James led the way down the stairs, flinging the door open. Rosalie slipped out behind him and gasped as she took in the scene. The doors to the duke’s room were flung wide, light pooling into the hallway. Lady Olivia sat on her knees in nothing but her chemise, a few mussed curls framing her face. She sobbed into her hands as the duke tossed her clothes into the hall. First a shoe, then her beaded silk dress, her stays.
“Just get out—waste of time—”
James blew out his candle, dropped it to the floor, and charged towards his brother before Rosalie could reach out a hand to stop him.
The duke saw his approach with wide eyes. He lifted his hands in defense. “Not the face—not the face,” he squawked as James lunged for him.
The Corbins crashed into the duke’s rooms as James punched every piece of his brother he could reach.
Rosalie dashed forward.
“Get her out of here,” James barked through the doorway, his arms around his brother’s neck on the floor of the plush blue carpet. The duke tried to squirm free.
“Where?” Rosalie rasped. She didn’t know this part of the house well enough.
“Water closet—” James grunted. “Three doors down—”
Rosalie put a hand on Olivia’s shoulders, still holding her candle. “Come on, we have to move. They’ll wake the whole house with that racket.”
Olivia just kept sobbing.
Rosalie dropped to her knees and snatched up Olivia’s dress and stays one-handed, trying to hold her candle still with the other. “You have to get up. Now. Come with me, or the house will find you here and you’ll be ruined.”
Olivia gave a weak nod and Rosalie flung her hand with the candle around her shoulders, pulling her to her feet. They shuffled down the hallway. Rosalie opened the door to the water closet and pushed Olivia inside, shutting the door and locking it. Olivia sank back to her knees. Rosalie dropped the clothes to the floor and set the candle on the washstand, leaning against the door as she fought to control her breathing. She could still hear the men arguing through the door.
“Unacceptable—”
“Her idea—came on to me—”
“Fucking kill you—”
She let Olivia cry for a few minutes as a door slammed. Then another. James had enough control of the situation to get the duke back behind closed doors. She heard the unmistakable sound of feet trotting down the hallway. More than one pair. Probably footmen.
Muffled voices.
Knocks on the far door.
All the while, Olivia continued to cry.
Rosalie shrugged out of her robe and dropped to her knees, using it to block the crack at the bottom of the door. She didn’t want anyone in the hall to see their light and come to investigate. “There are people in the hall now. You must be quiet,” she whispered, one hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “We can’t leave until Lord James comes for us. He’ll know when it’s safe to come out.”
Olivia stilled at being touched and tried to jerk away. There was no love lost between the two women, but Rosalie was not utterly heartless. Whatever else Olivia was, she did not deserve to be ruined by George Corbin.
“So stupid,” she muttered. “I’m such a fool—can’t do this anymore—”
Rosalie sank back against the wall. “What happened?”
Olivia cast her a glare.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Rosalie added softly. “But…you could…if you want to. I swear I’ll never tell a soul.”
Olivia tugged on her chemise to better cover her exposed shoulder. “I’m twenty-seven in December. Practically an old maid. It’s not my fault,” she added. “I’ve done everything I can—everything—” She sobbed into her hand again, choking back the sound.
Rosalie couldn’t help the hand that reached out and settled on Olivia’s knee.
“I was engaged twice before this,” Olivia muttered. “Did you know that?”
“No,” Rosalie whispered.
“I was engaged to a Prussian prince,” she continued. “I was going to be a prinzessin…but he died three months before our wedding.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosalie muttered on instinct. “Was it a love match?”
Olivia scoffed. “I never even met him. I had a miniature portrait of him that hung on a green ribbon, and two letters.” She shrugged. “But he died and that was that. It took almost two years before I secured another offer—the second son of the new Marquess of Bath. Johnny was a lovely lad and I fancied myself lucky to get him. He was so handsome…is so handsome…” Her voice trailed away as her gaze fell to the floor.
“What happened?” Rosalie whispered.
Olivia gave a bitter laugh. “Why should he settle for a marquess’ daughter when he could marry the daughter of a duke? He jilted me for Maude Manners, eldest daughter of the Duke of Rutland. They just had their second child.” Her voice turned quiet. “I was invited to the christening…Mama and I came to Alcott instead…”
Rosalie’s heart ached for her. Wealth and status were certainly no guarantee of happiness in this life. “What happened tonight?” Rosalie murmured. “Did His Grace—”
“No,” Olivia rasped. “It was me. I can’t—I couldn’t—I needed this to go well. I couldn’t face returning to Town without…God, I’m so embarrassed.”
Rosalie tried to put the pieces together. The duke throwing her out, his callused words. “You couldn’t go through with it,” she whispered.
“I thought I could,” Olivia replied, cheeks red. “We’ve been dancing around each other for days. Flirting and a few stolen kisses. Tonight, I let myself into his room and I…I tried. I just…couldn’t—”
Rosalie sighed with relief to know that—whatever else he might have done—the duke didn’t force her.
“I don’t think I’ll survive another year on the circuit,” Olivia muttered. “What man will tip his cap at a twenty-seven-year-old maid?” Her voice broke. “I—I’ve ruined everything. I should never have—oh god!”
Rosalie flipped forward onto her knees and pulled the woman into her arms. Olivia slumped against her shoulder, sobbing. “Shh,” she murmured. “You did nothing of which you should be ashamed.”
Olivia jerked away. “What do you know about any of it?” she spat. “How could you possibly understand?”
Rosalie sighed. There was the delightful gorgon. She gave the lady a stern look. “Believe it or not, I know the way the world works too. I know the pressure you’re under, even if I do not feel the same pressure in quite the same way.”
Olivia had the good sense to look slightly less haughty. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “God, I’m such a bitch. I hate who I am—who I’ve become. You know, I used to be a good person. I used to be more like those idiot Swindons.”
Rosalie couldn’t help but smile, seeing how Olivia couched her compliment in an insult. “We survive the best we can. That’s all you’re doing,” she added. “You’re surviving, and I’m surviving, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Olivia took a steadying breath. “I hate him,” she whispered. “He’s a disgusting pig and I hate him. I’ll die before I marry him.”
Rosalie tucked a curl behind Olivia’s ear. “He doesn’t deserve you.” A sudden thought occurred to her. She felt instinctively this was the right course of action. Olivia needed this affirmation. “Do you know what they call you?” she whispered.
Olivia blinked. “Who?”
“The men in this house,” Rosalie replied. “They call you Lady Gorgon. They see you as some mythical monster. You are fierce and untamable. Men don’t like a woman who defies expectations, a woman that unabashedly shows her strength. It angers them. I think they would like to be Perseus and slay you.”
Olivia’s eyes were wide as she listened.
“I think you should use it,” Rosalie whispered. “Be yourself. Be fierce and don’t apologize for it. You are Lady Olivia Rutledge, daughter of the Marquess of Deal. You are one of the most illustrious women in the land. Do not waste your time with the likes of George Corbin or any other man who cannot contend with your strength.”
A spark of hope flickered in her eyes. Olivia wanted to believe. “But…I must marry…”
Rosalie laughed. “You are the daughter of a marquess. Your brother will be a marquess. You don’t have to do anything. You could remain unmarried and never want for a thing. Better to be unmarried and free, then marry George Corbin and be trapped.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you are unmarried? Your fear of being trapped? You have all the beauty, charm, and wit a man might desire. I see the way the men here watch you. You could have any of them kneeling at your feet.”
Rosalie shrugged. “I know what marriage is…or perhaps I should say I know what bad marriage is. Until I can be convinced that not all marriages turn sour, I shall never allow myself to walk into such a trap.”
Before Olivia could reply, there was a soft knock on the door. “It’s me,” came James’ voice. “The coast is clear.”
They scrambled to their feet and Rosalie helped Olivia dress. Olivia put the stays on without tying them, slipping her gown up over her shoulders. Rosalie fastened her in, while Olivia smoothed down the front. Rosalie moved to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open to reveal James.
He stood in the dark hallway, no candle lit. “Lady Olivia, words cannot express—”
“Please,” she whispered. “I think it’s best we all say nothing.”
He nodded and held out her satin slippers.
Olivia took them with a steady hand. She passed through the door, pausing to look back at Rosalie. She gave a curt nod and disappeared into the darkness.
Rosalie looked through the doorway at James. Some unspeakable tension settled between them.
“Is she all right?” he whispered.
“I think she will be,” Rosalie replied.
“George didn’t—”
“No. Olivia stopped it before…” She fell silent and he nodded.
“And you, Miss Harrow? Are you all right?”
What could she say? Was she all right? Did she even know? For a moment on the stairs, she thought he might kiss her. He was leaning in, those green eyes blown black with desire. Did poor Atlas ever let himself feel an emotion as useless as lust? He was so focused on caring for everyone else, being everyone’s strength, a veritable fortress of calm and control. How she longed to muss his hair just to feel like one thing was out of place.
Every soul in this house—in the whole county—was cared for in one way or another by Lord James Corbin, Viscount Finchley. Perhaps he needed a solitary friend who would care for him. She found herself aching to fill the role.
He raised a brow, still waiting for her response.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered. “I’m perfectly well.”
He shifted awkwardly focusing his attention at a point over her shoulder. “Miss Harrow…”
What was wrong now? Her nerves were already frayed. “What?”
He cleared his throat. “You were wearing a robe before…”
She gasped, looking down to see she was only in her chemise. The material was thin, and it hung off one shoulder. Heaven only knew how much of her he could see. Surely, he’d noticed the naked curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breast. She ducked down behind the door and snatched up her robe, shrugging it on. “I used it to block the light,” she whispered hurriedly, tying it closed. “I didn’t want a footman to see us.”
“That was quick thinking,” he replied, slightly less uncomfortable now that her breasts were off display.
“I’ll umm…bid you goodnight then,” she whispered.
His jaw tightened as he stepped back with a nod. Ever the gentleman, he seemed determined to prove he was in control. There would be no late-night kisses in the hall, not after the duke’s disgusting display.
She took a few steps, pausing to glance over her shoulder. He stood there in the dark, watching her with that miserable, strained expression on his face. “You’re not like him,” she whispered. “Just in case you were worried…you are nothing like your brother. In fact, I have it on good authority that you are one of the best men breathing.”
She heard his sharp inhale. “And whose authority do you accept so willingly?”
Her mouth tipped into a smile. “Burke’s.”
Silence yawned between them before he muttered, “You should speak to him. He’s hurting.”
“Nothing I say can change that,” she replied.
He stepped closer. “Is his love doomed to be unrequited?”
The words floated in the air between them, and Rosalie wondered if, in some small part of his mind, James was not merely inquiring about the fate of his friend. Her heart thrummed. “No,” she whispered. “But I refuse to ruin him. And a love requited by the likes of me can only end in ruination…for both of us.”
He took a step closer until she could feel his warmth at her back. “Miss Harrow—”
“Good night,” she whispered, not waiting another second before she stepped into the darkness.
