substantial and well-furnished, with at least ten bedrooms besides the master suite to which she
was shown. This consisted of a sitting-room, and a large bedchamber with a dressing-room that
connected to another bedroom.
'This was once Sir Joshua's room,' Mrs Jenkins informed Olivia as she opened each door in turn.
'Captain Denning...or his lordship as I should properly say now...used another room when he was
here before, but he instructed that we were to open the master suite ready for you, milady.'
Her own rooms were decorated in shades of primrose, pale greens and white, but Jack's was
crimson and gold and seemed a little dark. Olivia thought that had circumstances been otherwise
between them, she would have liked to change things here, make them brighter, with new drapes
about the bed and at the windows.
'Yes, I see,' Olivia said. 'It-all looks very welcoming, Mrs Jenkins. I am sure we shall be
comfortable here, thank you.' Returning to her own bedchamber, she saw that a bowl of white
roses had been placed on the dressing-chest. 'Oh, those are lovely. I can smell their perfume from
here.'
'Yes, they do have a powerful perfume,' the housekeeper replied with a smile. 'They grow in the
walled garden, milady. There are nearly always roses growing in the sheltered spots right up until
Christmas. His lordship asked me to bring you some every day they are in flower.'
'How thoughtful of him,' Olivia said, tears stinging her eyes. 'I do love roses, and these have such
a wonderful scent.'
'I shall leave you to refresh yourself now,' the housekeeper said. 'If you need anything else, you
have only to ring.'
'Thank you, I am sure I shall not need you for the moment. I will come down and have tea in the
parlour in half an hour.'
'Yes, milady.'
Mrs Jenkins went away, and Olivia began to explore her rooms. They might not be grand, but there
was everything a lady could need for her comfort. A pretty writing-desk fashioned of rich
mahogany and inlaid with bands of different coloured woods stood by the window. She went over
to it, discovering that the drawers contained notepaper, silver-handled pens, inkpots and a leather-
bound blotter with the initials OD inscribed in silver. Jack must have had it made for her
especially before his father's death created him Lord Stanhope.
As she moved around the sitting-room, she noticed other items which looked new, as if Jack had
thought hard about what his bride might need. The rooms had obviously belonged to Sir Joshua's
wife, and some of the original furniture had been retained. These pieces were rather lovely, like
the footstool, which looked as if the lady of the house might have covered it herself. The pretty
stitching enchanted Olivia. She spent some minutes examining the tapestry, then moved on to a
delicate cabinet containing figurines made in the Derby porcelain factory. There was also an
embroidery frame, a needlework box with a profusion of silks, and a spinet, as well as various
tables, display cabinets and a daybed covered in green silk brocade.
The bookcase was new, and Olivia was thrilled to discover on its shelves some' of her favourite
poets, together with many she did not know. Various silver trinkets had her name engraved on
them, and all the hangings were embroidered with her initials.
Olivia could not doubt that when Jack had given instructions for these rooms to be prepared for
her, he had been eagerly anticipating the coming of his new bride. So why had he withdrawn from
her now?
She could not think that she had done anything to displease him. Indeed, his manner would seem to
indicate otherwise. He was kind and considerate towards her, and she had sometimes seen an
oddly tortured expression in his eyes, as though he was deliberately holding himself on a tight
rein. She had begun to think that whatever was disturbing him had nothing to do with Olivia
herself. Something must have happened at Stanhope.
Olivia had always sensed a mystery in Jack's past, something so powerful and terrible that it could
bring a haunted expression to his dark eyes. He had been struggling against his fears when she first
met him, but when they met again in Brighton he had seemed to conquer them, to become a very
different man. Now the darkness in his past had reached out to claim him once more.
herself drawing on reserves of strength she had never realised she possessed.
She would not let Jack slip away into that world of shadows and pain, where he was haunted by
the secrets of the past. Somehow she would find a way to bring him back to her! She would make
him laugh and look at her with desire, and she would make him love her.
'I love you too much,' she whispered. 'I cannot let you go, Jack. We are married, and I shall be
your true wife one day. I shall find a way to make you love me. I swear it...'
Chapter Eight
'So, Olivia,' Jack said as she joined him in the parlour before dinner that evening. 'Are you
satisfied with your house? Shall you be comfortable here?'
'Yes, I am certain I shall,' Olivia replied and gave him one of her most bewitching smiles. 'It is a
charming house, Jack: a real family home. I like it very well, though of course I have not yet seen
all the rooms. Mrs Jenkins is to take me over it in the morning so that I can assess it properly—
unless you have other plans for us?'
'No, no, you must do just as you please,' he said, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. 'Do you mean
to change much, my dear?'
She caught the teasing note in his voice and laughed, a feeling of relief sweeping over her.
Perhaps his odd mood was beginning to ease.
'Oh, do not fear that I mean to make you uncomfortable, Jack. I dare say I shall not change so very
much—though I believe your own bedchamber needs new drapes. You will not mind that, I hope?'
'No, I shall not mind,' he said, and for the first time since their wedding day he was more like the
man she had known in Brighton and at Camberwell. 'Indeed, I have thought the whole house could
do with refurbishing. Sir Joshua did not bother much after his wife died. She was a lovely woman
and I know he mourned her for the rest of his life. I believe he lived only for his work in later
years.'
'Mrs Jenkins showed me her portrait,' Olivia said. 'She had a gentle face and kind eyes.'
'Should we have your portrait drawn, Olivia?'
'Only if your likeness is taken at the same time, so that our portraits may hang side by side.'
'But I should make a poor subject for the artist, whilst you are beautiful.'
'Thank you.' Olivia dimpled at him. 'If I am honest, I thought you less than attractive at our first
meeting, sir—but you have improved in looks a little these past weeks.' Her eyes were alight with
mischief as she went on, 'Though I dare say you will never be the most handsome of men.'
'I thank you, my lady wife.' Jack laughed, much amused by her honesty. 'You are very
complimentary.'
'Oh, I did not mean to compliment you,' replied Olivia, pretending innocence. 'It is always best to
be open in these matters. Do you not agree? Besides, I did not marry you for your looks, my lord.'
'Indeed?' Jack raised his brows. 'May I ask why you did marry me?'
'Because when you .kissed me I felt something no other
man had ever made me feel,' she said.
'Had you asked, I would have been yours that night. I want to be yours in every sense. It is my
right, Jack.'
'Olivia...' The colour left his cheeks. He looked stunned by her frankness. 'Please...you do not
know what you ask.'
She moved towards him, gazing up into eyes that were black with anguish. 'I only ask that you
should care for me a little, that we should share the pleasures of a husband and wife. Is that so
very much, Jack?'
Jack drew in a ragged breath. She could sense the emotions raging inside him as he hesitated, then,
as she reached up to stroke his cheek, he jerked back as though her touch would burn him. Turning
away from her, he crossed the room to stand by the window. She thought he had needed to put
distance between them, as if he could not quite trust himself to be near her.
'We shall be friends,' he said at last, and the words were forced from him. 'Everything I have is
yours, Olivia. My fortune, my home, my devotion—but that is all I can give you.'
'Why so?' she cried. 'I love you, Jack. My heart is yours already, as you well know. Why will you
He turned then and she saw that his features were contorted with the pain and anguish she had
sensed hidden these past two days. 'Do not ask that of me,' he said, his voice husky with emotion.
'If you do, I must leave this house tonight.'
'No!' she cried, terrified by something she felt but did not understand. He was desperate, clinging
on by the finest of threads. 'I beg you, do not leave me here alone. It would break my heart. Please
stay with me, Jack.'
'I fear our hearts will break whether I go or stay,' Jack said, and crossed the room in strides to
stand before her. His expression was grave as he gazed down at her. 'I must struggle alone with
this for the moment. Give me three months to reach a decision, Olivia. I shall leave no stone
unturned in my efforts to free us from this nightmare. At the end of that time I promise to explain
everything.'
Olivia met his anguished look, and wished that she might somehow help to bear his pain. 'And
during that time we shall be friends? You will not keep a barrier between us?'
'Only that I must,' he said his voice husky with emotion. 'Can you bear it, Olivia? Be just my
friend? Believe that I would rather have died at Badajoz than cause you a moment's pain?'
He loved her! Olivia believed in that moment that Jack loved her more than she could ever have
imagined. She could not know what had caused him to draw back, to deny his feelings, but she did
know that he was finding it painful—that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her heart
lurched. She would never let him go. She would break down this barrier between them somehow!
Her eyes held his, demanding honesty from him.
'You were badly hurt at Badajoz, I think. Can you not tell me what happened there?'
Jack hesitated, then inclined his head in assent. 'Yes, you are entitled to at least that.'
His eyes stared into the distance as his mind was transported back to the heat and dust of an old
Spanish town. The stench of blood and death had soaked into the cobbles that day, the dark,
narrow streets strewn with debris from the battle. Jack had been making a reconnoitre of the
situation when he came upon that terrible scene.
He saw it now, as clearly as if it were happening that moment. A woman caught at the steps of a
church. Clearly she had thought to find sanctuary within its ancient walls, but the soldiers had
surrounded her. Maddened by the heat and the bloodlust of battle, they were like a pack of dogs
baying at a wounded doe.
The woman had looked at Jack, a desperate appeal in her liquid brown eyes. She was young,
perhaps no more than twenty, a peasant girl with long curling hair. He had seen blood on her arms
and face, the torn shreds of her bodice revealing her full breasts.
'God damn the lot of you,' Jack had cried. 'I command you to stop. Let this woman go free!'
He had never known from whence came the ball that creased his temple and laid him low, but the
next moment he was lying face down on the earth. Still conscious, he had tried to struggle to his
feet, cursing and threatening to hang the pack of them, and then something had smashed against the
back of his head and he had fallen into the dark pit of unconsciousness, where he had remained for
several days.
Olivia listened in silence to Jack's story. She sensed that it had caused him some anguish in the
telling, and thought she could begin to see why he sometimes seemed haunted by his memories.
'They raped her,' Jack ended hoarsely. 'She was no older than you, Olivia. I have been told that
she fought them to the last—and in the end they killed her. She was not the only one to suffer that
day. Our men behaved disgracefully, raping and plundering the homes of innocent
citizens...women and children died for their greed and bloodlust.' His face was grey with
exhaustion, as though it had cost him much to relive the ordeal.
'But you tried to save her,' Olivia said softly.
'Tried and failed.'
'You carry no blame for what those soldiers did,' she said. 'I have read in the history books that
these things sometimes happen, though I know it is terrible and must cause shame to fall on those
who become as beasts in the heat of the moment. But you were not one of them, Jack. I respect you
for what you attempted. It was brave and honourable.'
She was standing so close! Her perfume was in his nostrils, stirring his senses, making him ache
with the desire to know her intimately, to carry her to his bed and make her his own.
'Olivia...' His hand moved of its own volition, his fingers trailing her cheek. 'If only I...'
She believed that he wanted to kiss her. He was fighting himself. Her lips parted invitingly as she
smiled up at him, sensing that he was close to losing his battle.
'Dinner is ready, milord.'
The spell was broken as Jenkins spoke from behind them. Jack blinked rapidly, seeming to wake
from a trance. He stepped back from her, the iron control once more in place.
'Thank you, Jenkins. We shall come at once.' As he turned to Olivia, his expression was once
more that of a polite stranger. He offered her his arm. 'If you please, my dear. I understand Cook
has prepared something special for your first evening. It would be discourteous of us to keep her
waiting.'
Olivia stood patiently as Rosie helped her into her filmy night-chemise, but dismissed her as soon
as the girl had gathered up the gown she had worn earlier.
'Thank you, you may retire now,' she said. 'I shall not need you again this evening.'
She stared into the mirror as the maid went away, then picked up her brush to smooth her hair into
a cloud of silken strands that fell on her shoulders in a shining mass. As a child Olivia had loved
to have her hair brushed by Lady Burton, but now she preferred to do it herself.
Laying down the brush, Olivia sighed. Was she never to find peace? She had hoped for so much
from her marriage, and now...what? Jack's moods puzzled her. They seemed to come and go, as if
he sometimes managed to rise above whatever haunted him, but he had only to look at her to be
cast down again.
What was it that haunted him? Why was
he so determined to hold back from her? She could not
begin to guess, but she was determined to overcome his resistance somehow.
She rose from her stool and began to walk about her bedchamber, pausing to sniff the delicate
perfume of the roses Jack had sent her. He was so thoughtful, and he had asked her to be his
friend. Well, she would be that, of course, but she would also be much more one day.
A smile touched her lips as she thought of something. Going over to her writing desk, she took out
a sheet of notepaper and wrote a few words on it, signing it with the initials OD and a kiss. After
a moment's thought, she sprinkled two drops of her perfume on to the notepaper. She then selected
a perfect bud from the roses and went through into Jack's bedchamber. He had not yet come up.
Olivia had suspected as much. She had left him relaxing with a glass of brandy in the parlour, and
thought he meant to sit on for a while.
Was he restless? Was he thinking of her? Well, she would make him aware of her lying next door
whether he wished it or not! She laid her note and the rose on Jack's pillow, then went back into
her own room and softly closed the door.
It might be that Jack's resistance would take a long time to overcome, but she would find a way.
No matter how often he repulsed her, she would not let him slip away. Somehow she knew that the
future happiness of them both depended on her having the strength to hold him despite himself.
Downstairs, alone in the parlour, Jack stared moodily at his glass. He had already drunk more than
was usual for him and the fiery spirit had done nothing to ease the ache inside him. His mind was
filled with images of Olivia, with the smell of her skin and the sound of her voice.
Damnation! He must put the images from his mind or he would go mad in truth. He had not
realised how hard this would be for either of them when he decided to go through with this
marriage—a marriage that must forever be in name only.
He could not claim his lovely bride. She would be tainted by his touch, and she was so lovely, so
pure— so far above him!
Besides, there was the matter of a child. As yet, the madness had never shown itself in any shape
or form in Jack, but for years Stanhope had managed to conceal his own insanity from the world. It
might be that the sickness would never show itself in Jack, but he could not be certain that it