The play was, unfortunately as Olivia had expected, exceptionally boring. She hadn’t realized her eyes had drifted shut until Alastair nudged her in the side. How was it that she found sleep so elusive in a luxurious bed through the night, yet she could nod off in the middle of a theatre hall with all matter of instruments playing and people shouting at one another? Although, if she were to be honest, she had been sleeping quite well lately with Alastair by her side, although she would never admit to him the effect he was having on her.

Perhaps it was the warm body next to her. Perhaps it was the satiety he brought her before they slept. Or perhaps — and she could hardly admit it to herself — he did bring a sense of comfort and security that she had not felt before.

Alastair had been correct in regards to Lord and Lady Greville. She did enjoy their company. Lady Greville was extremely pleasant and intelligent, and quite interesting to converse with.

Through intermission she was speaking with her about mutual acquaintances when she overheard Alastair asking Lord Greville for his advice — on investments. Her head whipped around. He would not discuss the matter with her, and yet had no qualms of discussing with a friend? Her mouth worked. She should say nothing — it was not her place. And yet … Olivia was never one to stay silent. It was a trait that had nearly earned her spinster status, that had plagued her mother for years.

“I believe shipping is always a safe bet,” Lord Greville was saying. “Particularly with the East Indian Company continuing to grow, as well as rising interest in travel to the Americas. If I were to place funds in an investment, I should say that would be my choice.”

“Why Alastair, darling,” Olivia said with a sweet, practiced smile, “was that not what I was suggesting just this morning?”

Lord Greville’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave her a slight nod as Alastair turned to look at her with a bit of perplexion in his expression.

“You did,” he acknowledged. “Did it not simply sound like an exciting opportunity to you? I know of your love of adventure.”

She snorted, causing Lady Greville to let out a bit of a chuckle. Olivia thought she saw a look of respect in the woman’s eye, however it could have simply been her imagination.

“Surely you do not believe I would suggest you invest funds into a company solely based on the activities of said business? Do you think me a simpleton?” she asked, her ire growing at his complete lack of recognition of any sort of intellect. “Come, now, Alastair, have more sense than that.”

His usual easygoing countenance shifted somewhat as he began to look slightly uncomfortable. “My apologies, darling,” he said in his attempt to keep peace in front of his friends. “We shall discuss this at greater length in due time. Now tell me, Lady Greville, how fares your father? I know he and my own father were well acquainted, and I have not seen him in some time.”

“Quite well, thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a smile, and while the conversation lightened and continued, Olivia could not help but feel like a chastised child, and when they resumed their seats she could feel the frosty chill settle between she and her husband.

* * *

Alastair could not understand what had come over his wife. Why was she suddenly so interested in financial matters? Although, come to think of it, perhaps he simply did not yet know her well enough to have a grasp of what she was interested in. She certainly did not seem to take up any of the usual hobbies of a young titled lady, such as watercolors or embroidery or anything of the sort. Rather, she spent most of her time in the library, her head in books or journals, or busy scribbling away on her paper. She was certainly well learned, but he had never thought to ask what it was she was so focused on. Instead, he had always supposed that she would keep to her business and he to his own.

They bid goodnight to Lord and Lady Greville, and continued on their way out of the theatre to find their carriage. He turned to speak to Olivia when he felt a hand run down his arm.

“Alastair! Oh my apologies, I should say Your Grace, I suppose, as we no longer have the relationship we once did, do we darling?” As the words slid off the women’s ruby lips, she pressed her ample bosom, which was practically spilling out of her dress, into his arm. He cringed. He did not see how this encounter could end in any way other than disaster. “Oh, and who is this lovely creature? Perhaps the reason for your absence? You must introduce me.”

“Olivia,” he said, turning to his wife, who was eyeing the woman with thinly veiled contempt, her gaze focused on where the woman still clung to his other side. “May I introduce you to the Countess of Oxbridge, Georgina Porter. Countess, this is my wife, Olivia Finchley, the Duchess of Breckenridge.”

The woman gave a peal of laughter. “Oh Alastair, I heard that you had married, but I never believed it to be true! Why, she is simply divine. You are most beautiful, Your Grace, although I am sure you must know that. Whatever did you do to convince him to marry you? I had thought him a confirmed bachelor for life!”

Alastair’s cheeks grew hot as he risked a sideways glance at his wife, who seemed to stand taller as she wore the smile that he had come to recognize as danger despite how innocent it seemed.

“Olivia is an intriguing woman, Countess,” he said demurely. “Once she caught my attention, I simply could not imagine life without her.”

“Thank you, darling,” Olivia said, casting that smile upon him, causing him to shiver. “How lovely to make your acquaintance, Countess. Tell me, how do you happen to know my husband?”

Alastair gave a bit of a choke as he prayed the woman would not divulge their former relationship at this point in time. Unfortunately, God seemed unwilling to answer his prayers.

“Oh,” the Countess said, toying with one of her dark ringlets as she looked up at Alastair. “We met through society functions, I suppose, and found that we quite enjoyed one another’s company from time to time, did we not, Your Grace? Though I have not had the pleasure of a visit from you in the past couple of months, I’m afraid. Now I see why. How wonderful, as I thought you had simply tired of me!”

Alastair inwardly groaned as he attempted to extricate himself from the conversation.

“Yes, well, I must admit, we have been rather busy since our marriage,” he said hurriedly. “Oh! See here, our carriage has arrived. Goodnight Countess.”

As they settled themselves on the plush seats of his carriage, he leaned his head back against the squabs and closed his eyes. Perhaps she would think nothing of the encounter, he thought. Or perhaps she would say nothing. Perhaps she would not care….

“How long was the Countess your paramour?”

Perhaps he was wrong.

He opened his eyes, blinking as if he misunderstood her.

“Pardon me?”

“I asked you,” she said slowly, as if he were simple-minded, “For how long was the Countess your lover.”

Her face was stoic, not betraying any of the emotion that he was sure was simmering under the surface. He was beginning to see why some men preferred to have wives without the intelligence of his, who were content to spend their days focused on the latest fashions and gossip of the day, caring not of their husband’s business or even who they took to bed. He sighed.

“Now and again for a few years,” he said, too much of a coward to meet her eyes. “There was no relationship, nothing consistent. She was a widow, and wanted some fun now and again. I was always up for a bit of it. But, Olivia, we have discussed this before. She is simply part of my past, as you well know, and I hold no feelings toward her.”

She nodded, not betraying any of what she was feeling, saying nothing as she stared out the window. While he understood her displeasure in the encounter with the Countess, she must understand that while their marriage meant he would no longer take a lover, there may be instances when such women would engage him in conversation. He knew, however, that now was not the time to tell her of this. Alastair did not enjoy conflict and was usually quite adept at easing difficult conversations into lighter territory. However, Olivia saw beyond his flippant words and attempts to mask deeper emotions, leaving him in a place of unease, as he did not know how to address her. He felt he would rather she shout at him, to provide him with an understanding of her thoughts so he might know how best to respond. Instead, she simply sat there, and he felt his words were simply sending him into greater peril.

“Olivia?” he questioned. “There may be times when women such as the Countess approach me, but I promise you that I will never act upon any such overtures. You must understand —”

“I understand perfectly,” she said, still wearing the smile that he longed to lean over and erase with a kiss that would show her she was the only one he currently desired to warm his bed. “From when we met, I have always understood who you were. You cannot change your past and I understood that. However, I allowed myself to be swept away by your charm and your caresses, to the point that I somehow lost sight of the fact that you are a man that woman love to love, Alastair. Do you truly see yourself with only one woman for the rest of your life?”

“I — of course I do,” he said, but not without a moment of hesitancy that he immediately cursed. “I am married to you now, and I will not betray you.”

“That may be true, but is that what you want?” she asked, her smile now turning genuinely sad. “Do you want a life in which you feel tied to me out of a sense of honor and duty? I will not hold you to that. I will be no one’s responsibility, I will not keep you away from what you want most of life. I will not be a duty, nor an obligation. Answer me honestly, Alastair, am I all you want, for the rest of your life?”

“When I married you, I understood it was to forsake others,” he said truthfully, to which she gave a bark of laughter and looked away from him back out the window.

“As I thought, Alastair,” she said softly, and the unshed tears swimming in her eyes tore at his heart. “As I thought.”

* * *

Olivia dismissed her maid for the evening, and sat on the stool in front of the ornate oval mirror, taking a close look at her reflection. She picked up her brush and began to slowly run it through her long blonde hair, which waved loosely about her shoulders. It was therapeutic, and she closed her eyes as she willed away the thoughts that tore round her head. When she had seen the woman approach Alastair, she knew instantly who she was, who she had been to her husband. Olivia knew she had no right to be angry, was in no position to make any demands on her husband more than what he had given her, had promised her. Yet she could not help the feelings of jealousy and hurt that tore through her and, to be honest, she felt a fool. How many women were there, who would continue to haunt them? Did others laugh at her and her apparent naivety regarding her marriage?

She did not want him to be with her simply because he felt beholden to his vows. She did not want him to live a life of regret over what might have been. And she did not want to be relegated to this foolishness into which she had allowed her emotions to draw her.

She heard the opening of the door which connected their chambers, the footfalls of his boots as he crossed the room toward her. She kept her eyes closed as his hands came about her and gently eased the hairbrush out of her grasp. He began to slowly trail the brush over her hair, picking up where she had left off. As the bristles swept through the strands of her blonde waves, it brought a peaceful calm over her, and she leaned back into him, despite the thoughts that swirled through her mind.

“I must apologize, Alastair,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “I was not fair to you. As you said, your past cannot be helped, but it is painful to be looked upon as a fool by these women.”

“No, it cannot be helped,” he responded quietly. “Though I do apologize at the awkwardness of the encounter and I shall do my very best to shield you from any in the future.”

She nodded but said nothing. She had known, when she first entered the private box with this man, what it would mean to give her heart to him. He was a man who had the potential to not only break it, but shatter it. He would be easy to love, but she would not allow herself to give him that piece of her, for she would then also be giving him the power to utterly crush her. It was why she had initially resisted going to bed with him, though her desire had eventually overcome her stubborn unwillingness to give in.

All she could now do was keep the shield around her heart very strong. She had given him her body, but resolved to never give her heart — or her soul. For him to tear them apart would be her undoing.