The Spare (32 page)

"Get on with it," someone cried.

He had to lean down, and, he supposed, she to stretch up. His hand touched her back, steadying her. The scent of verbena hung in the air. He drew her nearer. Heat enveloped him. His body clenched from being close to her.

"My dear Captain," he heard James say. "Pretend you like her, why don't you? Just this once. It won't kill you. And I won't take offense at your kissing her, either."

Sebastian still held her, quite aware of his hand pressed to the small of her back. She smelled good. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her mouth under his with an ache that went clear to the bone. There wasn't anything he wanted more than to possess her mouth. He didn't dare. God only knows what might happen. Olivia stretched up and kissed his cheek.

Shouts of protest came up and laughter, too.

"She's not your sister, my Lord."

"Foul, sir."

"Not well done."

"Kiss her properly, I say."

"That's not a kiss," Egremont said. He clapped Ned on the shoulder. Ned grinned.

"I have kissed her." He reached up and plucked the last berry from the mistletoe. The music stopped. At a quick signal from James, the orchestra struck up a country dance. Bold planning from the ladies to dispense with the minuet.

Diana gave him a look when he walked with her to the spot where they would begin their dance. "My Lord," she said, adding a quick glance over her shoulder to where Hew and James stood with Olivia. "That wasn't kind of you. Perhaps James should not have urged you to kiss her when you dislike her so, but, honestly, I wouldn't have minded if you had." She smiled. "Much."

He looked at Diana. Nothing. He felt nothing. How had his life come to such a pass that he should consider marriage to a girl who did not remotely suit him?

"You hurt her feelings," she said.

"Whose feelings?"

She rolled her eyes. "Miss Willow's," she said with a meaningful glace to the side of the room. The dance began. "You must make it up to her. She did not deserve such a slight."

"As you wish, Miss Royce."

Olivia, Sebastian noticed while he danced, stood in the line between James and her cousin, James none pleased that her head was bent toward Hew. Black velvet set off her pallor and made her hair gleam like copper fire. When he found himself craning his neck to keep an eye on Olivia and with whom she was presently dancing, he forced himself to look at Diana. She tipped her head, showing her cheek and a graceful stretch of throat. Diana danced wonderfully, exactly what one expected of a future countess. Someone else's countess.

The course of the dancing meant a pattern with Olivia, but when he expected to meet her in the pattern, another young lady had taken her place. He wanted to dance with Olivia, not another simpering girl. At the end of the dance, Ned joined Sebastian at the side of the room. "Miss Willow is certainly looking fine tonight."

"Yes."

"She's a nymph in that gown," Ned said. "Pretty enough to be taken for a Scottish lass. Wonder where she got it?" He rocked back on his heels. "You should have kissed her."

"I can manage my social obligations without your interference."

Ned gave him a look without any of his usual dry humor. "Are you in love with her?"

"Miss Royce?"

"Since you mention her."

"We will not suit."

"What about Olivia? Will the two of you suit?"

"Jesus."

"I'm serious, Captain. My Lord. Whatever you think, she did not deserve to be humiliated before all the people with whom she must live."

"I haven't humiliated her."

"You did." Ned blew out a breath. "The mistletoe was Miss Royce's idea, Sebastian. Meant in fun. You had no call to refuse to kiss Miss Willow. It was ungentlemanly of you. Apologize to her." At Sebastian's look, he said, "Make it right. Or she'll never live it down."

Sebastian found Olivia in an alcove formed by what had, in centuries gone by, been the passageway to the buttery. She sat on a green-velvet bench, fanning herself. With her unaware of his presence, he devoured her. Ned was right. The gown suited her. She ought to have trunks full of such gowns. Dozens and dozens of silks, velvets and satins in deep, rich hues. As if she sensed his thoughts, her head turned and their eyes met, connecting like a key put to a lock. She smiled. He bowed and held out his hand. "Dance with me, Olivia."

She shook her head and winced. "My head is pounding. Awfully."

"We'll talk a while, then." She made room for him on the bench, and he sat. "I've been ordered to make you an apology," he said, extending one leg in front of him.

"What for?"

"For not kissing you."

He crossed his arms over his chest, winced, and uncrossed them. "Will you accept an apology from me?"

Her grin was infectious. "I am a toad swallower of great skill and experience. No apology is necessary."

"James is right about my manners."

"Sailor and all." She opened her fan. "Yes, I understand."

"Rest assured, I have now been educated on the finer points of acceptable behavior with ladies."

Her mouth twitched. "Have you?"

Sebastian tried very hard not to smile in return. "If I insulted you or distressed you, I am, of course, desolate."

"Does it hurt a great deal?" she asked. His eyebrows lifted, and she chuckled. "Your wound, my Lord. Your wound. Not your apology."

The corners of his mouth curled. He hoped she never stopped smiling. "At the moment," he said, "the apology hurts more."

Her mouth twitched again and then she gave up and smiled full on. He could not help but laugh with her. What else could they do when the day's events so far outstripped propriety? She did laugh, and he knew she was thinking about being in his room. The image of her stepping from the bath stuck in his head.

"It's been a very odd day," she said. "I've felt odd all day. My head feels stuffed full." She straightened and lifted a hand to the spot where a killer's bullet had left a scar. "Hew wants to marry me. I told him to talk to you." Tears filled her eyes, a fact of which she appeared entirely unaware. A blink sent them rolling down her cheeks. He found his handkerchief and handed it to her. With a nod of thanks, she wadded it in her fist. "I don't want to marry him. I'll be miserable if I do. But what am I to do, Sebastian? I haven't anything left. No money, no place to live. Mama is so ill, and Mrs. Leveret's nephew is going to teach at the school instead of me."

"Hush, love. All will be well."

"How can it be when Hew turns my stomach?" She leaned against him again, lifting her face to his, eyes full of misery. He gathered her into the crook of his arm. "Whenever I am with Hew, I feel like I'm living in one of my nightmares. Frightened without knowing why, and I can't trust anyone but you."

He put his arms around her, pulling her against him, and her hands came up and clutched his shoulders. He felt that odd and familiar sense of sliding into another life. "Olivia."

"I don't want to be frightened anymore." Her fingers curled in his shirt front. "Please." With her face buried against his chest, her voice was muffled.

He kissed the top of her head. "Look at me." What he saw in her eyes when she did made him pause. "Olivia. How badly does your head hurt?"

"Like someone's going at me with an axe. I can hardly see for the pain. I shall go mad if it doesn't stop."

"Shall I call Ned?"

"Not yet."

"Olivia. Did my brother ever give you reason to fear him?"

She was pale, but when he said that, she turned the color of chalk. "Andrew would never hurt me." Her attention flicked past her shoulder, toward the top of the stairs. He turned, expecting to see the Black Earl. But it was James walking toward them. He released Olivia but did not put any more distance between them.

"Miss Willow," James called, eyes shifting between them. "Has he apologized? I told him I'd never speak to him again if he did not."

She rose and shook out her skirts. "Yes, Lord Fitzalan, he has." But her voice shook.

"Prettily, I trust?" James came into the alcove.

"Lord Tiern-Cope is yours to command, my Lord."

Sebastian laughed. He stood and bent to her ear. "No one commands me, Olivia. Not James, not his sister. No one, that is, but you. Pray do not forget it." He straightened. "She's going to dance with me, James, to prove she has no hard feelings."

"I don't—"

He grabbed her hand. "That's an order," he said. He gripped her hand. Five minutes dancing, ten minutes alone to plead his case.

"You'll have to dance with her later, Sebastian. It's time."

"For what?" Sebastian said.

James rolled his eyes and lifted his hands, fingers wiggling. "To summon the Black Earl."

Diana appeared at the top of the stairs, making frantic gestures. "Come along. Oh, do hurry. Everyone's waiting."

Not until they reached the darkened parlor and Diana had them arranged in a circle with hands linked did Sebastian realize that from the alcove to the parlor he'd never let go of Olivia's hand. Diana stood on one side of him, Olivia on the other. Hew Willow stood between Miss Cage and Diana. At a signal from Diana, a footman put out the last light. The room plunged into darkness.

"Oh, spirit of Pennhyll," Diana intoned.

In the darkness, he felt Olivia's fingers against his palm. He smelled verbena. He gave her hand a squeeze. The light was less black now that his eyes had adjusted. He could make out faces and bodies. Hew Willow among them.

"Earl of Tiern-Cope." Diana lifted her chin to the ceiling. "We summon you to us tonight, the anniversary of your passing to the spirit world. Give us a sign of your presence."

In the silence, someone choked off a laugh. Someone else cleared his throat.

"We must have absolute silence. Lord Tiern-Cope, who walks the halls of his ancestral home. We summon you. Give us a sign."

Sebastian felt pressure increasing behind his eyes and in his ears. Olivia's fingers tightened
around his. She swayed, her shoulder brushed his upper arm.

"Tiern-Cope. You are summoned."

Thump.

Not a near sound. The noise came from outside the circle.

Thump.

"Remain calm," Diana said. "I do not sense evil."

Thump!

The light shifted, a draft whistled through the room. Several people gasped. Olivia crushed Sebastian's fingers when a shape emerged from the wall opposite them. Draped in white and uttering a wailing, low-pitched moan, the figure moved toward the circle, dragging a length of chain behind it.

"The Black Earl," Hew said, right on cue.

With arms raised, the figure moved toward Sebastian. At his side, Olivia bumped his shoulder again. The spirit pointed at Sebastian, moaning in agony and shaking the chain. Sebastian had every intention of letting the trick play out, but matters took a farcical turn. The "ghost" took a step, tripped over his sheeting, got his feet tangled in the chain and landed on the floor with an undignified thud.

"Dash it," said the ghost.

One of the footmen turned up his lantern, then another. Black Earl indeed. James pulled the sheet off his head and after untangling his feet from the chain and the sheet, stood, grinning amid the clamor and exclamation. Sebastian wished James were closer, because he dearly wanted to give him a black eye. Behind him, an opening gaped in the wall, and James, still in the throes of delight over his joke, pointed. "Came in through that door. Willow told me where it was, and with a bit of luck and some help from Price, we found it. Just in time, too."

Sebastian felt Olivia's hand slip from his. He left off listening to James crow over his joke and looked at her. The black dress highlighted her natural pallor but her color wasn't right. She stared at the doorway as if watching the gathering of Satan's hordes. He took her elbow and bent to her ear. "We need to settle this once and for all," he said in a low voice. "In privacy."

Her head whipped around.

"I'll wait in my office for you." He released her. "Give me half an hour."

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11:03
p.m.

Olivia touched the door to Tiern-Cope's office, but hesitated before making herself known. For this one moment, just one moment more, her life was the same as ever. And after she went in? Nothing would be the same, she believed that to her core. What if he wasn't even there? With a deep breath, she tapped on the gilt panel.

"Enter."

She went in, smoothing her velvet skirt. "My Lord."

Tiern-Cope faced the window, hands clasped behind his back. A spark of awareness shot through her and made her stop rather than continue in. His broad shoulders were a familiar sight now, which surprised her. She'd not realized how used she'd become to him.

He turned. "Olivia."

She didn't move, and neither did he.

"Thank you for coming," he said. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure you'd be here."

"You're beautiful in that gown."

A hush settled over the room, and Olivia filled it by closing the door. Her fingers trembled. "Thank you."

"Sit."

She did. "My Lord."

"Can you not call me Sebastian?"

Her heart tripped. "I don't think so."

"He's not here. The Black Earl."

"I know."

"So, for the moment, we are safe from that madness."

"I am always safe with you. No matter what happens, no matter what, I am safe with you and not with anyone else."

He inhaled. "How long have you been seeing the Black Earl?"

"A few days now." She bit her lower lip. "You?"

"Since I came to Pennhyll." He walked to the fireplace. She turned sideways on her chair, but all he did was stare at the fire, hands clasped and pressed against the small of his back. The fingers of one hand clenched and unclenched. He turned. "What of me? How long have I been in your head?"

"Before the Black Earl, I think. Only I didn't know they weren't just dreams."

"More and more intimate." His mouth thinned. "I confess to once or twice in my life imagining making love to a woman I admire. God knows you're a pretty woman, but I don't just imagine being with you. When I make love to you, you're not thoughts and images in my head, you're in my arms, real and warm. I can taste you and breathe in the scent of you, feel your skin against mine. We've never made love, but I've been inside you. Jesus, Olivia, you know I have."