“He’s a concerned friend?” Olivia asked hopefully.
Jessica rolled her eyes heavenward. “You’re in your chemise. In
bed
.”
“Well, goodness, Jessica… There isn’t much of a chance he’ll compromise me in my condition. Not to mention that I’m sure I look a fright.”
Jessica crossed her arms. “You can’t fool me, Saint
Olivia. Though I think it’s high time I stop calling you a saint.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, I believed it was impossible for you to attempt to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes. You’re honest to a fault. And yet you’re trying to hide it from us.”
“Trying to hide
what
from you?” The headache stabbed endlessly between her eyes.
“Your affection for Lord Hasley.”
“Of course I feel affection for him. We’ve become good friends.”
“Oh, indeed? Well, do you know what? I think your feelings for him surpass friendship, dear sister.”
Do they?
“Yes, I think they do.”
Olivia blinked at Jessica, then realized she’d spoken the words aloud.
“I’ve seen the way your gaze trails after him. I’ve seen the way you light up whenever he’s near.” Jessica smiled. “And do you know what? I approve. I like Lord Hasley.”
Olivia wished she could think. She wished the fever would allow her to focus. But, as it usually did, it took her faculties in random snatches.
Max.
They’d been talking about Max.
She’d missed him. How long had she been sick this time? It seemed like forever.
“You’re tired,” her sister murmured. “Get some rest, Liv.”
Olivia closed her eyes and allowed dreams of Maxwell Buchanan to take her away.
M
ax leaned forward in his chair. “Your sisters say you’re much better.”
“I am, thank you.” Sitting up in her bed, surrounded by pillows, Olivia took Max’s hand. It was the fourth day after the sickness had assaulted her body, but last night her fever had broken, Olivia hoped, for the final time. She felt weak, but better than usual, and happy. She’d defeated it yet again, and soundly this time.
And the way Max was behaving toward her made her feel even better. There was a softness in his eyes and a gentleness in his touch that soothed her worries about how he’d react to her now that he knew about her illness.
“The countess told me your fevers usually last longer than this.”
“It might be the change in weather. I think England might be a better climate for me than Antigua was.”
“I hope that’s true.” Squeezing her hand, he smiled at her, but there was a hesitation, a hint of pain, in that
smile. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Why did you keep this from me, Olivia?” When she didn’t answer right away, he blew out a harsh breath. “Never mind. I know I shouldn’t ask. I know I have no right to demand anything from you, including personal information. Yet…”
She saw his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed.
She squeezed his hand. “I did want to tell you about it. But… I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
His voice was rough, and his eyes were glassy, as if her fear of telling him caused him pain.
“Oh, Max.” How to explain to him all the years of reactions ranging from pity to disgust? How to explain to him her fear of him becoming so afraid of her fevers that he stopped giving her all those freedoms with him that she enjoyed so much?
“I was so afraid you might change,” she said softly. “And I liked the way you were—the way
we
were together. I didn’t want you to think differently about me. I still don’t.”
Max blinked hard, and tenderness replaced the pain in his expression. “It would only have helped me to understand you, Olivia. You and your family.”
“I wanted you to believe I was a normal woman. I didn’t want you looking at me with pity or disgust. I just wanted to pretend for a while.”
“If you thought your illness would change my opinion about you in any way, you were wrong.”
“It changes everyone’s opinion about me.”
“Not mine,” Max said firmly.
“Are you truly saying that once I leave this bed, nothing will change? We’ll still be… friends? We’ll still walk together and play tennis together?”
“Nothing will change,” he said solemnly. He leaned forward, and without releasing her hand, smoothed his other thumb over her eyebrow. “I’ve missed you.”
His rich, low voice washed over her, comforting yet raising awareness of his proximity all over her body.
“I missed you, too,” she breathed. She’d dreamed about him constantly. Ever since Jessica had told her he’d been asking to visit her, she’d hoped to see him every time she opened her eyes. And this time, here he was. She was so happy he had come.
“Will you be able to leave bed soon?”
“Tomorrow, I hope.” She frowned. “But I fear I won’t be able to play tennis with you for a while.”
He shrugged. “I doubt if we could, anyhow. Not sure if the ball would bounce properly. There was a frost last night, and it’s growing colder. I’d wager the ground will be icy tomorrow.”
“Drat,” she muttered. “How long will the weather work against us?”
He smiled. “Spring will be here before we know it. And until then I think we shall find other happy pursuits together.”
Her eyes widened but her body rejoiced at the wicked glint in his eyes. “Are you teasing me, Lord Hasley?”
“I’ll let you determine that.” He leaned closer to her, his expression sobering. “Any pursuit will be a happy one, as long as I pursue it with you.”
She felt the same way, she realized with a jolt. She always felt so free when she was with him. She loved the way he tilted his head slightly when he was listening to her, as if he found every word that came out of her mouth to be meaningful and important. She loved how he asked
questions about her life and her family and appeared to be genuinely interested in her answers. And she loved it when he touched her, which, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit he’d touched her far less in the past few weeks than she would have liked.
“I finally understand why your family is so overprotective,” he said. “They just want to keep you safe. To prevent relapses of the fever.”
She made a small dismissive noise. “They believe that every walk I go on will be my last one.”
“And you disagree? You don’t believe all your physical activity causes the fevers?”
“No, I’m quite sure it doesn’t.”
“What does cause them, then?”
“I’m not certain. They seem to be quite random.”
“How often do they occur?”
“Once or twice a year. The last one was last winter.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. It seems to me that if you were to get a fever from walking or being outside, you would have come down with one that day it rained on us. You were chilled and soaked to the bone.”
Olivia nodded grimly. “Meg was furious with me, and she was furious with Jonathan for not throwing me over his saddle by force and galloping me home before the rain struck.”
“And yet you didn’t fall ill from that. You fell ill now. What could possibly have caused it to happen now? Do you think it was the tennis?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t the tennis. How many times did we play tennis together, and in even colder weather, without it making me sick? I wish I knew what really causes the fevers, Max. But I’ve no idea, truly.”
Still holding onto her hand, he drew closer, and her eyes drifted shut, anticipation buzzing on her skin.
“Are you tired?”
“No,” she breathed.
And his lips brushed over hers, warm and soft, and then pressed, coaxing her to respond. She did respond, opening to him and moving her lips in a slow dance that made her heart thump wildly. Sensation curled through her body like a tendril of sweet smoke, caressing every part of her. She inhaled deeply, taking in his masculine presence—so different from the feminine essences that had surrounded her for so many years. There was a hardness, a toughness, to this man. But he had never been anything but gentle with her. He was the contradiction of strength and muscle with softness and compassion. She loved that about him.
Further, deeper, she sank into his kiss. His free hand moved up to her face. His hand was so large that when it cupped her cheek, he touched her from chin to crown. His fingers stroked at her hairline, swiping wisps of hair out of her face. And she realized that his hand was trembling.
The door glided open on its hinges. The only reason Olivia heard it was because she’d been so focused on Max, on the intensity of how her body responded to his touch, that the foreign noise snapped her into reality. Still, she didn’t jerk back. Even if she could have, she truly didn’t want to.
Slowly, seemingly with great effort, Max drew away. Olivia opened her eyes, tearing her gaze from Max to see Serena standing in the doorway.
Heat rushed to Olivia’s cheek as Max’s fingers slipped from it. Rising, Max bowed. “My lady.”
“Lord Hasley.” Serena’s voice was a trifle more clipped than usual.
There was an uncomfortable silence, and then, sighing audibly, Serena came inside, closing the door behind her. “I believe I shall pretend I didn’t see anything.”
Still smiling politely, not looking the least bit embarrassed, Max nodded. He looked down at Olivia. “Tomorrow, then?”
Still mortified, she nodded.
He was still holding her hand. With a final squeeze to it, he took his leave.
Serena watched him until the door clicked shut behind him, then she took the seat he had vacated.
“You’re feeling better,” she said.
“Mmm.” Her embarrassment fading rapidly, Olivia stared up at the bed canopy, looking at the curve of the rose stems in its pattern and the petals of the various roses it depicted. The roses bloomed in different stages, from tiny buds to voluminous blossoms, all pale pink offsetting the dark green of the fabric.
She slid her gaze toward Serena. “Do you intend to play big sister with me, Serena?” she asked softly. “Will you scold me now?”
Serena looked at her for a long moment, clearly considering that option. Finally, she said, “No.”
“Good.” Olivia returned her gaze to the ceiling.
“I know you and Lord Hasley have been developing an affinity for each other.”
“Hm. Is that what you call it? An affinity?”
“I think so.” Serena crossed her arms over her chest. “In truth,” she murmured, “I never expected this of you, Olivia.”
“I never expected it of me, either.” But, oh, how she liked Maxwell Buchanan. And, oh, how she liked his kisses… She sighed. “I suppose I’m no saint, after all.”
Serena smiled. “I suppose not. Still, after your experience of the London Season, you made it very clear to Jonathan and me that you wished to live with us. That you had no interest in gentlemen and no intention of marrying.”
“That’s all still true.”
Completely unconvinced, Serena raised a brow. “Really?”
“Of course. Lord Hasley will be gone in a few weeks”—and he’d take his kisses with him—“and my life will continue as I planned it. This is only a temporary… diversion.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I can’t see how else it might go.” She knew Max had a life outside Stratford House. She knew he’d be a duke someday and could never think of marrying someone like her, a woman of no fortune, flimsy connections, and questionable health.
The end of their relationship was inevitable, yet the thought of Max leaving still made her ache deep inside.
“Oh, Olivia.” Serena looked almost sorry for her. “What, exactly, do you believe is happening between yourself and Lord Hasley?”
“Well,” Olivia said slowly, “I like him very much. I enjoy his company.”
“And plainly he enjoys yours as well,” Serena said. “And from the way he’s worried about you in the last few days, I’d say he cares for you.”
“Yes, I think he does.” Olivia thought of his kiss. No wonder so many women were utterly bespelled by men’s
caresses. The way he kissed her made her feel like he’d do anything for her, anything at all. He’d offer her the world on a silver platter.
Yet despite her inexperience, she possessed at least a modicum of wisdom. Even if he did care about her, she wasn’t cut from the cloth of a duchess.
She’d never thought of herself as mistress material, either… until recently.
“Dearest,” Serena murmured, “above all, I want you to be happy. I don’t want him to hurt you.”
Olivia took a moment to ponder this. “Do you really think Max is capable of hurting me?”
“Yes. I do. I don’t think he intends to hurt you, but it appears he has taken a bit of your virtue and probably desires more. He is a man, after all. And when he leaves Stratford House, he’ll take that part of you with him, and you’ll never see it again. Can you face that loss without feeling hurt and betrayed?”
Olivia didn’t answer right away. She thought about how she felt when he kissed her. Like she’d do anything to continue to experience the feeling his touch gave her. How her skin prickled with excitement, her heart pounded, her nerves hummed with anticipation. How she craved that sweetness that poured through her with each one of his caresses.
Could she savor those feelings he offered her for such a short time of her life, or would he leave her with a lifetime of regrets?
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. She looked up at her sister, for the first time really thinking of her future, of the life she’d lead with Serena and Phoebe and their husbands and children. It was still what she wanted…
Wasn’t it?
She could never leave them… she knew that much. She’d already lost one sister, and she’d never survive the loss of the three she had left.
“I might want to…” She took a breath, steadied her voice, and continued. “I think I might want more from him.”
“Marriage?” Serena asked gently.
“Oh no,” Olivia whispered. “Not marriage. That would be impossible.” She looked at her sister imploringly, hoping she wouldn’t be forced to explain it.
Serena just looked at her, blank-faced. “What, then?”
“If I’m to live my life as a spinster… well, I might like to have the experience, just once, of… of a lover.” Heat rushed over her cheeks, hotter than when Serena had first entered the room. But she forced herself to continue. “I am very inexperienced in these matters, as you know, Serena. But… but I think Max would be a very gentle lover to me.”