Chapter Ten
Olivia cringed as her brother advanced on her.
“Montague, I—”
“Silence!” he roared. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“I’ve done nothing!”
Seemingly oblivious to the other man’s obviously superior strength, Montague again jabbed a finger at his chest. “You think you can debauch my sister? Is that what you both came out here for?”
The man tensed his shoulders but said nothing. Wasn’t he going to defend himself, even if he didn’t consider Olivia worth defending?
“Brother, we weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“You were out here a long time,” he replied. “For what purpose other than to offer yourself to—”
“I didn’t offer myself!” she cried. “We—we”—she glanced at the tall, silent figure about whom the air seemed to shimmer with menace—“were engaging in conversation, that’s all.”
“Oh, really? What, pray, were you discussing in your…conversation?”
Olivia glanced about the terrace. “W-we were discussing the plants.”
“I didn’t know you took such a keen interest in horticulture,” her brother said. “What were you discussing? Did he tell you the names of all the plants?”
Olivia glanced at the silent man, who continued to stare at her.
Help me, sir.
“Y-yes,” she whispered.
Her brother strode toward a plant set in a pot on a pedestal. “And what, pray, is this?”
She stared at the plant—its dark green leaves in the shape of sharp, pointed tongues, clustered thickly together.
“A fern.”
Montague let out a sharp sigh. “I think you’ll find it’s an aspidistra. How about this?” He gestured to another plant dotted with flowers.
“A rose. He told me so.” Olivia met the silent man’s gaze, begging with her eyes. But he remained impassive, a slight sneer on his lips.
“Then I take it you know the gentleman’s name, given that you’ve been deep in conversation.”
“Do you know it, brother?” she said.
“Of course. But I’m not the one under scrutiny.”
“What do you imagine I’ve been getting up to, brother,” Olivia cried, “when no man will have anything to do with me?”
“What is all this?”
Olivia’s heart almost cried out in shame as her sister-in-law stepped onto the terrace.
“Eleanor, this is none of your—”
“Be quiet, Montague!” Eleanor said. She approached Olivia and linked their arms. “Can’t you see your sister’s distressed?” She turned her attention to Olivia. “What’s happened, dearest?”
“That’s what I’m trying to ascertain,” Montague said. “My sister is not in a position to compromise herself, given her background, and—”
“Please!” Olivia cried, shame threatening to overcome her. “Must you humiliate me in front of others? I merely came out to the terrace for some air, yet you accuse me of…of…”
“I see,” Eleanor said, glaring at Montague. Then she turned her attention to the silent, brooding man. “What is your purpose here, sir? If some mischief has occurred, I doubt that my sister is wholly to blame.”
“You’ll get no reply from him,” Montague said.
“Why not?”
“For the same reason that I know my sister is playing me false when she claims to have engaged in a discussion with him. He does not speak.”
Eleanor let out a snort. “I do not speak. I loathe conversation and meaningless social niceties and do my utmost to avoid it at all costs.”
“I know that, my love,” Montague said, exasperation in his voice. “But this fellow here does not speak at all.”
The giant set his mouth into a hard line, and Olivia shivered at the quiet anger in his expression.
“Not at all?” she whispered.
“He’s not spoken a word since I’ve known him,” Montague said. “Renowned for it, he was, at Eton.”
“You were at school with this man?” Eleanor asked. “So, you know him well?”
“We were in different houses. But I knew him by sight. Some of the other boys used to taunt him and…”
He paused as a low growl emanated from the dark figure.
“That’s right, is it not?” Montague said. “They used to call you—”
“Stop it!” Olivia said, stepping forward. “Must you torment him as you torment me, brother?”
“Why defend him, sister, unless you have compromised yourself?”
“Of course I haven’t!” Olivia said.
“Then why utter falsehoods, spin tales about your reasons for being out here tonight? It doesn’t paint you in a particularly good light.”
“Montague…” Eleanor began, but he raised his hand.
“No, I must have satisfaction. We must have satisfaction for the sake of the family.” He turned to Olivia and spoke in a low voice.
“I want what’s best for you, sister, believe me.
At this moment I care not whether you’ve tossed up your skirts to trap a man into matrimony.
It’s not what I’d have wanted for you, though I understand your desperation.
But the very least you can do is pay me the courtesy of speaking the truth. ”
A knife sliced through Olivia’s heart at her brother’s words. Though his tone conveyed the love he bore her, did he really think she’d stoop so low as to act the slattern to ensnare a man—and not just any man, but the huge, towering beast before her?
The urge to strike her brother swelled within her, but before she could surrender to it, Eleanor drew back her hand and struck him across the face with a resounding slap that echoed across the terrace.
“Eleanor!” Montague said, rubbing his cheek. “I—”
“How dare you blame your sister in this!” she said. “This man is culpable.”
“He’s done nothing!” Olivia said. “Neither of us have.”
“Then why did I find the two of you embracing?” Montague asked.
Olivia opened her mouth to respond, then her heart sank as a familiar, nasal voice spoke.
“I say! Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”
Sir Heath Moss stood in the terrace doors, the light from inside forming a soft halo around his deceptively angelic face.
“Begone, Moss,” Montague said. “You’ve no business intruding on a family discussion.”
“A family discussion?” Sir Heath said, gesturing toward the silent man. “Am I to wish you joy?”
Olivia stifled a sob, and Eleanor drew her into her arms.
“Excellent!” Sir Heath said. “The London Daily will sell faster than hot muffins at Michaelmas when the editor hears about this. I can imagine the headline now—Ducal Debauchery. But, given your…ahem…sister’s origins, it should come as no surprise to our acquaintances.”
“Don’t be a fool, Moss,” Montague said.
Sir Heath’s smile broadened and he stepped toward Olivia, the stench of his cologne thickening the air.
“I’m the fool, am I, Whitcombe?” he said.
“Why, then, did I hear you speak of your sister tossing up her skirts to entrap a man? She’d have fared better had she set out to find herself a protector rather than a husband.
Her lack of success in securing a dance partner tonight is evidence of her poor prospects. ”
“I did secure a partner!” Olivia said. “Mr. Arnott asked me to dance twice.”
“Under false pretenses,” Sir Heath sneered.
The silent man let out a huff, then moved toward the doors.
Montague blocked his path, placing his hand on the man’s chest. A shiver rippled through Olivia’s body at the expression in the larger man’s eyes as he lowered his gaze to her brother’s hand—a hand that he could easily crush with the slightest effort.
“Montague, there’s no need…” she began.
“There’s every need,” he said. “Sir Heath has cast aspersions on your honor and slighted our good name.” He fixed his gaze on the silent man. “All of our good names.”
“With good cause,” Sir Heath said. “The gossips are going to love this!”
“Perhaps they will,” Montague said, his gaze still locked on the tall, dark figure. “But I doubt my sister, or…her betrothed would take kindly to false accusations, just as much as I doubt you’d take kindly to a lawsuit or a bullet through the heart.”
My betrothed?
Olivia met the man’s gaze, and a shiver rippled through her at the mixture of cold anger and disgust in his eyes.
“Brother…”
“It’s the only way, Livvie,” Montague said, and Olivia’s heart cried out at the endearment. The anger in his voice had gone, replaced by resignation and disappointment.
Sir Heath let out a snort. “Not even this fellow would be foolish enough to shackle himself to a bas—”
“Be quiet!” Montague snarled, his hand still pressed against the giant’s chest. “Speak one more word, Sir Heath, and, so help me God, I’ll see that you never speak again.
” Then he turned to the tall man. “You are betrothed to my sister, are you not?” he said, a warning in his voice.
“Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”
The man raised his eyebrows and fixed his cold stare on Olivia. Then he raised his hands, as if in surrender, and stepped back.
Montague let out a low growl. “Now, for the sake of Sir Heath Moss, tell me, sir…are you engaged to my sister?”
Deny it, sir, please!
Olivia clasped her hands together, sending up a silent plea. He stared at her, his expression softening a fraction, and a flame of hope flickered in her heart.
Then it died. Slowly, the huge beast of a man—the silent stranger who had emerged from the darkness like a menacing phantom—nodded, and sealed her fate.
*
“For the sake of Sir Heath Moss, tell me, sir, are you engaged to my sister?”
Whitcombe jabbed his finger at Charles, gritting his teeth as he uttered the question.
Fuck. I’m trapped.
Charles glanced about the terrace at his companions—his very unwelcome companions: the angry couple, the sneering rake, and the young woman whom he’d thought unremarkable at first but, perhaps, if the events of tonight were orchestrated, deserved some praise for her efforts, even if they were driven by greed.
But the expression in her eyes showed neither greed nor triumph—only horror.