Chapter Five
“I think you had better tell me everything,” Oliver said. He had just consumed three long eye-watering swallows of brandy from a flask he had hidden under the seat of his carriage. He took another swallow and looked at the woman who sat so stiffly in the seat opposite him.
He was still reeling from the kiss and her reaction to him. He had expected her to slap him silly, shoot him, skewer him with one of her hairpins, or all three. The fact she’d just stood there and let him kiss her was not what he had expected, but then he found she did nothing he expected.
Her expression when he had lifted his head from their kiss had shocked him.
For the sheerest of moments something in her eyes had given him pause.
Had he upset her? Certainly. He hadn’t been lying when he said they needed a reason to be away from the ballroom for so long, but the look she had given him had been something else entirely.
Her lovely, bejeweled eyes had held what he thought to be bewildered wonderment and damn if he had imagined a touch of desire there too.
Unfortunately, it had been so fleeting he could not be sure.
Looking at her now, he must have been mistaken.
She looked as calm and cool as she always did.
He raised a brow. “Well, Countess?”
Folding her hands in her lap, she pinned him with those burning sapphire eyes. “What would you like to know?”
“How about the truth?”
“Ah, the truth. About what?”
“Come, let us not keep playing these games. What were you doing in Wainwright’s private chambers?”
“Looking for something, obviously.” Lady Blackhurst smoothed her skirts and then clasped her hands lightly on her reticule and returned his assessing look.
Oliver smiled. “Obviously,” he drawled. “What was it you were looking for, exactly?” He sat slightly forward so he had a better view of her face in the dim light of the carriage.
This would be a lot easier if she were not so beguiling.
The seriousness of her features, which he found charming but at the same time irritating, made him want to laugh at the perverse nature of his very thoughts as they were surprisingly gentleman-like.
He most certainly did not want to get involved with this fallen angel even as his lips were desperate to find hers again.
He couldn’t trust her, that much was clear, but for some insane reason he wanted her to trust him. There was definitely something going on in her pretty little head and he was determined to get some answers.
Sighing dramatically, she said, “Oh, Bellamy, can a lady have no secrets?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Lady Blackhurst, you cannot expect me to play the doting beau while you disappear to rifle through our host’s—”
“Things?”
“Exactly! Now, if you please, what are your purposes for wanting to return to the ton in such a fashion?”
Lisbeth pondered her answer. There was little to excuse her rifling, as he had put it, but she could hardly tell him she was on the hunt for her husband’s killer.
He was, after all, a man who would probably do just about anything for money.
A man like Bellamy could not be trusted with a cup of tea let alone her whole plan for finding out what had truly happened to Nathaniel that fateful morning.
“The truth, Bellamy, is it has been two years since my husband’s death and, well, it was time I rejoined life. I have been a virtual prisoner in my home for nearly the whole time. I do not really have any friends or… or… family who are willing to receive me and…”
She had not meant to choke up and she swallowed hard to contain the lump in her throat before it formed into tears. She had not realized that to place her cards, even if only a few strategic ones, on the table would be quite so hard.
Lisbeth could feel him looking at her, his eyes upon her. What did he think he would see? There was so little left of her that if he looked too hard he may see right through her altogether. Like a ghost shimmering but of no substance. If only she could turn to smoke and disappear.
His body was suddenly next to hers. She shuffled back in her seat in shock and gasped as he took her hand. She snatched it back and stared hard at him, warning him to keep his distance.
She couldn’t bear it. “No! Don’t you dare pity me,” she said with a resolve which took more out of her than he would ever know.
“I may be a friendless wretch but I am determined, you see, to hold my head up high no matter what they say, or how often they whisper behind their fans. I will no longer have them decide on my guilt or innocence based purely on gossip.”
“But have they not already condemned you… despite a trial which found you not guilty?” He was searching her face, and she wished he would see the bleak emptiness within and leave her be.
A silence fell over them, whereupon Lisbeth tried to keep her tears at bay and Bellamy seemed determined to see them.
It made her feel sick. She wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up in a ball of misery, and forget everything and everyone.
She’d done it once before. It hadn’t helped her then and she doubted it would help now, but it was tempting. So tempting.
Keep it together, Lisbeth, she said to herself.
“The ton can be cruel,” he said, looking at her hands as they lay on her lap. “However, it doesn’t explain Wainwright’s study,” he went on.
She took her chance. “Oh, I quite agree.”
He looked up and frowned. Suspicious. “You agree?”
“Oh yes, Wainwright’s study is terribly stuffy. What can he have been thinking? There are simply not enough windows and his desk is awkwardly situated.”
“Countess.” Oliver raked his fingers through his hair.
“Yes, I know. Some people just have no understanding on the proper placement of furniture and the importance of light in proportion to… what are you doing? Give me that!”
She was trying to snatch the flask away from his lips but he’d be buggered if he was going to give it up. He needed fortification and lots of it if he was going to get through this night. Could the woman be any more infuriating?
She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. “I won’t have it, Bellamy.”
He chuckled. “Of course you won’t, because I’m having it.”
“Give it to me,” she said, holding her hand out like he was some errant child caught with a sweet stolen from the kitchen.
“I’d be happy to, Countess.” He put his hand out in a similar gesture. “In exchange for the pistol.”
She snatched her hand back. “No!”
“What will make you hand it over?”
“Death!”
He laughed. “Hmm. This conveyance may be bleeding me dry, but I am loath to bloody it for real.”
“Then you shall have to learn to live without it.”
“The carriage? Oh, good, because frankly—”
She rolled her eyes and replied, “The pistol, you dolt.”
He sighed. “It seems we are at an impasse then. Although, I reluctantly confess you’ll be getting the better deal.” She wanted to play games? Well, he could play them too.
She looked perplexed for a moment. “Oh? How so?”
“If you give me the pistol and I give you the brandy, then both of us would be spared the embarrassment of you being accused a second time of shooting someone. As for my brandy…” He thought of the small notebook in his jacket pocket.
The list of names. Men’s names. Influential men of the ton, all.
“It would perhaps loosen you up enough to act in a more rational manner and once and for all tell me the truth about your little plan for revenge against the ton.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“What were you planning? Blackmail? Or were you just going to play with their minds?” For the first time tonight he had the upper hand, and he was not going to give it back to her.
“You’re delusional,” she scoffed. “The pistol will remain in my possession as will the brandy, thank you.” She put her hand out again. “To be drunk will only make you look like a fool.”
He lifted the flask again.
“Let me warn you now, Bellamy, just so we know where we both stand, if you think to betray me, in any way, at any time, I will make sure everyone knows of your financial… position.”
His smile fell from his face so rapidly Lisbeth clutched the seat for safety. Her hand went quickly to the shape of her pistol in her reticule and firmed around it.
What did she truly think he would do, laugh? Well, yes, she thought he might, but of course, he didn’t. The fact she knew of his financial difficulties had certainly hit a raw nerve. A raw nerve indeed.
“Ah, it is to be blackmail then. Are you really trying to threaten me, Countess? If you are, you had better do better than that.” His voice was fierce and dark and his features matched, making her regret having played such a dangerous card.
She lifted her chin high. “Of course not. Unless… you leave me no other choice.”
He sat back then and studied her for a moment. “What do you want from me, Lady Blackhurst?”
“I told you last night.”
“Last night I was drunk, madam. You took advantage of my inebriation then, but now I am in full control of my mind, and I want there to be no confusion between us as to what we expect of each other.” He took hold of her elbow to guarantee her attention, and she gasped.
“You need me,” he went on. “Otherwise you would have simply hired some fool to go digging in Wainwright’s study and stayed at home in your library reading Lady Radcliff’s works. ”
He hauled her closer so there was no way she could ignore him. “How you found out about my financial difficulties when even my closest friends have no idea also intrigues me.”
Lisbeth bit down on her lip to stop from crying out. He was angry. It was to be expected; she had provoked him, after all.
She waited for it, but no fist connected nor was she slammed against the side of the carriage. No hand clamped around her throat or slapped her so hard her neck would feel like it had snapped off its moorings. What was he waiting for?