Olivia stifled a groan at the reminder. As if she hadn’t enough problems of her own to attend to, she was now inextricably bound to the rest of the Blake family, and what she’d seen of the brood so far left a marked distaste in her mouth. “Did Merrick mention his plans to you?”
Her father folded his paper and looked at her curiously. “He said he left you a note. Didn’t you read it?”
She was out the door in a moment, shouting for the butler. He came running out, panting with the effort to make haste. But he knew nothing of a note, so she lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs. She found a chambermaid making the freshly changed bed.
“Morning, milady,” the young servant greeted with a quick curtsy.
“Did you find a note for me?”
The girl nodded and moved to the end table, returning with a slip of folded parchment.
Olivia murmured her thanks and retired to her room to read the missive in private. It was simple and heartbreaking.
Trust me. I will return.
Yours,
S
She sank to the floor and cried.
Chapter Six
London, England, June 1813
Stifling a yawn, Olivia perused the ballroom with a jaundiced eye. The event was a crush, therefore the room was hot and, despite the profusion of flowers, smelly as well. She had no desire to be here, but Dunsmore had insisted she attend.
One would think that the last four months would have wrought some change in their feelings for one another, considering how closely they worked together to ensure her social success. But such was not the case. She detested the horrid man as much today as the day she had first met him. Unfortunately, left to her own devices, she’d had no recourse but to seek out the marquess’s assistance. She required his support to establish herself as Lady Merrick. Without him, the social acceptance that was due her would have been denied her.
Personally, Olivia cared nothing for the Beau Monde’s regard, and if she’d had any choice, she would have remained at home and licked her wounds in peace. Her child, on the other hand, deserved a proper start in life, and it was for that reason alone she feigned interest in Polite Society.
Her hard work was rewarded with unequivocal success. Even Dunsmore was impressed, and she’d sensed an almost imperceptible softening in his attitude toward her. He would be thrilled to learn that she was enceinte and that all of his machinations had the desired outcome, but the knowledge was too precious to share. She suspected he would take a perverse pleasure in obtaining the knowledge before Sebastian, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. It was the final act of kindness she would ever bestow upon her errant husband.
She’d been devastated when he left, weepy and despondent. Then she’d turned furious.
She remained furious.
Olivia set her glass of lemonade on the tray of a nearby footman before she snapped the delicate stem in half. Sebastian had broken his word, left her to fend for herself among the wolves while he ran from his troubles. She would never forgive him for that. Never.
“Trust me,” he wrote. Ha! He refused to trust her. Why should she be the only party in their marriage to extend such a simple courtesy?
“My lady, would it be too much to hope that you still have a dance available?”
Olivia turned at the sound of the familiar drawl, eyeing Carr Blake with a sigh. The man wasn’t truly evil like his uncle, just misguided and easily led. Regardless, she kept a close eye on him and maintained a rigid distance from his friendly overtures. The man had set out to deceive her in the most heinous manner imaginable, and that was an offense she would never forget. Still, she had appearances to maintain, and one of them was a feigned closeness to the Blake brood, distasteful as they all were. “Certainly. The set after next.”
His blue eyes gleamed with excitement. “I am a fortunate man.”
Again she was caught by the resemblance between Carr and Sebastian. They were very similar, both boasting shining black hair and startlingly blue eyes. But the resemblance was merely superficial. Carr was more like an exuberant puppy, while Sebastian was more of a panther on the prowl.
Olivia rolled her shoulders back and forced a smile, since most eyes were on her. Her relentless pursuit of the height of fashion had been a large part of her success, an expensive accomplishment achieved through her husband’s largesse.
She sighed audibly. She would gladly have given up everything if it would have won her Sebastian’s love. But it was too late for that now.
“Lady Merrick, I believe this next set has been reserved for me.”
Olivia turned. “I believe you are correct, Monsieur Robidoux.”
The dashing Frenchman bowed elegantly over her proffered hand. His golden beauty had won him wide regard with the members of the ton. It did nothing for her, but she flashed him her best smile.
He grinned as he escorted her to the gathering line of dancers. “You are even more ravishing tonight than usual, my lady.”
She arched a brow. “Thank you, monsieur.”
Robidoux had been brazenly forward with her since arriving in London a month ago, suggesting strolls through the gardens or drives in the park, all of which she refused. She braced herself at every meeting, his determination to be alone with her making her decidedly uncomfortable.
“Lady Merrick,” he purred in his unctuous voice. “The Dunsmore title is an old and respected one, I’ve been told. And yet the earl who inherits it is not in attendance. In fact, no one has seen hide nor hair of the man in over five years.”
She laughed—part in amusement, part in exasperation. The gossips were rife with speculation about the whereabouts of her husband. After all, it was odd for a missing man to suddenly acquire a wife. It was because of this unusual circumstance that Dunsmore’s assistance had been necessary to establish her credibility. “I assure you, Lord Merrick is not a figment of my imagination.”
Robidoux’s fingers tightened on hers. “A beautiful woman should never be neglected.”
She suppressed an unladylike snort. The man’s advances were growing tiresome. “I am not neglected, Monsieur Robidoux.”
“Where is your husband then? I would very much like to make his acquaintance.”
“And so you shall, in good time.” The country dance began, and she released a relieved breath.
The Frenchman’s smile held no charm as they traversed the length of the line. “Perhaps you’d care to take a stroll in the gardens with me when the set is over?” he asked before they separated.
“No, thank you.”
Olivia was grateful when the music faded to silence. One more dance was left in the set, but at least she was marginally closer to escaping Robidoux’s company. Something about the man made her uneasy. His smiles never reached his eyes, and the way he looked at her made her feel . . . dissected.
“The Right Honourable Earl of Merrick,” the majordomo intoned in his booming voice.
The entire room froze, a weighted silence settling over the mass of occupants like a thick fog.
Olivia turned, eyes wide, mouth agape. As the strains of the next dance began, her eyes were riveted on the tall, dark form descending the staircase.
Sebastian took the steps with his customary arrogant grace. It hardly seemed possible, but his skin was even darker, swarthy in a wholly unfashionable way that made her weak in the knees. The way he moved promised hours of untold delight and overwhelming carnal pleasure. Despite her deeply rooted anger, Olivia’s mouth watered, her breasts swelled, and her sex clenched with every step he took.
The guests, released from their surprise, came forward to greet him, but Sebastian was oblivious to everyone else, his intense blue gaze locked on her. The heat that flared between them, even from a distance, brought a mist of sweat to her skin. She knew well the look he was giving her and understood she was in imminent danger of being ravaged senseless, yet she couldn’t move, her heart racing. It took him mere moments to reach her, and yet it seemed as if an hour passed.
He held out his hand, and Olivia hesitated only an instant before accepting it, watching in breathless anticipation as he lifted her hand to his lips. Through her glove, she felt the spark that moved from his mouth, up her arm, and down to her core. She shivered.
Satisfaction curled the ends of his lips. “I have missed you, my love.”
The rest of the ballroom waited anxiously for her reply, the music overly loud in the otherwise quiet room.
Taking a deep breath, she allowed her fury to show in her gaze, then she lowered in an elegant curtsy. “My lord.”
Immediately the guests began speaking in frantic whispers.
Sebastian tugged her up, his expression possessive and bemused. “Time to depart.”
She looked for Robidoux, prepared to offer his introduction, and frowned. The Frenchman had left the dance floor and disappeared into the crowd without a word of farewell.
“Now, Olivia.”
“You have only just arrived,” she hedged. Being alone with Sebastian would invite nothing but trouble.
He arched an arrogant brow.
She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. Her husband was not a man who took well to being denied. Certainly not while he looked as if he would lift her skirts and sink into her body right here in the ballroom.
Giving an almost imperceptible nod, Olivia allowed him to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow. She held her tongue until they were safely ensconced in the carriage, but the moment he reached for her, she slapped his hand away with her reticule.
“Damnation!” he yelped.
She smiled. “You will not be touching me again, I vow.”
Sebastian eyed his spitfire wife in wounded astonishment. He’d noted the changes in her immediately. Olivia looked harder somehow, her eyes furious, her lush mouth pursed tightly together. He had hoped for a warm and eager reunion. Instead, his wife vowed never to allow him to touch her. What in blazes was going on?
“What in blazes is going on?” he growled.
She shot him an incredulous glance.
Hang it all, she was supposed to be pleased to see him! “Olivia, love—”
“Oh, please,” she muttered. Staring out the window, she heaved a disgusted sigh. “You do not know how to love. You merely desire your allotted conjugal visitation.”
“My conjug—” he sputtered. “Bloody everlasting hell! What the devil are you talking about?”
“Oh, I apologize,” she replied in mock innocence. “Did I shock you? I meant your breeding rights.”
“My ‘breeding rights’?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “This is ridiculous.”
“You would think so.”
Sebastian sat in an agony of confusion. He had gone directly to their townhouse from the docks, only to discover her out for the evening. Learning from the butler that she had gone to the Dempsey ball, he’d changed quickly into evening attire and hastened to find her.
He’d been torn about making his belated first appearance as Lord Merrick at such a large gathering, and truly, the silence of the ballroom upon his arrival had momentarily flustered him. Then he’d found Olivia, and everyone else had ceased to matter. He would deal with the rest of the world tomorrow. Right now all he wanted, all he craved, was his wife’s lush body pressed against his and her dark eyes warm with pleasure at his return.
“What have I done to anger you so?” he asked softly.
“I cannot believe you even have to ask. You left me here alone,” she snapped. “In the midst of the vultures, after you promised me you would stay at least long enough to see me settled in Society. You could not even muster the courage to tell me good-bye. Well, my lord, if you cannot honor your promises to me, I am not bound to honor mine to you.”
“Hell’s teeth,” he muttered. “It was in my keeping of that promise that I was forced to leave.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Aren’t you going to inquire as to what I was doing?” he grumbled.
“No. It’s far too late for that now. You should have discussed your plans with me before leaving.”
Sebastian gazed upon his wife’s luminous beauty, and he wanted to howl. She could not have stopped loving him. He would die if she had. “You love me.”
Olivia snorted. “You flatter yourself.”
“You do,” he insisted. “And by God, you’ll admit it!”
“I will do no such thing!”
“You will!” Oh, he sounded like a child, and he felt like one, chastened and eager to win back the love that made him whole. No one in his life had ever loved him besides Olivia. Well, perhaps his mother had, but what good did it do him when he couldn’t remember it?
The carriage came to a halt, and before he could move, Olivia stumbled down from the carriage and ran into the house. Sebastian gave chase, startling the footman, who moved to lower the step. She ran past the gaping butler, who held the door open, and flew up the steps.
“Olivia!” he bellowed. He almost caught her, but he tripped on the runner as he rounded the corner, and the extra steps required to prevent falling on his face cost him. She reached her bedroom and slammed the door, ramming home what sounded to be a very substantial bolt. With an oath, he turned and entered his own suite.
Lock him out, would she? He’d just see about that. He strode toward the adjoining door that had no lock.
And realized the portal no longer existed.
She’d sealed the damn thing up and covered the wall with taupe damask so that no trace of it remained. Damnation, that was the final straw!
Sebastian exited to the gallery with angry strides and kicked the door to his wife’s room as hard as he could, yelling a curse when it budged not one whit.
“It won’t work!” she shouted through the door. “It’s barred.”
“Barred?” he shouted back, incredulous.
“Yes, barred. Now go away!”
His chest heaved with furious indignation. “Olivia . . .” he began warningly.
