Page 24 of With Good Grace
‘Then I am very glad my arrangements meet with your approval.’
Olivia’s sarcasm was lost on the girl, who bustled off with a face like a wrinkled prune and saw to the packing.
On the last occasion when Olivia, Eva and Amelia Armitage had gone to stay in Grosvenor Square, they had been shuffled out the back entrance of her residence in Cheyne Walk like debtors evading the bailiffs. Jake had insisted upon it, pretending that he didn’t want anyone to know where they were moving to. He saidit was for her own protection, but Olivia suspected that he wanted to avoid his name becoming irrevocably tied to hers, which it would have been, she supposed, had her arrival at his home been witnessed by any of his well-heeled neighbours. She of all people ought to know that the gossip mill was alive and thriving within the elevated circles of society’s elite, where tongues had still not stopped wagging about her possible involvement in her husband’s death.
She could not blame Jake for his caution, much as she would like to take offence. After all, he had avoided becoming leg-shackled for years now despite the best efforts of some of the most ambitious match-makers in the capital. She ought to have been grateful to him for pretending that secrecy was necessary to avoid reprisals by his enemies. Even so, feeling vulnerable and resenting the requirement to rely upon Jake for protection, a small part of Olivia had wondered at the time if he was ashamed of her.
Today, according to Parker, they were required to make as much fuss as possible about leaving by the front door, but she had absolutely no idea why. Jake’s barouche was outside, the Torbay crest emblazoned on the doors. A crowd of urchins had gathered to stare at it, pointing grubby fingers, jostling one another, eager to be the recipients of any largesse the owner of this fine equipage felt inclined to distribute. Adults passing by were scarcely less obvious in their gawping. What was Jake playing at, Olivia wondered. He never did anything without a reason and he really ought to have the courtesy to keep her informed.
Tom lightened Olivia’s mood. He was in high spirits as he sat beside her in the carriage, chattering away the entire time, still clutching his prized sailing ship. If made Olivia feel queasy every time her glance fell upon it and she wondered who could have sent it, and why. But she didn’t have the heart to take it away from him.
‘Shall we sail my boat on the pond in the park, Jane?’ he asked enthusiastically. ‘I expect it will go further than all the others.’
‘We shall see, Master Tom,’ Jane replied, glancing at Olivia, who made a point of staring out of the window to avoid answering.
Tom constantly pointed at the sights and, by three-year-old standards, made remarkably astute and very blunt comments about the passers-by. Jane and Molly sat opposite them. Jane laughed at Tom’s antics but Molly remained stony-faced, fingers laced primly together in her lap. Already, Olivia already regretted bringing her along. Jane was perfectly capable of taking care of Tom and acting as lady’s maid too, especially with so many other servants on hand in Grosvenor Square. But there again, why should Olivia inconvenience herself because her maid had developed a puritanical streak?
‘Why does that lady have a bowl of fruit on her head, Mama?’ Tom’s voice recalled Olivia’s wandering attention. ‘Won’t it fall off?’
Olivia bit back a laugh as she espied the ugly bonnet in question. ‘With great good fortune it might, darling.’
‘Perhaps she’s worried about getting hungry, Master Tom,’ Jane suggested with a smile for Olivia.
‘I would prefer to have sausages on my hat,’ Tom said.
Jake greeted the carriage himself when it arrived at his door.
‘As you can see,’ Olivia said as he handed her out of the conveyance. ‘Parker kept us safe from marauders.’
‘What is a marauder, Mama? I would like to be one.’
Jake swept Tom from his feet and threw him over his shoulder. ‘You have to grow big and strong and eat all of your vegetables if you want to maraud.’
Tom giggled as he hung upside down over Jake’s shoulder. ‘Can I eat sausages instead and still be a murderer? They taste much nicer than cabbage.’
‘Marauder, darling,’ Olivia corrected, as Jake turned her son up the right way and set him back on his feet. ‘Not murderer. There is a vast difference.’
‘I expect I shall be good at both,’ Tom replied, running into the vast entrance hall of Jake’s residence and hopping on one leg, from back square to black square, avoiding all the white ones for reasons best known only to him.
‘How does he manage to make enough noise for ten boys?’ Olivia asked, affection in her tone. ‘You will soon regret inviting us, Jake.’
‘Unlikely,’ Jake replied, watching as Jane scooped Tom up and took him up to the nursery floor.
‘Come into the library and have some tea,” Jake invited, placing a hand on her elbow and steering her in that direction.
Olivia was astonished when Jake closed the door behind them and, with what sounded like a low growl of frustration, immediately pulled her into his arms.
‘I have been beside myself with worry about you,’ he said softly.
She blinked up at him, wondering what he was not telling her. She had been in considerably more dangerous situations in the past and none of them had elicited such a passionate response. There again, they had been in denial about their feelings for one another on those previous occasions. She was still unsure if that situation had permanently altered.
‘As you can see,’ she replied lightly. ‘I am perfectly well.’
‘I do see.’ His glistening eyes examined her upturned face. ‘And I confess to liking the view very much indeed.’
She expected him to release her but he didn’t do so. It was most unlike him to be so openly demonstrative, and Olivia racked her addled brains to decide what she had done to make him behave thus. Not that thinking was so easily achieved; not when arms like bands of steel held her against him, sending a spiral of inexorable need throbbing through her entire body. She bit her lower lip, swallowing as she waited for her pounding heart to slow, and then glanced up into brown eyes that gleamed with sensual disobedience. Oh dear lord, when he looked at her like that she was a lost cause!
Jacob Morton, the Earl of Torbay, really was an enigma, and even though their friendship had become intimate she still felt that she didn’t really know him. He had been so conflicted about their developing passion for one another that he had taken himself out of London for two whole months to avoid her company. And now he was back and seemed to want her as much as she wanted him; ached for him, dreamed of him night after frustrating night. She wanted him with a desperate longing that defied logical explanation. No other man had ever made her feel half so alive, so desirable, so completely feminine, and none ever would. If Jake didn’t want her then she really would remain a widow for the rest of her days, living a quiet life in the country, breeding cats and scaring away the local children by pretending to be a witch.
