Olivia averted her gaze. “I-it wouldn’t be right for him to discuss his feelings for you in front of me. Not when he knows you’re my friend.”
“I suppose not,” came the reply. “But I fear he thinks I’m too far beneath him, especially now he’s spending more time in the house. He’s Devereaux’s heir. What would an earl want with a farmer’s daughter like me?”
Olivia placed a hand over her belly. “He may not be the heir for much longer.”
Nicola tilted her head to one side. For a heartbeat, Olivia’s stomach cramped with fear at the expression in her eyes.
“Perhaps your child will be a girl. And, of course, not all women…” She shook her head. “I’m talking nonsense. Shall we stop to eat? I know a perfect spot where the ground is covered in wildflowers.”
“Flowers at this time of year?”
Nicola frowned. “Yes. Come on.”
She stepped up the pace, and Olivia followed. The rushing sound of the wind in the trees deepened, forming musical notes.
“Are we nearing the river?” Olivia asked. “We ought to be careful.”
“It’s quite safe,” Nicola said. “I know this forest well.”
Olivia followed, and the rushing water grew louder. Then the path veered to the right, and she found herself on the edge of the ravine. She caught her breath and stepped back, but Nicola moved toward the edge and leaned over.
“Careful!” Olivia said. “You might fall.”
“Nonsense!” Nicola replied. “Come and see the flowers. They grow among the rocks, just below the edge.”
Olivia approached the edge and peered over. Her vision blurred as she saw the water at the bottom of the ravine, boiling and swirling like a live animal eager for its prey. Nausea rippled over her, and she leaned back.
“I-I can’t see any flowers.”
“Lookcloser.”
Nicola’s voice hardened until it carried an edge of steel. Olivia turned to respond, and her gut cramped in horror. Her friend’s face was twisted with hatred, her eyes glittering with spite, mouth set in a hard line.
“What are—” Olivia began, then broke off as Nicola gripped her by the arms.
“Miserable whore,” she said, her voice a low snarl. “You think you can destroy my hopes? Jacob was going to marry me until you started flashing your cunny at him. How do I know the brat in your belly isn’t his?”
“I don’t love Jacob—I love Charles!”
Nicola let out a cold laugh. “Devereaux isn’t the sort of man to love another. You’ve told me that many times—he doesn’t even want your brat!”
“H-he cares…”
“Don’t be a fool! All you’ve done since you came here is mewl and whine about how your husband doesn’t love you because you’re some peasant’s bastard who trapped him into marriage. He’ll thank me when you’re gone, and so will Jacob.”
Nicola tightened her grasp on Olivia’s arms and pushed her backward. Olivia screamed as her footing began to slip, and she clawed at her assailant. But the ground crumbled beneath her feet, and her ankle turned on a stone.
Just like the day she’d fallen down the stairs when she’d lost her footing…
…when Nicola had stood, watching, an expression in her eyes that Olivia hadn’t been able to identify until now.
Loathing.
Then Nicola bared her teeth and thrust forward, shoving Olivia back until she could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet, only air.
“Sweet Lord—no!”
Olivia reached out, arms flailing in desperation for something—anything—to hold on to. She clawed at Nicola’s sleeve, but it was too late, and she toppled over the precipice, calling the name of the man she loved.
