Amanda grasped her by the arm. “Who is he? When did you meet him? Do not tell me it was that military officer at the Harrington Ball. I found him boorishly rude.”
“Colonel Thompson? Good lord, no.”
“Thank heavens for that. If it were he, I might have to find a new best friend.” Amanda’s smile took the sting from her words. “So, who is it? Not one of the young bucks around Town?”
Olivia started down the street. “I’m far too old for any young man to find me remotely interesting.”
“Pish posh,” Amanda said, slightly out of breath from her dash to catch up. “You make yourself sound like you’re ready to lie in the grave. You are still a young woman.”
“And firmly on the shelf. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I shall never marry. I won’t go back to pining for something that will not happen.”
Olivia bit her lip. Truth be told, she still felt a stab in her heart whenever she thought about it. It was hard to accept. No marriage meant no children.
“I said the same thing and look at me.”
“You were married before the end of your first Season. I don’t think it qualifies as the same.”
“True,” Amanda conceded. “These last two years have flown by. I would never have believed time could pass so quickly back then. Are you certain you don’t want to marry?”
“There’s a great difference between not wanting to marry and there being no one who is willing to marry you.” Olivia stepped to the side to allow a mother and child to pass.
Her gaze lingered on the two figures. It was senseless to be jealous of a complete stranger, yet she was. At one time she yearned for a child almost constantly, now it seemed to catch her unawares at the oddest times, like now when she should be enjoying Amanda’s company.
“It bothers you much more than you admit.”
Seeing her friend’s too-knowing gaze, she forced a smile to her lips. “Perhaps. But I cannot stand people who wallow in self-pity.” She linked her arm with Amanda’s. “Let’s see what Madame LaCoste has displayed in her shop window.”
The other woman pulled free and came to an abrupt halt. “Madame LaCoste. You cannot be serious.”
“Why not? She makes beautiful gowns.”
“You haven’t heard?”
Olivia gave a long-suffering sigh. “You know I can’t abide gossip.”
“This isn’t gossip. It’s the truth.”
“What is it?” Olivia didn’t really care to know; however, if she did not at least pretend an interest, Amanda would never let the subject go.
The younger woman moved closer, glanced at the other shoppers around them, then said in a loud whisper, “Madame LaCoste dresses Lord Hargrove’s mistress.”
Olivia burst out laughing. “Stop having me on. Hargrove is nearly five and seventy. I don’t think he has a mistress nor, at his age, would he need one.”
“It’s the truth, I tell you.”
Trying to hide her smile behind her hand, Olivia walked on.
“It is,” Amanda said as she caught up.
“Even if it is, I shall not stop ordering my gowns from Madame. If no one purchased gowns from a modiste who clothed a mistress, there wouldn’t be a single dressmaker in all of London.”
“Must you always be so practical?”
Olivia shrugged. How did one respond to that?
I’m sorry; frivolity dies a swift death on the battlefield.
No, it was best not to respond at all.
Putting an arm around her shoulders, Amanda gave her a swift hug. “Do tell me about this man, and why you are so worried.”
“He came to the house last evening looking for Sir Phillip.”
“I thought he was in Scotland.”
“He was. I’m not certain where he is now.”
“Did you not tell this stranger that?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then why are you worried?”
“If you will stop asking me questions, I will tell you.”
Amanda managed to look contrite for all of one minute. “Well?”
“The man, he’d been shot.”
“Shot!” Amanda glanced around her. “Shot,” she repeated in a whisper.
“Yes. He wanted Sir Phillip to help him.”
“What did you do?”
“I helped him.”
“You?”
“It is not as though I do not have experience with bullet wounds,” Olivia said in a dry tone.
“Yes, but...”
“I didn’t have a choice. Should I have sent him away?” Olivia kept the existence of the man called Fingers and his pistol to herself. No sense upsetting Amanda more than she already was.
“No, of course not. He is all right now?”
“I don’t know, which is why I am worried. I wanted to make arrangements to see if he was healing properly in a few days’ time, but...” Olivia hesitated. She didn’t dare tell her friend she’d been knocked unconscious, nor did she want to tell her about the man and his companion’s odd comments about her brother. “He left before I was able to do so.”
“Have you tried to locate him? If he’s injured, surely his friends are aware of it.”
“I’ve tried asking if anyone had heard of him, but I get nothing but silence or strange looks when I mention his name.”
“What’s his name, perhaps I know of him.”
“Lazarus.”
Amanda laughed. “That would explain the strange looks you are getting. Has he risen from the grave?” she joked.
“I don’t know about rising from it, but if he hadn’t sought medical care when he did, he could have bled to death and found himself
in
the grave.”
“I’m sure he is fine.” Amanda pulled her along the thoroughfare. She stopped suddenly and looked back. “Did you see that bonnet?”
“Bonnet?” Olivia asked, completely lost from Amanda’s quick change of conversation. She scanned the crowd but didn’t see anyone wearing anything unusual.
“Yes. In the shop window.”
“You purchased three new hats at the last milliner’s shop.”
“Not one like this. Besides one can never have too many bonnets.” Amanda took a step back the way they came. “I just want to take another peek at it.”
“I’ll wait here as long as you’re only going to just look.” Olivia hoped her remark would discourage Amanda from going inside the shop. They had spent nearly two hours at the last milliner. She didn’t think she could bear another two hours browsing through more hats when she could be spending her time looking for Lazarus.
“Very well.” Amanda disappeared into the throng of shoppers, maids, and dandies visiting their tailors or viewing the latest fashions the haberdasheries had to offer.
As the crowd ebbed and flowed around her, Olivia caught a glimpse of Amanda, her tangerine and cream coloured gown making her easy to spot. A rather large gentleman stepped into Olivia’s line of sight. She moved to the side, trying to see around him when someone pushed her from behind.
She fell forward, her hands outstretched to cushion her fall. A hand clamped around her arm and hauled her upward.
“Sorry, Mum. I was talkin’ to me mates and didn’t see ye afore it was too late.”
The man, a boy really, stared at her as though taking her measure. His brown hair was in need of cutting. It hung in his eyes and brushed past the collar of his homespun wool coat. Olivia glanced at the rest of his clothing. A thin gray linen shirt she suspected had once been white, patched trousers, and scuffed shoes that were in desperate need of replacing.
His grip was a little too tight, and he had yet to let go of her even though she was back on her feet. He proceeded to brush at her gown with his free hand. In that instant, Olivia knew exactly what he was doing. She tightened her grip on her reticule and leaned toward him.
“You’ll steal no coins from me,” she whispered.
His hand froze in mid-air.
“Yes, I know the tricks you play. Accidentally knock into a lady and then steal her purse all under the pretense of setting her to rights.”
The boy grinned, his brown eyes twinkling with laughter. “’Tis true,” he admitted, “but I ain’t after yer blunt. I’ve a message fer ye.”
“A message?” Who would have a message delivered to her in such a manner?
“Stop asking about Lazarus.”
“And if I don’t?”
His grip tightened, and she tried not to wince. He jerked her forward, no longer the charming rascal, his gaze menacing. “You’ve been warned.”
He released her and melted back into the crowd. She lost sight of him almost immediately.
“Olivia, are you all right?”
She glanced at Amanda, barely registering her friend’s concern. “Yes.”
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know.” She stared at the place where she last saw the youth, but there was no sign of him.
“You don’t know,” Amanda exclaimed. “Did he accost you? I have heard the footpads were becoming bold, but I did not believe it.”
“He took nothing from me. He thought I was someone he knew.” Olivia patted Amanda’s hand in a reassuring manner. “Do not worry anymore about it.”
“If you are certain.” Amanda looked around them, her gaze troubled. “I find I have lost the desire to continue our shopping. Shall we return to the carriage?”
“An excellent idea.”
She bustled Olivia past the remaining shops and around the corner to Gunther’s where she had instructed her coachman to wait. The two footmen gulped down the rest of their ices and jumped to open the carriage door as Amanda approached.
“Remember,” she said as she passed them and entered the coach, “not a word to Riverton about Olivia and I shopping unaccompanied.”
“Of course, my lady,” the two men responded in unison.
She settled her skirts and looked up at Olivia. “Perhaps Riverton is right after all. It seems he does have a very good reason to insist a footman accompany me whenever I go out.”
“Indeed he may.” Olivia pushed the privacy curtain aside and stared out the window. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she was still searching for the stranger who warned her against asking questions about Lazarus.
Had Lazarus sent him? Or the person who wanted him dead? And how was Phillip involved?
****
Olivia set the branch of candles on the small writing table near the fire and sighed. She’d stayed at Amanda’s far longer than she had expected. She should have insisted on leaving instead of allowing her friend to cajole her into partaking of a late supper. Removing her hat, she crossed to the dressing table and pulled the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down around her shoulders. She massaged her scalp, then ran her fingers through the thick strands.
“Watching you do that could give a bloke ideas.”
Olivia whirled around, her hand pressed against her chest. Her heart stuttered for a moment, then began racing like that of a runaway horse. She reached behind her and grabbed her hairbrush. As a weapon, it was the best she could do. She scanned the shadows for the intruder.
Lazarus lounged in her favorite reading spot, his feet crossed at the ankles while he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. Situated as it was near the window, his dark clothing blended in with the shadows among deep blue drapery. He watched her over his linked fingers.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”
She didn’t answer; the warning she’d received earlier replayed itself in her mind. Fear ran its fingertip down her spine.
“Shall I tell you then?” He stood with slow careful movements, then advanced on her until there was no more than a hair’s breadth between them.
She took a step back and banged into the dressing table, setting the small collection of bottles jangling.
“Afraid?”
Olivia shook her head. “Of course not.”
“You should be.”
Uncertain, she posed the question uppermost in her mind. “What are you doing here?”
“Here in your house or here”—he gestured to the room in general—“in your bedroom?”
Determined to quell the rising sense of panic and what it would lead to, she pushed past him. She brushed against his side, heard his sharp inhalation of pain, but kept moving, needing space between them. “If you don’t leave, I shall have Jennings call the constable.” She headed for the door.
“And how will you accomplish that?”
Olivia halted in mid-step.
“Yes, I know there are no servants in residence.” He sauntered closer. “Did you play the benevolent mistress and give them the night off?”
Eager to keep him at a distance, she scooted around him and stood at the end of the bed. “What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?”
“Why don’t we dispense with the games, and you just tell me?”
Lazarus closed the space between them in two strides. He pushed her backward onto the bed. Olivia bounced against the soft mattress. She dug her elbows into the thick counterpane in an effort to scramble backward away from him.
Grabbing her ankles, he pulled her toward him in one quick jerk. He leaned over her. His hand closed over her hip, freezing her in place. The warmth of his hand burned through her clothes to her skin.
Feeling truly terrified for the first time since he’d announced his presence, she searched his gaze for some kind of sign this was all a great joke. No, it was no game. His eyes were as hard and cold as glass. “What do you want?” she repeated, her voice a near whisper.
“Stop asking questions about me. Forget you ever heard the name Lazarus.”
His gaze roamed over her. It was a slow, thorough inspection, and she felt every second of it. It set off an unfamiliar fluttering in her stomach. She trembled, certain it was because he loomed over her in such a threatening manner and had nothing to do with the fact she felt the touch of his eyes like a caress.
He leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers. Their gazes caught, and Olivia found herself holding her breath. He muttered a curse and pushed away from the bed. “Remember this warning,” he said, his voice harsh. “You’ll not get another.”
He crossed the room and disappeared into the shadowy hall. His footsteps echoed back to her as he moved down the stairs and out of the house.
Moving into a sitting position, Olivia hugged her knees to her chest. She breathed in through her nose in an effort to calm her nerves though she didn’t know what upset her more—his sudden appearance in her room or the strange feelings he aroused in her. Nor did she want to examine the thought too closely. A dampness at her waist drew her attention.