Chapter Ten
My lord—
I have indulged you too far. I cannot meet you. We must stop this nonsense at once.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
I will cease leaving you notes if that is your wish. However, I will be in the gardens tonight, whether you meet me or not.
If you do come, I promise to be the perfect gentleman. I would never want to cause any lady—but especially yourself—any distress.
Augustus
*
My lord—
I am not a lady. I am a maid. I am here to serve your mother and your family, not write notes to you.
I will not be meeting you in the gardens tonight. Please cease sending me notes immediately.
Olivia
*
Olivia had neverbeen so glad to breathe in night air. The balcony was, blessedly, empty, due, no doubt, to the chill of the evening, and the successful conviviality on offer inside.
It had been a nice party, until she had found herself, inexplicably, speaking to the Viscount Brightley. She did not care that the ton seemed to have sniffed out her rise from maid to companion. And she wasn’t even surprised by what Brightley had said about Eloisa and her children. She knew Eloisa had heard similar sentiments uttered—to her face, no less—one thousand times before and in even cruder terms. In the past thirteen years, Olivia herself been forced to listen to similar commentary more than once, although not yet so directly in England. Despite what Nathanial might say, French society was not better than the English in this respect, although Eloisa naturally avoided the circles where hearing bigoted statements about herself and her children could be expected.
No, the worst part had been Augustus seeing her vulnerable yet again. She wanted him to see that she wasn’t an object of pity. And yet she seemed to constantly be at a disadvantage when it came to him.
“Olivia,” a deep voice intoned from behind her, and she whirred around.
Augustus. He had followed her and was closing the balcony door behind him. They were alone. Or as alone as two people could be outside of a crowded ballroom. Light streamed out from within and gave the only illumination to the dark space.
Why had he followed her? Surely, he had done enough. He had nearly made a scene and had drawn further attention to herself and the Mappertons. The last thing Eloisa needed was a row over her and her children’s presence at such an entertainment. She had not delivered the viscount a set-down because she knew Eloisa’s policy. Comments such as Brightley’s were to be ignored or humored, as best they could be, especially if they were said out of Natasha and Nathanial’s hearing.
Olivia waited for Augustus to speak, but he merely stared at her. The light from the ballroom caught his blond hair and the shadows played tricks with his face. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure who stood before her. He could be the rake of three-and-thirty or the twenty-year-old boy that she had known. Was it the Augustus of the past who stood before her? Or who he had become, the Earl of Montaigne, the Downstairs Menace, the Ten Guinea Lord, whom she didn’t understand?
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Olivia spat out when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “It won’t help.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, stiffly. “What Brightley said—it couldn’t be borne. I could hardly call myself a gentleman and let such sentiments go unchecked in my home.”
“I was not aware that calling yourself a gentleman was something that you did much of.”
He grimaced. “No, you’re right. It’s not the right word. I could hardly call myself human if I let that man speak that way about guests in my home. About a girl that my brother is clearly growing to care for—as his friend, certainly, and perhaps as more.”
“He will only spread such vitriol further now that you have humiliated him. You’ve only made it worse for Eloisa and her children. You may think you’ve played the hero, but you’ve done them a disservice. Eloisa has dealt with much worse than what the viscount said.”
“I don’t doubt it. But you mistake me. I was not trying to save Mrs. Mapperton from the insults of Brightley. I am sure she is capable enough of defending herself. But I could not let the man speak unchecked about my family and what we see as acceptable in a match. He had no right to talk of it, especially when he was implying vile things—even if he approves them—about our beliefs. I could not let him continue.”
Olivia opened her mouth and then closed it. She had not considered that he had been insulted by Lord Brightley’s words. She had understood he was repulsed by the open bigotry of the man’s speech, but she had not seen that he saw such intimations as a personal offense that needed to be stopped. She found she had no retort.
He took another step towards her, until he was bowed over her, not unlike when they had been in the alleyway.
“And I certainly could not stand by while he insults you.”
“Why do you care if he insults me?”
She needed to understand. The showing up at her doorstep, the vouchers to Almack’s, the invitation to a ball at his home—together, none of it made sense. Was he doing it to make up for the past? Out of guilt? Or was it all because of his brother’s interest in Natasha?
Augustus looked down at her. His eyes blazed with that otherworldly blue. His expression held pain, but also something else, something strangely close, in her estimation, to yearning.
For a moment, it seemed as if he wouldn’t answer her. The prospect of having no answer yet again from him made her desperate. She couldn’t stand not knowing.
But then he surprised her. He did not speak but he lifted his hand to her face. He touched her cheek, just lightly, cupping her face gently. She closed her eyes at the sensation. She wasn’t sure how something so simple could feel so good.
“I don’t understand you,” she said. With her eyes closed and him touching her, even just a little, it made it easier for her to speak honestly.
“Strange. Because I think I am perfectly comprehensible.”
Her eyes opened. He was looking at her now with unmistakable desire. So, he wanted her, then. For whatever reason, after discarding her thirteen years ago, he wanted her now. He had apologized for what had happened years ago, how he had dismissed her, because he wanted her in the present.
“Not to me. The way you treated me—in the past—and what the papers say. You’re the Downstairs Menace. The scandal sheets might think it is humorous, a nobleman lowering himself habitually to the lowest of servants, but for a woman who has—who still does—work in service—it is anything but. I don’t understand how you couldn’t see it.”
His eyes continued to bore into her and his hand had moved down to the side of her face.
“Olivia—” he began. “It’s not—”
But she wasn’t finished.
“When I came back to England, I feared seeing you. But I thought I could make myself feel nothing when we met again. It had been so long. The reports of what you had become, and how you had treated me—how could you be anything to me still? But now you’ve shown me and Eloisa and Natasha and Nathanial so much generosity—you’ve been so civil. It’s not what I expected.”
His grip on her face tightened. Her mouth fell open, the gesture involuntary. His thumb brushed over her lip, his eyes fixed to the sight.
Olivia couldn’t deny that his touch made her quake. That she wanted to give into the warmth of his broad torso and run her hands through the hair that glinted in the light.
But what did it say about her if she accepted him again after how he had treated her? And wouldn’t that lead her back to the place where she had let herself get so hurt? Vulnerable and open to him? She had no evidence to suggest that he wouldn’t do exactly what he did before once he’d had his fill of her again.
And yet those thoughts did not seem to make it to her body. She did not step away from his touch.
“Olivia, I—” he stopped, “You must know how much I want you.”
The words sent a spasm through her. Her mind screamed at her to step away, but she was drawn hopelessly towards his gaze. What would it be like to kiss him just one more time? Would it be as good as it had been years ago? Or was it just a mirage, that memory?
“I am not sure I do,” she managed, but the words clanged against the hard reality of their near embrace. She could feel how taut he was holding his body. He was restraining himself from coming nearer to her and it clearly cost him great effort.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked. The words emerged on a new gasp, nearly unintelligible, and, for a moment, she thought how odd it was that this man, regarded as the most hardened seducer by the rest of the world, would ask—and her of all people—for such an innocent favor.
But she couldn’t keep that thought in her head.
Because she had already said yes, pushing out the words on a gasp.
He kissed her, tentatively, and yet she could feel the force of desire behind that restraint. She put her hands on his chest and felt him trembling. Shocked, she broke the kiss and looked into his eyes.
“Please,” he said.
There was so much between them that she didn’t understand. But she understood that, in this moment, he was in her power.
She kissed him this time, letting him envelop her in his arms as she did so, and—as she had in the alleyway—she could feel him hard and pulsing against her. He groaned when her body, bare underneath the flimsy material of her evening gown, collided with his. She arched against him and the kiss deepened, his tongue edging her lips, and then tangling with hers.
To her surprise, he broke free. His breath was ragged and his hands came down to her forearms, holding her in place.
“Olivia, I have to tell you,” he said, gasping, “I don’t know how to explain and I know you have no reason to believe me but—what the scandal sheets say. It’s not true. What they say about me. It’s not what it seems.”
“What?” she said, marveling up at him. At first, she didn’t understand what he was saying. Once she did, she felt angry. Did he really think she would believe such a lie?
“I can explain more, later,” he said, looking down at her again. “It’s too much to explain here and—I need to kiss you again.”
She didn’t know if he was lying about the scandal sheets or why he would try. She didn’t know why he wanted her again, inexplicably. But she wasn’t strong enough to resist the ardor in his words and the pleading in his gaze.
He kissed her again, hot and fast this time. She knew, from the pressure he exerted, that she would feel the remainder of the kiss on her lips for hours afterward. She gave herself over to it, letting the waves of pleasure wash through her, giving into the reality that, yes, it was just as good as it had been all those years ago. Their passion was real, not a distorted memory. The heat between them, that lust that had always felt so close to love, still lived there. Even after all this time.
“Olivia!”
The sound of her name, in a shocked tone that she recognized, drew her out of her erotic stupor. She broke the kiss with Augustus and saw Eloisa standing before the open door of the balcony, her mouth open.
“Eloisa,” she panted.
“Mrs. Mapperton,” Augustus responded, stepping back from her. “I hope we didn’t startle you.”
“Startle me!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I am quite startled.”
Eloisa strode towards them, her elegant silver gown swishing with her movements.
“I assume,” she said, her eyes narrowed into slits and trained on Augustus, “if you are kissing Olivia, it is because she has let you. I cannot admonish you for taking a liberty that you have been lucky enough to win from her. I will, however, issue a warning. If you harm Olivia, I will personally make your life a misery. I do not care how many town manses or carriages or titles that you have in your possession. Or marriageable younger brothers that my daughter seems to adore. Do you understand me, Lord Montaigne?”
“Very much so, ma’am,” he said, and Olivia could tell he was struggling to catch his breath and appear somewhat respectable, “I have no intention of harming Olivia. That is the last thing that I would want.”
“For a man who says so, you’ve done a remarkably poor job in the past.”
With a perplexed frown, Augustus gave a slight bow of his head. “I certainly do not defend my past conduct.”
“Very good,” Eloisa bit off, snapping her fan in a gesture that Olivia knew, from years with Eloisa, meant she regarded the matter as closed for the time being. “Now, come, Olivia. You have spent long enough on this balcony with a known scoundrel. While you are free to receive him at our lodgings, any more time with him on this balcony and our cadre risks tipping from outré to scandalous.”
Of course, Eloisa was right. She had lost track of time with him. She and the Mappertons did not need any more attention tonight.
She moved to leave, but she felt strong fingers close around her wrist, pulling her back.
“Olivia, will you allow me to call on you?”
He looked nearly nervous. Much closer to the young man of twenty that she had known than the titled lord who had strode into the Mapperton drawing room and then cornered her in a dirty alleyway.
She should refuse him. Especially with Eloisa watching. Eloisa, who knew all that had passed between them once, formed a painful reminder of all she owed to herself.
But the punishing force of his kiss was still on her lips. And the ardor on his face whispered that, perhaps, there were things she did not understand, and it stoppered the refusal in her throat.
“Yes,” she breathed out. “You can.”
Then, she broke away from him, moving towards the balcony door, where Eloisa held the door open for her just inside.
She willed her feet across the stones and through the door, but she couldn’t help turning back one more time.
Augustus was watching her leave, his expression once more poised somewhere between lust and pain. He looked like a supplicant before a shrine, a worshipper before an idol. She couldn’t believe that such a gaze could be for her.
But, then, for just a moment, with their eyes locked, when he gave one hard swallow, she believed that it could be.