Lady Farquhar's Butterfly Page 10

  ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered, stroking her.

  His touch was soothing, comforting as she remembered. She wanted to enjoy it forever. But of course, her obligation was not yet fulfilled.

  ‘I had recently lost a child and Lucien was very angry. This young man and I spent much time together. Lucien found us reading poetry and took it into his head that we were’ – she swallowed convulsively –

  ‘betraying him. He beat Pieter to a pulp before my very eyes, and then … he punished me.’

  Eventually Max asked, gently, ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nathaniel appeared and organized everything.’ She shuddered.

  ‘Pieter was covered in blood, groaning, the servants too afraid to go to his aid. Nathaniel tended to his wounds and dispatched him.’ Olivia couldn’t meet his eye. ‘I don’t know where he went. I never saw him again. When Nathaniel found me I was unconscious on the floor.’ She looked at her feet, then held her arm to the candlelight. ‘My dress was torn and I was covered in blood for his signet ring had sliced through my wrist. Lucien came back when Nathaniel was bathing me. He stood in the doorway and watched for a long time. Then he laughed and said I was between the Devil and God and whom would I choose? I told him it was a relief to me we didn’t have a son because I couldn’t bear seeing him turn out like his father. Then I said that while everyone believed I was unconscious I had had a message from our first born who was burning in the fires of Hell. I said little Lucien had informed me the Devil said he’d soon see his father because Lucien, too, was damned. Eternally damned.’ Olivia gave a convulsive swallow.

  ‘Lucien was terrified by the prospect of eternal damnation.’ Another shiver made her convulse. ‘I’d have said anything to stop him laying his hands on me again.’

  ‘My poor Olivia,’ murmured Max.

  ‘It worked.’ Olivia gulped. ‘Lucien kept away from me after that. He held fewer parties.’

  ‘Were you still required to add a … decorative touch?’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘I was with child again and quite ill throughout—’

  ‘Olivia! Are you up there?’ Aunt Eunice’s voice carried up from the base of the ladder. ‘Nathaniel has been ready for his bed this past half an hour. Surely you must have found one of Lucien’s nightgowns by now?’

  Olivia turned to Max as she rose. She felt panicked, her story only half told. ‘Perhaps you’d better stay here.’

  ‘Oh no, skulduggery is not part of my repertoire,’ he said, as he prepared to follow her down the stairs to greet their reception party: the aunts and Nathaniel Kirkman.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAX STOOD BEFORE the casement of the little chamber he’d been allotted and stared into the garden. Like ghostly soldiers, the poplars swayed in the pale night and the wind emitted a thin, eerie sound.

  Sleep would elude him, he knew. There was no point even trying. Olivia’s story appeared like an unfinished tapestry: loose threads everywhere.

  She’d been leading up to a confession, but what was her crime? Or the worst of them? She’d been a victim for seven years. Survival would trump morality. Is that what she was telling him? What could she have done that was so shameful she’d chosen to keep silent and lose the man she had, finally, openly, professed to love?

  He had no choice but to wait until the morning for answers, but would she be as willing to divulge all after a night in which to consider the consequences?

  How would Max, himself, feel when confronted with the truth? For he was beginning to fear the worst.

  The storm was building. He must check on Julian as was his habit, but for the first time his thoughts of the boy evinced a shudder.

  The nursery was in the west wing, far removed from the rest of the sleeping quarters. Quietly, he made his way along the corridor, pausing at the passage that intercepted it. He raised his candle high to identify the figure which had emerged at the end. Reverend Kirkman. Quickly, he stepped back. Hadn’t he been accommodated at the other end of the house? he wondered, waiting for him to pass Olivia’s bedchamber. If it were Kirkman’s intention also to visit the nursery Max would delay his visit until later.

  But he was not going to the nursery. Max heard the faint creak of the door to the only bedchamber along that passageway: Olivia’s.

  ‘Heavens, Max! You made my heart nearly stop.’

  It was Olivia’s Aunt Eunice arriving via another corridor, though it was hard to imagine anything had the power to make Aunt Eunice quake in her boots.

  ‘You’re checking on Julian, too, I see.’

  Max forced a smile. And forced himself not to brush past Aunt Eunice and into Olivia’s chamber on the heels of Kirkman.

  ‘It’s a habit,’ he said, distractedly, unable to drag his eyes from the glow of candlelight that filtered from beneath Olivia’s door. ‘Julian isn’t fond of storms.’

  ‘Olivia always hated them,’ Aunt Eunice remarked, taking Max’s arm and steering him towards the nursery.

  ‘I know.’ Max glanced down at her, resigned to the fact he could not play sentinel until the other man emerged. ‘She used to be locked in her room on such occasions.’

  ‘Olivia slept with me or Catherine during thunderstorms.’ Eunice slid accusing eyes across to Max. ‘Lucien locked her in her room.’ He should have realized this, of course.

  ‘Once he locked her in for five days on nothing but gruel and water.’

  Despite what he’d learnt of Lucien’s treatment he was still horrified. Aunt Eunice met his dismay with a hard look. ‘Martha, Olivia’s maid told me. She went to The Lodge with Olivia when Olivia married and continued to pass on news even after she married the publican, Mr Mifflin.’

  ‘Five days?’ Though after what Olivia had told him he’d believe anything.

  ‘Lucien saw conspiracies in everything she did. If she displeased him, he punished her. I believe on this occasion she’d walked to church with a neighbour, a handsome young man who admired her. The young man got a bloodied nose; Olivia got five days’ incarceration. No doubt she learned to choose her companions carefully.’ The old woman’s voice grew bitter. She slowed her footsteps as they approached the nursery wing. ‘He whisked my beautiful niece off her feet, squandered her happiness, sapped her of her spirit and stripped her of her son. And there was nothing I could do for she severed contact when she defied me to be with Lucien.’

  She stopped, staring at the door before them. Even in the softening glow of candlelight the woman looked much older than she had earlier this evening. Her grey hair hung in a thin plait over one bony shoulder and her mouth quivered.

  ‘Olivia was the child I never had.’ Her voice caught. ‘Georgiana, her mother, was the baby of the family. The favourite, for she inherited our Aunt Jane’s entire fortune, only to squander it on a fortune-hunter who left her to die alone as she gave birth to Olivia.’

  Max patted the woman’s arm. ‘Olivia’s lucky to have had you, then.’

  ‘Perhaps it was a mistake to protect her so much.’ There was self doubt in the bleak look she sent him. ‘In her childhood we spoiled her, cosseted her, turned her head with compliments.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Then she met Lucien.’ Max saw her tremble with the force of her hatred. ‘Lucien taught her about life’s cruelties. He had no mercy, even in death. And now our beautiful Olivia is about to sacrifice herself to that pompous old drone I’ve had to suffer the past year!’

  She fixed Max with a gimlet look. Earlier he would have met it with an equally defiant one, declaring he had no intention of allowing such a thing to happen.

  Right now he didn’t know what to think.

  His lack of conviction must have been apparent. Disappointment kindled in her eyes. ‘I know she loves you,’ Aunt Eunice whispered, as she gripped his wrist with one bony hand. Her look communicated her silent hope that Max would be Olivia’s valiant defender.

  Max stared at the floor, his resolve to be that man marred by the fear of what he’d discover when Olivia finally confessed the truth.
‘She doesn’t believe she deserves happiness,’ he said, as he wondered how great her crime must be before that became indeed the truth.

  *

  Olivia jerked upright at the tentative rap upon the door. A wild rush of anticipation flooded her as she ran to it, turning the doorknob with a smile that reflected her burgeoning hope.

  Max. He was not a man who’d let suspicions fester. Only the truth would answer and she’d give it to him. Damn the consequences.

  ‘You’ll pardon the intrusion, Olivia.’ With his trademark frown and ponderous manner Nathaniel brushed past her, covering her hand with his own as he gently turned the doorknob, closing the door behind them.

  ‘Nathaniel, you can’t—’

  Ignoring her, he put his hand upon her shoulder and led her away from the door.

  She didn’t like the way he was smiling at her.

  Twisting out of his semi-embrace she crossed her hands in front of her chest, knowing the sheer fabric of her night rail left little to the imagination.

  ‘So coy with me, Olivia, when we are soon to be wed?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not going to marry you, Nathaniel.’

  There. That’s all it took. And she had said it. Now what could he do to her? She need only scream once and the entire household would descend upon the room in an instant.

  With both hands now upon her shoulders he steered her backwards towards the bed. ‘So it is as I feared.’ She saw the anger in his eyes though his voice was calm.

  ‘I shall scream.’ But she could manage no more than a pathetic whisper and she was trembling so much it was all she could do to remain standing.

  She was trapped between the high bed and Nathaniel who was leaning over her. In Lucien’s striped nightshirt. Nathaniel was short of stature and more thickly set although he was by no means an unattractive man. He could set many a feminine heart aflutter, Olivia knew. More pious ones than hers.

  ‘Don’t do this, Nathaniel,’ she pleaded. She could feel the hardness of his desire pressing against her thigh through the fabric of her nightgown before he pushed her upon her back.

  ‘What? Take you here like a common harlot?’ His eyes shone with derision, but at least he kept his feet on the floor. ‘Under your own roof with your aunts down the corridor? Credit me with a little more finesse. No, Olivia, I mean only to discuss the situation in which we find ourselves. I think that under the circumstances it is quite proper you would entertain your betrothed when he has concerns about your future happiness’ – her skin crawled at his heated breath on her neck – ‘and the happiness of your son.’

  It was hard to control her ragged breathing. She struggled beneath him before giving up, wishing she could manage more conviction as she whispered, ‘Did you not hear me? I said I am not going to marry you so we have nothing to discuss.’

  ‘Since this is the first I’ve heard of this new state of affairs I’d say we had plenty to discuss.’

  Looming over her, his expression was difficult to read. Olivia closed her eyes against the anger, the wounded pride. She had not expected intimidation.

  ‘I take it Mr Atherton is behind your change of heart. Clearly you’ve deceived me. You’ve met him before.’

  Olivia inclined her head a fraction. No point denying it. However it stood to reason Nathaniel would take it badly being superseded by Lucien’s cousin.

  ‘I love Max.’ It was catharsis to say it though whether or not Max still loved her or would still love her was another matter. At least telling Nathaniel that the truth was finally out in the open meant he would surely not continue to press his suit.

  She was wrong.

  He kept her pinioned upon the bed, his body heavy as he angled one knee beside her thigh to gain better purchase. ‘I have waited eight long years to make you mine.’ His whisper sounded more like a desperate snarl than a reaffirming caress. ‘We’ve had an understanding since before Lucien died.’

  Self-preservation battled within. She could not let him dominate her, terrorize her, as Lucien had.

  She struggled again, managing to free one arm which she used to push him away, hissing, ‘No, we have not!’

  ‘Then we have misunderstood one another for my offer and your acceptance of it in the summerhouse seemed to me the only logical outcome of a long and difficult courtship.’

  He released her then. She curled up her knees and swung round to gain distance but he sat heavily on the bed, pulling her across his chest and catching her beneath the knees to swing her on to his lap.

  Olivia went rigid as he forced her head against his shoulder. The garment was musty from its months consigned to a trunk without air but she could smell the faint essence which reminded her so strongly of Lucien. And beneath it, the animal smell of her suitor, roused by anger and pride.

  Nathaniel grasped her by the chin and twisted her face to look at him as he repeated roughly, ‘Do not play the coy maiden with me just because another contender for your affections has presented himself. One that you prefer.’ He clamped his hand round her neck and pulled her head back on to his shoulder. ‘You know you cannot have him,’ he hissed, as his hands caressed her throat.

  ‘You can’t force me to marry you,’ Olivia rasped. She was close to swooning. Unable to struggle to any effect, she lay limply in his arms.

  ‘There are many compelling reasons for a match between us.’ The tenseness seemed to drain out of him in response to her passivity. Nathaniel sighed as his fingers explored the contours of her neck and chest. He gazed out of the window. ‘Surely, my dear, you gave up fairy stories when you married Lucien.’

  Olivia tried to swallow through her fear. ‘Nathaniel, I … I’m very fond of you but—’

  ‘Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with a sop like that,’ he sneered, bringing his face close to hers. ‘We were meant to be together. Everything has been orchestrated for this union.’

  ‘I want to be with Max. If—’ She tried to be brave. ‘If you force me to do anything against my will I shall scream, I promise you!’

  ‘I’m not so stupid, Olivia.’ Rising abruptly, he pushed her back down upon the bed. ‘Look at you!’ His voice dripped with derision.

  ‘Eight years ago you were the toast of the town. A diamond of the first water. Now, you’re just a shell. Your reputation is in tatters and the charm and gaiety that captivated society just a memory. Oh, to me you’re still lovely to look at. I had hoped to restore to you what you had lost through your own foolishness. I had hoped to redeem you. No doubt Max thinks a vacuous plaything will do very well until he finds the kind of wife he’s really after.’ His lip curled as he delivered his verdict. ‘An innocent, simple creature, pleasing to the eye with no damning past to threaten his manliness.’

  She would not let him see he had found his mark. ‘Max has honour and he knows his own mind. He wants me.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt he wants you, Olivia,’ chuckled Nathaniel. ‘Most men want you. I want you. But does he want to marry you? And if so, was that after you threw yourself at him … but before you confessed to him the truth?’

  Olivia gasped and covered her eyes, twisting away from him. Had they been empty taunts she could have borne them.

  ‘Ever the slattern, Olivia.’ Bending over her, he trailed his forefinger across her collarbone, skimming the tops of her breasts. ‘Like satin,’ he breathed. He traced the arches of her eyebrows. ‘So beautiful yet so stupid,’ he added, moving his mouth to her ear. ‘So stupid because you cannot let your mind master your body. Unlike me, my darling Olivia, else I’d be walking away, satiated right now. But I shall leave that for another night. Our wedding night.’

  Olivia started to cry; short, shallow gasps, tears streaming down her face. His shadow as he leaned over her was as oppressive as the weight of him had been. She hiccupped. ‘How can you want me if you despise me so much?’

  ‘Despise you?’ He considered the question as he tugged loose the bow of her nightdress then retied it more tightly so that she was respectably cover
ed. ‘And love you in equal measure. I shall be your salvation, Olivia.’

  ‘Max knows everything about my past,’ Olivia whispered, recoiling from his touch, wishing for Max’s embrace to wash away the sordidness she felt.

  ‘Everything?’ His brow furrowed as he sat. Hunched on the edge of the mattress he reminded her of a calculating toad who has just received a blow. He looked genuinely perplexed and Olivia revelled in her sudden power until he delivered his coup de grâce. ‘How can he still want you when he knows your dark and dirty little secret?’ His astonishment was not feigned and Olivia’s self-disgust made her crumple inwardly as he added, ‘He honestly forgives you for what you have stolen from him?’

  The look on her face must have revealed the truth for suddenly he was standing, his arms around her as he drew her to her feet, supporting her as she swayed. His voice was triumphant as he cried, ‘Always the dreamer, Olivia. You say you told him the truth. Ha! You’ve barely scratched the surface.’

  She felt the wetness of her tears on the back of her hand as she wiped her cheek, raising her head from his shoulder where he’d forced it. This time she did not resist as he threw back the covers, lifted her gently on to the mattress and tucked the blankets around her.

  ‘There, there, my love,’ he soothed, bending over her, offering her the milk Aunt Catherine had warmed and brought her a short while before. ‘Drink this. You’ve had a nasty shock, discovering your beauty isn’t always enough to get you what you want. Soon I will be your husband: friend, not foe. With every weapon at my disposal I shall ensure Julian’s future remains secure.’ On stockinged feet he padded towards the door, turning when he reached the middle of the carpet.

  ‘Don’t worry, Olivia.’

  She turned her head from his triumphant sneer.

  ‘You may not love me, but your secret is safe. We both know guarding that little powder keg is essential … for the happiness of all concerned.’

  An empty shell.

  Is that what she was?

  Shivering, curled up in her narrow bed she listened to the mice in the wainscoting and the rattle of the casement. Hours later the chirping of birds announced the dawn.