he could smell the faint trace of rosewater on her skin, and especially when she whispered, right there in the crowded ballroom, that she loved him, so many emotions tangled inside him that he couldn’t decipher them all. But there was longing fulfilled, and there was peace, and there was joy.

Lady Sarah had been right.

Olivia was like coming home.

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