The Blackmailed Bride (8 page)

Anna, still fascinated with the bonnet, called out to one of the shop assistants, inquiring about the price.

“Ten shillings, miss.”

Anna blanched. “That’s far too much,” she whispered to herself.

Olivia took the bonnet in her hands and practically drug Anna to the front of the store.

“Mrs. Dunwittle,” she called.

“Yes, my lady?” the woman asked, bustling to the front.

“We’ll be taking this. You can put it on my account,” Olivia said, raising her voice to drown out Anna’s protests.

“Very good, my lady.”

Olivia handed the bonnet to an embarrassed Anna. “You really shouldn’t have, my lady,” she protested.

“Nonsense. Consider it my welcome gift to you. And, please, call me Olivia.”

Anna flushed, and Olivia hoped it was with pleasure and not mortification.

“You are a very nice lady,” Anna said quietly.

Olivia smiled in response.

“I had thought you would be like my cousin,” the girl continued.

A chill skittered along Olivia’s spine. “Why would you say that?”

Anna looked at the ground, studiously avoiding Olivia’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It would be best if we forgot I mentioned this.”

“If you say so,” Olivia said slowly.

Anna waited a few moments, visibly struggling with whether she should continue. “My cousin’s not very nice,” she began, but stopped abruptly.

Olivia didn’t have to look up to know Finley had reentered.

“I hope you have not been making a nuisance of yourself, Anna,” he said as he rejoined them.

“Of course she hasn’t,” Olivia said with a smile she wasn’t certain she felt. Anna’s sparing words were still bothering her.

“I see I shall have to add patience to your list of virtues,” he said.

Anna looked hurt by the words. And Olivia’s fist coiled automatically at her side. “I think I must be going now,” she said tersely.

Anna thanked her again and bid her a good day, but Finley insisted on seeing her out of the shop. “Don’t fret,” he told her,
once the door was closed behind them and the two were standing under an awning. “I will be sending her back along with my aunt next week. I’ve had about all of the silly chit and her mother that I’m willing to take.”

“I rather enjoyed meeting her.” Olivia gave him a disparaging glance. “I find her company much preferable to other’s in her family.”

Finley’s lips pursed and turned white. “You’ll hold your tongue, you impudent…” He paused and took several deep breaths. When he continued, his voice was subdued but still possessed the edge of his anger. “Have you forgotten what I can do to you?”

“You’ll have a difficult time convincing me to marry you then,” she said. Olivia had been avoiding this conversation, dreading it actually. But it was inevitable.

“I will do no convincing. I’ve laid my offer on the table. It is your turn to decide what you are willing to sacrifice to keep your little secrets and lies.”

She couldn’t look at him as she said the words, so she stared at the hanging sign of a shop in the distance. He was right. She had no choice. Marcus would be angry, may even refuse to speak to her once he found out, but her family’s reputation wouldn’t suffer. Marcus’s career wouldn’t suffer—nor his faith.

“I will do it,” she said.

“Smart,” he said.

“But I have a few conditions of my own.”

He raised his brows in question.

“You will wait to make any announcements of our betrothal,” she said.

“Why would I do that?”

Olivia thought about knocking him on the head with her reticule but figured that might cause talk were anyone to see.
“Because Marcus will not be happy. He needs time to adjust to the idea.” Like
that
would ever happen.

“Marcus’s happiness is of no concern to me.”

“You are a fool, then. My brother is a powerful man.”

Finley seemed to consider this. “I won’t wait long,” he acceded.

“Just a few weeks,” she assured him.

“You’ll stay away from the Marquess of Huntsford,” Finley said before she could walk away.

His command stopped her. “How do you expect me to accomplish that? He’s Marcus’s friend,” she said, her back still to the baron.

“I will not be made to look like a fool,” he warned. “So you will not parade about with that man like a common strum—”

Olivia spun around and interrupted him before he could finish. “You need me, Lord Finley. I suggest you don’t forget that. And I also suggest you not cause a scene. That would ruin my reputation just as effectively as sharing the family secrets. And then, I’d have no need to bow to your blackmail.” And not because it mattered to her, but because she was unwilling to surrender everything, she said, “I will not sever ties with anyone. You may have my hand in marriage, but you won’t have my life.”

“Make a fool of me, or yourself, and I will ruin you,” he threatened.

He stepped away from her and, without a word of goodbye, walked back into the shop.

“D
o you feel more like a member of the peerage now?” Marcus asked with a grin once he and Nick took their seats at a table by the window. They were sitting in White’s, the gentleman’s club that was always littered with male members of the
ton
.

“Yes. You know, I’ve been asking myself why this didn’t feel
right
yet. Now I can see it’s because I’ve not been to White’s in order to waste time and money. A true rite of passage.”

Marcus chuckled. “It’s a necessary evil, my friend. Like it or not, this is the place to be seen and talk with influential people.”

“You do realize
we’re
the influential people, don’t you?” Nick asked. The statement was without conceit and was actually rather surprising to Nick himself. Because the truth was, though Marcus had been a recluse and had not traveled far from his country estate for years, and Nick was a rumored debaucher and despoiler of innocents, the two of them held a pair of the oldest and most distinguished titles in England.

Yes, before much longer, they would be inundated with requests for introductions. It was only a matter of time, and an issue of who was able to work up the courage to approach them first. Nick knew he looked rather intimidating—such
was his intent. He had few friends in London, and Marcus was the only one currently in the room. He saw no need to make himself approachable to men who wished to make use of him for his wealth, his position or—even worse—the notoriety of his name.

A young man who looked better suited to a schoolroom than a club approached Nick and Marcus then. “Huntsford, I thought that was you over here.”

For his life, Nick couldn’t remember the boy’s name. Marcus was no help—he didn’t seem to know him at all.

“How have you been—” Nick fumbled for his name, tried out
George
in his mind, and thought that fit “—George?”

George—Nick thought the last name might be Chase—looked pleased. If Nick remembered correctly, the man was the fifth or sixth son—something unfortunate like that—of an earl with an estate close to Nick’s home. He didn’t appear to be in the army or a member of the clergy, popular choices for lesser sons, and Nick wondered what he did for his living.

“It has been a long time,” George replied. “It’s good to see you back in England.”

Nick thanked him, wondering what George wanted. He wanted George to leave so he and Marcus could continue their discussion. But from the way George had helped himself to a chair, that didn’t seem likely.

“Sorry about your old man,” the newcomer said. “Went to one of his parties a couple of months before he passed away. Had a great time, but then I’m sure you can imagine.”

Nick could, although he wished it were otherwise. The infamous parties had been his father’s favorite form of amusement. And as with anything relating to his sire, no one with an ounce of decency or a shred of morality would have wanted to be within a stone’s throw of the festivities.

“Was there something in particular you wanted, George?” Nick asked.

The unwelcome acquaintance from his past looked mildly offended, but the flicker of emotion passed quickly. “Just wanted to see how you were getting along,” he defended.

“Well enough.” If the man were waiting for Nick to open a dialogue, George was certain to be disappointed.

“But undoubtedly,” George tried again, “you haven’t had the time to enjoy being home. Tons of invitations, I’m sure.”

Nick didn’t comment.

George turned his attention to Marcus, obviously assuming his inane commentary would be more welcome on that side of the table. Nick knew he should probably introduce the two men, but he didn’t. Doing so would only give George an additional reason to linger.

“Huntsford, here, has been pretty busy since he returned to town,” George told Marcus.

“Has he?” Marcus asked, his voice bland.

“Yeah, but that’s no surprise. Like father, like son, eh?”

Nick sighed. How long would he be compared to the dead marquess?

George, wisely enough, didn’t give Nick an opportunity to answer to the insult. “Hey, Huntsford, a couple of the guys and I were…talking, and I was wondering if you’d help me out.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “How would I do that?”
And why,
he thought to himself.

“Some are saying you’ve already got your eye on some chit. I’m wondering how confident you’re feeling about your ability to woo her.”

Nick stiffened, and he saw, from the corner of his vision, Marcus narrow his eyes. “I don’t know who would be saying anything like that.”

George started, but then, thinking he understood Nick’s game, laughed. “I get it. Don’t want to tip your hand. Smart move.” The man leaned back in his chair, balancing his considerable girth on just two legs.

Nick thought about kicking the seat out from under him.

“But you can trust me. I’m just wondering because some say this Westin girl is a harsh one.” George grinned, waiting on Nick to give him an answer.

“That’s my sister,” Marcus said. His voice had a hard edge to it.

George didn’t miss it. “Oh, I—uh—I’m sorry.” The man cast a frantic look to a group on the other side of the room. “I better go. Just—uh—forget about the other.” And he was gone before either Marcus or Nick could say another word to him.

Not that Nick particularly cared.

“It’s happening already, I suppose. The gossip.” Marcus sighed.

Nick managed a shrug. “We knew it would. Just a bit sooner than I thought.”

“You don’t know how grateful I am for your assistance,” Marcus said. “You’re a good friend to help me this way.”

Nick felt somewhat uncomfortable. Of course, he was doing this to help his friend…but he didn’t like to think of the time he spent with Olivia as being part of a job, or a duty.

Because he liked her.

Quite liked her, as a person. He found Olivia fascinating, and beautiful, and witty, and charming….

She was unlike most women he knew. While many of the ladies of his recent acquaintance didn’t know the real him and were after what they thought he had to offer them, Olivia seemed to appreciate him for the person he was—not the one he was purported to be.

Nick didn’t realize Marcus had been studying him during his long moment of silence until he looked up and his friend looked away guiltily.

“I don’t want you to feel you have to do this.” Marcus’s voice had dropped.

The significance of the situation, and the importance of his
answer, wasn’t lost on Nick. He knew that the words out of his mouth next would dictate a rather large step.

“Olivia’s my responsibility, and I can keep her safe.” Marcus pushed onward.

And before Nick knew exactly what he was doing, he tumbled headlong into a future with Olivia’s continued presence. “The two of you would kill each other before it was over, if I didn’t help.”

“Perhaps,” Marcus allowed. He sat back, relaxing into his seat. And Nick hadn’t realized until then how much Marcus was dreading hearing his answer.

A waiter arrived with their food, and after depositing the china plates on the table, he faded away.

“I will say, though, that I hope your assistance in this matter is not going to cause problems for you on the marriage mart,” Marcus commented.

“What are you talking about?”

Marcus shrugged. “I didn’t know if you came to London because you were ready to settle down and find a wife. Are you looking? For a wife, that is.”

Nick didn’t know if he liked Marcus’s overly unconcerned manner. The nonchalance made him feel as if there were several layers to the question he couldn’t understand.

“No. Not right away. Eventually, of course,” Nick knew he was rambling but didn’t stop. “I’m happy to help as long as it’s needed.”

Marcus’s speculative look wasn’t making Nick feel any more at ease.

“What about you?” Nick asked, hoping to deflect some of the attention, and heat.

“What about me?” Marcus asked, returning to the plate of food in front of him before changing the subject.

Nick didn’t have time to answer before Marcus was speaking again. “Well, again, I appreciate your help with Olivia, but you
can consider yourself on vacation this evening. I’m escorting Olivia to the theater, and I doubt Finley will show for that. I don’t think he could afford the box.”

“He might be with friends.” Nick didn’t know why he was trying to talk himself into an invitation.

Marcus shrugged off the concern. “Eh, I don’t really see Finley as a fan of Shakespeare. I certainly wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to. Olivia will be safe enough. I didn’t mean for this venture to take up all your time.”

Nick wanted to argue…insist he should come. He knew Marcus was trying to give him a break, but Nick
wanted
to see Lady Olivia, to experience her reaction to watching the work of her favorite playwright brought to life on the famous Drury Lane stage.

But he said nothing.

What was wrong with him?

Nick studied his plate in order to hide his tumult of thoughts. Perhaps he was getting sick. That would explain the pang in his chest at the thought of missing an evening spent with Olivia.

Perhaps he was simply losing his mind.