Chapter Five
Olivia nodded and smiled at Lord and Lady Bromley as they passed, then slipped out the French doors onto the terrace. She moved into the shadows near the balustrade, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. Already, she could feel the tension draining away. She said a silent prayer of thanks that the weather had turned warmer in the past week.
A close intimate gathering of three or four people was much more to her liking, yet here she was at another of Amanda’s famous balls. It hadn’t been all bad. She’d been successful in her escape from the teeming mass of people who were too busy trying to impress each other to notice her absence.
Thank heavens.
Setting the glass of champagne she’d carried all night on the flagstones near her feet, she leaned against the stone barrier. She closed her eyes and let the cool air wash over her and tease the loose tendrils of her hair. She smiled, remembering how Amanda had declared her soiree would be an utter failure without Olivia’s presence. It was a shame her friend was such a miserable liar.
Voices and the sound of the door opening behind her pushed her down the stairs into the garden. She wasn’t ready to give up her solitude so soon. Wending her way around a box hedge, she sat near a small fountain. If she wasn’t already viewed as something of an oddity, she supposed sitting here alone as though waiting for a lover would set gossiping tongues to wagging.
But she didn’t care. Here was where she wanted to be. The nearly full moon shone almost as brightly as the sun. Crickets chirped, and occasionally the slight breeze ruffled the leaves. The silence was punctuated by the sound of laughter or conversation as people strolled past the hedge, but for the most part, it was quiet and peaceful.
And that was what she needed. She longed for peace, an escape from of the horrible memories of war. It was rare that she found it for more than a few minutes at a time. She’d learned to treasure the silence, to steal away from the prying questions, the pitying looks of the matrons who considered any woman unmarried as a creature to be ashamed of.
She sighed and stood. As much as she loathed the idea, she should return to the house. Amanda would send Lord Riverton after her if she disappeared for too long. And somehow, no matter how large the crush, her friend always knew when she left the ballroom in search of her ever-elusive peace.
Moving around the end of the hedge, Olivia dug through her reticule for her timepiece. Perhaps it was late enough for her to make her excuses and take her leave. Curling up with the latest Minerva Press novel seemed a much more preferable way to spend the remainder of the night.
Her fingers closed around the timepiece, and she tilted it toward the moon, using the light to read the watch face. Focusing on the hands, she stumbled to one side as someone bumped into her. A hand clasped her elbow, steadying her.
“Thank you,” she said as she watched the drunken gentleman who’d bumped into her continue down the path without so much as an apology.
She turned to her rescuer to express her thanks properly and froze. The one person who haunted her thoughts as easily as her battlefield memories stood before her.
“You!” She pulled her arm from Lazarus’ light grasp, determined not to notice how his hair shone blue-black in the moonlight, how different he looked in proper evening dress.
With a small smile playing about his lips, he bowed. “At your service, my lady.” His eyes sparkled, reminding her of the black Jet necklace the Duchess of Cornwall wore that very evening.
“I’m not a ‘Lady,’” she retorted. She couldn’t believe he had followed her here. Here to Amanda’s first ball of the Season.
Lazarus’ eyebrows rose. “You’re not?”
Then she realized what she had said and how he had deliberately mistaken her meaning. “I don’t hold the title of ‘Lady’ as you very well know.” She glanced up and down the path. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a low undertone.
“I am an invited guest.”
“Invited?” Olivia’s voice rose, and she quickly lowered it. “Invited by whom? Amanda, Lady Riverton, knows nothing about you.”
“Why do you assume I am dishonourable and would come where I am not invited?”
“Did you not leave me to find my own way home when I came to your warehouse to check on your wound? Surely, you of all people, know the dangers to a woman unaccompanied at night especially in that area of London. I don’t think there is much honour in that.”
Lazarus stiffened at the insult, but Olivia was past caring. He had risked her life that night, and she had barely managed to reach her home before suffering an attack of panic and fear that had felt suffocating in its intensity. Even now she felt her breath starting to come too quickly, her nerves sending signals to flee. No, she wouldn’t let him know how he affected her. He would only find a way to use it to his advantage. She drew in a deep breath and held it, before releasing it slowly. She had to remain calm.
“Prescott. There you are.” Lord Hargrove approached, a handkerchief dangling from his fingers. “It is hotter than Hades in that ballroom.” Realizing the other man wasn’t alone, he smiled. “I see you’ve made an acquaintance.” He came to an abrupt stop and looked between the two.
Lazarus stepped smoothly into the sudden silence. “Yes. We were introduced by—”
“A mutual friend,” Olivia finished. She curtseyed to Hargrove. “It is good to see you in company again, my lord.”
“Ah, yes. It is good to see you as well.” The earl lifted her hand to his lips with a distracted air. He turned to Lazarus. “I came to tell you I was taking my leave.” He looked at Olivia, then at Lazarus. “But perhaps I should stay a bit longer.”
“No need, my lord. No need at all.”
Hargrove opened his mouth then paused. “Very well,” he said after a long moment.
Though she didn’t see anything overt, Olivia was certain some sort of silent communication had occurred between the two men.
The earl turned toward her. “I shall bid you good night then and wish you a pleasant remainder of your evening.”
She curtseyed again. “Thank you, my lord.”
Hargrove nodded to his friend, then turned on his heel and headed back toward the terrace.
“What are you doing out here alone?” Lazarus asked as soon as the other man was out of earshot.
“What are you doing here at all? How are you and Lord Hargrove acquainted?” Olivia countered. “I told you to stay away from me.”
“Should I have allowed you to fall when you were knocked aside by one of your Society ‘gentlemen’?” he asked in a mocking tone.
“No. Thank you again.” She hated the thought of thanking him when he had her knocked unconscious and then played a part in her humiliation only a few days ago.
He smiled and rubbed the side of his finger against the edge of his lower lip, drawing her attention to the deep dimples in his cheeks. “I get the impression you don’t quite mean that.”
“Olivia!”
Turning at the sound of her name, Olivia tried to suppress a grimace. Amanda was headed straight toward them, determination in every stride.
“Someone you wish to avoid?” he asked.
“No. She is a friend.”
Very nearly my only friend.
“But your presence will be hard to explain.”
Lady Riverton drew to a halt at the edge of the path. “Olivia?” There was a wealth of question in the single word.
Realizing she still stood in the grass with Lazarus, Olivia stepped onto the path. “Amanda, your ball is a smashing success. I’m certain it will be the talk of all Society. Those who didn’t attend shall be green with envy.”
Lady Riverton ignored her and looked at Lazarus. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Olivia jumped into the breach. “Lady Riverton, may I present—”
“Mr. William Prescott, at your service,” Lazarus said as he raised her hand to his lips though his gaze never left Olivia’s.
“I’m certain your name wasn’t on the guest list.”
“Amanda,” Olivia gasped. She’d never known her friend to be rude.
“Forgive me, Lady Riverton.” Lazarus gave a slight bow. “I’m afraid I pressed Lord Hargrove into allowing me to accompany him this evening. He hasn’t been well since the death of his daughter.”
“You are acquainted with Lord Hargrove?” Amanda asked, her surprise registering in her voice.
“A friend of the family.”
“I hope you enjoy the rest of the ball.” She linked her arm through Olivia’s. “Come, there is something you must see.”
Rather than draw attention, Olivia allowed herself to be led away. “What is wrong?”
“You were standing in the shadows talking with a strange man, and you ask what is wrong?”
“We were properly introduced by Lord Hargrove.” She looked back over her shoulder. Lazarus, or should she think of him as Mr. Prescott now, followed at a discreet distance.
“There is hardly anything proper about Hargrove. He flaunts his mistresses all about Town,” Amanda snapped.
“That is just gossip. Do you honestly believe the way the man has been grieving for his daughter that he is keeping a mistress?”
“It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t true, you should know that. Look at all the things that are said about you that aren’t true. If you keep associating with the wrong type of people, your reputation will suffer even more.”
Olivia came to an abrupt halt. “The wrong type of people?” She tried to keep control of her temper. “Who exactly are the wrong type of people? Are they those people who must earn their living through trade, those people who exist on the fringes of Polite Society like Lord Hargrove or Mr. Prescott? Or people like me whom all you great members of the
Ton
look at with pity and treat as one of your own but then gossip about as soon as we are out of sight?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That is not at all what I meant.” Lady Riverton stepped closer and asked in a concerned voice, “Are you suffering nightmares again? Is that what this is all about?”
Olivia bit back the urge to scream in frustration. Amanda was a dear friend, but at times she was woefully self-absorbed. Hearing movement behind her, she spun around. “Do you always skulk about eavesdropping?”
“May I help you with something?” Amanda smiled, ever the hostess.
Lazarus gazed at Olivia for a long moment, then glanced at Lady Riverton. “I believe you already have.” He gave a slight nod of his head and climbed the stairs leading to the terrace.
Olivia watched him until he was swallowed up by the teeming mass of people populating the ballroom. She didn’t understand what he meant by his strange remark. How had Amanda helped him?
“Come inside. I believe you need a glass of sherry.” Her friend smiled and added in a laughing whisper, “I tell Riverton I use it for medicinal purposes only.”
She sighed and followed the younger woman inside. She hadn’t the heart to fight or to inform her that she had never used sherry for medicinal purposes. Whiskey, yes. Even brandy once, but sherry, never.
She’d no more than stepped through the French doors when the babble of numerous conversations rose and swelled. Telling herself she did not care if she was the subject of those conversations, she inhaled deeply. The smell of too many overheated and perfumed bodies assailed her senses, and she forced back a gag. Allowing Amanda to shepherd her through the crowd, she looked back over her shoulder and longed for the peace of the garden.
Lazarus stood near the doors. He raised his glass of champagne in a silent salute. She quickly looked forward again.
****
Will watched Olivia walk away. He’d ceased thinking of her as “Miss St. Germaine” since the night she’d come to his warehouse on the docks. The rather modest deep blue gown emphasized her figure. He forced his gaze upward away from her shapely hips. Her dark brown curls gleamed in the hundreds of candles in the chandeliers overhead. His fingers had itched to caress her hair much like the wind had done earlier when she first appeared on the terrace.
Realizing he was staring, he turned and scanned the crowd. It wouldn’t do to become distracted. There was no sign of His Grace, the Duke of Sandhurst. Will pushed down the familiar wave of anger that always threatened to erupt at the mere mention of the man’s name.
Perhaps an innocent question or two would lead to the duke’s whereabouts. It was a known fact that Sandhurst never declined an invitation from Lady Riverton. Her gatherings were full of the important people he would want to impress. It also allowed him to keep abreast of the latest gossip and scandal. And more importantly, made him privy to information to be used against his peers in due time.
Will wandered around the perimeter of the room, searching for the man he suspected in his sister’s disappearance. He stopped by the table of refreshments and exchanged his empty champagne flute for a glass of punch. Under the guise of taking a sip of the liquid, he gazed out over the crush of guests. He grimaced at the awful taste and set the glass back on the table, wishing he’d brought along his flask of brandy.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught the familiar figure of the duke. He turned quickly and plunged into the crowd, murmuring excuses as he passed. As he closed the distance between himself and his quarry, he slowed his pace. He had no wish to approach the man. Yet.
He halted a few feet away, willing the man to face him. The man turned. It wasn’t Sandhurst after all. Frustration ate at him, but he didn’t allow it to push him into making foolish mistakes. He would bide his time. He needed to keep his wits about him if he hoped to find Mary; he could wait a little longer.
He stood there long after the person he’d mistaken as Sandhurst walked away. The mass of people ebbed and flowed around him. Will moved in a slow circle, looking about him.
Olivia stood near Lord and Lady Riverton as they conversed with an elderly couple. His gaze nearly completed its circuit of the room when he froze. There near the entrance of the ballroom. Lord Sandhurst. There was no mistaking him this time, puffed up with self-importance, he smiled at a young girl who looked to be no more than sixteen and her very happy mother.