Chapter 32

Chapter

Thirty-Two

N ic had found Olivia missing in the morning. No one seemed to know where she'd gone. Perhaps she was cross with him for leaving her last night, but it wasn't in her nature to be vindictive. Still, he searched for her in the few likely places, even at Esmeralda's shop. No one had seen her.

By the time he returned to Mayfair he was worried. As he rounded the corner he saw a coach pulling away from in front of his house—the Lacey coach—and Abbot standing bereft on the footpath. He kicked his horse into a gallop and caught up with it as they reached the busy main thoroughfare, riding alongside in what was a highly dangerous and risky manner.

He could see Olivia inside, her face white, her eyes blazing back at him, and beside her was Estelle, looking equally pale but forlorn. There was a shout of warning, and when he looked up he saw a cart bearing down on him. In that split second he knew he could either hold his line and have an accident, or drop back and live to fight another day. Nic dropped back, ignoring the cursing of the cart driver, and watched his coach disappear.

He knew where they were going. Home to Bassingthorpe. Olivia was leaving him. And there could be only one reason that she would do that.

She knew about Sarah.

Slowly he turned his horse and rode back to the Mayfair house. Abbot was still standing there, his face solemn and his gray eyes suspiciously bright.

"My lord," he said, "I'm sorry but I couldn't stop her. Nothing could have stopped her. As I told you before, she is a very determined young lady." He paused, grimacing. "And now I find my own wife is equally determined."

Nic dismounted, handing the reins to the servant who'd hurried from the house. "How did she find out?" he said bleakly.

Abbot didn't bother to ask what he meant. "Estelle told her where the, eh, household was situated. It seems she went visiting this morning, my lord. As soon as she returned she began to pack. I have never seen a lady gather her luggage together so quickly. It was . . . truly amazing. I tried to stop her but . . . what could I do? I wanted to send word to you, my lord, but I didn't know where you'd gone. When I—I—"

"Yes, yes, Abbot, take a deep breath."

Abbot did. "My apologies, my lord."

"Estelle told her about Sarah. Who told Estelle?" he said, narrowed eyes fixed on his manservant .

"I did, my lord." Abbot's shoulders slumped. "I will leave immediately."

Nic was tempted to take him at his word, but Abbot had been with him a very long time, and frankly he didn't know what he'd do without his craggyfaced manservant. Who would tell him the truth and pull him up when he was acting childishly? Who would have the courage to approach him when he was in one of his bad tempers? Who would comfort him if Olivia refused to have him back? No, Abbot must stay.

"Don't be ridiculous, Abbot," he said. "I need you, you're staying."

Abbot blinked, and then bowed his acquiescence. "Eh, yes, my lord."

"We have to return to Castle Lacey, but first I will visit Jonah and his mother. See to the packing and so on. We'll set off as soon as I get back."

"You can rely on me, my lord."

"I know I can, Abbot. That's why I need you. Thank you."

He remounted his horse and rode off, leaving Abbot staring after his master, openmouthed.

As Olivia had expected, Castle Lacey was empty apart from a skeleton staff of servants. Estelle said little during the journey, but Olivia didn't mind that—she didn't want to talk. She'd tried to sleep but kept waking up suddenly and wondering where she was, and then she'd remember all over again .

She asked herself how she was going to bear it. Because each time she remembered, it hurt a little more. She loved Nic . . . she had loved Nic. She'd thought she had everything she wanted—with a singleminded determination she'd pursued her dream. Dominic Lacey loved her and she'd truly believed that, but now she wondered how she could have been so deluded. If he truly loved her, how could he have lied to her about this?

Her parents had lied, too, but somehow she could accept their need for respectability and the success of her father's business. They lived in a world where Sarah's fall from grace would be worse than her death.

Nic's lies were worse.

Eventually the coach reached the castle and started up the long drive, rumbling slowly past the gatehouse. Olivia didn't want to talk with Lady Lacey, she didn't want to talk with anyone, and as soon as they drew to a stop, she rushed inside and up the grand staircase to her rooms, and closed the door.

Most of the secondstory east wing rooms were hers, as well as the east tower. Traditionally they always belonged to the bride of the current Lord Lacey, and were elegantly furnished and decorated. Olivia had loved them on first sight, and now she felt her shoulders relax and her breathing slow as she made her way to the narrow stone stairs that led up to the tower room.

The first time Nic had shown her this room they'd spoken about it .

"Many Lady Laceys have sat up here bemoaning their fate, or else watching for their lovers," he'd told her, smiling.

"Why not watching for their husbands? Surely some of these ladies were happily married, Nic?"

He smiled. "A very few, my romantic Olivia."

"Well, if I sit here, I promise you, it will be to watch for you."

"As long as you watch for me, I will come home to you," he'd said, and he'd kissed her.

At the time the words lodged in her heart, warming her. Now, remembering them, tears stung her eyes and she blinked furiously, determined not to weep again. She'd shed enough tears over Wicked Nic; it was time she thought of herself.

The tower room was furnished as a sitting room, and there was a window seat groaning with cushions and bolsters. Olivia sat down, cuddling among them, drawing a warm rug about her. Outside the small glass panes the estate spread out before her, and she could see the rooftops of Bassingthorpe and the blunt tower of the church where she had been married. Her childhood home wasn't visible, the trees of the woods hid it from view, but she knew where it was.

Emotion swelled within her, threatening to burst out, and she clenched her fists to hold it in. Everything she'd believed in was a lie. She felt as if the family portrait she'd been treasuring all these years had suddenly peeled and cracked and now showed a completely different group of people in a foreign world .

Now Olivia remembered her wish to live her life to the full, as if it was the desire of another woman, someone she hardly knew. Well, she'd had her wish. The trouble was, try as she might to regret the days and weeks and months spent with Nic, she couldn't.

He might have torn out her heart, but she loved him still.

Suddenly the emotions she'd been holding in overwhelmed her, and she crumpled against the silken cushions, weeping uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking and her chest heaving. Olivia cried until she was exhausted, and then, at last, she slept.

Estelle had shed a great many tears on the journey home, stifling her sobs in the folds of her wool cloak. She was drained now. She went about her tasks without a word, putting away Lady Lacey's clothing and sorting through the garments needing cleaning.

Olivia was upstairs in the tower room. Estelle had peeped in on her, and seen her mistress curled up on the window seat, asleep, her fingers curled beneath her pale, tearstained cheek. She looked so alone, so lost.

Estelle knew this was all her fault. If she hadn't been so desperate to arrange other people's lives to suit herself, she'd never have pushed Olivia into marrying Lord Lacey. Now everything was such a mess, and she and Abbot were separated again. Estelle could see them spending the rest of their lives in different households while their employers feuded. The old Lady Lacey hadn't spoken to her son for nine years until recently—who was to say the same thing couldn't happen with Olivia and Nic?

When Estelle heard the clatter of horse's hooves approaching, she looked out of the window without much interest. It was only when she recognized Nic hastily dismounting that she understood, with a lurch of her heart, that perhaps all was not lost.

Olivia awoke with a start. She sat up, bleary-eyed, her tangled hair over her face, trying to remember where she was. It came back to her soon enough, and with it the now familiar ache in her chest. She pushed her hair back and stood up. Her dress was creased and crumpled, and even though her appearance suited her current frame of mind, she knew she should change. Perhaps take a hot bath first . . .

Then she heard voices below in her rooms. Olivia went still, listening, as the sounds drifted up the stone steps into the tower. Estelle's high-pitched tones and a deeper, masculine voice. Nic.

He'd followed her!

Her first response was a sense of overwhelming joy, followed by deepest despair. She couldn't see him; she didn't want to. She still hadn't come to terms with the shocking truths she'd discovered.

Sarah's pale face and soft voice were in her head, and it would seem like a betrayal of her sister if she were to listen to Nic's excuses.

She whirled around, trying to see a way out, but there was none. As she stood, expecting any moment to be found, she realized the voices were fading. Slowly, cautiously, Olivia began to descend the steps, one hand on the cold wall, her heart thumping like a steam train in motion.

By the time she reached the bottom of the narrow stairs the voices were gone completely, and the rooms below were empty. Hurriedly she ran to the door and peered out. Nothing. Estelle, bless her, must have led Nic away. With luck he'd climb upon his horse and ride off again.

Olivia headed toward the curving staircase and down into the baronial hall, where the walls were covered in savagelooking weapons and the heads of longdead animals. It wasn't until she paused before the portrait of one of Nic's ancestors that she heard the voices again, this time drawing closer.

She looked about, trying to decide which way to go, but there was nowhere to hide in this vast, open space. Just then Nic appeared through a doorway, coming from the library.

He saw her.

His face lit up, his eyes gleaming, and suddenly she felt like one of the heads on the wall.

Olivia took off at a run, circumnavigating furniture, setting a fern on a plinth wobbling dangerously. When she glanced over her shoulder she could see Nic was behind her, and gaining. Ahead of her was the front door, an openmouthed servant standing by it. Olivia brushed by him and flung the door open, catapulting out into the chilly day, taking the stairs two at a time, and taking off across the gravel drive toward the safety of the gardens.

At least out here there would be plenty of places to hide.

You're a coward, Olivia Lacey , she told herself, but she didn't care. Nic had a way of persuading her to his point of view, and she wanted to sort out her thoughts for herself. She no longer trusted him to tell her the truth, only what was in his own best interests.

"Olivia!" he called out, both anger and desperation in his voice. "Olivia, please . . ."

But Olivia ignored him and kept on running.