Olivia and the Masked Duke Page 14

  Arabella had used them to play him like a puppet. And though Livy was as different from his dead wife as he could imagine, the two women did have one thing in common: they were both headstrong by nature. His failure to do his husbandly duty and guide Arabella had destroyed their marriage.

  He could not ignore that Livy was equally willful…hell, he’d found her dressed like a whore at a tavern last night. Even though he believed that her gambit had mostly been innocent, there was no telling what she could get up to if he didn’t keep a close eye on her.

  It had been one thing to find her Willflower antics amusing when she’d been his little friend. Now that his feelings for her had taken a decidedly different turn, his instinct to protect her was amplified by possessiveness. If he married her, he would not make the same mistake that he’d made with Arabella. He would have to guide Livy and maintain a firm upper hand. It would be his duty to keep her safe from her own worst instincts.

  Am I up to the task? Or am I going to fail…again?

  Pushing aside his self-doubt, he got out of bed, ignoring the heavy sway of his cock. He could, obviously, take matters into his own hands…but he didn’t want to. He hadn’t had a sexual release with others or by himself since the first time Livy had kissed him at her birthday ball. It was the second longest period of celibacy in his adult life.

  Master Chen would be proud, he thought wryly.

  Yet Ben wasn’t withholding pleasure from himself for any moral reason. The simple fact was that he only wanted gratification with Livy. She made him long for things he hadn’t felt in years…maybe ever. He’d never been friends with a lover before. Never felt this protective over any woman. Never wanted to cherish her rare self even as he fantasized about debauching her and laying claim to her in every filthy way imaginable.

  Filled with restless energy, he rang for his valet to help him dress. He would go for a ride before calling upon Livy. Then he would tell her the remaining facts about his past and his expectations for marriage, and she would make her choice to accept him…or not.

  17

  Livy cocked her head, halting in front of the fire. “Is that Hadleigh?”

  Posted by the drawing room window, Glory reported, “No. Just a passing carriage.”

  “He said he would call.” Livy recommenced her pacing. “Where is he?”

  “It is only five minutes past two,” Fiona said from the settee. She was dealing cards onto the coffee table, polishing some of the tricks Hawker had taught them. When she turned over a royal flush, she smiled with satisfaction. “Perhaps Hadleigh is being fashionably late.”

  “I wish he would show up,” Livy grumbled.

  “For heaven’s sake.” Seated at the escritoire, Charlie peered over her wire-rimmed reading spectacles like a disapproving schoolmistress. “All this fuss over a man.”

  “Not just any man,” Livy protested. “This is Hadleigh we’re talking about.”

  The man I love.

  As Livy had predicted, upon arriving home, she’d been met by a worried Charlie. That had led to Livy giving an abbreviated account of the evening’s activities. Since Livy hadn’t been able to hide her giddiness, Charlie had guessed the state of affairs between Livy and Hadleigh…and hadn’t seemed too pleased about it. Unlike Glory and Fi, who’d cheered when Livy told them her dreams were finally coming true.

  “Livy has been in love with the duke for ages,” Fi said blithely. “She is going to marry him.”

  “Not too soon, I hope.”

  Charlie’s testy tone was jarring because, up until now, her attitude had been warm and obliging. The coolness in the lady’s grey eyes sent an uncertain slither up Livy’s spine. Livy crossed over to the escritoire, her peach silk skirts swishing.

  “Do you have a problem with Hadleigh?” Livy asked.

  Charlie’s lips formed a tight line. “He has a reputation for being a rake.”

  “That was in the past, and I do not care,” Livy said bluntly. “I’ve known him since I was twelve, when he risked his life to save mine. I know his true character, and I love him.”

  “You are young, Livy. Too young to give up your dreams for a man.”

  Livy frowned. “Who says I am going to give up my dreams?”

  Charlie rose, neatening the piles on her desk. “Do you truly think that Hadleigh will allow you to carry on your work with the Society of Angels if you are wed?”

  The truth was Livy hadn’t thought that far ahead. She’d been focused on getting him over the hump of admitting his attraction to her.

  “I don’t see why he would stop me from doing something I wanted to do,” she said uneasily.

  “Because he is a man,” Charlie said brusquely. “He will see you as nothing but an extension of himself, and the law gives him that right. As a femme couvert, you will cease to exist as a person after marriage. Your very being will be subsumed under the identity of your husband. Is that what you want?”

  Every fiber of Livy’s being rebelled at the idea. But surely not every man wanted a woman to be subservient. Surely Hadleigh wouldn’t.

  Aloud, she said, “My mama is married, and she is very much her own person.”

  “An exception does not the case make.” Sighing, Charlie said, “You have so much potential and have come so far, Livy. Look how well you did last night until Hadleigh came along.”

  Pride sparked in Livy as she thought of her successful disguise, the way she’d handled the brute in the alleyway. Moreover, she and Charlie had discovered new clues. They now knew that Longmere was neck-deep in intrigue with Edgecombe, Stamford, Bollinger, and Thorne…and some mysterious Chinese partner whose name could not be spoken.

  What were the men up to? Why did Longmere want to stop participating in whatever they were doing? For Pippa’s sake, Livy was determined to find out the answers when she, Charlie, and the Willflowers surveilled Longmere at the pleasure gardens tomorrow evening.

  “You have many accomplishments ahead of you,” Charlie pressed on. “Many women you could help. Don’t sell yourself, or our clients, short over a fleeting passion.”

  “Hadleigh is more than a temporary passion. I love him,” she declared.

  “And that makes him even more dangerous,” Charlie said. “Nothing is more deceptive, more capable of betrayal, than love.”

  Livy cocked her head. “Were you hurt by someone you love?”

  Charlie’s composure cracked, and the anguish that bled through stunned Livy into silence. She looked to Fi and Glory for help, but they only looked back at her, wide-eyed. This was the first time any of them had witnessed their leader as anything but utterly self-possessed.

  In the next heartbeat, Charlie’s poise returned. “I have been hurt, yes, which is why I don’t want you to make the same mistake. Be wiser than I was, Livy.”

  “I am sorry for your pain,” Livy said softly. “But I know I love Hadleigh.”

  “And if he forces you to choose between him and the important work you are doing now?”

  Livy squared her shoulders. “He will not make me choose.”

  Inside, she wasn’t quite as confident. She was forced to admit that while she knew Hadleigh as a friend, she did not know him as a lover or husband. What were his expectations for marriage? Her disquiet grew as she recalled the rumors of his possessiveness over his duchess and the duels he’d fought over her.

  Then Livy’s thoughts bounced to his dominant behavior in the stables with Lady Foxton. At the time, his mastery over his lover had stirred a deep and primal response in Livy, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that he might be domineering in other spheres of life. It was one thing to play wicked games of passion, which she was all for; it was another if he expected her to be obedient in everyday life.

  This could be a problem.

  She chewed on her lip, not liking her uncertainty. The possibility that her two great passions might be pitted against one another. She wanted everything: the man she loved and the freedom to do what she wanted.

&n
bsp; “You are as headstrong as I was, Livy. And just as blinded.” Shaking her head, Charlie said, “Whatever you decide, I will remind you of the vow of secrecy you gave when you joined the Angels. You kept the truth about our society from Hadleigh last night, and you must continue to do so. For the protection of our clients and all involved in our group. I want your word, Livy.”

  Livy hated lying to Hadleigh. Yet she could not go back on her word to her mentor, who had given her so much…the keys to a dazzling new world of adventure.

  Livy released a breath. “You have my word.”

  Solving problems is my specialty, she reassured herself. I’ll find a solution. First, I need to ascertain what Hadleigh’s expectations are for marriage. Then maybe I can find a way to convince Charlie that he can be trusted…

  “The duke is here!” Glory exclaimed.

  Livy’s heart thumped with eagerness…and a hint of trepidation for the ruse that was to follow.

  “Take your positions, Angels.” Charlie’s tone was brisk. “You know what to do.”

  As Ben bowed to the ladies, he had a feeling that something was not quite right.

  He tried to pinpoint the cause of his assessment. Lady Fayne was politeness itself, the quintessential hostess in her drawing room graced by white marble goddesses. Against the elegant backdrop, Livy glowed with a dewy freshness that heated his loins, her chestnut hair radiant against the blue walls. She was seated on a buttercup-yellow settee, the other Willflowers on adjacent chairs. All three ladies had embroidery hoops on their laps.

  Everything was proper and perfect.

  And therein lies the problem.

  “Your Grace, how lovely to see you again.” Lady Fayne’s gracious tones drew him out of his thoughts. “To what do we owe the honor?”

  He shook off his odd intuition. Told himself he was imagining things. Who was he to question why Livy was doing needlework? He ought to be grateful that Lady Fayne managed to keep the minx occupied with genteel activities…during the daytime, at least. His eyes met Livy’s, and the playful warmth in those celadon orbs hit him straight in the chest and lower.

  Hell’s teeth, I am not going to get hard in this bloody drawing room.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Before he departed, the Duke of Strathaven asked me to keep an eye on Lady Olivia, and I fear I have been remiss in my duties.”

  “How kind of you to stop by.” The impish curve of Livy’s mouth begged to be kissed. “I’ve been thinking about you since our last visit. It has been far too long.”

  Damnit, if the chit didn’t stop flirting with him, he was going to pounce on her and give them away to her chaperone.

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Your Grace? I shall pour tea,” Lady Fayne said.

  Joining Livy on the settee, Ben could smell her fruity, feminine scent, and it made his mouth water. She looked fetching in a gown the shade of peaches…which immediately reminded him of his dream. Of tasting and licking her juiciest part. Devil and damn, this was going to be a torturous visit. To distract himself, he studied the embroidery hoop in her lap.

  Using pink silk thread, she’d stitched a pair of wings, surrounding a monogram of “SOA,” on a fine linen handkerchief. The stitches were neat and precise. He noticed with further surprise that there was a stack of handkerchiefs on the coffee table in front of her, all embroidered in the same impeccable manner.

  He lifted his brows. “Your needlework has improved.”

  “Has it?” She gave him an innocent look. “Perhaps I never applied myself before.”

  “And you are motivated to do so now?”

  “It is for a good cause,” she said demurely.

  “The proceeds of the handkerchiefs go toward helping women in need.” Lady Fayne handed him a cup, settling on the other side of the coffee table. “Perhaps you would care to purchase a few, Your Grace, to help our cause?”

  “I’ll take the lot.” He sampled the beverage. Oddly enough, the tea was exactly how he preferred it.

  “How kind of you,” Lady Fayne murmured.

  “It is my pleasure to support your charitable efforts. I confess, I am awestruck that you have managed to corral Livy into needlework.” He suppressed a grin when Livy wrinkled her nose. “Is that what you ladies do all day?”

  “We do a little of this, a little of that. We also, for instance, write pamphlets that build on the foundation of Wollstonecraft’s superb treatise, A Vindication of the Rights of Women.” Lady Fayne gestured at a stack of papers on a nearby escritoire. “Perhaps you would care to take one?”

  “Thank you,” he said politely.

  Due to Livy keeping him tied up in knots, he’d suffered a few sleepless nights. Some soporific reading material might be just the ticket.

  “I hope you find the pamphlet edifying,” Lady Fayne said. “Lord Sheffield professed to find our views on the plight of women quite enlightening.”

  Ben frowned. “Sheffield has read it?”

  “Indeed, he was one of the first to do so.” Lady Fayne smiled complacently. “He has been a regular visitor here since Livy came to stay.”

  “Has he?” Ben swung a glance at Livy, who looked back at him with wide eyes.

  Why the devil hadn’t she mentioned anything about seeing Sheffield? Was she dallying with the bastard…while keeping Ben dancing on her string? Jealousy scalded his chest. He’d been played in that fashion before. Had sworn to never let another woman make a puppet of him.

  “Surely you do not disapprove, Your Grace?” Lady Fayne said with arched brows. “Sheffield is excellent ton, and the Duchess of Strathaven told me that she quite prefers him.”

  “Livy’s papa, the duke,” he said through his clenched teeth, “has a different view.”

  “A mother knows what is best for a daughter, don’t you think?”

  “I do not,” Ben snapped.

  “Charlie,” Livy cut in. “Could Hadleigh and I have a moment alone?”

  “Without chaperonage? My dear, would that be proper?”

  “Hadleigh is a trusted family friend,” Livy insisted. “We will leave the door open.”

  “Fine. You may have fifteen minutes and not one more.” Lady Fayne rose, her smile pleasant and fixed in place. “Come, girls, there are women in need of our assistance.”

  After the others departed, Ben leaned toward Livy. He planted his hands on the back of the settee, caging her.

  “What the devil is going on with Sheffield?” he demanded.

  “Nothing.” She blinked at him. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

  “What if I am? Is that what you want?”

  Looking into her beautiful face, he suddenly saw Arabella’s green eyes looking back. The gloating glow in them as she whispered, “Prove to me that you’re a man, Hadleigh. Prove that you’re the only one deserving of me.”

  “Of course not.” Livy’s bewildered voice dispelled the memory. The eyes that stared back at him were once again guileless, with the clarity of a mountain spring. “That is precisely why I didn’t mention Sheffield. Not that there is anything to mention. He has visited a few times, yes, but you know he likes to pay attendance upon me. It isn’t anything serious, and I could hardly turn him away.”

  Her rational explanation dumped sand upon the flames of Ben’s jealousy. He felt like a fool. And the veriest cad. Jerking away, he dragged a hand through his hair.

  “I apologize,” he muttered. “I did not mean to alarm you.”

  “I am not alarmed,” she said. “And I will accept your apology—if you explain why you acted like a madman.”

  He owed her an explanation; there was no getting around it.

  He forced the words out. “I thought you were trying to goad me into jealousy.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would I do that?”

  “Because Arabella did.”

  He’d never spoken much about his marriage to Livy, due to her young age back then and also his loyalty to, if not his wife, then the vows he’d made. Yet the rumors about th
e state of his marital affairs had been plentiful, and Livy had always been a little pitcher with big ears. Since Arabella’s death, he hadn’t hidden the fact that he had no desire to wed again.

  His clever queen had probably put two and two together. Thus, he wasn’t surprised at the understanding that filled her pretty eyes. Or her next question.

  “Why did she wish to make you jealous?” Livy asked quietly.

  “It made her feel loved, she said.” His lips twisted as he stared at the coffee table. “I was foolish, had married her when I was eighteen and far too young. And I took her at her word that she lied and kept secrets because she wanted my attention. It took me years to understand that what she really enjoyed was having power over me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Livy placed her hand on his jaw, turning his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry she did that to you. But I am not Arabella. And I would never play with your feelings in so shabby a fashion. Love is not a game.”

  “Livy.” His throat constricted; he couldn’t look away from her bright sincerity. “Hearing you say that…I cannot tell you what it means to me. Because that is the one thing I would insist upon in marriage: total and complete honesty. I will not tolerate lies from any future duchess of mine.”

  Livy wetted her lips, looking…anxious? He did not blame her. When it came to romance, he was no idealistic young buck like Sheffield. What he had to offer wasn’t poetry and ardent promises but hard truths and a closet full of skeletons.

  “Other than, um, honesty, do you have other expectations for marriage?” she asked.

  He glanced at the open door, which offered a partial view of the empty hallway. The situation was far from ideal for this conversation, but he had to lay his cards on the table and see her reaction. Had to know whether it was pointless for him to hope.

  “They all have to do with the failures of my first union,” he said bluntly. “In short, I failed in my duty as a husband and will not make that mistake again. If I marry, I will be the master of my own house. I will expect my wife’s honesty and obedience, particularly when it comes to her well-being and safety.”