Chapter Twenty-Eight
9:13 p.m.
Everyone turned when Sebastian came into the Great Hall with Olivia on his arm. Egremont and Ned stood next to each other at one side of the hall. Sebastian knew from the expressions of his two closest friends they approved. Ned’s smile split his face. Egremont nodded. Olivia tightened her fingers on his arm at the silence occasioned by their entrance. He watched James look long and hard at them and knew he’d been right to believe James would fall. Nor was James the only man to notice her. Hew, who thought he was going to marry the woman, stared as intently as James. His eyes flashed, but not with admiration of his cousin.
James approached them. “A vision,” he said, bowing to Olivia. “You are without a doubt the loveliest woman I have seen in all my life.” Sebastian did not release his grip on Olivia’s arm. They descended the remaining steps.
A side door opened, admitting the musicians. They took seats and began a warm up. A man raised his fiddle and began a lament. Next came the rolling beat of a tympan, then pipes and last, the strum of a harp. Sebastian’s chest felt tight, and he ached inside, but not from physical pain. The music echoed his feelings. He did not like the way James looked at Olivia nor Hew either. As for the rest of the young men, they were dandies or else stout yeomen more at home with their sheep and border collies than dancing at Pennhyll Castle. Not a one worthy of Olivia.
At his side, she tugged on his hand. “Let go.”
He released her, gave her three steps lead and followed her into the Great Hall. Jesus. Had he actually stood in his dressing room, watching her step dripping from the tub? Jesus. Yes. He’d sprawled on a chair and watched a servant help her dress, too. And she never objected.
Applause and laughter rang out as they entered. They came to a halt in the center of the room because the crowd permitted no farther access. Diana giggled, holding on to Mr. Cage’s arm. Sebastian bowed to Diana and held out his hand. She took his hand. “My lord.” She curtseyed, as fresh and pink as the rose-petal silk of her ballgown. He disliked pink.
Another roar rose up, hoots of laughter. “Kiss her, my lord,” said several of the gentlemen. James, smirking, pointed upward and Sebastian followed the line. A sprig of mistletoe hung a foot above his head, suspended from a line thrown over one of the arms of the chandelier overhead.
“Can’t go against custom.”
“How now, my lord.”
“Kiss her.”
Sebastian shrugged and drew Diana toward him. Laughter bubbled up again; giggles from the ladies, chuckles from the men. When she rested her gloved palms on his shoulder, he thought that at least he would not have to crane his neck to reach her lips. Diana raised her chin, her eyelashes fluttering down. He felt nothing, not a shred of anticipation or pleasure. Diana, the woman whom he was supposed to make his life’s companion, might as well have been his sister for all the desire he felt.
“Come now, my lord,” one of the men said.
He kissed her. A brief kiss that brushed her lips. Not even the faintest stirring of passion. He was empty inside. He reached up and plucked one of the three remaining berries from the sprig. The grandest ass since the dawn of time.
Miss Cage tittered behind her fan. “My lord,” she said, looking around with exaggerated concern. “Miss Willow walked beneath the mistletoe with you. You’ll have to kiss her, too.” He looked at Olivia and found her watching him. He didn’t dare. God only knows what would happen if he took Olivia in his arms. What if he came to his senses to find he’d an audience of hundreds to his ravishment of her? To his great relief, James came to his rescue by grabbing Olivia’s hand and waist and whirling her in a circle. She held the skirt of her gown, wrist arching just so, the tassel of her ebony fan dangling.
“Why, Miss Willow,” said James, bringing their tight circle to a halt. He looked up. “Here we are under the mistletoe.” Despite his laughter, he looked deadly serious about kissing Olivia, and it was all he could not to plant him a facer for the presumption. James put an arm around her waist, drew her much too close, and gave a smile that sent alarm bells ringing in his head.
Olivia put her hands on James’s shoulders and on tiptoe, gave him a peck on the lips worthy of one’s maiden aunt.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” James asked, hands raised in a questioning manner.
“I have,” Olivia said, pushing him away. She laughed with the others, but her cheeks flushed with color. “Take your berry, my lord.”
James reached up and plucked a berry. “I’ll be revenged upon you for that poor excuse for a kiss, just you see.” He turned to Sebastian. “My dear Captain, Miss Cage is right. You must claim your kiss from Miss Willow.”
Another round of cheering, stomping and clapping rose up. Sebastian mouthed the words “sodding bugger” at James who took Olivia’s hand and pulled her forward. By habit, his glance swept down. Oh, indeed. The black gown draped her figure in a way that drew attention to the curve of her hips, caressing the slope from her hip to backside. With her pale skin and copper hair so much in contrast with the ebony velvet, she was as lovely as any woman he’d seen in all his life. Refusal was impossible. He swore again. If he didn’t kiss her, he would call attention to what otherwise everyone would quickly forget. If he didn’t kiss her, she’d be humiliated, and she didn’t deserve such a public set down. He gave her a look and shrugged. He steeled himself, made a quick inventory of his state and found no trace of oddness, no suggestion that the circumstances were anything but completely ridiculous and utterly safe. No shifting shadows or half-glimpsed men.
“Get on with it,” someone cried.
He had to lean down, and, he supposed, she to stretch up. His hand touched her back, steadying her. The scent of verbena hung in the air. He drew her nearer. Heat enveloped him. His body clenched from being close to her.
“My dear Captain,” he heard James say. “Pretend you like her, why don’t you? Just this once. It won’t kill you. And I won’t take offense at your kissing her, either.”
Sebastian still held her, quite aware of his hand pressed to the small of her back. She smelled good. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her mouth under his with an ache that went clear to the bone. There wasn’t anything he wanted more than to possess her mouth. He didn’t dare. God only knows what might happen. Olivia stretched up and kissed his cheek.
Shouts of protest came up and laughter, too.
“She’s not your sister, my lord.”
“Foul, sir.”
“Not well done.”
“Kiss her properly, I say.”
“That’s not a kiss,” Egremont said. He clapped Ned on the shoulder. Ned grinned.
“I have kissed her.” He reached up and plucked the last berry from the mistletoe. The music stopped. At a quick signal from James, the orchestra struck up a country dance. Bold planning from the ladies to dispense with the minuet.
Diana gave him a look when he walked with her to the spot where they would begin their dance. “My lord,” she said, adding a quick glance over her shoulder to where Hew and James stood with Olivia. “That wasn’t kind of you. Perhaps James should not have urged you to kiss her when you dislike her so, but, honestly, I wouldn’t have minded if you had.” She smiled. “Much.”
He looked at Diana. Nothing. He felt nothing. How had his life come to such a pass that he should consider marriage to a girl who did not remotely suit him?
“You hurt her feelings,” she said.
“Whose feelings?”
She rolled her eyes. “Miss Willow’s,” she said with a meaningful glace to the side of the room. The dance began. “You must make it up to her. She did not deserve such a slight.”
“As you wish, Miss Royce.”
Olivia, Sebastian noticed while he danced, stood in the line between James and her cousin, James none pleased that her head was bent toward Hew. Black velvet set off her pallor and made her hair gleam like copper fire. When he found himself craning his neck to keep an eye on Olivia and with whom she was presently dancing, he forced himself to look at Diana. She tipped her head, showing her cheek and a graceful stretch of throat. Diana danced wonderfully, exactly what one expected of a future countess. Someone else’s countess.
The course of the dancing meant a pattern with Olivia, but when he expected to meet her in the pattern, another young lady had taken her place. He wanted to dance with Olivia, not another simpering girl. At the end of the dance, James joined Sebastian at the side of the room. “Miss Willow is certainly looking fine tonight.”
“Yes.”
“She’s a nymph in that gown,” James said. “Wonder where she got it? You should have kissed her.” The musicians came back and took their places.
“I can manage my social obligations without your interference.”
James gave him a look without any of his usual dry humor. “Are you in love with her?”
“Diana?”
“Since you mention her.”
“We will not suit.”
“What about Olivia?”
“Jesus.”
“I’m serious, Sebastian.”
“Are you?”
“I’ve been on bended knee to her—”
His body clenched. “Did she accept?”
“If she does not take me and my offer seriously, the fault is yours.”
“Hardly.”
“Whatever you think, she did not deserve to be humiliated before all the people with whom she must live.”
“I haven’t humiliated her.”
“You did.” James blew out a breath. “The mistletoe was Diana’s idea, Sebastian. Meant in fun. You had no call to refuse to kiss Miss Willow. It was ungentlemanly of you. Apologize to her.” At Sebastian’s look, he said, “Make it right. Or she’ll never live it down.”
Sebastian found Olivia in an alcove formed by what had, in centuries gone by, been the passageway to the buttery. She sat on a green-velvet bench, fanning herself. With her unaware of his presence, he devoured her. James was right. The gown suited her. She ought to have trunks full of such gowns. Dozens and dozens of silks, velvets and satins in deep, rich hues. As if she sensed his thoughts, her head turned and their eyes met, connecting like a key put to a lock. She smiled. He bowed and held out his hand. “Dance with me, Olivia.”
She shook her head and winced. “My head is pounding. Awfully.”
“We’ll talk a while, then.” She made room for him on the bench, and he sat. “I’ve been ordered to make you an apology,” he said, extending one leg in front of him.
“What for?”
“For not kissing you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, winced, and uncrossed them. “Will you accept an apology from me?”
Her grin was infectious. “I am a toad swallower of great skill and experience. No apology is necessary.”
“James is right about my manners.”
“Sailor and all.” She opened her fan. “Yes, I understand.”
“Rest assured, I have now been educated on the finer points of acceptable behavior with ladies.”
Her mouth twitched. Sebastian tried very hard not to smile in return. “Have you?”
“If I insulted you or distressed you, I am, of course, desolate.”
“Does it hurt a great deal?” she asked. His eyebrows lifted, and she chuckled. “Your wound, my lord. Your wound. Not your apology.”
The corners of his mouth curled. He hoped she never stopped smiling. “At the moment,” he said, “the apology hurts more.”
Her mouth twitched again and then she gave up and smiled full on. He could not help but laugh with her. What else could they do when the day’s events so far outstripped propriety? She did laugh, and he knew she was thinking about being in his room. The image of her stepping from the bath stuck in his head.
“I’ve felt odd all day. My head feels stuffed full.” She straightened and lifted a hand to the spot where a killer’s bullet had left a scar. “Hew wants to marry me. I told him to talk to you.” Tears filled her eyes, a fact of which she appeared entirely unaware. A blink sent them rolling down her cheeks. He found his handkerchief and handed it to her. With a nod of thanks, she dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t want to marry him. I’ll be miserable if I do. But what am I to do, Sebastian? I haven’t anything left. No money, no place to live. Mama is so ill, and Mrs. Leveret’s nephew is going to teach at the school instead of me.”
“Hush, love. All will be well.”
“How can it be when Hew turns my stomach?” She leaned against him again, lifting her face to his, eyes full of misery. He gathered her into the crook of his arm. “Whenever I am with Hew, I feel like I’m living in one of my nightmares. Frightened without knowing why.”
What he saw in her eyes made him pause. “How badly does your head hurt?”
“Like someone’s going at me with an axe. I can hardly see for the pain. I shall go mad if it doesn’t stop.”
“Shall I call Ned?”
“Not yet.”
“Olivia. Did my brother ever give you reason to fear him?”
She was pale, but when he said that, she turned the color of chalk. “Andrew would never hurt me.” Her attention flicked past her shoulder, toward the top of the stairs. He turned, expecting to see the Black Earl. But it was James walking toward them. He released Olivia but did not put any more distance between them.
“Miss Willow,” James called, eyes shifting between them. “Has he apologized? I told him I’d never speak to him again if he did not.”
She rose and shook out her skirts. “Yes, Lord Fitzalan, he has.” But her voice shook.
“Prettily, I trust?” James came into the alcove.
“Lord Tiern-Cope is yours to command, my lord.”
Sebastian laughed. He stood and bent to her ear. “No one commands me, Olivia. Not James, not his sister. No one, that is, but you. Pray do not forget it.” He straightened. “She’s going to dance with me, James, to prove she’s no hard feelings.”
“I don’t—”
He grabbed her hand. “That’s an order,” he said. He gripped her hand. Five minutes dancing, ten minutes alone to plead his case.
“You’ll have to dance with her later, Sebastian. It’s time.”
“For what?” Sebastian said.
James rolled his eyes and lifted his hands, fingers wiggling. “To summon the Black Earl.”
Diana appeared at the top of the stairs, making frantic gestures. “Come along. Oh, do hurry. Everyone’s waiting.”
Not until they reached the darkened parlor and Diana had them arranged in a circle with hands linked did Sebastian realize that from the alcove to the parlor he’d never let go of Olivia’s hand. Diana stood on one side of him, Olivia on the other. Hew Willow stood between Miss Cage and Diana. At a signal from Diana, a footman put out the last light. The room plunged into darkness.
“Oh, spirit of Pennhyll,” Diana intoned.
In the darkness, he felt Olivia’s fingers against his palm. He smelled verbena. He gave her hand a squeeze. The light was less black now that his eyes had adjusted. He could make out faces and bodies. Hew Willow among them.
“Earl of Tiern-Cope.” Diana lifted her chin to the ceiling. “We summon you to us tonight, the anniversary of your passing to the spirit world. Give us a sign of your presence.”
In the silence, someone choked off a laugh. Someone else cleared his throat.
“We must have absolute silence. Lord Tiern-Cope, who walks the halls of his ancestral home. We summon you. Give us a sign.”
Sebastian felt pressure increasing behind his eyes and in his ears. Olivia’s fingers tightened around his. She swayed, her shoulder brushed his upper arm.
“Tiern-Cope. You are summoned.”
Thump.
Not a near sound. The noise came from outside the circle.
Thump.
“Remain calm,” Diana said. “I do not sense evil.”
Thump!
The light shifted, a draft whistled through the room. Several people gasped. Olivia crushed Sebastian’s fingers when a shape emerged from the wall opposite them. Draped in white and uttering a wailing, low-pitched moan, the figure moved toward the circle, dragging a length of chain behind it.
“The Black Earl,” Hew said, right on cue.
With arms raised, the figure moved toward Sebastian. At his side, Olivia bumped his shoulder again. The spirit pointed at Sebastian, moaning in agony and shaking the chain. Sebastian had every intention of letting the trick play out, but matters took a farcical turn. The “ghost” took a step, tripped over his sheeting, got his feet tangled in the chain and landed on the floor with an undignified thud.
“Dash it,” said the ghost.
One of the footmen turned up his lantern, then another. Black Earl indeed. James pulled the sheet off his head and after untangling his feet from the chain and the sheet, stood, grinning amid the clamor and exclamation. Sebastian wished James were closer, because he dearly wanted to give him a black eye. Behind him, an opening gaped in the wall, and James, still in the throes of delight over his joke, pointed. “Came in through that door. Willow told me where it was, and with a bit of luck and some help from Price, we found it. Just in time, too.”
Sebastian felt Olivia’s hand slip from his. He left off listening to James crow over his joke and looked at her. The black dress highlighted her natural pallor but her color wasn’t right. He took her elbow and bent to her ear. “We need to settle this once and for all,” he said in a low voice. “In privacy.”
Her head whipped around.
“I’ll wait in my office for you.” He released her. “Give me half an hour.”