Rarely did Olivia’s sister-in-law display emotion—at least not with her voice. When distressed, Eleanor grew quiet and withdrawn, toying with her bracelet in a repetitive circular motion until she was ready to speak. But tonight, the quiet demeanor had gone, replaced by angry determination.
Eleanor reached for a blanket and drew it around Olivia’s shoulders.
“It’s not cold,” Montague said.
“Your sister’s shivering,” Eleanor said crisply. “You might be incapable of seeing her distress, but you must at least have noticedthat.”
“A blanket’s no remedy for distress.”
“But a loving brotheris,” Eleanor said. “For heaven’s sake, Montague, can’t you see what you’ve done?”
He leaned back, his eyes widening. In her entire life at Rosecombe, Olivia had never seen Eleanor speak with such anger toward her husband.
“What I’ve done?” he said, the tremor in his voice betraying his bewilderment at his wife’s assertiveness. “I’vedone nothing wrong.”
Eleanor drew her arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “Neither has your sister,” she retorted, “unless you wish to criticize her for the circumstances of her birth. In which case, I’d thought better of you.”
“Of course I’m not,” he replied, “but tonight’s incident, though not Olivia’s fault, will ruin her reputation. She has been humiliated by circumstances—”
“Howgraciousof you to admit it’s not Olivia’s fault,” Eleanor huffed.
“As I said, she’s been humiliated by circumstances,” Montague continued. “But we’ve salvaged some respectability.”
“Oh, wehave, have we?”
“For heaven’s sake, Eleanor, even you must admit that—”
“Will you stop!” Olivia cried, tearing the blanket from her shoulders. “I don’t need a blanket, and I don’t need your disapproval! Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“Dearest, I’m only trying to defend you,” Eleanor said.
“I know,” Olivia said, “and I love you for it. But I’d rather forget it happened.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Montague said. “You heard Sir Heath. If no betrothal announcement is forthcoming, then what happened here tonight will be the subject of every tawdry gossip rag in London. We—you—will be the laughingstock of London. We might have weathered the scandal had you not been…” He hesitated and glanced toward the window.
“Had I not been a bastard?”
Her brother flinched.
“He’s an honorable man,” he said, after a pause. “He’ll make you as happy as any other man—and, I suspect, happier than most.”
“How can you say that?” Eleanor said, taking Olivia’s hand. “He seemed most unpleasant.”
“Why? Because he doesn’t speak? He at least agreed to do the honorable thing by my sister. Had he cared nothing, he’d have walked off that terrace leaving Olivia’s reputation ruined, and most likely flattened me on the way. You saw the size of him. Do you think a man like that wouldn’t hesitate to beat anyone into a pulp to get what he wants?”
“And you expect me to marry him,” Olivia said, “to beownedby him.”
She shuddered, but despite the fear, a secret thrill coursed through her veins at the notion of surrendering herself to such a powerful beast of a man—the man who’d drawn her to him and held her tight as if she weighed no more than a feather. A man who, despite the enormity of his strength, held her with a tenderness that almost broke her heart.
What might it be like to feel those strong hands on her, bringing her to the pleasure that drove so many to ruination? Olivia had seen the spark of love between Montague and his wife. The gleam of female satisfaction in Eleanor’s eyes most mornings at breakfast spoke of their love, and the pleasures they shared.
Montague took her hand. “Believe me, little Livvie, I wish we weren’t in this predicament. But the world is what it is.”
“I wanted to marry for love,” Olivia whispered, tears stinging her eyes, and she bit her lip to keep them at bay lest her brother think her weak. “Wh-what if he won’t love me?”
“Love will come,” he said, his voice softening. “Love does not spring from our hearts overnight. It takes time, but it will come. Do you know why?”
Olivia shook her head.
