The Ghost, page 7
Plymouth recoiled as if she had struck him. “I apologize for having delayed your departure from the park, Comtesse.” He released his grip on her horse’s reins. “I wish you a good day.” He touched the brim of his hat with his own riding crop as Olivia pulled sharply on the reins and urged her horse toward the exit.
Olivia felt the sting of tears in her eyes as her horse cantered away from the man she had once loved with such intensity it had almost destroyed her when he did not return from that battle at Waterloo.
Spencer had seemed somehow…different just now when they talked of the brief time she, at least, had believed they were in love with each other. He had looked and sounded almost nostalgic.
Then he had become coldly furious when she had confirmed that she had been happy with and loved Gerard. The fact that it had not been a romantic love was none of Spencer’s concern when he was treating her with such—
“Wait!”
Olivia pulled her horse to a halt before she turned in her saddle to look with concern toward the man cantering toward her.
Spencer always had looked magnificent seated upon a horse, and today was no exception. His horse’s coat was as black as the duke’s hair, upon which currently sat a tall and fashionable hat. Spencer’s riding clothes, a black superfine and gray riding breeches, were tailored to perfection to his muscular frame.
He pulled his horse to a stop mere feet away from Olivia before lifting one of his legs over to the other side and sliding down to the ground.
Olivia’s eyes widened as he walked toward her, his harsh features set in lines of a determination he dared anyone to challenge.
“Stay exactly where you are,” Spencer instructed Olivia’s groom when that gentleman looked as if he might protest when Spencer reached out to place his hands about the slenderness of Olivia’s waist to lift her from the saddle. Her riding crop fell to the ground as he did so. “Take care of the horses,” he dismissed the other man as he grasped Olivia’s wrist to pull her along with him as he marched over to a high grove of hydrangea bushes.
“Spencer, what are you doing?” Much as Olivia tried, she could not free her wrist. Inwardly, she was relieved the park was relatively empty and no one had observed Spencer’s strange behavior.
He turned to her abruptly once they were alone together and hidden in the relative privacy of the hydrangeas. His gloved hands moved to cup either side of her face as he stared at her intently before lowering his head and claiming her lips in a hot and possessive kiss.
Olivia was too stunned by this unexpected turn of events to even think of resisting. Instead, she was engulfed by a wave of happiness so intense, it took her breath away. A happiness she had believed she would never experience again after she had been informed of Spencer’s death the previous year.
Her arms moved up instinctively to grasp his shoulders before her fingers became entwined in the silky hair at his nape, and she returned the kiss with equal passion.
They were hungry for each other. Lips devouring. Teeth biting. Tongues dueling. All while their hands roamed possessively over the landscape of what had once belonged to each other.
Spencer was breathing deeply, his cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen, when he broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. “I did not lie to you. I would have come to you the moment I returned from battle. I would have formally asked your father for your hand in marriage. We would have been married, I swear it, and I would have ensured we lived happily together ever after.”
Olivia looked at him searchingly, seeing the sincerity of his claim in his stormy blue eyes. “Then why didn’t you?” she choked. “Where have you been, Spencer?”
“That, I cannot tell you—”
“Cannot or will not?” Olivia scorned as she pulled out of his arms, uncaring that she was, in all likelihood, bruising her own flesh by doing so. “Do not bother even trying to think of a plausible explanation to my question. For whatever reason, you did not come back to me. I married another man. I was happy with that other man. I mourn the loss of that other man.” She glared into the pallor of Spencer’s face. “I shall continue to mourn Gerard far more than I could ever grieve for such a man as you have become!”
She turned on her heel and walked away, unsure, when Spencer made no attempt to stop her, whether she was relieved or once again heartbroken that he did not care enough.
That he had never cared enough to explain where he had been since they parted a year and a half ago.
Olivia did not feel quite herself again until she had reached her home and entered the room that adjoined her own bedchamber.
The nursery.
Where her daughter sat on the rug in front of the guarded fire with her nursemaid, playing with some wooden bricks.
Mariah Lisette de Fontbleau immediately looked up to give her mother a gappy smile, only her bottom two teeth at the front having made an appearance as yet.
She was named Mariah in honor of Olivia’s maternal French grandmother, and Lisette, in memory of Gerard’s mother.
Olivia knew that she was utterly biased, but to her eyes Mariah was gloriously beautiful, with her abundance of curls that glistened as darkly as a raven’s wing and blue eyes the deep color of a summer sky.
Hair and eyes that were an exact replica of her father’s.
The illustrious, the arrogant, the ruthless Spencer Granger, the Duke of Plymouth.
CHAPTER SIX
“Yes?” Spencer prompted his butler.
The other man stood hovering in the doorway of Spencer’s study, where he had chosen to sit behind his desk drinking brandy. He had been seated there since his return from riding in the park and having that disturbing conversation with and then kissing Olivia.
It might be a little early in the day for most people to imbibe, but Spencer had felt sorely in need of the alcohol in order to settle his nerves.
After spending time with Olivia again.
Being able to fill his gaze of her.
To hear her soft, melodious voice again.
To look into those enticing amber eyes, and having done so known he was still enticed.
Enough to have kissed her.
Passionately.
Possessively.
It hadn’t mattered to Spencer’s heart that so much time had passed and now separated the two of them.
One look into Olivia’s eyes, one indrawn breath of her unique perfume, and Spencer knew that, rather than allowing her to just ride away from him, he had needed to touch and kiss her again.
He had wanted to do more than kiss her. Had ached to caress her creamy skin. To suckle her breasts. To taste the nectar between her thighs. To thrust his cock inside her heat and once again be joined completely with her.
He had tried to relay to her the depth of his desire and need for her in his kiss. Had believed she had heard him when she kissed him with that same passion. Only for her to pull away and revile him again before praising the virtues of her deceased husband.
Was it any wonder that he had felt the need to pour himself a glass of brandy immediately after slamming the door to his study to shut out the rest of the world? That he had then poured himself another. Then another.
“There is a footman, who says he works in the de Fontbleau household, asking to speak with you privately, Your Grace.”
The butler’s words immediately dissipated any barrier the brandy might have put between Spencer and the ache for Olivia, which now seemed to have taken up residence in his chest.
That now-familiar nerve began to pulse in Spencer’s jaw. “Did this footman tell you the purpose of his visit?”
Groves’s brows lifted in haughty disdain. “When I inquired, the young gentleman informed me he had been instructed to return something that belongs to Your Grace. That he was told he must place it in your hand himself.”
The Plymouth ring. It had to be.
Because Spencer knew from the conclusion of their encounter in the park earlier that there was absolutely nothing else Olivia would ever willingly give to him.
Instead she had sent a footman to give the Plymouth ring back into Spencer’s possession?
No doubt a footman who had no idea what item he was returning or why.
But Spencer had absolutely no doubt Olivia had deliberately chosen this distant manner in which to return the ring she had accused him of giving to her only so that she would continue to believe his seductive lies.
“You may tell the footman— No.” Spencer changed his mind as he stood. “I shall give the footman a message to relate to…to his employer.” He might be angry with Olivia, furiously so, but he had no intention of besmirching or bringing her reputation into question.
He strode purposefully out to the entrance hall where the footman waited. “You may tell your employer that I require my property be returned to me by them personally.” It sounded less shocking than if he had said, Tell your mistress.
Even though it truly was not.
Olivia was a widow, and for her to be seen calling upon the household of a single gentleman so soon after her husband’s death would be scandalous.
“But I have it here in my hand, Your Grace.” The footman looked nonplussed as he held up the small parcel in his palm.
Spencer gave an inclination of his head. “Nevertheless, you will see that it is returned to your employer along with my message.”
Olivia might wish to forget she had ever had the ring in her possession. Might wish she could forget Spencer’s existence as easily. But he knew that he never would or could forget her. Even the thought of not seeing her again before she and the rest of the de Fontbleau household departed to spend the winter months in the country, was unacceptable to him.
But before that happened, if propriety dictated Spencer could not go to the home of a widow, then Olivia must be made to come to him. An occurrence he knew was just as socially unacceptable, but which filled him with a certain painful satisfaction.
Rowena had been right to say Spencer was not the man he had once been.
He was different in so many ways.
But the most noticeable of all was that he was now a cold and unforgiving man.
“Would you care to repeat that?” Olivia’s eyes were wide with disbelief as she stared at the footman as he fidgeted nervously from one foot to the other as he stood just inside her private parlor.
The young man kept his gaze lowered. “His Grace, the Duke of Plymouth, told me to tell you he would not accept this from me.” He held up the parcel Olivia had so painstakingly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string just a short time ago and given into the footman’s keeping to be delivered to the duke. “He said that it must be you, and no one else who returned it to him.”
Olivia absently cradled her sleepy daughter upon her knee. Mariah had been fretting for the past two hours, and Olivia suspected that her daughter was about to produce the two missing teeth from her upper gums. The arrival of Mariah’s bottom two teeth, which she proudly displayed every time she smiled, had caused the poor darling to suffer days and nights of fretful discomfort. Olivia suspected it was about to happen again, and it was no hardship to cuddle and murmur words of reassurance to Mariah to keep her calm.
Mariah’s nursemaid was currently clearing away from where Mariah had been bathed before bedtime. She was a young, happy girl with several young siblings still living in Wales. She cared for Mariah with the same love as she no doubt did her brothers and sisters.
For the most part, Olivia preferred to tend to her daughter herself. She had done so since the moment her dark-haired, blue-eyed daughter was placed in her arms shortly after her birth.
Olivia had decorated and furnished the room adjoining her own suite of rooms into the nursery, even though she knew it was not the way things were usually done. She wanted her baby close to her. After Mariah’s birth, Olivia had dismissed the very idea of her baby having a wetnurse, preferring to feed her daughter herself.
Indeed, Olivia had grown to cherish those times before Mariah began to sleep through until morning, when the two of them were alone together in the middle of the night as the rest of the household slept. There was something surreal about the early hours of the morning, when the darkness outside the windows revealed the new day was not yet broken, but neither had the previous night completely departed.
Olivia’s heart ached now to recall how, during those times, she had talked to Mariah about her real father. How she had told her how wonderful Spencer had been. How he had died a hero’s death. And how much Olivia still loved him.
She had not known then that Spencer was still very much alive. Or that he would return and treat Olivia as if the two of them had never said “I love you” to each other, let alone made love together.
She still had no idea what devil had prompted Spencer this afternoon in the park as he lifted her down from her horse before kissing her.
Or more disturbing, why she had kissed him back when he refused to tell her where he had been for the past year and a half.
Not that any of that mattered now. She had married Gerard. She was now his widow, and she appreciated more than she could ever say that he had saved her from the scandal that would have ruined not only her life but Mariah’s.
A sacrifice such as that could never be repaid.
She certainly had no intention of Spencer ever learning he had a daughter. He might have been present at Mariah’s conception, but he had not been at Olivia’s side during her pregnancy or Mariah’s birth. In every way that mattered, Gerard was Mariah’s father.
Olivia’s arms tightened instinctively about her daughter as she once again looked at the footman. “You may leave the parcel there.” She nodded in the direction of the small table beside the door. “Thank you for trying, at least.” She gave the young man a warm smile.
“’Appy to oblige, my lady.” A blush crept into his cheeks. “If I might say… If I could be permitted…”
“Yes?” Olivia eyed him curiously for this break in protocol.
“’Is Grace, the duke, he seems to be somewhat in ’is cups this evening, my lady.”
Her brows rose. “You mean he was drunk?”
The footman looked uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say drunk, my lady, but ’e’d certainly ’ad a glass or two of brandy, because I could smell it on ’im.” He winced before his expression became anxious. “I’m only telling you this because it might be more…prudent to wait until tomorrow, if you intend doing as the duke said and decide to visit him yourself.”
“When he might once again be sober,” Olivia acknowledged dryly.
“Yes.”
Olivia had no intention of visiting Spencer this evening. Not only would it be completely improper for her to do so, but she refused to comply with anything that particularly arrogant duke might suggest.
“Thank you, Andrew.” She smiled at the footman. “I will do as you say.”
She almost chuckled, once the footman had departed, to think of what Spencer’s reaction might be to knowing she had willingly accepted the suggestion of a footman, but would not listen to one made by a duke. Specifically him.
The Spencer Granger who had returned from France was far too haughty and fond of having his own way, Olivia decided a short time later as she sat beside Mariah’s cot and read her daughter a bedtime story.
Only the light from a single candle illuminated the room, and that single candlestick was safely placed within the confines of a large bowl of water every evening so as to prevent a fire if it should accidentally fall over during the night.
Olivia knew that, if anything, she was overcautious in regard to her daughter’s safety. But she would never recover from the heartache if anything should ever happen to her beloved daughter.
The same could be said if Spencer should learn of his daughter’s existence, and he then demanded to be a part of her life. Something Olivia did not intend to allow to happen.
As far as Olivia was concerned, Gerard had been Mariah’s father.
He had been the one to insist the two of them marry even after Olivia had felt compelled to explain that she was expecting another man’s child.
It had been a bleak and unhappy time for her, knowing Spencer was dead and then learning the scandalous news she was to have his child.
For several weeks, Olivia had been so shocked by the realization of the latter, she hadn’t known what to do.
She certainly couldn’t confide her scandalous predicament to her parents.
If her mother had somehow learned Olivia was expecting Spencer Granger’s child, then she would never have forgiven her. The scandal of having a daughter who was unmarried and expecting a baby was enough to ruin not only Olivia, but also the rest of her family. Her younger sisters, in particular, would have suffered socially and on the marriage mart.
But still, Olivia had known that telling Gerard the truth had been the least she owed him.
In turn, Gerard had explained why he could never have a child of his own and how honored he would be if Olivia allowed him to be her husband and the father of her baby for however long he had left to live.
They had decided, together, that they would present the united front of husband and wife to both her family and the ton.
Gerard had been at her side during the months of her pregnancy. Had been the one to ransack the kitchen and provide for her when Olivia requested something outlandish to eat. He had remained at home with her in the evenings when her condition became too noticeable for her to appear in Society any longer. Had been the one to hold her hand when she suffered through the long and painful hours of labor, with the result that his own hand had been quite bruised by the time Mariah was born.
Olivia could still see the wonder on Gerard’s face when the bathed and blanket-wrapped baby girl was placed in his arms. Mariah had been so tiny, so serious, but she had looked up at Gerard with complete trust. As if she knew and appreciated what he had done for both her mother and her.
So it had been easy when Spencer had asked her earlier today if she had loved Gerard to tell him the only answer she could give.
