The Blackmailed Bride

What would he do? Charge out from behind the bushes and defend her honor? Defend his? But the marquess had been correct in the beginning; it was best they remain undiscovered.

She laid her hand atop his, hoping to both comfort and subdue him. It was the least she could do after he’d set himself up for this sort of slander just by helping her out of doors. Besides, it certainly wouldn’t do for the three women to happen upon them. Or for him to step out and confront them.

Once Lord Huntsford felt her touch, he turned to look at her, and his pursed lips and set jaw were the only visible signs he was warring with indecision. Casting another glance to where the women had resumed strolling by, he sighed. As he looked back at her, his face softened. He ventured a tentative smile, and Olivia couldn’t help but return it.

She wondered how he had managed to so completely erase the anxiety and panic she’d felt only moments earlier. Yet even with a feeling of peace and contentment stealing over her, a small voice in the back of her mind cautioned against softening toward him and warned that she’d have to double her efforts to stay away from the marquess.

Chapter Six

Later that evening, past the time when everyone should have been abed, Olivia opened the door to the hallway, looked down both sides to make sure neither her brother nor the marquess were loitering about and stepped out. She pulled her wrapper tighter around herself and padded on bare feet down to a scarred wooden door that remained closed at the end of the hall.

Her father’s study.

She approached it with a sort of reverence, as though the room she was about to enter was holy in its own right.

With her hands braced on the frame, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door.

Breathe, she instructed herself.

How many years had it been?

Five, already…

And she still felt the fear and uncertainty of the past, while only standing outside.

She pushed the door open and didn’t immediately notice there were a few candles burning in the room.

Her mind was too consumed with other images. Brief, fleeting pictures from that night, ones she couldn’t banish from her memory—no matter how hard she tried to erase them or dull their influence.

Olivia sank into a chair, one closest to the door. She noticed the faint light in the room now but didn’t give much thought to why it was there.

What thoughts had her mother had that evening five years ago? Olivia couldn’t begin to imagine.

They’d all been mired in grief. Her father had passed away from a sickness a few months before her mother decided she couldn’t live anymore. Her devotion to her husband so complete, she couldn’t bear to part with him—even in death.

And Marcus, the earl for three short months, had to assume another role…her guardian.

Most of the room was still cast in shadows, making the memories more eerie than she’d thought they’d be. No one ever asked why she avoided the room. The assumption was that fear kept her away. Of course, to hear everyone talk about it, this was the room the countess was murdered in—by an intruder who had only upended some drawers and strewn around some papers before he left the dead countess sitting at the desk.

Olivia was surprised anyone had believed that.

The story had been as flimsy as a gossamer thread.

But it had held.

And Olivia had to live with not only the lies and deceptions, but also the weight of her mother’s crime.

“Oh, Mama,” she choked. She put her fist to her mouth, stifling the sound. She wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a condemnation…perhaps both.

“Olivia?” a voice echoed from the shadows.

She jumped. Her brother sat forward. He’d obviously been reclining, and neither had noticed the presence of the other.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

“I don’t know,” Marcus confessed.

She squinted into the darkness at him, rose from her seat and crossed to sit with him. He obligingly moved his legs off the settee, so she would have room. “I don’t know, either.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“What is?”

“That the one room that holds such grief for us is the one we can’t stay away from.” He stared off and around the room, as though looking at something only he could see.

Olivia doubted it was anything like what she could see when she closed her eyes.

Olivia lost track of how long they sat together. Eventually, she rested her head against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. For a minute, they were not the Earl of Westin and Lady Olivia Fairfax. They were a brother and sister who hurt.

More than either of them knew.

Olivia felt her eyes growing heavy-lidded. She was relaxed with drowsiness and knew she should return to bed. But she wanted to talk to Marcus. Wanted to in some way prepare him for what was going to happen.

She roused herself enough to lift her head and look at her brother. She was surprised to find he didn’t look the least bit tired.

“Do you mind if I ask a question?” Olivia began, driven by some courage she didn’t realize she had.

In spite of the dim lighting, she could tell his look was wary. “I suppose.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Finley had approached you to ask for my hand?”

Marcus tensed as an immediate reaction to her words. “Finley told you that?” Although it wasn’t asked with a very questioning tone.

She nodded, knowing he could feel the movement against his arm.

“I gave him my answer and I didn’t think you needed to be bothered with the matter,” he said.

“You’ve always consulted me in such things. Why didn’t you see fit to so much as mention it?” she pressed. Maybe he would tell her something that would allow her to nullify Finley’s threat, such as proof that the man was truly a pirate with a bounty on his head. Or a traitor to the Crown.

Either would work for her.

“I didn’t see the purpose.” He was using a tone she’d only heard a few times. It was the tone that suggested—strongly—she let the conversation drop.

She wasn’t going to. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

“I have many reasons” was the curt reply.

His discomfort was no match for her current burst of tenacity. “I would like to spend some time with him. To see if we suit,” she said on a gulp.