Page 10 of My Secret Duke

D espite the lavish spread, Olivia wasn’t hungry. She felt shaky, and even more nervous than she had been at her coming-out ball at Ashton House. So much depended upon tonight and tomorrow, and the weight upon her shoulders was immense. She let her gaze slide to the prince, watching him drink his soup with gusto. She had only just realized how clever Grandmama had been to arrange to serve his favorite dish. It was a good start. And Olivia had not missed the admiration in the prince’s eyes when they were introduced in the drawing room a moment ago.

It was just a pity that Felicia was here. And to dress in black tonight of all nights, reminding everyone that she was a widow without a husband or a title!

There was someone else Olivia wished wasn’t here tonight.

Almost against her will, her gaze moved across the dining table to where Ivo and Annette sat. Their fair heads were close, and they seemed cozy together, as only old friends could be, and Ivo had told her that was all they were—old friends. All the same, their shared smiles and intimate murmurs made Olivia’s skin itch. And the look he had just given her! What right had he to censure her ? A man who was notorious for his ridiculous behavior? It was none of his business if she chose to turn her attention to Prince Nikolai. The prince certainly admired her, and she was pleased and flattered that his feelings were already so obvious. Everything was working out perfectly. How dare Ivo try to spoil it for her!

She had been staring too long. Ivo glanced over and caught her at it. For a moment, he looked as if he might smile, a proper smile and not that mocking one he had given her earlier. She felt her own lips twitch in response, which was infuriating when only moments before, she had been incandescent with rage. What was it about Ivo, that he could send her emotions seesawing from one extreme to the other? With a supreme effort, she turned away and stared unseeingly at her next course. It was some sort of fish covered in a rich sauce and served with vegetables. She doubted she could eat more than a bite, but her pride dictated that she at least pretend she was unaffected by Ivo’s presence. She picked up her fork, and then dropped it with a clatter as a loud shout came from just outside the dining room.

There were several gasps and a concerned babble of voices as a disheveled-looking man came running into the room. He wore breeches, boots, and a brown jacket, and was obviously some sort of groom—and a very worried one, if his expression was anything to go by. Humber had followed him and grabbed his arm, evidently with the purpose of evicting him, but the man shrugged him off. He quickened his steps, making his way to the prince, who seemed to recognize him and had risen from his chair.

“Sir, it’s Leopold! Someone has stolen Leopold!”

“Stolen?” The word exploded from the prince. The controlled young man he had been up until now, very much aware of his position, was gone, and in his place stood a flushed and angry boy on the verge of tears. “What do you mean, Otto? Explain yourself at once!”

“I went to the stables to feed him his special food, but he has been taken!” Otto was as shaken and worried as his master.

“Taken?” The prince looked about him wildly, as if expecting the thief to jump up from behind a chair.

Humber lingered behind the groom, seemingly at a loss as to what to do. “Your Grace?” he said to the dowager. “Should I…?”

Olivia’s grandmother took charge in a calm, authoritative voice. “I am sure this is nothing more than an honest mistake, Niki. Your horse is perfectly safe at Grantham.” Then, turning to her butler, “Humber? If you would see to this.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Relieved to have something to do, Humber strode purposefully from the room.

“Niki. Nikolai,” the dowager addressed the prince, who was still on his feet, “be reassured. I know how much you value your horse.”

“Stallion,” Nikolai snapped. “Leopold is an Irish stallion. His sire was owned by the Marquess of Waterford and his dam by the Marquess of Donegall. I intend to race him when he is older—he is still too young and not ready to begin his training.”

Olivia knew that horses were usually named after their owners, but Nikolai was very precise about Leopold’s family tree, and his plans for him. Almost as if Leopold was his favorite child. Annette must have thought the same because she giggled, quickly bowing her head when her mother cast her a look of reproof. Abruptly, Gabriel tossed aside his napkin and rose to his feet. “I will deal with this,” he said to his grandmother. He paused to rest his hand on Vivienne’s shoulder, before he led the prince and Otto from the room.

A moment later, Charles jumped up too, and with a muttered curse, Viscount Monteith hurried after them. Will Tremeer swallowed his forkful of fish, and then, with an apologetic glance at his sister, followed.

The dowager sighed, Felicia was smirking at her plate, and Olivia had lost what little appetite she’d had. She even considered going after the gentlemen, but her grandmother fixed her with such a stern look that she did not dare. Ivo smiled. “Do not fear, ladies,” he said, “I will stay and play the hero and protect you from this ghastly horse thief.”

“Stallion,” Annette murmured helpfully at his side. “Stallion thief.”

“Very amusing, Northam,” the dowager said, “but not particularly helpful.”

Ivo, not at all chastened, met Olivia’s gaze, and his lips quirked. Daring her to say something. It was impossible to resist.

“You mean like the sort of hero who would risk his neck to rescue a kitten?” she queried mildly.

His eyebrows lifted. “Of course! Climbing about on a roof is only one of my many heroic accomplishments.”

She wanted to giggle.

It was an echo of their conversation when she had refused his marriage proposal. Until now, she had believed it a painful moment. Were they really making fun of it?

“Whatever you are saying, stop it.” The dowager glared at the two of them.

That was when Olivia noticed the confused expressions on the faces of those around her. She picked up her fork. “This fish is delicious,” she said, and this time when Ivo laughed under his breath, she ignored him.

Slowly, the meal progressed, and they had come to an end before Humber returned. He looked a little grim as he approached the dowager and bent to whisper close to her ear. Olivia’s grandmother stiffened in her seat in reaction to whatever he had to tell her, and her dark eyes closed briefly. Olivia wondered if she was counting to ten. “Bring her to me in the blue sitting room,” she said in a quiet, steely voice.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Everyone was waiting, eyes on the dowager, who seemed to be wrestling with her emotions, before years of training came to the fore and she once more slipped into her role. “If you would like to make yourselves comfortable in the drawing room, coffee and tea will be served. There is a matter that requires my attention.”

The guests rose and began to make their way to the drawing room, but Olivia followed her grandmother. When she realized Vivienne was following too, she felt a wave of relief—Vivienne could be relied upon to smooth over a difficult situation, something Olivia had learned when her new sister-in-law had given the six Ashton girls lessons in the proper way to behave in society.

The dowager noticed them trailing after her, but after looking as if she was about to send them off, she chose instead to wait until they entered the sitting room and then closed the door.

“Grandmama, what is it?” Olivia burst out. “The prince’s horse—”

“Stallion,” her grandmother retorted sourly. “Something you should know about Nikolai is that he is a stickler for protocol. He was brought up by his grandfather after his father died at a young age, and his mother was too busy with her own pleasures.”

Olivia thought that sounded a little like her own circumstances, with a dead father and an absent mother. Something she and Nikolai had in common.

There was a tap on the door, and Humber appeared, and when Olivia saw her sixteen-year-old sister, Roberta, at his side, everything became clear. Roberta’s dark hair hung down her back in tangled skeins, and her skirts were muddy, as were her boots. There was a scratch on her cheek. But when she lifted her chin and glowered at the three women, it was obvious she was more resentful than apologetic.

“Robbie, what have you done?” The words tumbled out of Olivia’s lips.

Her sister’s eyes met hers before they darted away again. “I was only gone a moment,” she said, as if to excuse herself. “If the stupid stallion hadn’t taken me through a thicket, I could have returned him to the stables, and no one would have been the wiser.”

“That is not the point,” the dowager spoke through bared teeth. “That animal is valuable, and it belongs to Prince Nikolai. You took it without his permission. You will apologize. Immediately.”

Roberta looked as if she was about to say something they would all regret, when Vivienne stepped into the fray. “Maybe not immediately, do you think, Your Grace? An apology is always better spoken when it comes from a heart that is sincere. Roberta is not feeling remorse just now. She could do with some reflection.” Her gray eyes swept over the younger woman. “And perhaps a wash and a change of clothing. The stallion is not damaged, is he?”

“No!” the girl cried, clearly mortified at the suggestion that she would ever cause such a thing to happen.

“Then tomorrow will do.” Vivienne met her grandmother-in-law’s gaze head-on. “Both Roberta and the prince will be less… fraught by then. You can set the scene, Your Grace, and I am sure Roberta will be more than happy to follow your instructions to the letter.”

It sounded like a solid plan, and Vivienne was right. If Roberta was forced to apologize right now, when she believed she had done nothing wrong, it would only make things worse. Olivia had been embroiled in enough squabbles with her sister to realize that.

After a moment of reflection of her own, her grandmother gave a stiff nod to Vivienne. “Very well. But, Roberta, think on this: You have just added to the gossip about your family and possibly jeopardized my plans for Olivia’s future. If Prince Nikolai packs up and leaves tomorrow morning, I will hold you entirely responsible.”

She swept out of the room, and Roberta’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she muttered. “I was just—”

“You never do,” Olivia retorted bitterly. “Grandmama is right. If you ruin my chance of making a brilliant marriage, then I will… I will…” But she couldn’t think of any punishment bad enough for her sister, and with a huff, she followed her grandmother.

She stopped outside the door, taking deep breaths to try to hold back her temper and her tears. From inside she could hear the murmur of Vivienne’s soothing tones interspersed by her sister’s complaints. Had she really once been as rebellious as Roberta? So eager to ignore the consequences? What on earth had she been thinking to flout society’s rules like that? She had well and truly learned her lesson even before this moment, but if she was ever tempted to backslide, then Roberta’s behavior had reminded her of the cost.

She turned toward the drawing room and paused. The guests would be waiting and, no doubt, eager to hear about the latest scandal in the Ashton saga. Olivia couldn’t face them. Neither could she face the prince, although he was probably busy with his stallion, and she was unlikely to gain anything by trailing around after him in the muck and mud. And then there was Ivo. How he must be enjoying this Ashton drama after all the things she had accused him of that day!

As if her thoughts had brought him forth, the Duke of Northam stepped through the door and closed it behind him. When he looked up and saw her, Olivia found she had nothing to say.

“Who took the stallion?” he asked, moving toward her. “Everyone is agog.” He nodded toward the drawing room. “We thought your prince might order the culprit’s head to be chopped off.”

He spoke with amusement, but she was in no doubt he was enjoying her discomfiture. She considered brushing the question off, but what was the point? Everyone would know tomorrow anyway.

“Roberta.”

He smiled. “Ah, the hoyden sister. You told me about her.”

Did she? It seemed she had been very forthcoming during their trysts, but then Ivo had gained her trust. It was something she had liked about him from the first, how he seemed genuinely interested in her. One of his particular skills. Whenever she had been feeling out of her depth in her new role as sister of a duke, she had known she could rely upon him to make her feel better. Or laugh. They had laughed an awful lot during their trysts.

“I assume her head is still attached to her body?”

He was teasing, and the memory of how in alignment they used to be made her feel strangely hollow. Her voice was crotchety when she replied. “Perfectly. Now, if that is all? I have a great deal to do.”

His sparkling gaze met hers and cooled. “I thought I would see what’s happening in the stables. The ladies are discussing the latest fashions in bonnets, and I have little to contribute.”

“I imagine it is very dull here for someone like you. Perhaps you should go back to London.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say. She knew that at once. She had never been spiteful, but now he was bringing out the worst in her. This close to him, his green eyes were striking as he considered his reply. She thought about making her excuses and leaving him, but that would be cowardly, and anyway, it was too late.

“You seem to believe I am some sort of hell-raiser, Olivia. Unreliable. I remember that was one of the blemishes you listed against me, when you told me never to darken your door again.”

“Your memory is faulty.”

“Is it?” He looked down at her from his greater height, but she refused to give ground. “Actually, my memory is rather good. For instance, I remember you agreeing to that bet with me at the Elphinstones’. A kiss if I won or my thumb ring if you did. Is my memory faulty on that detail?”

She hesitated, but he was waiting for her to fib, and she refused to be predictable. “We never finished the game.”

“We could finish it. Where is the famous Grantham billiard room?” He looked around. “The scene of your many triumphs?”

“I thought we had decided friends do not make wagers that could compromise—”

“You decided that. And I don’t think we are friends now. Are we?”

He waited. Her heart was beating quickly, her throat felt tight as she sought for something to say. “I can’t take the risk,” she blurted out at last. “Not with you. You’re the last person I should be friends with.”

He stilled. “I see. All work and no play when it comes to snaring your prince. I wish you well of him, Olivia, even though I think you are making a mistake.” His face transformed into a facsimile of Nikolai’s haughty expression, and his next words were spoken with the prince’s slight accent. “No one will ever be good enough for him. Except perhaps for Leopold!” He gave her an exaggerated bow and walked briskly away.

She stared after him, and a memory popped into her head.

During one of their illicit meetings, they had found a quiet room to chat in, and she had discovered Ivo had a wicked ability to mimic the more recognizable guests, sending Olivia into whoops. “You should have been on the stage,” she had said, wiping her eyes.

He had sent her a sideways glance. “I will tell you a secret. I almost was. Some traveling players came to Portside, and after I saw them perform, I told my mother that was what I wanted to be. I was very disappointed when she explained I was going to be a duke and that was that.”

Just now, Ivo had been playing the part of the prince. He was being cruel, and she had never thought of Ivo as cruel. Had she wounded his pride again? Olivia tried to shrug off the awkwardness of their encounter. What did it matter what Ivo thought? She had made her choice.

She turned toward the stairs.

She had barely taken a step when her eye was caught by a man standing in the shadows of the passage that led to the rear of the house. His back was to her and for a moment—although how could it be?—she thought that fair hair belonged to Ivo. He dipped his head, as if he was… he was… kissing someone? A woman stood in the circle of his arms.

She froze. It was as if her heart was being squeezed. She should have been happy to see Ivo behaving in the manner of a man who cared nothing for others, the sort of man she had accused him of being, but instead, she felt broken into pieces. The error only lasted for a moment, until she heard the murmur of his voice. Charles Wickley. Not Ivo after all.

The woman lifted her head. Justina. Charles was kissing her sister. After the evening she’d had, it was too much for Olivia.

“No!” she said in a loud voice, making them both jump and hastily step apart. When they saw her, Charles ran a hand over his face as if he didn’t know what to say, but Justina came toward her, her face flushed, and her hair disarranged. Before she could speak, Olivia caught her sister’s arm, pulling her toward the stairs.

“Rather an overreaction,” Charles drawled. “I was hardly about to ravish her.”

“Olivia,” Justina hissed, more angry than embarrassed. “Let me go.”

But Olivia ignored them both, continuing up the stairs with her sister in tow. They reached the top and Justina pulled away, rubbing her arm. “You have no right—” she began.

Olivia spoke over her. “I’ve had enough of scandals,” she said furiously. “First Roberta and now this. Don’t you dare create another one!”

Justina glared at her. “Why? You’ve had your share. Isn’t it my turn?”

Olivia did not remember the last time she had fallen out with her sister and closest friend. She could say something now, make it better, but she was too angry to say anything at all. Justina gave her one burning, resentful look before setting off at a run for her bedchamber.

Somewhere, a door banged, and a head peered out from another room. Georgia? It occurred to Olivia that Georgia was in her mother’s room, but that couldn’t be right. She let the thought slip. Justina was more important.

Olivia knew she should go after her, smooth things over, but she didn’t move. It was chilly standing there, and the lamp on the small table fluttered a little in one of the many drafts that plagued Grantham.

I think you are making a mistake.

Suddenly, she felt very much alone—and this time, there was no Justina, and no Ivo, to make her feel better.