Miss Goldsleigh's Secret (19 page)

When Olivia glanced back, Reginald was gone. He would find her again, she was certain.

She was running out of time.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Who would have ever thought Olivia would come to hate shopping?

Penelope and Cassandra somehow felt the need to spend as much of their brother’s money as possible during each shopping excursion. How many pairs of gloves did a girl need?

“You’ll need opera-length ones for later this week,” Penelope reminded her. “And make sure the buttons are real pearl.”

“Lizzy Barker wore some last week made by a cheap milliner and Susan Everette-Jones found out. Everyone knew by noon the next day. It was dreadful,” Cassandra confided. “I felt so bad for her.”

Gloves. Bonnets. Stockings. Olivia had such a headache.

She should be grateful she was out of the house at all. It had been two days since Reginald had made his presence known to her in the park, and three since his appearance in the garden. There was no way Henry believed her story about falling. Only an idiot would have. But to his credit, he’d not said another word about it. Instead, he’d come up with excuse after excuse why no one could leave the house. She assumed he held them all gently hostage because he couldn’t think of any other way to keep her at home.

The girls had complained long and loud enough, and finally he’d relented with the requirement that the young Goliath of a footman accompany them for the day. Olivia hadn’t minded, even when she suspected Henry’s real reason for the burly, young escort.

Even as grateful as she was to be out of confinement, and for the massive size of the footman, Olivia was still paranoid about an attack from Reginald. She knew he wouldn’t try anything in front of witnesses—he wasn’t that stupid, but nevertheless, she’d tucked the accursed gun into her reticule before leaving the house. Honestly, she didn’t know how to shoot it or reload it and the thing terrified her, but she still felt safer knowing she had it with her.

“Isn’t this the most adorable bonnet, Olivia?” Cassie tied pink ribbons in a large, floppy bow under her chin.

Olivia smiled and nodded and tried to appear like she cared.

Her bruises were starting to fade, although that meant instead of being mostly black, there were yellows and greens, making the whole mottled mess uglier than ever. The pain had faded more than the colors, and that was a relief. Regardless of the fact that there was no way Henry believed her story about the fall, his affection for her had not waned. There had not been a repeat of the affair under the tree, but it wasn’t from lack of desire. Henry had checked on her often, coming to her room each night after the household had gone to bed, ostensibly to assure himself she was healing, but after a cursory glance at the bruises, he generally found a better use for her raised skirt or open bodice. The thought of Henry’s warm, sure hands molding her body to his for a passionate kiss or a sensual caress had her blood heating and an increasingly more familiar dampness between her legs.

“Try the yellow one on, Cass,” Penelope suggested and handed her sister a straw bonnet with yellow silk posies.

Every time she fooled herself into believing she could have her happy ending, Reginald appeared like he did in the park. She couldn’t afford to get any more attached to Henry than she already was, and she was nearing the point of dangerously attached.

There was nothing she wanted more than to stay with Henry and his family. She could learn to relish shopping and worrying about the mundane and trivial matters such as glove buttons if she didn’t have such life–and-death concerns hanging over her. Instead, wedding plans swirled about her head unabated, plans she couldn’t bring herself to permit much excitement for since the wedding would likely never take place.

A cornflower-blue velvet hat with pale pink rosebuds plopped on her head and startled her out of her reverie.

“I knew this was perfect for you,” Penelope gushed, but then looked at Olivia quizzically. “Are you quite all right?”

“Of course,” Olivia said.

“I ask because you seem very distant. Admittedly I haven’t planned many weddings, this being the first actually, but I always thought the bride would be, oh I don’t know, more present, more excited.”

Olivia smiled at her perceptive friend. “I am feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to love Henry already, you’ve not even known him a week, but I do hope at least you like him.” Penny took Olivia’s hand and led her to a corner away from the counter and any curious ears. “My opinion may be skewed because I’m his sister, but perhaps my endorsement is better than most as I know all his wretched faults. For example, he’s always calling us horrible pet names like Curly Sue and turtle pie and lizard breath. He’s dreadfully overprotective and is forever frightening away suitors. He thinks he knows everything because he’s a man. Oh, there are so many wretched things about him, I hardly believe there are so many good things, too. We may speak sharply to him about his grousing, but he’s very generous with allowances and never really balks at our modiste bills. He grumbles, but he always provides a faithful escort to every function, no matter how dull. Oh dear, now I’ve made him sound like a good hunting dog or something.”

Olivia laughed, a real laugh, the first in perhaps days. “Oh, Penny, you don’t have to convince me. He isn’t the reason for my reticence. I think he’s a wonderful, handsome, generous man, and I would love to marry him.” And she would. With all her heart. If it was at all possible.

“Then why are you holding back?”

What could she possibly say? Nothing. She couldn’t tell her anything. Here Penny was trying to sell her on the merits of her brother, and all the while the unworthy one was Olivia herself.

“I’m afraid, I guess,” Olivia confessed. That part was true. “I can’t thank you enough for being such a good friend to me. Someday I hope I can repay you.”

“Goodness knows I don’t need another sister.” Penny pulled Olivia into an embrace, “but I’m so excited you’re going to be one anyway. Now I’m adding that hat to the packages and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Sister.”

Olivia stepped outside to get a breath of air. She was desperate for a moment alone. The shop was stuffy, and she was suffocating under the weight of all her lies and half-truths. She rubbed her temples and inhaled. It mattered not that the air smelled of coal smoke and horse droppings. She inhaled deeply, expanding her lungs and exhaling through her nose, even as she pinched the bridge and made an effort to calm herself. She closed her eyes and leaned her back and head against the brick façade of the milliner’s shop.

Someone yanked her elbow hard and pulled her through the crowd into the alleyway between the buildings.

“Your little friends are very pretty.” Reginald backed her several feet into the darkness of the dead-end alley. He stood between her and the street, effectively blocking her exit and the odds of someone seeing her behind him.

This is it. It’s all over. I’m so sorry, Henry.

He could have her right now if he wanted to, but Reginald wasn’t especially fond of getting dirty, and the alley was filthy, even on Bond Street. Besides, he wasn’t actually prepared to take her today. He didn’t want to snatch her. He could have done that anytime. He liked the idea that she be forced to make the decision to come to him of her own free will. He gripped her upper arm, wrapping his fingers around her thin biceps until his thumb and fingers met. He’d leave another bruise, and that idea made him smile. He always enjoyed leaving a memento for ladies to think about later. His cock stirred to life when he recalled the bruise he surely left on her tit the other day. He wanted to see it. Right now. In this alley. The thought that a passerby might espy the two of them in the alley with his hands on her excited him more.

“How are you, Livvy?” He reached a hand to fondle the breast he’d pinched the other day. “Did I leave you a souvenir?”

Olivia squirmed and slapped at him, but he held her arm tight. “No,” she lied. Reginald knew it because was a lying bitch.

“I want to see your tit.” Saying the word out loud, with the help of his vivid imagination, sent his blood pumping.

“No,” she said again and tried to pull away from him. Her expression was wary and—ah, there it was, his favorite—afraid. His cock lengthened down his leg. “My lord, let me go.”

“Good girl,” he mocked, “you remembered to address me properly. I knew you weren’t too stupid to learn. After all, you are smarter than that hunting bitch of your father’s, right? By the way, I shot that bloody nuisance of a dog.” He was rewarded by the offhand remark with tears in her eyes. “If you’d been home, you could have buried her. But since you ran off, I left the body in the woods for the animals to scavenge. So much misery could have been avoided if you weren’t so childish and stupid.”

“What do you want, my lord?” She maintained her air of willfulness, but he would break her of that soon.

Reginald sneered at her. “Right now I want to see your fucking tit.” He kept his voice controlled while he issued the order, but he was on the verge of losing that tenuous thread.

Olivia emitted an indignant gasp and yanked on her captured arm. When he wrenched it back to his side, she used her free hand to whop at his head with her reticule. He snatched the velvet bag, surprised at its weight, and tossed it to the ground behind them. “Either you undo the buttons and show me, or I’ll rip them off when I do it.”

Olivia swallowed hard and shook her head. “Go to Hades, my lord.” She finished with the honorific in a sickeningly sweet voice that grated his spine.

“Stop playing games with me, Olivia.” He pushed her alongside the brick of the milliner’s shop and shoved his hips against her so she could feel how ready he was for her. The girl had the gall to attempt pushing him away. Reginald grabbed her wrists and wrenched them behind her between her and the wall, holding them there with one hand. She made a pretty, whimpering moan and arched her back, displaying her breasts for his delectation.

With his free hand, he started in on the first button. He glanced at Olivia to find her staring at him, her gaze full of venom.

“Let go of me,” she demanded and tried to twist away. He shoved her against the wall and ground his hips against her again. Sweet Jesus, he was going to come in his pants.

“Olivia,” a feminine voice called from the street.

“Miss Goldsleigh,” this time a masculine voice called out, but that call came from farther down the street.

Olivia inhaled and opened her mouth as if to yell. He slammed his palm across her lips to shut her up, and her head hit the brick wall with a satisfying thud.

“Fuck!” he blurted and pulled away from her. He wouldn’t have time to get what he wanted today. “Look at me,” he demanded. Olivia opened her eyes and glared at him, but at least she was unable to sass back with his hand over her mouth. Her breath exhaled in acrid puffs through her nose.

Soon. Very soon.

“One week, Livvy, one week. You come to me and we’ll go home where you belong.”

The bitch had the nerve to defy him with a shake of her head. He wrenched her imprisoned arms a little higher, and she made a muffled cry. The throbbing of his cock was painful at this point.

“If you don’t do as you are told, I will make you very sorry,” he promised. Unable to turn her head, she looked away from him down the alley towards the street where the sounds of her friends were calling for her. “Do you doubt me?”

She stared back at him with animosity. If she knew how her antagonism affected him… God help him, how he wanted to break her. “What’s the name of that pretty sister of his? Penelope? Imagine her ending up like that fucking dog after I’m done. I’ll make her cry out first so you can hear how much she likes it.”

When she tried to bite his hand, he moved it from her mouth to her throat, but still she defied him. “You leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this.”

“One week. Otherwise I promise to come for her.”

Reginald let her loose and strode swiftly to the exit at the far end of the alley. God dammit. Now he’d have to find a whore to do something about his aching cock.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of the pretty Penelope.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Something was wrong with Olivia.

Henry had asked his sisters, but they didn’t know anything and suggested he was being silly. As far as he knew, his family knew less than he did about the dangers Olivia was in. Penelope suggested he give Olivia time, implying that she was nervous, but Henry had a nagging feeling he didn’t have time. He also interviewed the footman he’d sent with them to Bond Street, but all he learned after peppering the man with a million questions was an anxious footman. He did uncover one curious tidbit of information. Apparently, there were several minutes the servant couldn’t account for Olivia’s whereabouts.

Henry resisted the urge to ask Olivia about the incident herself. Whatever she was hiding terrified her. He’d figure it out, sooner or later, but later would most likely be too late.

He stood at the bay window in his study, staring out at nothing, paying no attention to the fine carriages and hackneys rolling up and down the street headed off to whatever nightly entertainment their occupants had in store. A rap on the door sounded, and the giant butler entered.

“My lord, a packet has arrived for you.” Siegfried laid a thick envelope on the surface of the desk. “May I get anything more for you?”

“Where is Miss Goldsleigh?”

“She is still in her room, my lord,” Siegfried noted. “There is a footman in the hall outside the door as you ordered. I also took the liberty of stationing one of the duke’s men outside her window as well, as a precaution.”

Henry nodded at the butler. Good thinking.”

The packet was indeed the one he’d been waiting for.

Sealed inside, a detailed report from his man outlined where Olivia’s cousin, Reginald Goldsleigh, had grown up, attended school, and lived up to the time he’d inherited his uncle’s title. Additionally, the report suggested several allegations of cover-ups and lingering rape charges of a young woman employed at his school during the time he attended. The more Henry read through the report, the more Reginald’s history seemed spotty at best and nefarious at its worst. There was nothing that necessarily confirmed Olivia’s account of what happened to her or Warren, but there certainly was nothing in it to recommend him as a decent fellow either. Unfortunately, Henry was left with as many questions as answers.

Henry withdrew his watch, checked the time, then snapped closed the cover and shoved it back in his pocket. He had already finished dressing for the evening and, bored and frustrated, he wandered down to his study to wait for the ladies instead of pacing in the foyer. He didn’t remember what was on the agenda, but it would be a waste of time better spent sorting out this mess. The one consolation in the evening’s whole pending nightmare was that since the surprise announcement of his engagement, he was no longer stalked like a wounded, limping gazelle by a pride full of society mamas.

Nevertheless, he’d have to keep a close eye on his fiancée. Henry did not like the prospect of further surprises from Cousin Reginald. Dammit, if she would just open up about whatever she was keeping so secret. How could he make her trust him? Hadn’t he been more than generous with his trust, bringing her into his house, accepting her story without reproach, and believing—or at least feigning belief in—her ridiculous lies as to the origins of her latest injuries? Blast it all, he’d even volunteered to marry her to protect her from the bastard.

I think I’m due a little trust here. Overdue, actually.

Well, at least she’d made no more mention of running away to America or the Continent. Olivia was a smart, brave girl. Surely she’d see the idiocy of running away from the few people who sought to protect her.

Henry checked his watch again and levered himself up from his chair with a sigh. A musicale, he recalled, that was tonight’s engagement. God have mercy on his soul.

Cassandra and Penelope were both standing in the entryway when he turned the corner.

“Are you all ready, my plump little tangerines?”

“Tangerines?” Cassie narrowed in annoyance. “Who’s plump?”

“What is wrong with you?” his oldest sister asked.

Henry shook his head at Penelope but let a smile spread across his face. Nothing improved his mood like a quick spar with his sisters, and nothing guaranteed an argument like a creative endearment. “Nothing’s wrong with me, peach pit. What’s wrong with you?”

“No one else in the entire world calls people such strange names,” Penelope advised him.

Cassandra joined in, which made him grin wider. “Really. She’s right. And we’ve told you repeatedly we don’t like it.”

Henry shrugged and feigned innocence. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“You’re almost intolerable,” Penny informed him. “Honestly, I don’t know why we bother to put up with you at all.”

“Because I’m devilishly handsome and because your modiste bills would kill a less-devoted brother.” He pecked a kiss on his sister’s cheek as a peace offering. Penny snorted but was mollified. “Where are the others?” Just the three of them milled around the foyer.

“Mother should be down in a minute. Aunt Evelyn, too. Olivia, the poor thing, has another headache and begged off.” Cassie volunteered all this information while distractedly fiddling with the clasp of her bracelet.

“What do you mean,
begged off
?”

Penny shrugged. “She’s had a couple of very difficult days, weeks even, Henry. I’m sure she’s quite tired, and you know about her headaches.”

“Did she go to bed?”

“I guess so.” Penny shrugged. “Cass, did Olivia go to bed?”

“What?” Cassie looked up from her wrist and her jewelry. “Oh, I guess so.”

Henry started up the stairs. It sounded like a load of horse crap to him. He had visions of Olivia shimmying down a drainpipe. If that woman wasn’t wearing her night rail and tucked into bed, he was going to kill her. After a cursory knock on the door, he barged into her room, expecting to find her with one foot out the window.

“Henry!” Olivia sounded surprised. Of course she was surprised. Who wouldn’t be when a crazed marquess barged into their room?

“I hear you’re not feeling well.” His tone had started out full of acid disbelief, but Henry felt a bit idiotic now. She appeared exactly as one would expect of someone who’d begged off a social engagement due to a migraine. While she wasn’t in bed, she was wearing a dressing gown and had been half reclined on a settee with a cool, damp strip of toweling on her forehead before his rude invasion.

“Yes. Fortunately they say the best cure for a headache is loud, thinly veiled accusations,” she replied, petulant. He deserved that.

The woman was owed an apology. Henry made as if to sit on the opposite end of the settee, so Olivia curled her legs up to her bottom. He settled into the plush seat and stretched her legs across his lap. “I’m sorry, sweetling.” He made his face truly repentant, not the fake repentant he used on his sisters. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Olivia relaxed back against the arm of the sofa. “No, it has to pass of its own accord. I took a sleeping draught.” She gestured to an empty glass on a side table.

Her face was wan, and there was a dullness in her eyes Henry recognized as a true reflection of pain. “When did it come on? Is there anything that sets them off?”

“Not really,” she answered softly, as if even her voice was too loud. “Sometimes bright light or stresses will bring them on, or maybe if I’m exceptionally tired.” She closed her eyes and exhaled.

“What happened today, Olivia?” Henry asked, his voice soft but insistent. When an answer wasn’t forthcoming, he rubbed his knuckles along the soles of her feet, applying relaxing pressure. She didn’t answer, but seemed to recline more into the softness of the settee. “I know something occurred that has upset you again.” He massaged her insteps, turned the ankles, and applied gentle pressure to her toes. In lieu of an answer she gave a soft exhale signaling she’d finally relaxed into slumber. He sat for several moments watching her rest. Her head tilted to the side, leaning against the back of the settee. Hair tumbled free from the chignon at the back of her head and hung in disarray around her shoulders, framing her peaceful face. The skin under her eyes appeared darker than it had been two days before. Still, she looked a thousand times better than when he scooped her up on the street and brought her home, but whatever was troubling her now was definitely taking its toll.

Henry slid an arm behind her back and the other under her knees, shifting her onto his lap so he could carry her to the bed. She sighed, snuggled her head under his chin, and lifted an arm to circle behind his neck. The loose sleeve of her dressing gown slid up her raised arm, and the feel of her skin on his neck and the soft exhalations of breath fluttering over his throat made him wish he could lie down on the bed with her. Not to make love to her, but to comfort her aching, tired body and exhausted soul. He wanted to enfold her in his arms for the night and swear to her that she’d be safe, so safe she could cease worrying and sleep herself into wellness.

Olivia’s arm lingered at his neck in the loose embrace even as he laid her on the coverlet of the bed. The silk sleeve of her dressing gown pooled around her shoulder. Henry smiled and reached behind him to clasp her hand in his. He brought it around to his mouth and kissed her palm and smoothed his hand down the length of her arm. Her skin was softer even than the silk of her gown. He stroked the inside of her elbow with his thumb and found a new bruise blossoming just above the bend in her arm.

This time the bluish marks made a clear impression of fingers and a thumb wrapped around her arm. God dammit, Reginald had gotten to her again. Where? When? The five minutes she had been missing while shopping? He was certain her tormentor was Reginald. Who else could it be? When he saw that bastard cousin of hers, Henry was going to relish leaving a few bruises of his own, that was if he didn’t kill him first. He couldn’t wait for Olivia to tell him what he needed to know to protect her, and the precautions he’d taken up to this point to protect her weren’t working. Henry was going to have to step up his plans and find Reginald first.

Olivia slept for only two hours. Sometimes her migraines were like that. The confusion and vision problems would ease, leaving her to deal with the nausea and mind-boggling pain but no ability to sleep.

The house was quiet with the rest of the family away at social obligations, but she didn’t leave her bed. Instead, she lay in the darkness and allowed guilt and self-pity to consume her.

Reginald’s words repeated over and over in her mind – one week, one week, one week. Then he was coming for Penny. If she had thought the man was unbalanced before, his behavior had escalated to terrifying now. She didn’t have any doubt that he would do what he threatened.

Although it had been her first instinct, the more she sorted through the options, the more it became clear she couldn’t tell Henry. The man deserved to be made aware of the specific threat to his family, except that Olivia knew he would insist on trying to handle the situation. Reginald was not one to be
handled
. What would stop her cousin from killing Henry if Reginald thought Olivia truly cared for her fiancé? She was worried about Penny, but the idea of Henry dying trying to defend her made her want to vomit.

There were only two solutions. The first – giving in to Reginald and going with him—was unthinkable. The only alternative she could see that would protect Henry, Warren and the rest of the family was to leave, flee London as far as she could go. If she wasn’t present to be punished by Reginald torturing the people she loved, she believed her cousin would leave the Cavendish’s alone. It would no longer be fun for Reginald, and that was what drove his diseased mind.

She allowed herself to cry, pitiful tears of heartbreak and loss for the life she’d never have with Henry.

There were six days to get out of London. She’d need to sell the gun and get to America – alone.