Mandy Goff - The Blackmailed Bride

“I can’t let you say those things to me,” Olivia replied. “I can’t, even for a moment, let myself be flattered by your pretty words.”

Nick was close enough to her to reach out a hand and lay it on the side of her face. “Why can’t you let me tell you how I feel?”

Olivia’s disgust at the injustice of the situation rolled forth in a consuming wave. “How could I expect you to understand what I’m saying when no one knows?”

“Knows what?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“Nothing.” She’d already said far more than was safe.

“I thought we were done with the secrets.”

“I still have a few more,” she said quietly.

“You’re going to have to trust someone eventually,” he told her as he withdrew his hand. “I was hoping you might let it be me.”

She turned to him, with her dashed hopes, fear and sadness in her eyes. “It can’t ever be you,” she whispered.

began her foray into the literary world when just a young child. Her first masterwork, a vivid portrayal of the life and times of her stuffed animals, was met with great acclaim from her parents…and an uninterested eye roll from her sister. In spite of the mixed reviews, however, Mandy knew she had found her calling.

After graduating cum laude from North Greenville University with a bachelor’s degree in English, Mandy surrendered her heart—and her pen—to fulfilling God’s call on her life…to write fiction that both entertains and uplifts.

Mandy lives in Greenville, South Carolina, with her husband and three-year-old daughter. And when she is not doing laundry or scouring the house for her daughter’s once-again-missing “Pup-pup,” she enjoys reading good books, having incredibly long phone conversations and finding creative ways to get out of cooking.

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For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.

—The Song of Solomon 2:11

To Daniel and Brie. I could never eloquently convey how much I love and thank God for you both.

I am blessed beyond measure.

Thanks to Mom and Dad, for giving me the freedom to dream crazy dreams and for providing me with the support and encouragement to achieve them. To Megan, whom I am prouder than I could say to call both sister and friend and who has believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. To Dennis and Sue, for accepting me into their family long before I married into it. To Elizabeth Mazer, my editor extraordinaire, for being wonderful and long-suffering and for seeing possibilities in the mess. And to Cheryl, who has been my professor, mentor and finally VBFF, and someone I could not thank enough for everything even if I were to say it again…and again…and again.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

“You should probably stand up now.” Lady Olivia Fairfax looked at the gentleman kneeling by her feet and barely resisted the urge to kick him.

“Not before you consent to be my wife,” the Viscount Danfield said.

She suppressed a sigh. “I’m afraid you’ll be there for quite some time, then.” Rising from her chair, she moved several steps away, ill at ease with the young man so close to her. “I could ask someone to fetch a pillow for your knees, if you wish—I assume the floor will grow uncomfortable eventually.”

Viscount Danfield was unfazed. “You jest with me.”

“I assure you, I do not,” she argued.

He blinked. “Surely you see the wisdom in this arrangement.”

“I doubt I, or anyone else, would call a union between us wise.” Olivia hated her necessary cruelty but, goodness, this was his third proposal.

“But your brother has consented,” he said, grabbing the corner of a table and struggling to his feet.

“Marcus agreed you may ask. He never guaranteed my answer.”

Judging from Lord Danfield’s confused expression, he didn’t understand the difference.

At the less-than-discreet sound of a throat being cleared, both Olivia and Danfield turned toward the open door of the morning room.

Gibbons, the family butler, stood in the entryway with a brocade pillow. “I see I have not been quick enough,” the elderly man said with a sigh. “Should I leave this here for the next time he proposes, Lady Olivia?”

Olivia smothered a laugh, grateful—for once—for Gibbons’ penchant for eavesdropping. “That will be fine.”

After depositing the pillow on the nearest chair and turning to leave, Gibbons looked back at Danfield. “Next time, my lord, might I suggest a bit of poetry and perhaps a song or two?”

The obtuse viscount furrowed his brow. “Would it work?”

“No. But I, for one, would find it vastly more entertaining than your usual attempts.”

Danfield stared after Gibbons’s retreating figure, trying to discern whether he’d been insulted. It took him a surprisingly long time.

In spite of her aggravation, Olivia couldn’t help but feel the faintest stirrings of pity for the young man. “I think we would better part as friends,” she suggested. Perhaps niceness would make her refusal easier to handle.

Never one to take unnecessary chances, however, Olivia edged her way toward the door, hoping he would follow.

“We have always been great friends, haven’t we?” he agreed, a little too enthusiastically.

She nodded, wondering how two months in London gave the man leave to claim anything of permanence between them but willing to agree in order to speed his leaving.

“Which is why we should marry,” he said with a nod. “It’s just as Mother said this morning, ‘The best marriages grow on mutual indifference that is rooted in the soil of friendship.’”

“Your mother is…profound…beyond comprehension.” Which was the least insulting thing she could think to say about the staid, arrogant matriarch.

A smile lit his face. “I’m glad you agree. And when I tell you Mother has graciously agreed to instruct you on the art of governing the household affairs after our nuptials…well, I can only imagine how delighted that must make you,” he said.

“How magnanimous,” Olivia muttered through gritted teeth, wondering who he thought had overseen the affairs at Westin Park for the last five years. Whatever inklings of pity she’d felt dissipated.