My Only Love (28 page)

Suspended,
locked in mutual desire, they watched each other for what seemed like an
eternity—but couldn't have been more than mere seconds—before Olivia shook her
head and cried softly, "I can't."

She
rolled away and clutched her chemise closed over her breasts. "I
can't," she repeated, hearing her words reverberate back to her from the
marble walls. "Please don't ask me. Not yet. Not until. .."

"Until
what?" he shouted behind her.

Clawing
her way up the pool steps, she glanced back to see his face a mixture of
startlement and fury.

"Until
what?" he demanded again, grabbing her up against his wet, aroused body so
her breasts were flattened against his chest and her face was just below his.
"What the hell is wrong with you? You're my wife, Olivia. I have every
right to expect—to demand a consummation. You come down here and undress and
tease me with your body and then tell me I can't have it." He shook her.
"Are you simply attempting to make a fool out of me? Is that it? Is ft roe
that you hate, or men in general?"

She
turned her face away or surely she would forget her idiotic fears and allow him
the liberties he was so desperate to take. "Let me go," she managed
to say.

He
did, suddenly, allowing her to fall back to the hard floor so she was forced to
scramble upright, to back away cautiously while her mind and heart waged a
battle that neither could win. "I'm .. . sorry," she offered.
"Perhaps later—"

"Later.
Of course. Fine, dear heart. You will let me know when you're ready, won't you?
Because I vow here and now ... I won't touch you again until you beg me."

Olivia
fled and didn't stop running until she stood in her bedroom, her back against
the locked door, and water running in runnels to the floor at her feet. She
could not rid her mind of the image of her husband's outraged face as she ran
from the room, and of the oath he'd made not to touch her again—until she begged
him.

Closing
her eyes, experiencing again the unabashed thrill of his hands—and mouth—on
her, Olivia longed for that day. Almost as much as she dreaded it.

Winter
decended, and with it cold, wind and rain barreled down from Scotland and
turned the moor into a dim and ice-burdened landscape. Travel to anywhere beyond
the nearest hamlet was virtually impossible. Night after night Olivia lay in
her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the low moan of wind and the
slash of rain against the windows. One day blurred into another, and yet
another, as she buried herself in the routine of business ... as she had at
Devonswick, occasionally rousing herself enough to spend time with her son and
Alyson, whose health varied by the hour.

Since
her childish flight from her husband's company Olivia had found herself married
to a recluse. She rarely saw or spoke to Miles. He spent his days asleep and
his nights prowling the house, scribbling messages to the mine, or galloping
the frost-bitten countryside on horseback. Even Charles Fowles had begun
worrying about him.

Olivia
blamed herself for Miles's erratic behavior. She had taken over his house. Much
of his business. His mother. She had foisted her odd behavior and unwelcome
company on a man who wanted nothing more than normalcy in his life.

How
very ironic that she, who ached for that same normalcy, was spoiling her
chances for happiness—and his—because of her own fears and dreads. Then again,
what did she expect? By marrying Miles Warwick, she'd backed herself to a wall,
and the only way to remedy the situation was to own up to her doings.

Christmas
and the New Year passed quietly and January arrived with a slight break in the
weather. Frost thawed from the trees, and the roads were no longer slick with
black ice. Olivia took to riding Perlagal every day at noon, driving the mare
across the moor until reaching Margrave where she sat atop the bluff and turned
her face to the sun and tried to make some sense of her life. She could not
continue this way, living like strangers with a man who was her husband.
Avoidance had never been a part of her nature, yet that's what she was doing.
Avoiding the inevitable.

Returning
to Braithwaite after one such ride to Margrave, Olivia had convinced herself
that the time had come to confront.

Much
to Olivia's surprise, she found Emily waiting for her in the blue drawing room.

"For
heaven's sake, Olivia, do you make a habit of disappearing from this house at
such ungodly hours?" Emily demanded from her chair by the hearth.

"Good
day to you too, sister," Olivia replied.

There
is absolutely nothing good about it. How could it be? The air is bitterly cold
and by the looks of the horizon I suspect rain again by nightfall."
Dabbing a hankie at her nose, Emily frowned. "Oli, you look like
hell."

"Thank
you." Olivia tossed her crop aside. "You're not looking at all well
yourself, Em."

"You've
lost weight."

"You
haven't."

"Your
eyes look as if you haven't slept in weeks."

"You
are becoming observant. Will you have tea? Sally!" The servant appeared
in a blink and bobbed a curtsy. "We'll have tea and biscuits—"

"I'd
prefer toast. And marmalade. I didn't take the time for breakfast." Emily
added, "And plenty of milk and sugar for my tea."

Olivia
frowned as she took the chair across from her sister. "You don't normally
take sugar in your tea, Em."

Emily
lowered her eyes and wrung her hankie. "I've missed you, Oli. Truly I
have. Papa's extremely hurt because he never hears from you."

"I
write Father regularly. However, I find that ironic since the two of you
couldn't wait to get rid of us."

"How
is dear little Bryan?"

Olivia
blinked in surprise. "Why, Em, what's got in to you? You've never asked
about Bryan's welfare before."

"You
needn't be so nasty or vindictive, Olivia."

"I
wasn't aware that I was being either. Only truthful."

Emily
pouted and continued twisting her hankie. "You've changed, Oli.
Dreadfully."

"Oh?
How, pray tell?"

"You're
bitter. Don't deny it. It virtually shouts from your face. You're miserably
unhappy. Why, even your appearance has changed. Look at the way you're wearing
your hair. It looks like a wild woman."

"I've
just returned from riding."

"And
look at that dreadful habit you're wearing. Where on earth did you get
it?"

"It
was once yours. I believe this was a costume you had whipped up in Venice, only
you never wore it. It cost Papa a small fortune, if I remember correctly.
Someone might as well get some use out of it."

Emily
left her chair, and, for a moment, leaned against the arm of it while she
blotted the hankie to her cheek. In a more weary voice, she said, "I
didn't come here to trade insults with you, sister."

"No?
Then why are you here, Emily?"

She
sighed deeply. "I miss the days when we were friends."

"Friends?"
Olivia laughed to herself and said more softly, "Were we ever friends,
Emily?"

Emily
looked somewhat frantically toward the door. "Where is that bloody servant
with the tea and toast? I declare, but good help is dreadfully hard to find
anymore. AH the decent servants are moving to London where the pay is higher,
they say."

"I
take it you're having trouble with the help."

"Idiots.
They're constantly taking advantage of me. You spoiled them horribly,
Olivia."

T
only treated them reasonably. You might try it."

Waving
the comment away, Emily moved around the room, her skirts making soft swooshing
sounds in the quiet "You're not at all happy, are you, Oli?" she
asked.

"Why
do you ask?"

Emily
turned back to face her. Her cheeks were colorless, her eyes glassy blue
pools. "Do you ever regret your decisions?"

That
would depend on the decision, I suppose."

"Come,
come, Oli, we both know that you and I have made choices in our lives that will
affect us for the rest of our living days."

"Very
well, Em. Yes. I think as long as we live and breathe we'll make choices that we
will, at some time, come to regret. Why do you ask? Is something wrong? Has
something happened?"

Offering
a watery smile, Emily hurried to Olivia, and dropping to one knee, took
Olivia's hand and pressed it to her cold cheek.

"Emily."
Olivia touched her sister's smooth face. "Something's dreadfully wrong.
What is it?"

"Remember
the days and nights the two of us used to talk for hours? You were always there
for me, Oli.

Always!
No matter how big a fool I made of myself, you were always there to look on the
bright side, to make me feel better about myself, to protect me. I miss those
days when we confided in one another. Don't you?"

"Certainly."
Olivia smiled and cupped her sister's small chin in the palm of her hand.
"I was only thinking this morning how grand it would be to have someone to
talk to again. . . someone with whom to share my secrets."

"Are
you as lonely as I, Oli?"

She
nodded.

"And
wouldn't you do anything—anything at all—to end the dreadful loneliness if you
could?"

"Withinreason.
Emily ... What'shappened?Whathave you done?"

Sally
entered the room in that moment carrying a tray laden with a china tea service
and a plate of toast. A tiny pot of lemon curd stood to one side. Taking her
chair again, Emily glared at the pot and frowned. "I wanted marmalade.
You've brought me curd, you imbecile. I won't have it. Take it back."

Sally's
eyebrows shot up.

"And
you haven't trimmed the crust from my toast."

Dismissing
the servant with a nod of her head, Olivia reached for Emily's toast.
"You'll like the curd and I'll trim your toast. You needn't take your
anger out on the help."

"Oh,
pooh. You treat the lot of them as if they were your equal. It's so unseemly,
Oli." Snatching the toast from Olivia's hand, Emily proceeded to pile the
lemon curd on the bread. Then she heaped sugar into her tea as Olivia poured
it, then splashed in a good portion of milk. She gulped it down, burning her
mouth. Closing her eyes, she appeared to relax, and sank back into her chair,
pressing her hankie to her lips.

"Don't
be angry," Emily finally said. "I can't seem to control my emotions
these days. I'll apologize if you wish."

"I've
never known you to apologize to anyone," Olivia replied, stirring sugar
into her own tea.

Taking
a deep breath, Emily briefly closed her eyes, allowing Olivia the opportunity
to sip her tea and cut her wedge of toast into a triangle. When she looked up
again, she found her sister regarding her with an odd expression, her lids
heavy, her lips slightly parted.

"How
is Miles?" Emily asked.

"Well,
I think."

"You
think? Don't you know?"

"Why
do you ask? I was under the impression you would be quite thankful if he
suddenly dropped dead."

"I've
heard the servants talk at Devonswick. Rumor is he's hardly home, and that the
two of you rarely speak, and never share a bed. Is that why you're so
unhappy?"

Olivia
smiled thinly. "Obviously I should use better discretion when hiring the
help. I fear they gossip too much."

"Is
it true?"

"Would
it please you if it were?"

Nibbling
her toast, Emily shrugged. "I'm not surprised. I told you he would make
you unhappy."

"Would
it surprise you to know that Miles is not at fault?"

'Then
who?"

"Me."

"Why?"

"For
all the reasons you pointed out before I married."

Emily
put down her toast. "So you're truly married in name only." She
laughed dryly. "My God, Oli, I've never known a woman with more fortitude,
especially in light of your feelings for the bastard."

Olivia
winced at the term, but chose not to scold her sister. What good would it do?
"I have little choice, Emily. I agreed to marry Warwick because he vowed
that the partnership would be strictly business. I was naive enough—imagine my
being naive enough—to believe it would, or could, remain that way
forever."

"Then
he desires you."

Olivia
reached for her cup of tea, refusing to meet her sister's inquisitive gaze.

"I'm
not surprised," Emily said more softly.

"Why?
Because he's an indiscriminate rutting heathen?"

"Because
you'.re a very pretty woman." Stunned, Olivia sat back.

Emily
laughed almost sadly. "Don't look so surprised. It's not as if I said you
were a raving beauty—like me .. ." She rolled her eyes, mocking herself.
"But you're passably attractive. The arrogant idiot could do much
worse."