“He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”
“I do, but it’s what you think that matters.”
“Well, I do like him, but let’s just take things one day at a time. What about you? Are you enjoying your time with Mr. Hughes?”
“Very much so. Not only is he a good conversationalist, but he’s quite witty as well. And that smile of his does wonderful things to my insides.”
“I’m so pleased for you,” Olivia said, kissing her friend’s cheek when they reached Bett’s bedchamber. “I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.”
“Goodnight, Liv. Sleep well,” Bett said, opening her door and disappearing inside.
Olivia entered her own bedchamber, where Emma was waiting for her.
“I hope you enjoyed your evening, my lady,” she said.
“It was lovely. Thank you, Emma.”
“I’m so very glad. You deserve some happiness.” Her maid helped her undress and slip into a nightdress. “Shall I brush your hair for you?”
“No, I can manage. Go and get a good night’s rest. By the way, I’ll be riding out early tomorrow morning with Lord Robertson.”
“Of course. I shall be here to help you dress. Good night, Lady Armstrong.”
“Goodnight, Emma,” Olivia said, plucking the pins from her hair and dropping them into the crystal bowl on the vanity.
She thought about the kiss with Lord Robertson…Everett as she brushed out her long dark hair. She’d never experienced such intense pleasure before and wondered what it would be like to finally enjoy relations with a man. She was shocked at the direction of her thoughts, especially as she was not looking for another husband, but Robertson had sent the most delightful shivers coursing through her body with his kisses. She had never felt such desire before, and she wanted to explore those feelings more. As a widow, she could enjoy a tryst if she wanted to as long as she was careful not to conceive a child. Would Lord Robertson know what to do to prevent that? There was no one controlling her every move… but would she be brave enough to even try? She had no idea. All she did know was that kissing Everett did delicious things to her and she liked it—liked it very much indeed.
Olivia finished brushing her hair and plaited it for bed. She climbed under the covers and snuggled into the pillows, thinking about Everett’s magical kiss. She’d been nervous that he would ask her why she flinched the first time he’d tried to kiss her. When he didn’t bring it up, she was relieved. She never wanted to explain to anyone how cruel Armstrong had been to her. She was done thinking about the viscount. He was her past, and it was time to move on. Everett was wonderful for her self-confidence. No one had ever called her beautiful before—neither her father nor herhusband had ever commented on her appearance with a compliment.
Her thoughts returned to the delightful experience of kissing Everett as sleep took her.
Armstrong threw her face down on the bed and raised the riding crop, bringing it down on Olivia’s back with a painful whack. “You bitch!” he screamed. “This is your fault, and you’ll pay for it.”
“My lord, please,” Olivia begged to no avail.
Another whack brought a strangled cry from her lips. Tonight’s attack was more vicious than anything that had happened before, and that was hard to believe. He was in a murderous rage that he hadn’t been able to perform his husbandly duties. Of course he blamed her and not the copious amount of brandy he’d drunk earlier. She feared if she couldn’t get away from him, that he’d kill her.
As Armstrong raised the crop again, Olivia kicked out, hitting him in the midsection and making him stumble back. The viscount was momentarily incapacitated. It was enough of a distraction, and she was able to escape his clutches. She raced for the door, threw it open, and ran down the hall. She could hear Armstrong’s foul-mouthed shouting curses after her, and then she heard what she dreaded most—his pounding footsteps following her. If she could just get down the stairs without him catching her, there were numerous places within the manor where she could hide. That was her whole focus—getting away from this madman.
“You’ll pay for your insolence!” Armstrong screamed, waving the riding crop above his head.
Olivia made it to the top of the stairs when she heard a strangled cry. His foul breath told her he was right behind her, but his savage hands didn’t grab her. She braved a look over her shoulder to see Armstrong clutching his chest, his face contorted in pain. The riding crop fell from his hand as she froze in place.
What was happening?
She darted a panicked glance down the stairs and saw Mrs. Elliot and Harris there, staring up in horror at the viscount. Armstrong wobbled on his feet and tried to reach for her, but he fell forward and tumbled down the flight of stairs to land in a heap on the foyer floor.
No one moved for several seconds.
The butler was the first to move, hurrying over to the viscount’s body. “He’s dead,” Harris announced after feeling his neck for a pulse.
Olivia sank to the floor at the top of the stairs. Her torturer for the past two years would never raise a hand to her again. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was only when Harris gently took her elbow and helped her to her feet that she snapped out of her stupor. She hadn’t even seen him come up the stairs.
“My lady, return to your chamber and lock the door,” Harris said.
“But what about the viscount?” she asked, sobbing.
“There’s nothing to be done for him now. You must remove yourself while I send for the doctor. No one will know he was chasing you when he collapsed. It’ll be a simple case of him losing his balance after too much drink and falling down the stairs.”
