, 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 savage-looking weapons and the heads of long-dead 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.
Chapter 33
Nic had lost her.
He’d seen a glimpse of Olivia in the orangery and after that she’d vanished. He knew she was there, somewhere, but with so many nooks and crannies to hide in, he could search all day and never find her.
Why had she run?
When he’d come upon Estelle, she’d told him Olivia was downstairs somewhere. Now he knew she was lying, drawing him away from his wife so that she had a chance to escape. Was he such a monster that she couldn’t even speak to him? He’d hoped for a chance to explain, but it seemed she didn’t even want to allow him that much.
In his heart Nic couldn’t blame her.
From where she was standing his failure to tell her the truth must look like a terrible betrayal. An unforgivable betrayal.
He tightened his lips and kept going, peering around hedges and under shrubs. Nic wasn’t going to give up. He was certain that if he could only speak to her, look into her eyes, he would be able to begin to mend matters between them. Not completely, perhaps, and not immediately, but he could make a beginning.
He loved her. He couldn’t live without her. Nothing mattered when it came to that, not his pride or keeping his awful secret or the fact that she might no longer want anything to do with him.
Olivia sat on the edge of the fishpond and trailed her fingers in the water. Nic had probably given up looking for her and was waiting for her inside the house. She knew she’d have to go back eventually; it was ridiculous to keep running away from the inevitable. At some point she would have to listen to what her husband had to say, she just wished it was later, when she’d had a chance to sort out her own feelings and compose her reply.
The clop of horses’ hooves and a rumbling of wheels heralded the arrival of a vehicle. Nic had probably ridden ahead of the carriage, and now it had arrived with Abbot and the remaining luggage from the house in Mayfair. At least Estelle would be happy again; she’d been as miserable as Olivia ever since they left London.
Poor Estelle. Olivia felt a niggle of guilt, remembering how happy the maid had been when Olivia married Nic, and she knew that she and Abbot could at last be together. Perhaps Nic would allow Abbot to stay with Olivia? More likely, she thought darkly, he’d refuse to let Abbot go, forcing them to remain apart. At the moment she would believe him capable of any malice.