The Fortune Hunter Page 7

  He rounded on her, but controlled his angry impulse when he saw that she was not sneering at him. She was a little pale, but had mastered her initial reaction to the news. Her gaze met his levelly, and she looked perfectly serious. “I suggest we do nothing today, but wait until we have thoroughly studied the language these paragraphs contain. This arrangement is no more welcome to me than it is to you, Lord Rival, but it may be that some alternative will present itself. A loophole may appear.”

  The solicitor puffed his cheeks with annoyance. “The language is clear and concise, I assure you,” he said testily. “The bequest is airtight, madam, and not open to interpretation.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Her quick smile smoothed the solicitor’s ruffled feathers. “I am sure you drafted it most skillfully. It would oblige me very much, however, if you would allow my personal solicitor to view it. Mr. Culpepper?” She turned to the elderly man whom George had taken for a banker. “Would you be so good?”

  Culpepper bowed and approached the desk. Beebe’s solicitor rather grudgingly made room for him, and the two men bent their heads over the document. Lady Olivia then turned to the room’s other occupants. “I believe we have completed this morning’s business,” she announced, calmly usurping whatever authority Mr. Beebe’s solicitor had to dismiss the gathering. “Thank you all for coming.” Her natural air of command was so impressive that George was not surprised when the three charity women obediently rose and departed, Grimsby grumbling in their wake.

  Bessie Fairfax remained, glaring ferociously at George. She had clearly taken a disliking to him. But his attention was caught by Lady Olivia, who was approaching him, hesitant but resolute. As he looked into her eyes the rest of the room receded. The murmuring of the two solicitors dwindled to less than the droning of a fly, and Miss Fairfax’s disapproving gaze seemed miles away. An instant intimacy seemed to surround George and Olivia, as if the meeting of their eyes closed off the rest of the world. All they had done was look at each other, but it felt eerily as if they had sneaked out of the room together. She seemed to feel it, too. Her cheeks turned faintly pink, as if she were doing something wrong.

  She stopped while still at a discreet distance from him, but an invisible pull seemed to emanate from her slender form. He was acutely aware of her nearness. God in Heaven, had he ever felt so drawn to a woman before? Not even Clarissa, back in his salad days, had had this effect on his senses.

  She spoke softly, but he heard every word. “This is a judgment on us, I suppose.” She was definitely blushing now. She dropped her eyes and clasped her hands nervously before her, like a schoolgirl ill-prepared to recite her lesson. “For my part, sir, I am sorry for the . . . the misunderstanding that arose between us when . . . when first we met.”

  Not as sorry as I am, thought George bitterly. It was difficult to contain the agonized rage sweeping through him; Lady Olivia was all that he had hoped she would be—and more—but his own blundering had placed the prize out of reach. Worse, Aloysius Beebe had presented him with the perfect scenario for a successful wooing. Had he kept his mouth shut, he would even now be on the road to a cozy partnership with her, working together on her favorite hobbyhorse, the Fairfax School. It made him sick to think of it; a golden opportunity shattered by his own stupendous folly.

  She paused, probably expecting him to chime in with his own apology. He was too occupied in gritting his teeth to speak. When he said nothing, she glanced uncertainly at his face, then looked back down at the carpet, her blush intensifying.

  “I feel I owe you an explanation. You see, when you took me for a housemaid I was so mortified that I . . . well, I felt I would rather die than reveal to you that I wasn’t a housemaid. I had thought to turn you away at the door, you know. But then you came in the house and . . . and I had to continue the impersonation rather longer than I had planned.” Her cheeks were scarlet. “And even then, I believed no harm had been done because . . . I thought I would never see you again. When I learned you would be present at the reading today, you cannot imagine how I felt. I. . .”

  Her voice trailed off. She paused again, obviously deeply embarrassed, and still silently begging him to say something. It was downright painful.

  He smiled at her, masking his chagrin with flipness. “Is it my turn to apologize? Is that what you are waiting for? You’ll have a long wait, my girl. I never bother with remorse.” His shoulders shook with warped amusement. “I’ll accept your apology, however.”

  She lifted startled eyes to his, her blush fading in affronted surprise. “Oh, you will, will you? How excessively kind!”

  “Yes. I’m a forgiving chap.” He felt his forced smile relaxing into a genuine grin as she transformed before his eyes into the tart-tongued lass he remembered. “What’s the matter? Would you rather I not accept your apology?”

  She delighted him by ruffling up immediately. “That’s nothing but cheek, my lord, since you have far more to apologize for than I!”

  “Well, I’ll tell you a secret. If I apologized for each of my transgressions, I would spend so much time groveling that I’d have no time left for sinning. Can’t have that.” He winked. “I enjoy the sinning too much.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she said crossly.

  He leaned toward her, bringing his face as close as he dared in such a public place. “I’ll tell you another secret,” he said softly. “You’d enjoy the sinning, too.”

  Her lips parted in shock. His gaze flicked down to her mouth. He wished he could kiss her again, just once, before she walked out of his life. With an effort, he returned his gaze to her eyes and saw, God help him, that she not only knew what he was thinking—she was thinking it, too. That was desire he read in those extraordinary eyes of hers. Seeing it kindled the hottest rush of pure lust he had felt in years. If they were alone, by heaven, he’d . . . but they weren’t. They weren’t alone. It was foolish to torture himself by picturing things that could not be.

  Did she know how transparent she was? Probably not. She looked confused and frightened. And angry. He burned with wanting her, but knew that whatever she felt, she would force herself to withdraw. Sure enough, she took a step backward, stiffening in denial—denial of him, of his desire and of her own.

  “You are insolent,” she said, but her voice sounded choked and faint. “I will not bandy words with you, my lord—”

  “Too late.”

  “—I will only say that if you feel you need not apologize, I most assuredly feel that I need not!”

  “Oh, I didn’t say I shouldn’t apologize,” he explained. “I merely said I wouldn’t.”

  “Then neither will I, for at least I meant well,” she declared indignantly, recovering her aplomb. “Whereas you, my lord, intended nothing but mischief from the start! Hoaxing poor Mr. Beebe into thinking you were his friend—scheming to seduce an innocent woman and take her money—why, the whole purpose of your visit was wickedness, pure and simple!”

  “Wickedness is never pure. And, come to think of it, it’s rarely simple.”

  “Really? How interesting.” Her eyes flashed. “I shall take your word for it, my lord—since wickedness is your area of expertise.”

  He chuckled. “Very wise. A novice should always defer to an expert. Now, let me see . . . how shall I put my expertise to work for the Fairfax School? I daresay you have a crying need for an infusion of wickedness. Well, I am just the man to provide it. Eight hundred pounds per annum ought to buy you quite a healthy supply.”

  She tapped her foot, fuming. “You jest, sir, but we find ourselves in a most unpalatable situation.”

  He pretended to misunderstand. “What, the school?”

  “No! You and I. This is perfectly dreadful.” She suddenly looked despairing. “I had hoped never to see you again, and now—now I must.”

  He knew she would feel that way, of course. He jammed his hands into his pockets, furious with himself for feeling a pang at her rejection. “You forget,” he said tightly. “I have declined th
e bequest. All joking aside, I will have naught to do with your precious school. Your sufferings will soon be over, madam. We are having our last conversation.”

  She looked up at that, her brows knitting. “But why? Why decline it? Your need for funds must be desperate, or you would not be seeking to marry money.”

  He almost winced at her bluntness. “I will never be desperate enough to place myself under your pretty thumb,” he snapped, goaded. “Do not pretend that you would actually let me have the annuity! Only a saint could resist such a perfect chance to punish me.” His teeth flashed in a sardonic grin. “And you, madam, are no saint.”

  An angry flush heated her cheeks. “How dare you? Sainthood has nothing to do with it. I would let you have the annuity if you earned it. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He sketched an ironic bow. “Oh, excellent! I applaud you. You would let me have the annuity if I earned it. And what task would you set me, my lady? How might I earn my eight hundred pounds? Heaving coal? Emptying slop buckets? Put your mind to it, madam—I must perform at your command! And then, after all, no matter what I do, you will be within your rights to say that it is not enough and deny me the funds.”

  Her expression had changed from bewilderment to scorn. “I see,” she said at last. “You are not trying to be noble. You are declining the bequest only because you believe you will not receive it in any event.”

  “Precisely.” His teeth flashed in another sardonic grin. “I am devastated, of course, that you have discerned my ignoble motive, but you are quite right. I seek not to bestow an additional gift upon your worthy charity, but to save my sorry hide from further humiliation. I have suffered the sting of mortification for several hours now. I find I have no stomach for a year’s worth.”

  The bewilderment had returned to her face. “But I have no wish to humiliate you, or unfairly withhold your money. That would be shabby treatment, would it not?”

  “Indeed it would,” he said promptly. “But, being only human, you doubtless feel that shabby treatment is exactly what I deserve. You may be right, my dear, but I feel disinclined to stay and receive it.”

  Her brows snapped together. “I understand you now!” she exclaimed hotly. “You think I want revenge. How dare you ascribe such pettiness to me? Really, I don’t know whether to laugh at you or—or box your ears!”

  She seemed genuinely perturbed. He stared at her, startled. Had he blundered again? Was it possible he had misjudged her? Surely no woman could resist this heaven-sent opportunity to grind her slipper in the face of a man who had cold-bloodedly plotted to enrich himself at her expense. It was preposterous. No one could be that charitable.

  Charitable. Good God. If any one word described Lady Olivia Fairfax, surely charitable was it.

  He took a deep breath, feeling oddly shaken. “My dear girl—”

  “I am not a girl!”

  “Stow it!” he ordered, taking her sternly by the shoulders. His eyes searched hers keenly, and saw no guile in their depths. Only righteous indignation. “You must be angry with me, whether you admit it or no. Would you really have no objection to my presence at the Fairfax School?”

  Caution flicked across her features. “Oh, well, I—I don’t know—I daresay some of the older girls may be a bit impressionable—”

  “I’ve no interest in schoolgirls!” he interrupted her. “I am asking if you would object to my presence. Surely you would! You’re an intelligent woman.”

  Her cheeks were turning pink again. She dropped her eyes. “Mr. Beebe clearly meant for you to help us in some way. After everything he has done for the school, I shouldn’t care to thwart his last wishes.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “No, it’s not,” she insisted, but she still did not meet his eyes. “It’s simply a matter of finding an appropriate position for you to occupy. If we put our minds to it—”

  “That’s not my question,” he said roughly, his hands tightening on her arms. “Any connection to the Fairfax School will let me in your life. How can you agree to that? How can you allow me anywhere near you? I think the answer is obvious. You can’t.”

  He saw Miss Fairfax rise from her chair and almost fancied he could hear a low growl coming from her throat, like a pug who sees its favorite bone being sniffed by a stranger. He dropped his hands from Lady Olivia’s shoulders, inwardly cursing. “We are in too public a place for this conversation,” he said shortly.

  She turned and caught Miss Fairfax’s eye, giving her a tiny signal with her hand. Miss Fairfax, still rigid with disapproval, retreated. Olivia turned back to him then, her face troubled.

  “What you are saying is true,” she said in a low tone. “My reputation is valuable to me. I would greatly dislike it if my association with you were to . . . tarnish it.”

  She still did not understand! It was maddening. Did he have to say it out loud?

  “Hang your reputation!” he exclaimed impatiently. “Don’t you remember what I told you? I am a fortune hunter, Lady Olivia—the lowest form of life.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to an urgent undertone. “If you had not tricked the truth out of me, I promise you you never would have guessed it. I would have done everything I could to steal your affections. I would have driven you into such a state that you would ignore all the warnings and pleadings of your family and friends. You would have given your heart to me, believing that I loved you. And I would have dragged you to the altar—to marry not you, but your bank accounts. How can you not want revenge for that?”

  Her eyes met his. She looked perfectly serene. “It is very bad,” she agreed placidly. “But I am not a vengeful person.”

  He raked his hand through his hair, exasperated. Hang the chit! Why was he explaining it to her? Nothing worse than an honest rogue! But he liked her. That was the difficulty. He liked her too well to prevaricate.

  He sighed. “So if I accept this ridiculous bequest, you will let me have it?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Even though you know I am a villain?”

  He suddenly recognized sadness in the depths of those serene gray eyes. The corners of her mouth lifted in a tiny, worldly wise smile.

  “My dear Lord Rival,” she said, gentle amusement lurking in her voice, “if I shunned everyone who found my money interesting, I would have no friends at all.”

  6

  “Twenty minutes you spent off in that corner with him. Twenty minutes, by the clock.”

  Olivia bit her lip, but could not keep the twinkle from her eyes. “Pray do not scold me, Bessie,” she coaxed. “I’m sorry if I worried you yesterday. But, really, what harm could he do in a solicitor’s office? Forgive me, but this fretting strikes me as absurd.”

  “I know you, Ivy,” said Bessie grimly. She pointed an accusing finger at her cousin, who was turning her head this way and that, smiling dreamily at her reflection in her dressing table mirror. “You’re brewing mischief, and that’s a fact. You flew into high fidgets when Culpepper told you Lord Rival would be present at the reading, but I thought nothing of it at the time. Any respectable female might be apprehensive about finding herself in the company of that—that libertine. But I knew something was up when you rushed out to buy a new hat for the occasion! When did you ever care for fashion?”

  “Pooh! I thought you would be pleased. You have lectured me for years about dwindling into a dowd. What say you to this?” Olivia turned to show Bessie the effect of twisting her dark locks into a shining coil at the top of her head. “Do you think it becomes me?”

  “Everything becomes you,” said Bessie gruffly. Her sharp eyes were full of worry. “Ivy, pray be careful! You know little of men and their wiles.”

  Olivia laughed out loud. “And you know more, I suppose?” She shook her head, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I mean to enjoy myself, and flirt with a handsome man before I grow too old. And that is all.”

  “What you mean to do and what he means to do may be two different things! You are too inexperienced and too innocent to pre
vail against that devil.”

  Olivia waved an airy hand. “You are not a judge of such matters, Bessie. You have always disliked and mistrusted men. The Fairfax influence! We have some nasty specimens in our family, but most men are decent enough.” She chuckled. “Not Lord Rival, of course. You’re right that he’s a devil, but he’s an entertaining devil.” She lifted a strand of pearls from her jewel box and held them up to her throat, still considering her reflection. “These are very fine. Have I ever worn them? I think not. What a waste.”

  “You’re frightening me,” Bessie declared, watching worriedly as Olivia, humming a tune, set the pearls to one side and began rummaging through her jewel box for more baubles. “You’ve never expressed the slightest interest in flirting with a man, handsome or otherwise! What’s come over you?”

  “Why, nothing in the world. It seems to me that something odd has come over you, for I never saw you made uneasy by so trifling a cause. Surely I am past the age where I must be chaperoned every time I speak to a man! We conversed for a few minutes only, and never left your sight. Where’s the harm in that?”

  “He touched you!” exclaimed Bessie, as if suddenly remembering the root of her suspicions. “And when he first saw you, he called you Ivy. I heard him! Where did he learn that?”

  Olivia felt a telltale blush creeping up her neck. She hastily dropped her jewels back in the box and bent to retie her slipper, hoping to hide her pink cheeks from Bessie’s sharp eyes. “Who knows?” she said, with a rather unconvincing laugh. “He must have heard you use it. You do call me Ivy in public from time to time.” She sat up, inwardly congratulating herself for passing this off so well. But then she saw Bessie’s troubled face in the mirror and immediately felt guilty.

  Bessie’s face seemed to crumple. “Olivia, for pity’s sake! Guard your heart, I beseech you.”