Sir Heath Moss stood in the terrace doors, the light from inside forming a soft halo around his deceptively angelic face.
“Begone, Moss,” Montague said. “You’ve no business intruding on a family discussion.”
“A family discussion?” Sir Heath said, gesturing toward the silent man. “Am I to wish you joy?”
Olivia stifled a sob, and Eleanor drew her into her arms.
“Excellent!” Sir Heath said. “TheLondon Dailywill sell faster than hot muffins at Michaelmas when the editor hears about this. I can imagine the headline now—Ducal Debauchery. But, given your…ahem…sister’sorigins, it should come as no surprise to our acquaintances.”
“Don’t be a fool, Moss,” Montague said.
Sir Heath’s smile broadened and he stepped toward Olivia, the stench of his cologne thickening the air.
“I’mthe fool, am I, Whitcombe?” he said. “Why, then, did I hear you speak of your sister tossing up her skirts to entrap a man? She’d have fared better had she set out to find herself a protector rather than a husband. Her lack of success in securing a dance partner tonight is evidence of her poor prospects.”
“Ididsecure a partner!” Olivia said. “Mr. Arnott asked me to dance twice.”
“Under false pretenses,” Sir Heath sneered.
The silent man let out a huff, then moved toward the doors. Montague blocked his path, placing his hand on the man’s chest. A shiver rippled through Olivia’s body at the expression in the larger man’s eyes as he lowered his gaze to her brother’s hand—a hand that he could easily crush with the slightest effort.
“Montague, there’s no need…” she began.
“There’severyneed,” he said. “Sir Heath has cast aspersions on your honor and slighted our good name.” He fixed his gaze on the silent man. “Allof our good names.”
“With good cause,” Sir Heath said. “The gossips are going tolovethis!”
“Perhaps they will,” Montague said, his gaze still locked on the tall, dark figure. “But I doubt my sister, or…herbetrothedwould take kindly to false accusations, just as much as I doubt you’d take kindly to a lawsuit or a bullet through the heart.”
My betrothed?
Olivia met the man’s gaze, and a shiver rippled through her at the mixture of cold anger and disgust in his eyes.
“Brother…”
“It’s the only way, Livvie,” Montague said, and Olivia’s heart cried out at the endearment. The anger in his voice had gone, replaced by resignation and disappointment.
Sir Heath let out a snort. “Not even this fellow would be foolish enough to shackle himself to a bas—”
“Be quiet!” Montague snarled, his hand still pressed against the giant’s chest. “Speak one more word, Sir Heath, and, so help me God, I’ll see that you never speak again.” Then he turned to the tall man. “Youarebetrothed to my sister, are you not?” he said, a warning in his voice. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”
The man raised his eyebrows and fixed his cold stare on Olivia. Then he raised his hands, as if in surrender, and stepped back.
Montague let out a low growl. “Now, for the sake of Sir Heath Moss, tell me, sir…are you engaged to my sister?”
Deny it, sir, please!
Olivia clasped her hands together, sending up a silent plea. He stared at her, his expression softening a fraction, and a flame of hope flickered in her heart.
Then it died. Slowly, the huge beast of a man—the silent stranger who had emerged from the darkness like a menacing phantom—nodded, and sealed her fate.
*
“For the sakeof Sir Heath Moss, tell me, sir, are you engaged to my sister?”
Whitcombe jabbed his finger at Charles, gritting his teeth as he uttered the question.
Fuck. I’m trapped.
