It wasn’t fate that drew them together.
It wasn’t a blinding attraction they couldn’t fight.
It was planned. Orchestrated.
And yet he’d fallen in love.
He stared at the swallows in her hand, wings extended mid-flight. So much pointed to the past, to things hidden, arranged, manipulated.
But she was here. Real. Warm.
Wanting him.
If there was truth in anything, it was in the way she touched him. In the way he lost himself inside her, silencing every doubt that threatened to rise.
Chapter Eighteen
Olivia stood near the fire in the Peacock Room, not to warm her hands after the long carriage ride home, but to study the painted birds. She’d told Gabriel she would change and come to his chamber within the half hour. Instead, she had spent ten minutes opening doors along the corridor, searching for swallow wallpaper.
The young maid moved quietly about, drawing the curtains, turning down the counterpane, filling the washbowl, laying out a fresh nightgown.
Olivia watched her, the question an irritating echo in her mind:Where might I find a room full of swallows?But she held it back. If Mrs Boswell caught wind of it, she’d have half the household on the hunt instead of settling her weary bones into bed.
They had agreed to face it tomorrow, when rest might bring clarity, when desire no longer blurred reason. But his invitation to join him in bed, the parting kiss that scattered her thoughts and left her knees weak, was the only temptation tonight.
The maid cleared her throat politely. “Would you like help undressing, my lady?”
She could manage, but it was important to act like the lady of the house, not a guest. “If you could help me out of this dress and brush out my hair, I’d be grateful.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and moved to unfasten the tiny hooks along the back of Olivia’s gown. The stiff bodice loosened. Cool air kissed her skin. Stockings, stays, and petticoats followed, and the maid helped her into a nightgown and silk wrapper before guiding her to the stool at the dressing table.
She began removing the pins, placing each one carefully in the silver dish. “Half these pins are loose, ma’am, and it’s a wonder you didn’t lose the sapphire comb. Shall I mention it to Jane?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. It’s entirely my fault.”
As the brush moved gently through her hair, her mind drifted, not to wallpaper, or hidden secrets, or even the threat of danger. But to the way Gabriel had looked at her as they made love in the dim theatre light.
She was in love with him.
It frightened her just how much.
How much she stood to lose.
But the words had gathered on her tongue. Reckless words. The kind friends and lovers rarely spoke. She had been full of them, overflowing, the confession beating against her lips.
Oh, I’m so in love with you, Gabriel.
But she had kissed him instead, and her heart had answered for her. In her wildest dreams, she’d never believed it possible. Only weeks ago, she’d been planning a lonely life abroad. An escape, not a future. And now, nothing could tear her away from?—
A snag at her scalp made her wince, dragging her from her reverie.
“Oh, forgive me, ma’am. I’ve more practice with broom bristles than hairbrushes.”
“It’s all right.” Shame rose in her chest. She didn’t even know the girl’s name. “We’re all still finding our way. It will be easier for us both in time.”
The maid sighed softly. “Mrs Boswell said you’d be kind. Said if anyone was meant to be a marchioness, it’s you, ma’am.”
Yet she felt like a trespasser in someone else’s life, trying on a title that didn’t quite fit. “I’m sure it’s all been rather unsettling for you.” It had been unsettling for all of them.
