Mandy Goff - The Blackmailed Bride

“Did you see the two of them?”

The whispered question floated on the wind to Olivia and Nick, and both immediately straightened.

“How could you not see them? Shameful. And in church, no less.”

“Now, Josephine,” came a third voice, “they were hardly doing anything shameful. They were sitting in front of God and the whole congregation.”

“Well, where are they now?” one of the other women— Olivia assumed it was Josephine—shot back.

Silence followed. Apparently this question stymied the other two ladies.

Olivia started to rise, prepared to step from behind the shelter of the towering rosebushes and into the women’s path, but Nick laid a hand on her arm, stilling her. His touch scorched her skin. But she didn’t recoil from it.

“Well,” the third woman, who Olivia was beginning to think of as her champion, began, “I’m sure they both have a perfectly innocent explanation. Perhaps Lady Olivia had a headache,” she offered.

One of the other women made a ribald joke, and Olivia cringed. Humiliation alone was bad enough, but humiliation in front of the marquess was unbearable.

“Well, I’m not surprised,” another voice returned. “The marquess has quite a way with women, at least that’s what I heard from Eleanor at the dressmaker’s.”

Their advocate scoffed. “The man was in church.”

The cynical woman laughed. “Probably looking for an innocent woman to corrupt.” She made the statement as calmly as one might if she were suggesting he’d gone to the market to select produce.

Judging from the fact that the voices had stopped wafting to her from different points down the path, Olivia knew the women were standing not too far from where she and Nick were sitting.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” one returned. Olivia was beginning to lose track of who was speaking. “Alfred was telling me all sorts of lurid tales of the marquess’s exploits in France. Shocking,” she added unnecessarily.

“Well, he won’t be able to parade about in polite society for long. He’s no better than his parents. And his bad blood will out eventually.”

Lord Huntsford’s grip on her arm tightened, and she looked at him in surprise. His jaw was clenched, and while Olivia didn’t know him well enough to be able to decipher his moods with any accuracy, he looked furious.

What would he do? Charge out from behind the bushes and defend her honor? Defend his? But the marquess had been correct in the beginning; it was best they remain undiscovered.

She laid her hand atop his, hoping to both comfort and subdue him. It was the least she could do after he’d set himself up for this sort of slander just by helping her out of doors. Besides, it certainly wouldn’t do for the three women to happen upon them. Or for him to step out and confront them.

Once Lord Huntsford felt her touch, he turned to look at her, and his pursed lips and set jaw were the only visible signs he was warring with indecision. Casting another glance to where the women had resumed strolling by, he sighed. As he looked back at her, his face softened. He ventured a tentative smile, and Olivia couldn’t help but return it.

She wondered how he had managed to so completely erase the anxiety and panic she’d felt only moments earlier. Yet even with a feeling of peace and contentment stealing over her, a small voice in the back of her mind cautioned against softening toward him and warned that she’d have to double her efforts to stay away from the marquess.

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