My Only Love (37 page)

"Already
inside, sir."

Forcing
the fog from his mind, Miles focused on the familiar front door and exited the
coach.

On
her knees in the foyer, Olivia held Bryan tightly against her as Miles entered
the house behind her. She listened to his footsteps approach, and gradually,
she lifted her eyes to his as he stopped beside her, his visage confused yet
relieved upon finding her with Bryan.

"Where
is Emily?" he asked.

"In
the morning room," came Bertrice's voice from a doorway. The nanny then
hurried to Olivia's side and protectively put her arms around her charges. Her
features appeared completely lucid, and stubbornly determined.

Without
speaking again, Miles moved slowly toward the morning room, his footsteps
ringing like bells in the quiet. Olivia could not bring herself to watch him,
yet she knew the moment he reached the room, knew by his silence that he had at
last confronted her sister.

"Close
the door," came Emily's voice in the distance.

"What
the hell is going on?" Miles demanded. "I should have you arrested
for kidnapping."

"I
said to close the door, damn you."

After
a long hesitation, the door clicked shut.

Slowly,
Olivia stood, her hand still resting on the top of Bryan's head as he continued
to grip her tightly, his tear-streaked face buried in the folds of her skirt.
Olivia looked to Bertrice.

Bertrice
reached for him. He shrugged her aside and almost frantically grabbed for
Olivia as Bertrice attempted again to escort him from the room.

"Go
now," Olivia whispered, and smiled comfortingly. "We'll read later.
I promise."

At
last, Bryan allowed the nanny to lead him out of the foyer, and Olivia, taking
a shallow, shaky breath, moved down the gallery to the closed morning room
door, the muffled voices within becoming more distinct until Olivia could, at
last, hear each dreaded word as Emily spoke.

"I
lost Clanricarde's child and the physician informed me that to have more
children would be suicide. My husband then sent me packing, declaring our
marriage was over. At first I panicked. I honestly believed that if I produced
a child—any child—that he would accept the child as his own. I was still
arrogant enough to believe that he loved me enough to accept another man's son
as his own.

"He
didn't, but by that time, the truth was out." "What the blazes are
you trying to tell me?" Miles demanded.

"I
am Bryan's mother, of course."

Olivia
closed her eyes. Her knees turned to water, her face to fire. Fear squeezed off
her air so she could hardly breathe.

"You're
insane," came Miles's eventual reply. "Olivia is—"

"His
aunt. Nothing more." Silence.

Oh
God, the silence. Why didn't he say something? At last, he said in a deep,
tight voice, "You're a liar."

"You
know Olivia. Always sacrificing herself for others. It became quite nauseating
at times. She'll never know how jealous of her I've always been. Oh, not
because she's pretty. She's not nearly so pretty as me. I always detested the
way Papa bragged about her mind. I hated the way the servants respected her. I
resented the way she would bravely face any crisis and see it through without
shedding so much as a single tear. There were times when I would gladly have
given up my beauty to be as smart as Olivia. As wise. As brave. She even went
into this farce of a marriage with dignity, knowing you wanted her for only one
reason and that was her dowry. Yet. ..

"Yet
she even made this ridiculous relationship between you work. Rumor is, you and
Olivia have become. .. very close. For the first time in Olivia's miserable
life, she's happy. Isn't it ironic that she stumbled into this arrangement
because of me . . . now it will end because of me as well."

Olivia
slowly shoved open the door. Standing in the threshold, her eyes meeting Emily's,
she said, "Emily, I've never asked you for anything. But I ask you now. I
beg you now." Briefly, Olivia closed her eyes and willed back the
desperate tears and the fear that made her thick voice vibrate with emotion.
Never had she witnessed such hate in her sister's features, such malicious
intent. "For Bryan's sake. For my sake. Have mercy on me. I can't lose
them now."

Leaving
her chair, Emily glided across the room, a vision in pink taffeta and white
eyelet lace. Her pale hair was fixed at the nape with a black net, and black
satin ribbon. She threw herself against Miles, who turned rigid as a rock in
her arms.

Her
knees shaking, Olivia moved into the room, her concentration fixed on the scene
before her: her sister with her arms around Miles—her husband—his hazel eyes
boring into hers and his features dark as a thundercloud in its anger and
confusion. At last, he closed his hands around Emily's arms, and forcibly
shoved her away.

"Stay
the hell away from me," he said through his teeth.

"Come
now, Miles. You know you've loved me all along. That first day in November when
you responded to my father's letter—you said yourself that you thought I had
written it. You only married her because she's my sister. Surely you can
understand why I chose to marry Clanricarde. Only for his money, I assure
you."

Miles
turned to Olivia. Looking up into his beloved face, she ached to touch it one
last time, to beg his forgiveness—

"She
claims she gave birth to Bryan," he said.

Olivia
attempted to smile, to nod. She could do nothing but stare into her husband's
confused eyes while her heart felt as if it were renting in two. "I... did
what I thought was best for everyone. Father had such plans for Emily—such
grand dreams for her marriage. I was convinced that I would never marry. I was
too plain. A bluestocking. My tastes for life and comfort were far too common.

"And
besides," she continued, looking him straight in the eyes. 'There was only
one man whom I loved. If I couldn't have him I simply refused to settle for less.
Surely you can understand, then, how Emily's pregnancy seemed to be a miracle
for me. If I could not marry the man I loved, at least I could be the mother of
his son . . . and love him with all my heart."

For
a moment, Miles stared at her without blinking, then, little by little his face
drained of color and his body became rigid. A thousand emotions appeared to
cross his handsome features in those few seconds. Confusion. Anger. Disbelief.
Each with an intensity that cut Olivia's soul like a knife.

He
closed his hands around her arms, and the grip felt excruciating—made more
hurtful by the raw pain reflected in his gray-green eyes as he attempted to
speak, and was unable to.

Without
taking her eyes from his, she said softly, "You're Bryan's father."
"Emily—"

"Is
his mother. He was never really mine."

Emily
moved up beside them, and took Miles's arm. Like an automaton, he faced her,
his face blank with shock—or fury. Olivia couldn't tell.

Merciful
God, how he must hate her, Olivia thought, as she backed toward the door.

Her
smile becoming brittle beneath the intensity of his attention, Emily said,
"You can understand why I didn't tell you, Miles darling. All I could
think of was getting away before my father found out about you and me . .. and
our baby. So Olivia suggested our visiting France until after the child was
born—that way no one would know—I could farm him out to some family who wanted
to adopt a child. It wasn't until we settled outside of Les Sables d'Olonne
that Olivia came up with the idea of passing the child off as her own. It was
the perfect solution, of course. My reputation would be saved. It was simply
fate that my father chose you, of all people, to marry Olivia. But I'm certain
you can agree that our family should be together. Mother. Son. And his
father..."

Olivia
turned up the gallery and found Armand, Sally, Jacques, Gustavea, and a
scattering of the new servants standing rooted in the shadows, their features
slack with discomfiture, concern, and compassion for her.

"Olivia!"
Miles roared behind her.

She
froze.

He
shouted, "Look at me!"

Woodenly,
she turned. Miles stood at the end of the gallery, half in, half out of the
shadows, his hands fisted at his sides. His soiled and tattered shirt hung
loosely from his shoulders. His glorious dark hair spilled in wild disarray
over his brow and shirt collar. She thought, in that moment, that he was the
most exquisite creature she had ever known—even more handsome than he had been
those many years ago, when she had first seen him at Margrave Bluff—when she
had only fantasized loving him, holding him, marrying him.

"Is
it true?" he demanded, his voice hoarse and breaking. Even from her
distance she could see that he trembled; his dark eyes glistened with tears of
hope. "Is Bryan my son?"

Nodding,
she replied, "Yes."

Emily
hurried from the room and sidled up against him. "We'll be married, of
course—" she began, but he flung her away and stalked up the corridor,
toward Olivia, who, suddenly, could not find the strength to retreat. If he
chose to murder her for her deceit, then so be it. She would rather die than
live with the idea that he hated her for loving him so.

Stopping
before her, he struggled with his thoughts before speaking. "Why didn't
you tell me?"

"I.
.. was afraid. You'd made it quite clear that you didn't love me when we
married."

Her
shoulders began to shake; she couldn't help it. All the strength seemed to melt
from her legs and she sat down hard on the floor, her elbows on her knees, her
face buried in her hands. She wept openly, ashamed by the sound of the horrible
retching, of the miserably disgusting way her nose ran rivulets of water.

"Later,
I feared that if you learned the truth, you would condemn me for lying to you.
And while I took comfort that you would remain with me as long as you needed my
money, I knew if you located that new vein, which you did, you would become
incredibly wealthy—you wouldn't need me at all any longer. And you don't."

Slowly,
Miles went to one knee before her. He took her face in his hands.

Tears
streaming from her eyes, she cried, "The two of you are mine, dammit! I
may not have given birth to Bryan, but I've raised him. I've loved him. I
couldn't love him more if I'd grown him in my own womb. He's part of the man I
love .. . he's part of you."

Struggling
to regain her senses, infuriated, suddenly, by the terrible weakness she was
displaying, Olivia shoved her husband's hands away and tried to stand. He
caught her, held her tight against his chest, one hand buried in her tumbled
hair, gripping it fiercely. Closing her eyes, Olivia allowed herself to absorb
the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him, and she thought she might
die from the painful pleasure of it.

Finally,
she whispered, "Let me go. Emily was your first choice—you cared for her
once. You only married me for my money. Business only. Perhaps you grew fond of
me because you had little choice. But now you do have a choice. There's not a
woman in England who wouldn't find you acceptable now. Don't you see, Miles?
You can start all over and do it right this time. You can marry the woman you
honestly love, and this time marry for all the right reasons." •

For
a long minute, he said nothing. Then, very quietly, he replied, "You're
right. I should marry again. Only I'll be marrying the woman that I love, and
by God, I'll go about it right this time."

Emily,
who'd remained motionless at the doorway, broke into a smile and started up the
corridor, only to be brought up short as Armand and Gustavea suddenly flanked
her on each side, and grabbed her by her arms.

She
almost hissed. "How dare you! Take your hands from me this moment. Who do
you think you are?" Fixing her burning eyes on Miles, she screamed,
"Do something, you idiot!"

"Oh,
I intend to, Emily." He smiled and glanced toward the servants lining the
corridor, their faces concerned and watchful. Sally glared at him with her
hands on her hips, cap cocked askew and red ringlets springing around it like
frizzy corkscrews. Jacques stood in the dining hall doorway, face, hands, and
apron coated in flour.

Then
Miles looked up the stairway where Bertrice held Bryan in her arms. He took a
breath. "Bear witness that I, Miles Kemball Warwick, being of sound
mind—" He slowly turned back to Olivia where she continued to wait,
immobilized by a weakening of her backbone and a pounding of her heart as she
watched him go to one knee before her, and reach for her hand. "Being of
sound mind, and heart, do hereby ask Olivia Devonshire Warwick, and mother of
my son, for her hand in marriage—to be my wife—to be my love—my only love— for
the remainder of our natural lives."

Olivia
closed her eyes, too moved by relief and joy to speak. Then a child's voice
called from the top of the stairs, "Say yes, Mummy, or I won't have nobody
to play the Black Knight with me no more."

"Oh."
She sighed. "Oh yes."