“The truth. You can lie to everyone else, even yourself. But do not lie to me.”
Her eyes shot daggers at him even as she smiled for those who might be watching. “I promised I would marry Spinton. I know he deserves better, but he does not seem to agree. He
wants this marriage to happen as much as my grandfather did. I will be a countess and a lady, and then all my promises will be fulfilled.”
She thought Spinton deserved better? Was there such a woman? Yes, there probably was a woman out there better suited for Spinton than Octavia. “You once promised me that we would always be friends.”
“And so we will.”
North swallowed against the lump in his throat. “You also promised me that you would always be my Vie.”
Her gaze softened. “I still am.”
“No, you are not. You are someone else. My Vie wanted to live on her own terms, and the rest of the world be damned. She did not play by the rules. You live by them.”
He never believed himself capable of breaking a heart, but he could see in the dark blue depths of Octavia’s eyes that he had smashed hers like a china cup tossed from a second-floor window.
“Perhaps I do, but is that any worse than making up your own? Your little world might be safe and comfortable for you, North, but sooner or later, you are going to have to join the rest of us in the real one.”
Her words struck a chord. “Octavia—” but he never got a chance to finish. The music ended and she was pulling free of his embrace. He had no choice but to take her back to Spinton and walk away.
It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
For the next two nights, North was her constant shadow. Wherever Octavia went, whatever social function she attended, he was there. Sometimes he would speak, sometimes they would dance, but he was always watching—and no doubt aware that others noticed the direction of his stare as well.
They were never alone, yet she was as keenly aware of him
as she was of the clothes on her back. When she felt the warm brush of his breath against the back of her neck, she never knew if it was real or just her mind playing tricks on her.
Neither of them made mention of the words they’d exchanged at the Haversham ball. There was no point. Nothing had changed. Neither of them was going to revise his life just because the other didn’t agree with the choices he’d made. But just because they didn’t talk about it, that didn’t mean she hadn’t thought about that dance and all that was said. The foolishness about her virginity she dismissed as simple male jealousy. It meant nothing, save for the fact that North, like most men, didn’t want another male marking what he considered to be part of his own territory—no matter that he had left it years ago.
No, it was his remarks about
his
Octavia, the one who didn’t live by the rules, that affected her. He was right. At one time she flouted society’s dictates like any other child of a student of Wollstonecraft and her modern sensibilities.
She
had decided who would be her first lover.
She
had decided how her life would play out. Then her mother died and everything changed. She found out she wasn’t who she believed herself to be. She was the granddaughter of an earl, and it was the final wish of her mother—and the wish of her grandfather—that she live up to the expectations upon her.
And she had to be honest with herself, if no one else. She had
wanted
to be a lady. How often had she and North pretended to be those grand personages who seemed so exotic and wonderful in their finery and expensive perfume? She knew how much North wanted to be a part of that world, and a secret part of her had thought that perhaps if she was part of it also…Well, it didn’t matter what she thought. North hadn’t become part of that world. He’d remained in the one she left behind. She had changed. So had he. What right did either of them have to cast stones?
Still, he had his nerve—giving her such grief for living by the rules, and now here he was laying down some new ones.
“You are not to go anywhere alone. If you need to go out, either you will take Miss Henry with you or you will send for me.”
Spinton, who was seated on the little brocade sofa in her parlor, suddenly sat up straighter. “I will take Lady Octavia wherever she needs to go.”
“No.” North pulled a pale imitation of a smile. “You are going to stay out of my way and away from O—Lady Octavia. The last thing I need is another person to worry about.”
He was putting himself in possible danger for her and it didn’t even seem to bother him. Was this what his life was now, gambling with his own personal safety time and time again? Yes. He had told her as much. What happened when his luck finally ran out?
No wonder he didn’t want to marry. At least he had the grace not to ask a woman to go through that. She wouldn’t be able to withstand such torture, of that she had no doubt.
Spinton was plainly affronted. “What about Beatrice’s safety?”
On a first-name basis with her cousin now, was he? Octavia could barely keep her brow from raising at that.
North ran a hand along his jaw. There was some stubble there. He obviously couldn’t be bothered to shave that morning, even though his unruly hair was damp from the bath. “I believe the person writing these letters is interested in Lady Octavia and any male admirers she has. Miss Henry is no threat to our boy and therefore in no danger.”
“I do not like your plan.” The earl’s tone was churlish. “I do not like being made to look like a jilt.”
North’s brows lowered. “Not even for Lady Octavia’s safety?”
Octavia was very interested in Spinton’s answer to that. He flushed a dark red. “Of course she is my first concern.”
Of
course
she was. His pride was his first concern, the little blighter.
North visibly rolled his eyes. He was the only man she had ever known who would so boldly poke fun at a peer of the realm. “You will not be a jilt. Lady Octavia’s head will simply be temporarily turned by my attention and charm.” He flashed her a conspiratorial grin, and Octavia had to hide her answering chuckle behind her hand as Spinton turned his indignation on her.
“No. I will not stand for such humiliation. Octavia, everyone knows we have an understanding. What will they say about you if they see you with Mr. Sheffield?”
“Exactly what we want them to say,” North replied.
He wasn’t helping things. He was intentionally teasing Spinton. Why? What satisfaction was there in tormenting an obviously weaker opponent? Unless North saw Spinton as having some sort of advantage over him. But what? Birth, perhaps? Her?
Spinton shot him an annoyed glance. “I will not have it.”
“Lord Spinton,” North’s slight Scottish brogue was thick with aggravation as his lips twisted. “No one will truly believe there is anything between Lady Octavia and myself but a harmless flirtation. I may be considered a good catch by some mamas, but everyone knows being a countess is much preferable to a mere Mrs.”
How could he say such a thing? Maybe to some women being a countess was the better deal, but any woman would be lucky indeed to snatch North as a husband.
A woman who wouldn’t mind watching her husband go out almost every night trying to get himself killed.
“And since I have no interest in marrying, let alone marrying above my station, I can assure you that Lady Octavia and
her reputation are perfectly safe with me. As soon as this is over, the two of you can pass it off as little more than a woman trying to make her long-time betrothed a little jealous.”
His station. What did he consider that? He was the son of a viscount. She was the only daughter of an earl’s son. The only thing separating them was the piece of paper that said her parents had been lawfully wed. It was rubbish, really.
Octavia sighed. “Spin—Fitzwilliam, I do not want you to get hurt. I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to you. Please, do as Mr. Sheffield says. If you want an end to these letters, it is the only way.”
Spinton’s jaw tightened. “I will agree on one condition.”
“What is that?” She’d agree to just about anything to get him out of harm’s way.
He fixed his gaze upon her with such earnestness it made her wary. “When this is over, we will set and publicly announce the date of our wedding.”
Oh God.
“Fitzwilliam—”
He held up his hand. “I will not agree unless you give me your word, Octavia.”
Octavia looked at North. His expression was perfectly impassive, just what one might expect from a stranger. But he wasn’t a stranger. He was her friend, her first lover. Shouldn’t he have
some
expression on his face? Happiness? Regret?
She looked away. That blank stare was unnerving. “All right,” she murmured. “We will discuss it.”
Spinton looked so happy he could burst. He didn’t even seem to notice that his fiancée didn’t share his enjoyment. He rushed toward her and caught her up in his arms. He hugged her so fiercely, Octavia could scarce draw breath. Only when he released her did she hazard a glance at North.
He was gazing out the window, his expression one of almost perfect disinterest, save for the ticking muscle of his jaw.
Then, as suddenly as a curtain lifting, he turned from the window and faced them with a gracious smile. “But for now, Lord Spinton, you must play the part of the rejected suitor. You must pretend to all society that Octavia has tossed you aside for another man—temporary as it might be. Can you do that?”
Spinton looked as though he was actually having fun now as he nodded. “But what if I need to speak to one of you, or you need to speak to me? We must assume the villain is watching Lady Octavia’s every move.”
Yes, how would they do that? Octavia turned her attention to North. His gaze was on Spinton, but she knew as surely as she drew breath that he was actually watching her.
“Miss Henry will be your link to Octavia and myself. She has already graciously agreed to act as a go-between, and no one will give any thought to you continuing an acquaintance with such an old friend, especially since she is a distant relation.”
The earl seemed satisfied with that. Octavia’s shoulders heaved with a sigh of relief. Could it be that they were finally all in agreement? And who else needed a drink?
“Then should we not include Miss Henry in this conversation?”
North nodded. “If you wish.”
Octavia was already at the bar, pouring herself a glass of sherry. Something stronger would be preferable, but not while Spinton was around. “She is in the library, Fitzwilliam. Do be a dear and fetch her.”
The door barely clicked shut behind Spinton when Octavia downed her sherry in one swallow and immediately went to North. She needed to know what he was thinking. Needed his opinion, his blessing—even his censure. She needed her friend, not this stranger.
“Norrie, I—”
He cut her off by placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Be happy, Vie. That is all I want for you.”
The touch of his lips sent a tremor through her. “It is what I want for you as well.”
“I am not certain we are all meant to be happy.”
“You are.” She meant it, and he knew it.
He only smiled. “Spinton is a lucky man.”
She laughed. “You of all people should know the trials that await him.”
“The only trial to marrying you would be the wait.”
Like a stupid schoolgirl, she flushed under his flattery. “Liar.”
His fingers flexed around her shoulders, warm and strong, kneading the tension from her muscles with such skill she almost moaned aloud. “I have never lied to you.”
“Yes you have!” Laughter took the edge from her indignation.
“When?”
“The day you told me you knew firsthand what happens between a man and a woman.”
His cheeks pinkened. “That was not a lie. I did know.”
“Not from experience.”
He shrugged. “No, but I did walk in on Mary Maguire and Jimmy Taylor one night in the wardrobe room.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “A lot of good that did you!”
She’d shocked him. He couldn’t stop the widening of his eyes. “It is not as though you were any great expert.”
No, she hadn’t been. “
I
never claimed to be.”
His smile faded but did not disappear. “We seem to be coming back to that night rather often.”
Her hunger evaporated. “We do.”
They stared at each other, neither of them blinking. North
released her shoulder, as though he didn’t want to be touching her when talking about that night. “I suppose we had better sit down in private someday and discuss it.”
“I suppose so.”
The fact that they were better off waiting for that moment was only accentuated by Spinton barging back into the room. He had Beatrice with him, ready to be told what she needed to know about their plan. Both of them looked like children teased with the promise of a grand adventure. Octavia almost envied them.
North gave Beatrice the details, with Spinton interrupting with his own remarks every few sentences. That North didn’t tell him to be silent said much for his forbearance.
But then, he’d always been the more patient of the two of them. He had been so very patient that night they made love. She simply wanted it over with, but North had wanted to take his time—for her to take her time. Those slow, lazy moments had been the best part.
He had been so gentle and loving, arousing her with untutored yet knowing fingers. By the time he lowered his body to hers, she was begging for him. There was pleasure and then the discomfort of having her body parted by his. The discomfort was lasting, stiffening her limbs until he’d finally withdrawn after spending himself. Even though the irritation eased, even though her ache had long subsided under his body’s invasion, she missed having him inside her.
Afterward, when she cried, he thought it was because it was so horrible, and he’d tried to make it up to her by bringing her to climax with his hand. He’d had no idea that the burning presence of his body meant more to her than the pleasure of his fingers. Having him inside her had been wonderful—a memory she cherished for the following years, because they had been as one and she had known, for a brief and magical moment, what it was to truly belong.