Reynolds’ constant questions about her father’s political involvement and connections, his unusual interest in military officers who visited their home, his fascination with guests who worked at the Foreign Office. How had she not seen it before? It all took on a far more treacherous meaning in light of the letter.
She had been a fool.
Her first instinct was to burn the letter and tell Victor immediately. Their agreement had specifically required complete honesty between them. Yet as she contemplated showing the letter to her husband, anxiety twisted in her stomach. Victor had been so pleased with her progress in society, had praised her for obeying his rules and following his guidance.
Would this letter destroy the fragile trust they had built? Would her past indiscretions now threaten their present after they’d believe it to be behind them? Would he see her as more trouble than she was worth? The very thought of disappointing him sent a wave of distress through her that surprised her with its intensity.
She needed to handle this with the dignity and grace Victor had been teaching her. Reynolds was attempting to manipulate her fear and shame to his advantage. Victor would never fall for such transparent tactics. And neither would she.
Olivia made her decision. She would meet Reynolds, assess exactly what he possessed, and determine how serious the threat truly was. Besides, she didn’t have any information to share and once he realized that, the blackguard would be forced to move on to bother someone else.
She would demonstrate to this manipulative man that she was no longer the naive girl he had exploited. She was the Duchess of Ravenswood now, with all the strength and poise her husband had helped her discover within herself.
Moving to her writing desk, Olivia penned a brief reply:
I will meet you as requested. Come prepared to surrender ALL materials related to our previous association, as this will be our final encounter. Be warned that any attempt to involve me in matters you suggest will be met with immediate consequences.
—O
She sealed it without the Ravenswood crest, then had the note dispatched with a street boy Martha trusted for discreet errands.
Tomorrow at three o’clock, she would need an excuse to leave the house alone. She paced the chamber, her mind racing. The milliner, perhaps? A plausible appointment that would require neither Victor’s presence nor a companion ... and her stomach dropped at the thought of deceiving her husband.
A knock at her door startled her.
“Your Grace?” Martha called. “His Grace has returned unexpectedly and requests your presence in the dining room. Dinner will be served shortly.”
Olivia froze in place. “Victor is here? I thought he was dining at his club.”
“He returned not half an hour ago, Your Grace, and asked for dinner to be prepared immediately.”
Olivia hurriedly tucked the letter into a hidden compartment in her jewelry box. “I’ll be down directly, Martha. Help me change, please?”
As Martha assisted her into a dinner gown of deep-emerald silk, Olivia struggled to compose herself. She must betray nothing of Reynolds’ communication or her plans to meet him. The prospect of lying to Victor, even by omission, filled her with unease.
But this was merely managing a potential problem before it required his attention. If Reynolds truly was involved with French intelligence, as his letter implied, this went beyond personal scandal to matters of national security. She would handle it herself and prove her worth as Victor’s duchess.
“There you are,” Victor said as she entered the dining room. He rose from his seat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. “I decided my business at the club could wait.”
“I’m surprised,” Olivia replied, allowing a footman to seat her at Victor’s right hand. “I was told you intended to dine elsewhere this evening.”
“Plans change,” he said simply, studying her with unsettling intensity. “How were your calls received?”
Grateful for the neutral topic, Olivia recounted her visits while the first course was served. “Lady Pembrooke has accepted our invitation, and the dowager countess is ‘considering’ it.”
Victor nodded, satisfaction briefly softening his stern features. “Well done. The dowager will surely accept.”
“I doubt she’s fully persuaded of my redemption,” Olivia admitted, “but she seemed to hold you in high regard.”
“Not me, precisely,” Victor corrected. “The title. Ravenswood has always maintained appropriate connections with the older families.”
The remainder of dinner passed in polite conversation about household matters and the upcoming dinner party, but Oliviaremained acutely aware of Victor watching her throughout. Her guilt caused her mind to run wild, imagining that he already knew that she hid something from him.
When dinner concluded, Victor stood and offered his arm. “Join me upstairs,” he said, his tone making it clear it was not a request.
Olivia placed her hand on his sleeve, her pulse quickening at the intent in his eyes. They ascended the staircase in silence with only the sounds of the soft rustle of her skirts and the measured tread of their footsteps on the carpeted stairs.
Once inside their bedchamber, Victor locked the door, the quiet click of the mechanism echoing in the sudden stillness. Before Olivia could speak, he was upon her, his hands grasping her waist and pulling her against his hard body.
