Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow. Anne O'Brien
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highly displeased Mrs Russell in the breakfast parlour. Her voice never rose beyond its usual cool, light timbre, but the emotion that she brought with her into the room was inflammatory.
‘I find, to my amazement, that I have been relieved of all my duties for today.’ A pause. ‘My lord,’ she added.
‘Correct.’ He could not read her face, so tried for the noncommittal.
‘I am due to only half a day every fortnight.’
‘Today you are at liberty, Mrs Russell.’
‘I do not need it. It is unfair on your staff who have to take on my work. And who will teach the children?’
He had not thought of that. ‘The children can spend some time with me.’ God help me! ‘Surely you can find things to do with a whole day at your disposal?’
‘That is not the point at issue, my lord.’
‘As your employer, it is in my power to decide when and how you work.’
‘I am your housekeeper and your governess.’ Her eyes flashed like sapphires in a candle flame. Flashed with temper. He could now read her face perfectly. ‘My terms of employment were agreed with the Countess of Painscastle before you took up residence. I need nothing but the terms on which I first came here. I shall take the afternoon on Wednesday as arranged. My lord!’
Without waiting for a reply, she dropped a curtsy, picked up his empty plate from the table, turned on her heel and left him to enjoy his cooling cup of coffee.
Behaving just like any other servant in the house! Damn the woman! But, by God, she had been magnificent. And astonishingly beautiful when she allowed her fury to break its bonds.
Lord Joshua Faringdon, used to ordering matters to suit himself, might not have felt quite so dissatisfied with events if he had known the lady’s reactions to his chivalry. In a moment of idiocy before returning the splendid coat laid out for her, she had buried her face in the blue velvet—before dropping the soft fabric as if it burned her hands. It was lovely. She could not allow it. Must not. But it hurt to throw his gestures back in his face—such as dismissing the barouche when he had been so thoughtful. But then, she did not know what his motives might be.
Neither, to be fair, did his lordship.
But one thing he could do over which she had no jurisdiction. The time had come. The Countess of Wexford, he decided, had long outstayed her welcome. Wycliffe had been instrumental in her presence to strengthen his cover as a dilettante. He had seen the value of that on his return to London when gossip over his immoral ways had run rife, but enough was enough. Nor, suddenly, for some inexplicable reason did he wish to appear quite so unprincipled and lacking in moral decency. He could no longer tolerate her attentions, her clear designs on his time and his interest. Certainly he did not appreciate her heavily patronising manner toward Mrs Russell, a manner that had been allowed full expression since the incident of the French banquet.
It was more than time that their paths parted.
He needed an opportunity to suggest that the lady leave. And if one did not present itself, then he would have to end the situation as carefully and discreetly as possible.
The former did not arise, so he was driven with some distaste to the latter, after making some thoughtful preparations.
* * *
‘I have seen so little of you, my lord.’ Olivia Wexford entered his library on the following evening, where he was sitting with a glass of brandy and a recent edition of the Gentleman’s Magazine. A provocative swing of expensively gowned hips advertised her deliberate intent. The neckline of the emerald silk was cut low on her bosom and, unless he was very much mistaken, her lovely face was enhanced by the use of cosmetics. Her mouth, deliciously red, settled in an inviting pout, her heavy perfume invaded his senses. His lordship felt a sudden urge to retreat in disorder, but stiffened his resolve.
‘Forgive me, Olivia. I have not been the best of company.’ He called on the excuse of his damaged hip and knee, with silent apologies to the deity who had granted him the facility to heal quickly and well. ‘My leg. The pain, you understand. Sometimes it is almost too great to bear.’ He managed to move surprisingly quickly from his chair, even without the use of his cane, to avoid an inevitable kiss as the lady approached. ‘Perhaps I can offer you a glass of brandy?’
‘No. I suspected that you were in some discomfort.’ Her intense expression was not quite critical of his lack of attention to her. She followed him to where he had lifted the decanter to refill his own glass. Oh, God! ‘But perhaps now that you are able to walk more easily, and without your cane…’ She smoothed a hand delicately down his arm, looking up into his face with wide and lustrous eyes. ‘Perhaps you would be willing to escort me to the opera? It would be good for you to see friends again, I think. And afterwards a light supper where you could spend time with me, of course. Alone.’
‘I would be delighted to oblige, Olivia. But I regret not this evening. I have another engagement.’ He cast about in his mind, only to come up with the obvious. ‘At Brooks’s.’ The only place he could be safe.
‘Ah!’ The faintest of lines was drawn between her sleek brows, but then she smiled. It reminded him of a raptor’s hungry interest in its prey. ‘I have received an invitation to join a weekend party at the country home of Lord and Lady Melville in Berkshire. So gracious of them. I think it would be excellent for your spirits if you accompanied me, Joshua.’
‘Olivia—there is something I would say.’ He put down the glass of brandy. ‘But first, I have a gift for you—a mark of my esteem. And gratitude.’ How clumsy it sounded. He winced inwardly as he moved to open a drawer in the desk, to remove a flat packet. Held it out.
The Countess took it, without any sign of pleasure, and lifted the lid on the velvet-lined case.
‘How lovely.’ Her eyes were flat and cold. She did not touch the sparkling gems, but merely tilted the box so that their facets would catch the light. She angled her head, watching the expensive glitter, then looked at him. ‘Could this be in the way of a farewell present? Somehow, in my experience, diamond necklaces always seem to figure at the end of a relationship.’
‘I think, yes. I fear that you are bored, my dear Olivia. I have been no help to you in recent weeks, although I shall be eternally grateful for your company. In my convalescence.’
Thick lashes hid her thoughts. She fixed a smile that looked almost genuine. ‘But you are recovering now, Joshua. We could still pass some pleasant times together. I think that you are not unaware of my attractions.’ She reached over to touch his hand.
‘No. My mind is made up.’ He tried to be gentle even as he withdrew his hand. ‘This is the end for us, Olivia. Much as I admire you.’
‘But I have not thanked you sufficiently for your hospitality.’ The raptor’s talons sank deeper. He could not escape as she tightened her hold on his arm and touched her lips to his. All he could do was to remain still, cool and unresponsive to her invitation. Not quite a rejection—that would be too much like a slap in the face—but his reluctance was plain.
Olivia straightened, allowed her hand to drop away, her face controlled, but her smile had vanished and there was now an edge to her voice.
‘I see that you are determined. Will you tell me why?’
‘No reason that would be an insult to you, my dear. But time passes. And I need to make some changes in my life.’
‘And I have no place in them.’
He could find nothing to say.
‘Is there someone else in your life? Have you taken another mistress?’
‘No.’
Her smile was brief and bitter. ‘How demeaning to be overthrown for no one else.’ She turned her back to walk toward the door, pride stamped on every controlled movement. And a simmering rage. ‘Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?’