The Blackmailed Bride

If the worst had happened, however, Olivia reasoned that as the sister of an earl she would get special privileges in New gate Prison. Such as an extra cup of water a day. Or a stick to beat back the rats.

She was so engrossed by her bleak future as a prisoner of the Crown she jumped at the pained moan of the supposedly dead viscount.

“Lord Danfield?” she asked hesitantly. No response. “Are you quite well?” Still nothing.

Olivia stood. If the man weren’t dead, he didn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave. She hadn’t the time to wait on him to do so, either.

There was nothing to be done but tell her brother. If she caught him in a jovial mood, Marcus might find the situation amusing.

Although, she thought, probably not.

Fortunately—or perhaps not—her brother was easy to find.

“Through already?” Marcus, the Earl of Westin, asked, startling her as he approached from behind.

“I suppose you could say that.”

He chuckled. “Amazing. I thought we would have to knock him out and drag him away just to get him out of the house.”

“I suppose you could say that, too.” Olivia wrung her hands together.

Her brother appeared oblivious to her distress. “An old friend of mine will be joining us for luncheon today…” But an anguished groan echoed through the hall, interrupting his thought.

“What was that?” Marcus walked in the groan’s direction.

“Let me explain before you—” Olivia tried, hurrying after him.

She winced as Marcus bellowed her name before she could catch up with him.

Marcus fixed her with a hard stare. “What happened in here?”

“There was a bit of an accident.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “At least he’s alive,” she offered.

Marcus stopped his pacing. “Was that ever in question?”

Olivia thought it best not to comment. But then, she heard the crunch of a shard of vase under Marcus’s heel and cringed.

Olivia watched as her brother knelt to pick up a fragment of his artifact. “Please tell me that’s not my Ming Dynasty vase in pieces on the floor?”

“All right,” she said slowly. “It’s not—” only to be silenced by a wave of his hand.

“Never mind that,” he huffed. “We have to get him back to his house.”

She and Marcus were studying the unmoving viscount when Gibbons reappeared in the doorway. “Lord Westin, Lady Olivia, his lordship, the Marquess of Huntsford is here.”

Nick processed the scene before him in less than two minutes. Then, he spent sixty seconds deciding whether he should turn and walk back out the door. His friend Marcus was staring at his butler, who was stifling a chuckle. What appeared to be the recently deceased Viscount Danfield was lying on the floor with pieces of pottery sprinkled around his head.

After years of acquaintance fostered through attending the same schools and the same endless society functions, Nick could well sympathize with the desire to hit Danfield over the head with whatever came to hand, yet he couldn’t help but wonder who was responsible for the attack. Marcus certainly appeared murderously angry, but his eyes glared daggers at the butler, who was showing no signs of sorrow at the loss of Danfield’s company in such a permanent manner. And as for the last person in the room…

The lady in the center of the fray made Nick forget everything else he’d seen. She was staring at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and something he couldn’t identify, couldn’t name—wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The butler finally broke the silence. “You requested earlier, my lord, that I show his lordship in immediately upon his arrival.”

“Would it not have been prudent to make sure our last guest had departed first?” Marcus asked.

“Perhaps if the two of you would refrain from rendering your guests immobile, such conflicts could be easily avoided,” Gibbons sniffed.

Nick’s head swiveled back and forth between the two combatants.

Before Marcus could retort, the gentleman on the floor decided to make a last, impressive rally. He struggled onto his elbows and groaned. “Wha-what happened?”

Nick waited to hear the explanation himself, but neither brother nor sister answered.

“You,” Danfield said, looking at the Lady Olivia. “You did this.” He remained propped on one elbow and used his free hand to massage the back of his head.

Every eye, including Nick’s, turned to look at the young woman who appeared to be trying to edge behind her brother. In spite of the seriousness of the moment, Nick felt a chuckle lodge in his throat. The dainty lady hardly looked capable of physical violence. But the evidence was rather irrefutable.

He didn’t know whether to applaud her handiness or say a prayer for his own well-being.

“It was a misunderstanding,” the young woman de fended.

“My…my mother will hear…” The words died as the butler slid his foot out to knock the man’s elbow from under him. Without the support, Danfield fell back to the floor, bumping his head again on the way.

The siblings and Nick turned to stare at the butler.

“He was starting to aggravate me,” the older man said with a shrug.

Marcus looked around at the occupants in the room. “Has everyone lost hold of their senses?”

“I still have mine, I think,” Nick said as he knelt over the viscount and raised the man’s eyelids one after another, looking at them intently.

At least he appeared to be still alive. “We should get him home before he wakes up again,” Nick suggested.

“I’ll have a carriage brought around,” the butler intoned, disappearing into the hallway.

After carrying the viscount to his carriage, Nick stood back while Marcus slipped several banknotes into the driver’s hands and whispered instructions. Seconds later, the coachman flicked the reins, and the conveyance rumbled down the road.

Nick dutifully followed the pair of siblings into a sitting room, curious to hear whatever explanation the lady had to offer. Not that he minded a bit of excitement, of course, provided he wasn’t the unconscious body on the floor.

Once in the room, Marcus’s sister, the Lady Olivia, curtsied to him again and began edging toward the door. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves. Surely, there is a great deal of catching up to be done.” She then practically ran toward the cracked opening and supposed safety.

“I think you should stay awhile.” Marcus’s voice stopped her hasty retreat.

“Whatever for?” Her tone suggested he would be wiser to simply let her walk away.

“Allow me first to make introductions.” Marcus turned toward Nick. “I hope you’ll forgive the rather odd circumstances you found upon your arrival and meet the cause of them, my sister, Lady Olivia.”

Nick took a few steps forward and bowed over her hand. “A pleasure,” he murmured, smiling to himself when she blushed.