The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules

Murgatroyd, who had absolutely no intention of doing this, said, ‘Right ho, Squire. That I will. And thank yer, sir, ever so much.’

Adam picked up the brandy and soda Murgatroyd had just prepared for him, and with a friendly nod he left the butler to his late-night duties. When Adam entered his bedroom a few moments later he was delighted to see that the fire had been lit in the grate. Its blaze was cheerful, and he hurried over to it. Adam stood, as always, with his back to the fire, his long legs spread wide apart, enjoying the warmth from the rapidly burning legs. He stared ahead, somewhat absently, his face serious, the drink in his hand untouched, his mind awash with innumerable thoughts.

His bedroom was spartan in its austereness. The walls were white and unadorned, the high ceiling punctuated with dark beams, and the polished floor was bare. Apart from the heavy wine-coloured draperies at the windows and the handsomely framed portrait of his father above the fireplace, it was devoid of luxury and the usual trappings of wealth. It had the character of an officer’s quarters. The few personal items, such as the ivory brushes on the dressing table and the writing materials on the desk, were laid out with such military precision and neatness they looked as if they were awaiting inspection by a superior. Adam’s only concession to comfort was the large black leather chair positioned next to the fireplace. However, it was this very simplicity that appealed to him, for it was a relief after the emphatically decorated rooms downstairs. Like his library, he found his bedroom tranquil and relaxing, a quiet inner sanctum where he could shed the burdens of the day, undisturbed in his preferred solitude.

Yet, for some reason, tonight the room appeared alien to him and even desolate, in spite of the warm blaze of the firelight and the diffused glow from the old oil lamp on the table by his narrow bed. He peered about him fretfully, frowning intently. He was suddenly uncommonly restless. Adam began to pace the floor, keyed up in a way he had not been in years. He was beside himself and he did not know why. And he was now so damned warm. He pulled at the velvet cravat around his neck and hastily untied it. He strode backward and forward urgently, but after ten minutes of this frantic pacing, he paused finally at the fireplace, grabbed the glass, and drank down the brandy and soda in several swift gulps.

Adam looked around the room. He ran his hand through his hair distractedly. He was hemmed in, constrained by these four walls. He thought condemningly: But you were your own willing prisoner, Adam Fairley. Were you not? He had built his own sarcophagus. The walls appeared to advance on him menacingly. He must escape. He leapt for the door and wrenched it open. He stepped out into the dimly lit corridor and proceeded swiftly down the staircase. He pushed open the door of the library. Moonlight was streaming into the room and it was so bright he did not bother to light a lamp. He hurried to the walnut chest and poured himself a large brandy. His hands shook. He drank the brandy neat, slopping some on his ruffled cuff in his haste. He poured another one. His hands continued to shake uncontrollably.

Adam stood by the walnut chest, endeavouring to calm himself. Eventually he started to breathe more normally, the pounding in his heart subsided, and the sense of oppression slowly began to lift. Why am I so agitated tonight? What in God’s name is wrong with me? He felt unutterably lonely and despairing. He had a desperate need to talk to someone. To a friend who would understand. But he had no friends in this cheerless and godforsaken house. Except Olivia. Of course! Olivia! She was compassionate and wise. He would go and talk to her. She would listen to his troubles, intelligently and with patience. He would go to her at once. Now. Adam left the library. He took the stairs two at a time, bursting with renewed energy mingled with relief at the thought of talking to Olivia, of unburdening himself. He had reached the central landing when the grandfather clock in the hall struck twelve. It brought him to an abrupt standstill. ‘Fool,’ he muttered. He could not go to Olivia’s room this late. It would be an unpardonable intrusion. She was probably in bed and asleep by now. He continued to mount the stairs more slowly. The spring had left his step and his shoulders sagged.

Adam paused at the door of his bedroom, his hand on the knob, and then, against his volition but with great deliberateness, he continued on down the corridor to Olivia’s room, propelled by some force infinitely stronger than himself. A sliver of light showed under her door. His spirits lifted. It gave him the encouragement he needed. Before he could knock, the door flew open and a stream of light flooded out into the darkened corridor. Adam was momentarily startled and blinded, and he blinked several times. Olivia stood silhouetted against the bright radiance from the lamps behind her. Her slender body looked ethereal, almost unreal. He could not see the expression on her face, for she stood in her own shadow.

Adam stared at her, unable to speak.

Olivia opened the door wider, and, without uttering one word, she moved aside to let him pass. He took several long strides into the room and, in spite of his natural polish and inbred charm, Adam discovered, much to his chagrin, that he was utterly tongue-tied. He had no idea what he would say to her. All previous thoughts were swept entirely out of his head. Olivia closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it, a gentle expression on her face. Adam hovered nervously, towering above her, his mouth dry. She looked up at him expectantly.

Finally Adam cleared his throat in embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry to intrude so late, Olivia,’ he began, racking his brains for a plausible explanation. He took a deep breath. ‘But I – I – couldn’t sleep, and so I went downstairs for a drink.’ He indicated the glass in his hand, smiling ruefully. ‘On my way back to my room, I remembered I had not thanked you for arranging the dinner party so beautifully. I do appreciate everything you did to make it such a tremendous success.’

‘Oh, Adam, please,’ Olivia exclaimed warmly. ‘You know how much I love entertaining. I enjoyed it enormously.’

‘Nevertheless, it would have been most ungrateful of me not to have expressed my appreciation to you,’ said Adam. He was beginning to breathe more easily. He was also vastly relieved to have handled this presumptuous invasion of her privacy with a degree of adeptness.

Olivia did not answer. She continued to look up at him questioningly. A tiny frown wrinkled her smooth brow, and her eyes, very blue and perceptive, did not leave his face. He’s had a lot to drink, but he’s not drunk, she thought. He’s in absolute command of himself. The perfect gentleman, as always.

Under her steady gaze Adam became fully conscious of his dishevelment. He realized, to his considerable discomfiture, that he was not only without his coat, but his shirt was open halfway down his chest and his cravat dangled loosely around his neck. He was acutely embarrassed again, and he fumbled with the front of his shirt, attempting, unsuccessfully, to pull it together. He smiled weakly. ‘Well, I had better leave you, my dear. I don’t want to disturb you further. I would not have ventured to intrude if I had not seen your light.’

‘I thought I heard someone outside in the corridor,’ she said, not adding she had known that it was he.

Adam took a tentative step towards the door. Olivia made no effort to open it. She remained leaning against it, her face tranquil, her outward composure intact, but her heart was fluttering and unaccustomed waves of panic shot through her. After a long moment of silence she looked up at him and said softly, ‘Don’t go, Adam. Please stay and chat for a while. I am not at all tired. I was reading, as you can see.’ She gestured to the newspaper on the table near the sofa. ‘Your own illustrious journal at that,’ she added, hoping she sounded nonchalant enough. When he made no response, she said hastily, ‘Unless you want to retire yourself—’

‘No. No. I don’t,’ he interrupted peremptorily. Realizing his anxiety had made him excessively vehement, he softened his tone. ‘Actually, I would enjoy talking to you, Olivia. I’m wide awake myself. All that stimulating conversation tonight, I’ve no doubt,’ he muttered with a small nervous laugh. ‘Provided you are certain I am not keeping you out of bed.’

‘No, really you are not. Please, come to the fire, Adam, and make yourself comfortable,’ Olivia said, moving gracefully into the room, her panic subsiding. She brushed so close to him he caught the faintest whiff of her perfume, something light and evocative. Its name eluded him but the scent lingered in his nostrils tantalizingly.

Adam followed her to the fireplace slowly. Olivia sat down on the sofa in front of the fire. It would have been the most natural thing for Adam to have seated himself next to her, but he did not. He carefully avoided the sofa and lowered himself into a nearby chair.

Olivia settled back against the cushions, smoothed her skirt, and then she looked across at Adam and smiled. It was such a loving smile Adam experienced a peculiar plunging sensation near his heart, and he stared at her transfixed. She had changed her evening gown for a soft and flowing blue silk robe of oriental design; otherwise she looked exactly the same as she had at the dinner. He had never seen her looking more beautiful in all of the twenty years he had known her.

He lowered his head as he became conscious he was staring at her far too intently. He compressed his mouth and peered into his drink, and then he lifted the glass to his mouth automatically. He was mortified to see that his hand trembled.

Observing him from her position on the sofa, Olivia thought: He is very nervous. If only I can make him feel relaxed, and at ease, perhaps he will stay. And so she said, ‘It was a lovely evening, Adam.’

Adam stiffened. ‘What did you make of Adele tonight?’ he asked rather brusquely, and went on in the same tone, ‘I was delighted to see her so controlled. But then it occurred to me, in the drawing room after dinner, that she was so normal she was – well – almost abnormal.’

Olivia looked at Adam alertly. ‘I’m sure she was playing one of her roles, Adam. She sometimes does that, you know, when she is confronted with a situation she finds difficult. I think it’s probably the only way she can deal with people. She retreats in a sense and dons a mask to conceal her real feelings.’

Adam was thoughtful as he digested her words. ‘Why, I think you are right, Olivia,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly it. And it’s remarkably astute of you to recognize it.’

A faint smile flickered in Olivia’s eyes. ‘She is my sister, after all.’ She sighed and shook her head. Her face was tinged with sadness. She had long been aware of Adele’s deep-seated inner conflicts, her inability to create a stable relationship with anyone, least of all Adam, and she sighed again. ‘I have really tried to help her since I have been at Fairley, but she is so wary and truculent at times it is quite a difficult task.’ Olivia leaned forward with some intensity and continued, ‘Do you know, Adam, as strange as this might sound, I feel she is suspicious of me.’

‘It doesn’t seem strange at all. She is the same with me, these days,’ he said. ‘In a way, I am sorry I did not discuss Adele’s health with you when you first arrived in February. But I didn’t want to worry you unduly. I must confess, though, I was a bit concerned about her last year. Her behaviour was so extraordinary it was—’

Adam paused, seeking the appropriate word, and finally he said, ‘Her behaviour was actually rather irrational. There is no other way of describing it. However, she has improved enormously in the past six months, and so I hesitated to alarm you unnecessarily.’ He smiled faintly, looking shamefaced. ‘And you have had your hands full with this mismanaged household since you arrived.’

Olivia shifted her position on the sofa and crossed her legs. Her heart went out to him. He looked so boyish and vulnerable. ‘You could have spoken to me, Adam. A burden shared is often so much easier to carry,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Of course, I know Andrew Melton has been a great help to you. He told me you have discussed Adele with him, from time to time. When I last saw him he sounded most encouraged, and very optimistic about her—’ Olivia’s voice wavered, and stopped.

Adam discovered he was unable to meet her gaze. He said, ‘When did you have occasion to see Andrew Melton?’

He spoke with such harshness, Olivia was further startled. ‘Why, he has been to a number of my dinner parties in London, and he has taken me to the opera and concerts on several occasions,’ she said quietly, baffled by his manner. ‘He naturally asked me about Adele. I hope you don’t think Andrew betrayed a confidence.’ When he did not reply, she said in a more insistent tone, ‘You don’t, do you?’

Adam ignored this question. The anger he was now experiencing was overwhelming. ‘So you have been seeing quite a lot of Andrew,’ he said at last in a tight voice.

‘There is nothing improper in that, is there, Adam? My being friendly with Andrew? After all, you introduced us. Now you look most disapproving.’

‘No, of course there is nothing wrong in your seeing him. And I am not disapproving,’ he said, his voice low.

Oh, yes, you are, Olivia thought, although she still could not conceive the reason for his attitude. He and Andrew were the closest and oldest of friends. She sat back on the sofa and folded her hands in her lap, saying nothing. She did not want to upset him further.

Adam could no longer bear to keep his face averted. He was compelled to look at her. Their eyes met. He saw the questions in hers, the confusion and hurt on her face. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words were forthcoming. She is so incredibly lovely, he thought. Yet there is something frail about her at this moment, something so very vulnerable. His heart shifted, and as he continued to look into her eyes, those eyes as blue as speedwells, the most curious longing swept through him. He ached to put his arms around her, to hold her close to him, to beg her forgiveness for his curtness, to expunge the sadness on her face with his kisses. With his kisses. He was appalled.

And then he knew. Adam Fairley recognized, with the most stunning clarity, what his agitation and tension and restlessness were all about. He stood up abruptly and gripped the mantel-shelf. You bloody fool, he thought. You utter bloody fool. You are jealous. You were jealous of Bruce McGill earlier, when he was hovering around Olivia. And you are jealous of Andrew Melton because he is infinitely more eligible. You would be jealous of any man who so much as looked at her. You are jealous because you want her for yourself.

He felt the blood rushing up into his face. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and he thought he would never be able to look at her again without betraying his feelings. Staring broodingly into the grate he became aware of the glass in his hand. Dazedly he lifted it to his cold lips and tossed the brandy down in one gulp.

Olivia sensed, rather than saw, his disquiet, for his face was hidden from her. She sat very still, and waited, hoping he would confide in her. She glanced at him surreptitiously through the corner of her eye, and she curbed the impulse to reach out and rest her hand on his arm comfortingly. He moved his head imperceptibly, and his face was starkly revealed to her. It was rigidly set and his lips were so pale they were almost white. He gripped the mantel with one hand, and a muscle in his face began to work.

‘Adam! Adam! You look strange. What on earth’s the matter?’ she cried.

Vaguely he heard her voice. He shut his eyes tightly and then opened them quickly. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m perfectly all right,’ he said curtly. He had to get out of here. At once. Before he behaved dishonourably. Disgraced his name. Made a fool of himself. He did not move, and he admitted to himself, with a terrible sinking feeling, that he could not move. Yet in all good conscience he had to leave. He could not abuse her position in his house, take advantage of her vulnerability under his roof. Like a sleepwalker he moved across the floor.

‘Adam! Where are you going?’ Olivia called after him. She stood up. Her face was ashen. Her voice shook as she cried, ‘Have I done something to offend you, Adam?’

Slowly he turned on his heels and looked directly at her. He noted the concern in her face, the alarm in her eyes, and he was moved in a way he had not been moved for years. How could you ever offend me, my love? he thought. Once more he had that crushing urge to reach out for her, to pull her into his arms. He swallowed hard. ‘You have not done or said anything to upset me, Olivia,’ he answered as evenly as possible, striving for normality.

He hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation he weakened. And Adam Fairley was undone.

‘I was simply going down to the library to get myself another brandy and a cigar,’ he lied. As he spoke he knew he could not leave her. He could not leave her here alone as long as that look compounded of fright and perplexity remained in her eyes.

‘I have a decanter of brandy here,’ she said, gesturing to the console table. ‘But no cigars, I’m afraid. There are plenty of cigarettes, of course.’ Without waiting for him to answer, Olivia picked up the glass he had left on the mantelshelf and took a step in the direction of the console in front of the window.

He strode across the room and took the glass from her. His hand brushed hers and he felt small shock waves running up his arm. ‘Please, Olivia, sit down. I will fix it myself,’ he said firmly. He pressed her gently on to the sofa. It seemed to him that her flesh burned his fingers through the thin silk of the robe she was wearing.

Adam stood at the console with his back to her, his hand clutching the neck of the crystal decanter. He closed his eyes. Oh, my God. My God. I love her. I’ve loved her for years, he thought. How could I not have realized that before? I want her. Oh God, how I want her. I want her more than I have ever wanted any other woman. But you cannot have her, a small voice answered in the back of his mind. His hand tightened on the decanter. He must take command of himself and of his emotions. He must not embarrass her, or frighten her. He must behave as normally as he always had in her presence and as a gentleman of honour.

‘Do you mind if I open the window, Olivia? It’s frightfully hot in here,’ Adam said at last.

‘No, please do,’ Olivia said quietly. Her panic had been allayed, but she was still bewildered by his behaviour.