Olivia stifled a groan at the reminder. As if she hadn’t enough problems of her own to attend to, she was now inextricably bound to the rest of the Blake family, and what she’d seen of the brood so far left a marked distaste in her mouth. “Did Merrick mention his plans to you?”
Her father folded his paper and looked at her curiously. “He said he left you a note. Didn’t you read it?”
She was out the door in a moment, shouting for the butler. He came running out, panting with the effort to make haste. But he knew nothing of a note, so she lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs. She found a chambermaid making the freshly changed bed.
“Morning, milady,” the young servant greeted with a quick curtsy.
“Did you find a note for me?”
The girl nodded and moved to the end table, returning with a slip of folded parchment.
Olivia murmured her thanks and retired to her room to read the missive in private. It was simple and heartbreaking.
Trust me. I will return.
Yours,
S
She sank to the floor and cried.
Chapter Six
London, England, June 1813
Stifling a yawn, Olivia perused the ballroom with a jaundiced eye. The event was a crush, therefore the room was hot and, despite the profusion of flowers, smelly as well. She had no desire to be here, but Dunsmore had insisted she attend.
One would think that the last four months would have wrought some change in their feelings for one another, considering how closely they worked together to ensure her social success. But such was not the case. She detested the horrid man as much today as the day she had first met him. Unfortunately, left to her own devices, she’d had no recourse but to seek out the marquess’s assistance. She required his support to establish herself as Lady Merrick. Without him, the social acceptance that was due her would have been denied her.
Personally, Olivia cared nothing for the Beau Monde’s regard, and if she’d had any choice, she would have remained at home and licked her wounds in peace. Her child, on the other hand, deserved a proper start in life, and it was for that reason alone she feigned interest in Polite Society.
Her hard work was rewarded with unequivocal success. Even Dunsmore was impressed, and she’d sensed an almost imperceptible softening in his attitude toward her. He would be thrilled to learn that she was enceinte and that all of his machinations had the desired outcome, but the knowledge was too precious to share. She suspected he would take a perverse pleasure in obtaining the knowledge before Sebastian, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. It was the final act of kindness she would ever bestow upon her errant husband.
She’d been devastated when he left, weepy and despondent. Then she’d turned furious.
She remained furious.
Olivia set her glass of lemonade on the tray of a nearby footman before she snapped the delicate stem in half. Sebastian had broken his word, left her to fend for herself among the wolves while he ran from his troubles. She would never forgive him for that. Never.
“Trust me,” he wrote. Ha! He refused to trust her. Why should she be the only party in their marriage to extend such a simple courtesy?
“My lady, would it be too much to hope that you still have a dance available?”
Olivia turned at the sound of the familiar drawl, eyeing Carr Blake with a sigh. The man wasn’t truly evil like his uncle, just misguided and easily led. Regardless, she kept a close eye on him and maintained a rigid distance from his friendly overtures. The man had set out to deceive her in the most heinous manner imaginable, and that was an offense she would never forget. Still, she had appearances to maintain, and one of them was a feigned closeness to the Blake brood, distasteful as they all were. “Certainly. The set after next.”
His blue eyes gleamed with excitement. “I am a fortunate man.”
Again she was caught by the resemblance between Carr and Sebastian. They were very similar, both boasting shining black hair and startlingly blue eyes. But the resemblance was merely superficial. Carr was more like an exuberant puppy, while Sebastian was more of a panther on the prowl.
Olivia rolled her shoulders back and forced a smile, since most eyes were on her. Her relentless pursuit of the height of fashion had been a large part of her success, an expensive accomplishment achieved through her husband’s largesse.
She sighed audibly. She would gladly have given up everything if it would have won her Sebastian’s love. But it was too late for that now.
“Lady Merrick, I believe this next set has been reserved for me.”
Olivia turned. “I believe you are correct, Monsieur Robidoux.”
The dashing Frenchman bowed elegantly over her proffered hand. His golden beauty had won him wide regard with the members of the ton. It did nothing for her, but she flashed him her best smile.
He grinned as he escorted her to the gathering line of dancers. “You are even more ravishing tonight than usual, my lady.”
She arched a brow. “Thank you, monsieur.”
Robidoux had been brazenly forward with her since arriving in London a month ago, suggesting strolls through the gardens or drives in the park, all of which she refused. She braced herself at every meeting, his determination to be alone with her making her decidedly uncomfortable.
“Lady Merrick,” he purred in his unctuous voice. “The Dunsmore title is an old and respected one, I’ve been told. And yet the earl who inherits it is not in attendance. In fact, no one has seen hide nor hair of the man in over five years.”
She laughed—part in amusement, part in exasperation. The gossips were rife with speculation about the whereabouts of her husband. After all, it was odd for a missing man to suddenly acquire a wife. It was because of this unusual circumstance that Dunsmore’s assistance had been necessary to establish her credibility. “I assure you, Lord Merrick is not a figment of my imagination.”
Robidoux’s fingers tightened on hers. “A beautiful woman should never be neglected.”
She suppressed an unladylike snort. The man’s advances were growing tiresome. “I am not neglected, Monsieur Robidoux.”
“Where is your husband then? I would very much like to make his acquaintance.”
“And so you shall, in good time.” The country dance began, and she released a relieved breath.
The Frenchman’s smile held no charm as they traversed the length of the line. “Perhaps you’d care to take a stroll in the gardens with me when the set is over?” he asked before they separated.
“No, thank you.”
Olivia was grateful when the music faded to silence. One more dance was left in the set, but at least she was marginally closer to escaping Robidoux’s company. Something about the man made her uneasy. His smiles never reached his eyes, and the way he looked at her made her feel . . . dissected.
“The Right Honourable Earl of Merrick,” the majordomo intoned in his booming voice.
The entire room froze, a weighted silence settling over the mass of occupants like a thick fog.
Olivia turned, eyes wide, mouth agape. As the strains of the next dance began, her eyes were riveted on the tall, dark form descending the staircase.