Chapter 1
Chapter One
London, England
Olivia
Lady Olivia Ashford stared at her father, the Duke of Harborough, her fingernails digging crescents into her palms. The painting lay between them on his desk like a declaration of war. She hadn’t given enough thought to the consequences when she had agreed to be drawn and painted nude.
She couldn’t bear to look at it sitting there before her father, mortified that he had even seen it at all. Thank heaven he had placed parchment over the most intimate areas.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” The duke’s voice cut through the silence, cold as January frost.
Olivia lifted her chin, fighting the urge to snatch up the painting and run from the room to never face her father again.
Not that she didn’t adore him. She did. He could be controlling at times, but he’d always been a loving, yet stern, father to her and her siblings.
But the humiliation of Papa viewing her nakedness burned almost as much as the scandal itself. “It was meant to remain private.”
“Private?” He slammed his palms against his desk as he rose from his chair, carefully avoiding touching the artwork, as though it would contaminate him.
“This obscene painting was discovered hanging above the card tables at The Crimson Queen for every rake and libertine to ogle! Do you have any idea what this means?”
She flinched at the words but refused to cower.
While she might have preferred that the men of London hadn’t seen it, she had quite liked the painting.
It showed her entirely nude upon rumpled bed sheets, her breasts fully exposed.
One arm draped provocatively above her head while the other hand rested low on her belly, drawing the eye downward.
Her hair cascaded loose around her shoulders, and her lips were parted in unmistakable invitation.
It had captured her sensual nature perfectly.
Olivia just hadn’t expected Edward Reynolds, the artist who had become her lover, to share the painting with anyone else.
She cursed the day she had met that dratted arse.
It had been at an event hosted by Lady Hartford.
With focused interest, he had peppered her with questions about her life—her family’s connections, her father’s work in Parliament, the distinguished guests who frequented their home.
Never had she been the center of someone’s attention in that manner, and when he’d wanted to paint her, she was enamored with the man and readily agreed.
And then when he proposed engaging in more intimate things with her, she didn’t refuse those either.
Reynolds had mentioned that he was in need of funds and would go away for a while. Looking back, she recalled his odd questions about her father’s political guests, particularly his interest in the military officers who visited their home.
And then the scandal broke out about her painting. It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out that the bastard sold the painting to secure a bit of coin. So much for it being for his eyes alone or his desperate desire to capture her beauty.
“What’s done is done, Papa,” she said with a shrug. What else could she do? “People will forget, in time, when there is a fresh scandal to whisper about.”
Her father’s laugh held no humor. “I may be a duke, but there are still limits to my influence. You must appear respectable in the eyes of society. And that requires us to take immediate action.”
His tone sent a chill through her. “What action?”
“Marriage, of course.” He straightened a paper on his desk. “You’ll be wed before the month is out.”
“To whom?” The question emerged as barely a whisper.
“I’ve written to several suitable options. Men of good standing and title who might be persuaded to overlook this . . . incident. For the right connections and dowry.”
Olivia’s stomach lurched. “What if I don’t wish to marry a man of your choosing? I am of legal age to decide.”
“Livie,” the duke started, his eyes softening, albeit only slightly. “You may be four-and-twenty, but you are still my daughter and you have a duty to this family. In time, you shall see that this is best for you.”
Olivia had spent her entire life seeking her father’s approval, craving the attention he lavished on her brothers, while she and her sister fought for his attention. His stern guidance had always made her feel safe. Perhaps that was why Reynolds’ focused attention had been so intoxicating.
She turned away, blinking back tears of fury. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. But her father was right. She couldn’t allow her siblings’ reputations to be impacted by her actions.
And that meant she must marry.
Three days forced to hide away in her family home had driven Olivia nearly mad. She paced her bedchamber like a caged animal, her maid Martha watching with wary sympathy.
“His carriage has arrived, my lady,” Martha said, nodding toward the window.
Olivia hurriedly crossed the room. The Ravenswood Crest was on full display. Her father had captured the attention of Ravenswood with his inquiries. He’d turned away all other options, hoping the power and influence of another duke would be just the connection that saved them all.
The war veteran had become the Duke of Ravenswood after his father and brother had passed, forcing him to retire from his officer position.
She could only imagine how cold and miserable a military man might be.
And wouldn’t he be just like most other men in power?
Seeking to claim her body and her dowry while overlooking her “indiscretion” like some benevolent savior.
“Oh, he’s handsome!” Martha exclaimed.
Olivia couldn’t deny that. He had thick dark chestnut hair and a tall, towering frame. Each of her father’s footmen straightened as he passed.
Moving away from the window, Olivia paced her chamber, awaiting the inevitable summons from her father. He had already expressed to her the importance of the match. She must agree to wed Ravenswood.
After what felt like hours, she was finally called to go directly to her father’s study.
Even though she was curious about the handsome duke, she still took her time descending the stairs, moving with deliberate slowness.
If she were to be inspected like a horse at auction, she would hold her head high and not appear as if she owed the men anything.
But when she entered the room, she hadn’t been prepared for her reaction to the man.
Her breath halted as she took in the Duke of Ravenswood.
He stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, showcasing his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His handsome face must have been carved from granite.
It was sculpted with all hard angles and perfect, unforgiving lines.
His dark hair, with just a bit of silver around his temples, fell just long enough to be considered unfashionable, and his eyes were a piercing gray that studied her with unsettling intensity.
Beneath one ear was a scar that she assumed was from his days at war.
“Your Grace,” her father said. “I present my daughter, Lady Olivia.”
She curtseyed, the movement automatic. “Your Grace.”
“Lady Olivia.” His voice was low and smooth, and it did things to her insides.
“His Grace has offered for your hand,” her father announced without preamble.
Olivia kept her expression neutral, even as her heart hammered against her ribs. “Indeed?”
“The arrangements are agreeable to me,” Ravenswood continued. The lack of emotion in his tone irritated her. “We have made all the settlements.”
“How efficient,” she said, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “And are congratulations in order, or am I to be consulted on the matter?”
Her father’s face darkened. “Olivia—”
“It’s a fair question,” the duke interrupted.
His expression remained unreadable. “Lady Olivia, I believe we might suit. I require a duchess. You are in need of a husband. Recent circumstances have made your position precarious, while I find myself unexpectedly elevated to a title that can provide you with the protection you seek.”
His bluntness was almost refreshing.
“And the truth of my scandal?” she asked boldly. “Does that not concern you?”
Olivia couldn’t quite identify the emotion that flickered in his gray eyes. It wasn’t disgust or judgment, but more akin to curiosity mixed with a hint of desire. Perhaps, it was a protective instinct she hadn’t expected.
“I’ve experienced far worse than petty society matters on the battlefield, my lady.” His voice softened slightly. “And a young woman taken advantage of by an unscrupulous artist deserves protection, not condemnation.”
The unexpected defense surprised her. Most men would have seen her as ruined—damaged goods to be reluctantly accepted for the right price.
“Do I have a choice in this matter?” She looked between the two men. She knew she didn’t. Her father had already made his expectations known. But it didn’t mean she had to make things easy for them.
Her father began to speak, but Ravenswood raised his hand slightly, and remarkably the Duke of Harborough fell silent.
“You always have a choice,” Ravenswood said. “Though some choices carry heavier consequences than others.”
His steady gaze made her pulse quicken. It contained not a threat, precisely, but a quiet, immovable authority. This was not a man accustomed to being refused.
“May I speak with Lady Olivia alone?” he asked her father.
Her father agreed without protest, exiting the study with a warning glance at his daughter.
When the door closed, Ravenswood circled behind the desk and lifted the infamous painting that had faced toward the wall where it wouldn’t be seen. Olivia’s cheeks burned scarlet as he studied it, his gaze tracing over the curves of her naked body.
“Is this accurate?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The likeness.” His eyes raised to meet hers. “Is it a fair representation?”
The audacity of the question stole her breath. “I hardly think—”
“I ask because there is both defiance and vulnerability in your expression here.” He traced a finger over the painted curve of her breast, almost caressing it, but his eyes revealed more thoughtfulness than lust. “Yet you stand before me now like a general preparing for battle. I wonder which is the true Lady Olivia Ashford.”
She stared at him, taken aback by his perception. “Perhaps they both are.”
A slight nod, as though her answer satisfied him. “I have no interest in a docile, cowering wife, Lady Olivia. What I require is honesty and your willingness to accept proper guidance.”
“Guidance?” The word tasted strange on her tongue.
“That is correct.” His gaze held hers, unmoved. “I can offer you protection from this scandal and give you the freedom of my name and fortune. But I will expect certain . . . commitments in return.”
“What commitments?” she asked, both frightened and intrigued by his directness.
The duke set the painting down. “That is a discussion best saved for after the wedding, should you accept my proposal.”
Olivia studied him. There was danger in this man, but not the kind that threatened bodily harm.
His danger lay in the way he looked at her.
As though he could see past her carefully constructed defenses to the vulnerable woman beneath.
As though he knew exactly what she needed, perhaps better than she did herself.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I wish you good fortune with whatever suitor your father selects next. I doubt he will offer you the same security and understanding I am prepared to extend. But you seem an intelligent woman, little one, and I believe you know the value of protection when it’s offered.”
The unexpected endearment—little one—sent a surprising warmth through her, even as his words highlighted the reality of her situation.
Her father’s decision was made, and she wasn’t likely to receive a better proposal.
Or from one who intrigued her the way Ravenswood had.
A handsome duke who spoke to her as though she possessed a brain.
One who didn’t seem disgusted by her scandal, but rather protective of her despite it.
The alternatives were grim indeed. Marriage to some ancient lecher or cruel fortune-hunter.
Or worse, being shipped off to a distant relative to live as a spinster dependent while her siblings’ reputations suffered because of her choices.
“I accept your offer, Your Grace,” she said finally.
He appeared satisfied. “Very good. I shall inform your father.”
As he moved toward the door, Olivia found her voice again. “May I ask why? Why me, with all the complications I bring? Surely there are dozens of untarnished debutantes who would leap at the chance to become your duchess.”
The duke paused. For a moment, she thought he might not answer.
“I prefer a woman who knows her own mind and has the courage to follow it, even when it leads to . . . complications. But you need structure, little one, and guidance on how to channel that spirit more prudently.” His eyes were dark, compelling, and also strangely comforting.
“You need someone who will protect you, even from yourself when necessary.”
With that, he departed, leaving Olivia breathless and uncertain whether she had just secured her salvation or signed away her soul. It was most likely both. But the thought of being at the man’s mercy filled her with more anticipation than she cared to admit.