Six Degrees of Scandal (18 page)

They headed back toward the Anchor and their carriage, walking so briskly they were almost running. The wind howled and tugged at their clothing, and Olivia kept as close to Jamie as she could without slowing her stride. “And his invitation to tea?”

“If he has nothing to tell us, why would he ask us back?”

“Because he's enjoying the attention.”

“Possibly,” Jamie conceded. “But at the moment he's our main hope.”

There it was in words: they were running out of clues. If Mr. Pike was merely toying with them, it hardly mattered. They had nowhere else to turn.

Jamie must have sensed her thoughts. He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. “Either way, this is not the end,” he said, cupping one gloved hand around her cheek. “It may take us
a while to find a new possibility, but we shan't despair.”

She leaned into his hand, and for a moment the wind seemed to stop. “You're so confident . . .”

He grinned, his teeth white in the darkness, then gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth. “And you should be, too. Between the two of us, we're more than a match for Lord Clary—or Captain Pike.”

J
amie had taken many risks in his life, but never one where so much hung on the outcome.

On one side, he was pleased—elated—that his gamble in the pub had paid off. Charlie Pike was exactly the sort of fellow he'd hoped to flush out, and he would have bet heavily that Pike knew far more about Henry's activities than he'd let on so far.

On the other side, though, just because he knew didn't mean he would tell them. Understandably reticent, Pike might tell them the whole operation had ceased at Henry's death, whether or not it was true. He might give them another clue, another lead, and following it would take time Jamie worried they didn't have. And if Pike warned them not to stir waters that had gone quiet, Jamie didn't know what he'd do.

When he bet on a horse, it was only money at stake. When he traveled off the beaten path, he felt able to defend himself. When he invested, he had plenty of time to investigate and weigh his options, as well as negotiate a reasonable bargain.

This time, though, he had few options and even
less time. Jamie knew with horrible certainty that nothing would ever persuade Lord Clary that Olivia couldn't lead him to the treasure. He probably believed she had it already. And Jamie didn't doubt that Clary would be all too pleased to vent his frustration on her in numerous vile ways if she didn't give him
something
.

And while Jamie thought Clary was ultimately after money, the viscount was also motivated by a sinister obsession with Olivia herself. He had a strong foreboding that it would take more than a missing treasure for her to be free of the man.

He told her none of that. By the time they returned to the inn, she had begun to believe Pike did mean to help them in some crucial, even if small, way. There would be time enough to worry about Clary once they had the treasure in hand. For tonight they could focus on that first pressing matter, and each other. He took her to bed and held her close. She fit so perfectly against him. She responded to his kiss as if the last decade had blown away like the vestiges of a bad dream. She forgave him. She trusted him again—perhaps could even love him again. Jamie held her in the dark and felt his heart twist to think that he might not be worthy of that—again.

T
he next morning broke cold and blustery, wind rattling the panes of the windows, along with infrequent bursts of rain. Olivia woke up when Jamie slid from the bed. She heard the light crack as he broke the ice in the washbasin, smiled at the muffled curse he uttered while splashing his face, and then snuggled deeper into the mattress as she listened to him stoke the fire. By the time he got back into the bed, she could feel the first tendrils of warmth from the hearth—which did not erase the shock of his chilled hands as he reached for her. “You're cold,” she gasped.

“Not for long,” he whispered, slipping his hand inside the loose neckline of her nightgown. Olivia squeaked as his palm found her breast. Her nipple surged under his cold fingers. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was!” She writhed in his arms, though not in any real attempt to get away from him.

“Then let me be the first to wish you good morning, my love.” He nipped her earlobe between his teeth and Olivia shivered, but not from the cold this time. His knee nudged hers, and she parted
her legs at once. He wrapped himself around her, his erection hard and insistent at her back.

When he tugged up the hem of her nightgown, she started to roll over, but he kept her pinned in place. “Don't move,” he breathed against her shoulder. “I like the look of you this way, still soft and dreamy with sleep. Let me imagine you asleep so I can wake you properly . . .”

The first touch of his fingers between her thighs was so gentle she caught her breath. If she had been asleep, it wouldn't have disturbed her. Again his fingertip dipped, gliding lightly through the dark curls. Olivia didn't know how he could think she looked soft with sleep now; she felt wide awake and tense with anticipation.

As his fingers slowly teased her, his mouth whispered kisses across the back of her neck. Part of her wanted to melt with happiness at the worship, and part of her wanted to push her hips against his hand for more intense pleasures. Every time she shifted, though, he held her still, trapped in the cocoon of his arms and legs.

She quivered as his fingers finally touched her, still lightly but with purpose. He groaned, his breath hot against her skin. “Already wet and hot . . .”

“Yes,” she whimpered as he stroked, far too leisurely. “Please, Jamie . . .”

He laughed softly. “Patience, my sleeping beauty.”

Olivia closed her eyes and gave in. He wanted to wake her; if only he knew that he already had. She'd finally roused from the deadened state that had dulled her heartbreak. It felt as if she'd been
wrapped in a dozen blankets to shield herself from feeling anything, and in a matter of days Jamie had peeled them away. Even with the threat of Clary chasing them, even with the shock of discovering Henry's criminal acts, the world had an unwonted sharpness and clarity now. It felt as if she could see and hear and think more clearly; all her senses were keener.

Especially when he was touching her. When she began to tremble from the delicate teasing of his fingers, Jamie shifted. “So beautiful,” he sighed. “So bewitching.” He nudged her knee farther forward and then his erection was against her, pressing inside her. Olivia arched her back and he sank deeper. This time his breathing stopped, and for a moment neither moved, caught in the moment of being so completely joined.

With a growl Jamie pulled her thigh back, lifting her leg up until he could hook it over his. He paused to lick his fingers, then resumed stroking her as his hips began a hard, driving rhythm against hers. Again she tried to twist, and his fingers bit into her shoulder as he pulled her against him, until her body was arched and open. The bed ropes creaked as he surged forward, again and again, until tears ran down her cheeks. She could only grip handfuls of the bedclothes as a whirlwind built within her. She tried to hold it back, tried to wait for him to join her, but he refused to allow it. He sucked at the skin behind her ear and he plucked at her nipple, all while his cock thrust inside her and his wicked, insistent fingers wrung a brilliant, almost blinding climax from her.

She broke with a long, gasping sigh and a
tremor that shook her body. Jamie barely paused as he grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under her hips before he rolled her over onto her stomach. Still buried inside her to the hilt, he took hold of her hips and began thrusting hard and deep. Still reeling, Olivia tucked her hands beneath her chin and let him ride her. Every jolt of his body into hers set off another tremor inside her. And when he finally stiffened and groaned in his own release, a truly dreamy smile curved her lips.

Jamie bent over her. His lips touched her shoulder, and she realized he was trembling. “Good morning,” he said in a ragged voice. “I trust you're well and truly awake.”

Olivia smiled and stretched beneath him. “And if I'm not?”

He was quiet a moment, then gave a raspy laugh. “I would try again. In a few minutes.” He eased away and collapsed onto the mattress beside her, facedown on the pillow.

She flipped onto her side and scooted closer to him, smoothing the damp hair back from his forehead. Her heart gave an unsteady thump at the faint smile that appeared on his face when she touched him.
I love you
, she thought.
Always have and always will
. It must be written on her face, shining in her eyes. Love felt like a cozy fire in her breast, warming her from the inside out.

But as had been the case for too long in her life, shadows hovered at the edges. She and Jamie weren't any ordinary couple, free to fall in love and live a carefree happy life. Not yet, and perhaps not ever.
It would kill me if Clary hurt him because of me.

As if he could hear her, his eyes fluttered open. For a moment they lay side by side, gazing into each other's eyes.

“Don't be anxious,” he said softly.

Olivia rolled her eyes sheepishly. “You read me too well.”

He moved one shoulder in something resembling a shrug. “You're my favorite subject to study.”

That could hardly be true, after the last ten years. She looked away, trailing her fingers over his back, broad and strong. “I never could keep a secret from you.”

“Why must you?” He rolled up on one elbow and caught her hand, bringing it to his lips.

“A lady must always have her secrets.”

Instead of grinning at her lightly spoken reply, his face grew grim. “Right. I suppose we all do.”

Olivia waited, puzzled, but he said no more. “Do you think Mr. Pike will be helpful?” she ventured.

“I—” Jamie stopped. His expression was serene, but Olivia knew him too well. He was keeping something from her. “I certainly hope so.”

“I hope so, too,” she said firmly. “But if we never find Henry's lost treasure, I will blame Henry—not you. If Lord Clary continues to hound me, I will blame him—not you. If Mr. Pike is only toying with us . . .” She forced a smile. “I shan't be surprised.”

Jamie let out his breath. “I don't know what we'll do next, if he can tell us nothing.”

Olivia paused. It was the first time he'd admitted doubt about their chances. But of course he must
have been making those calculations all along, she realized a moment later. He simply hadn't shared them with her. Even though his unflagging confidence had buoyed her through the last several days, she was glad that he had been honest.

And perhaps she could pay him back. She kissed his knuckles again, then released his hand. “I feel lucky today. Don't you?”

Cautious surprise flickered in his eyes. “I do.”

“Let us believe Mr. Pike will help us. If he can't, we'll worry about that tonight.”

The smile that slowly spread over his face was wondrous: fierce, proud, and determined. “We will.” He kissed her once, hard, and tossed back the blankets. “Let's be on our way.”

B
y the time they had dressed and eaten, the storm had blown out to sea. The wind was still brisk but the sun began to emerge from the clouds as they set off in the carriage. With hot bricks underfoot and Olivia's hand tucked into his pocket for warmth, Jamie drove out of the inn yard and headed up the coast toward the far side of Broadstairs. It was a small village, but it had taken them a while to walk from Pike's stone cottage to the tavern. He retraced their steps, hoping fervently that today would bear fruit.

Mr. Pike opened the door in his banyan, a matching cap on his head. “Come in, come in! Forgive my informality, my old bones were cold last night.” He slapped his hip and grinned, but Jamie noticed he didn't have a trace of limp.

The table was already laid in the parlor where they'd sat last night. Pike had obviously been waiting for them. He turned to Olivia. “Would you mind preparing the tea, my dear? I find a lady always does it ever so much better than any man could hope to.”

She gave him a twinkling smile. “Of course, sir.” Today she wore her blue dress, the one that made her eyes glow and set off her dark hair and fair skin. Pike looked as dazzled as Jamie felt. If he got her into silks and jewels, Olivia would set London on its ear.

“It will be a fine day for sailing,” Pike said as Olivia served the tea. “Are you a sailing man, Mr. Collins?”

“Only for sport.” Jamie didn't add that he considered sailing a summer sport.

Pike nodded philosophically. “Better than naught, I suppose. Spent my life upon the sea; most everyone in Broadstairs has. I never saw what made a man want to stay on a farm. The earth is the same, day after day. The ocean, now . . . The ocean is a new world every time you venture out, calm one day, fierce and dangerous the next.”

“Were you ever in grave danger?” Olivia asked. She gazed at Mr. Pike with rapt interest, and Jamie could almost see the older man puff up under her regard. No doubt about it, Pike was a lonely old chap with an eye for the ladies.

“Every time, Mrs. Townsend, every time!” He winked. “That's the appeal of it.”

For the next hour he regaled them with tales of his adventures on the sea, although without
ever quite saying what business took him to sea. Olivia poured several cups of tea, as if to keep his tongue well lubricated, and gradually enough details crept in to assure Jamie that their guess was right: Pike had been a smuggler. An enthusiastic and crafty one, from his telling.

The time he dove overboard to secure loose barrels. The time he ended up swinging over the ocean on a rope in a storm when they needed to haul down a sail in quick order. The way he described the customs men who would sometimes board his ship and harass his men. “Not a brain among the lot of those revenue chaps,” Pike said disdainfully. “Idiots all, fond only of causing trouble.”

Olivia nodded earnestly. “Oh yes. I read in the newspapers about a man who outsmarted the revenue men so often, they stopped arresting him.”

Pike chuckled. “That would likely be Joss Snelling. A luckier chap you'll never meet. Once, the revenuers set a trap for him. Left their horses at the top of the cliff and went down to lie in wait at the bottom. Old Joss come ashore to find they was buried when the cliff gave way, and he could walk home unhindered.” He shook his head admiringly. “He'll outwit the devil himself, when Beelzebub comes for his soul.”

“He's still smuggling?” Olivia said in surprise. A horrified look crossed her face, as if she hadn't meant to say it aloud.

“'Till the day he dies, most like,” said Pike comfortably. “It's bred in us in Thanet.”

Ask him now
, Jamie thought suddenly. He fixed his gaze on Olivia and tried to communicate it to
her. She had Pike eating out of her hand. The right question now could unlock the mystery . . .

She caught his eye. In a charged second, a whole conversation seemed to pass between them. It was another gamble, Jamie knew, but they had run out of safe bets.

Olivia wet her lips before looking up at Mr. Pike again. “Right to the bone, Mr. Pike?”

“Aye, Mrs. Townsend.”

“Then you must know something about the object I seek.”

Jamie realized he was holding his breath. Mr. Pike was reclining in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach, the genial expression still fixed on his face. For what seemed like an hour, he simply sat there, smiling at Olivia. “I wonder, have you got a plan for what you'll do with this lost item if you find it?”

“I want to return it to the rightful owner.”

He made a face and flipped one hand. “Some Frog?”

“Perhaps a Frenchman,” she acknowledged. “Perhaps an Italian, or even an Austrian. The Duke of Wellington says England's honor compels us to return what Bonaparte took.”

“I don't support returning anything to a Frog,” he warned. “Trophies of war, I say. The duke can say what he wants; it's our men what bled and died fighting his war, and I'll not be handing back anything won, fair or not.”

Olivia drew an unsteady breath. Jamie could see the pulse pounding at the base of her throat. He tried to hide his own anxiety, even though his muscles felt so taut he wasn't sure he would be able
to move. “I fear that if I don't find it, the man pursuing me won't stop until he has it. He deserves it far less than any Frenchman alive, I promise you. He already tried to kill my friend . . .” She glanced at the portrait above the fire. “Penelope looks very like your Mary, sir, with beautiful blond hair and blue eyes, and an indomitable spirit.”

Pike didn't look at the painting. “And how do you know that you'll be able to do as you say? How can you be certain it will solve your problem with this unworthy scoundrel?”

“If I return it to the rightful owner, Lord Clary can never get it.”

Oh no. They had agreed not to use the viscount's name. Olivia realized her mistake at the same moment Jamie did. Her color faded, and he saw her fingers curl into fists in her lap.

“Clary,” repeated Pike. His expression didn't change, but there was a note of satisfaction in his voice.