Page 23 of Mesmerized

“What about your other brothers and sisters? What are they concerned with?”

“Well... Theo—he’s the eldest—is fond of adventure. He comes home every year or two, and then he is off again to explore the Amazon or the heart of Africa or somewhere like that. Right now he is in Australia and has been for almost a year. We are hoping that he will come home again before too long. Thisbe, his twin, is a chemist. Kyria’s business is the social whirl. And Constantine and Alexander—the second set of twins—are only ten, so mischief is their chief employment.”

“Constantine and Alexander? As in the emperors?”

Olivia chuckled. “Yes. Believe me, it could have been worse. Papa wanted to name them Castor and Pollux because of their being twins, you see, but Mother put her foot down about that one.”

“I am sure they will bless her when they are older.”

“No doubt,” Olivia agreed.

“They sound like a lively family.”

“Yes, they are—and not a mad one among them.”

“Oh, Lord, I can see that that remark will continue to haunt me,” Stephen commented ruefully. “I am most dreadfully sorry, you know. I didn’t mean it. Obviously I didn’t even know your family. It just—”

“I know. It just came out.” Olivia sighed. “That, I’m sure, is because you had heard it often enough.”

“No one really thinks they’re mad, I’m sure. It’s just a way of talking.”

“Yes. I realize it’s a jest, or mostly a jest. They mean, I think, not insane, but decidedly odd.” She paused, then went on. “And I guess we are. It’s just infuriating that what makes us odd in their eyes is that we care more for knowledge than for one’s skill at sitting a horse, say, or making social chitchat. We are odd because we care about people who are not in the same class—indeed, we are branded exceedingly peculiar because we don’t like the idea of class at all. I am mad because I prefer to be called Miss Moreland instead of Lady Olivia Moreland. My mother is mad because she believes that all children deserve an education. Kyria is mad because she refuses to marry a man just because he has an excellent title and lineage.”

Olivia’s eyes flashed as she warmed to her subject, her cheeks flushing with the strength of her feelings. Stephen found that he could not take his eyes from her.

“Why are we the ones who are peculiar?” Olivia demanded. “It seems to me that it is the others who are odd. Why is it considered wrong to be devoted to what we believe in? We simply invest a great deal of emotion in the things we do.”

“You are passionate.”

His words hung on the air between them, and suddenly there was a tension between them, an awkwardness that had not been there before. Olivia, who had been rushing along on her rising tide of indignation, halted, suddenly unable to think of anything but passion in the word’s most basic, carnal sense. Her fingers curled around the reins she had been holding loosely as her mind was flooded with images—Stephen’s hand around hers, his skin arousing feelings in her she had never known before, the almost electrical shock that had run through her the first time she looked into his eyes, the heat that seemed to blossom inside her whenever he looked at her or touched her in even the slightest way.

“Yes, I suppose we are passionate about our ‘causes,’” Olivia said, her voice thin with the effort of keeping it level and unconcerned. She carefully did not look at Stephen. “I am sorry. You must think I am foolish, to get so emotional about what is, after all, only a silly jest.”

“No, indeed. I do not think you are foolish at all.” The warmth in his voice made Olivia turn her head to look at him in surprise. There was no levity in his face, only a sincere admiration that jolted her. “I think you are quite remarkable.”

She glanced away quickly, feeling a flush rising up her throat. She was, she thought, hopelessly inept in such a situation. Kyria would have been able to take a compliment gracefully. All she could do, she thought, was blush and feel like an idiot.

Fortunately, a woman was emerging from the doorway of the cottage they were about to pass, and at sight of them, she came forward to greet Stephen. By the time he was done introducing Olivia to his tenant’s wife and they had all commented on the loveliness of this August day, the awkward moment was past, and they were able to ride on in easy silence.

“I will show you my favorite part of the estate,” St. Leger told her, turning his horse from the well-trodden path on which they had been riding. “It will be the perfect place to get off and try the lunch that Cook sent with us.”

They struck out across the fields, stopping to unlatch a gate and pass through, a consideration for which Olivia was grateful, as she was sure that had he been alone, Stephen would merely have jumped the low fence, a feat she was sure she would not have been able to accomplish. She could still remember the anguish in the head groom’s voice as he had told her that she needed to help her horse over the obstacle, not fight him, and the gratitude she had felt when her father had said placidly, “Oh, what does it matter, Jenkins? You’d best stick with teaching Kyria and the boys. My Livvy’s a scholar, not a rider, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

They entered the trees beyond the field, following a barely discernible path, and when they emerged from the wood, they were in a small meadow, slanting down slightly to a pond. A grove of trees lined one end of the pond, following its gentle curve. It was a scene of tranquility and beauty, and Olivia drew in her breath in a soft gasp of pleasure.

“It’s beautiful!” she cried, pulling her horse to a stop, struck by a deep, intense emotion, which she could neither understand nor describe. It was as if, in some incredible, utterly illogical way, she knew this piece of land.

“Do you like it?” Stephen turned to her, his eyes lingering on her face, lit now with an inner glow. “I’m glad. This has always been my favorite spot—where I like to come and think, or just sit.”

“It’s wonderful,” Olivia agreed, urging her horse forward again.

They rode to the trees at the edge of the pond and dismounted. Olivia looked around her, smiling. “I feel so peaceful here. So safe.”

The words surprised her even as she spoke them. Whyever should she not feel safe? Yet she knew that a sense of safety was part of the feeling that she got from this place, and the sweetness of the emotion inside her was disturbed by a sudden sense of unease.

Olivia pushed the thought away from her. She was being silly. This was simply a lovely tranquil place, and whatever connection she felt to it was nothing more than a normal attraction to a beautiful spot.

Stephen took the hamper from the back of his horse and set it beside the pond, then spread a blanket on the ground for them to sit on. Cook had prepared a bountiful luncheon for them—an array of cold meats, cheeses and fruit, supplemented by thick slabs of dark bread spread with pale yellow butter—and they spent the next few minutes doing justice to her work.