A Season of Hope (Danby #2)(15)

Olivia steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Walnuts. I also require walnuts.”

***

Nearly ten hours later, Marcus stared at the bevy of servants as they departed the transformed hall. Candlelight played off the walls and fairly gleamed at the masterpiece Olivia had created.

A raise. Every last one of the servants who’d assisted in Olivia’s venture would see an increase in their funds. They had so flawlessly executed her vision, and had done so with smiles and laughter. More than that…they were responsible for the joyous sparkle in her eyes.

Olivia clapped her hands and spun around. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

None of this which she’d created in the duke’s parlor could even compare to her radiant beauty. The blue of her eyes sparkled like the same stars that now dotted the night sky.

Marcus gave his head a shake, in desperate attempt to dislodge such foolish musings. If he continued to study her so, he would do something foolhardy, like beg forgiveness for having left, and plead with her not to wed Lord Ellsworth.

“Well?”

Marcus looked at the wonder she’d created. The gold parlor had been transformed into an enchanted world. Yards of yew boughs draped along the perimeter of the hall, adorned in bright fruits and beading. Almonds and raisins draped in paper peeked out throughout the boughs.

Marcus’ throat bobbed up and down. After he’d returned from France, he’d been so focused on not feeling anything ever again. To feel made one vulnerable. It drove the knife of pain deep inside, and was unrelenting. Seeing such beauty in the duke’s normally empty, cold monstrosity of a home filled Marcus with a searing warmth. He should want to tamp down the growing weakness, but in that moment, he felt alive…for the first time in years, and he was loathe to lose grasp of it.

“It’s remarkable, Olivia. You’ve given the duke something very special.”

Her smile grew, like he’d handed her the king’s crown and not a mere compliment. She swatted at his arm. “We’ve done something very special. You did this, too.”

“But it was your vision.”

“You were always ever so modest, Marcus.”

Not really. He’d been a cocksure youth so certain he’d return from battling French forces, none the different for his experience.

“Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Sad, of a sudden. What are you thinking?”

He’d not spoken to anyone of the hell he’d endured. There’d been a time he’d never have concealed anything from Olivia, but what he’d done, what had happened to him…he’d not sully her purity with such ugliness. Especially not at this perfect moment.

He held out his arm. “Will you dance with me?”

Olivia started. Her smile grew. “I’d be honored, Mr. Wheatley.”

She placed her hand in his and allowed him to waltz her around the festive parlor to the sound of un-played music that only they could hear. Marcus twirled her in dizzying circles, heady with the taste of the past. Olivia’s eyes slid closed and it was as though she as well had drifted off into the world he imagined for them. He increased their rhythm, willing time to go back to before he’d left, and before he’d become the monster before her.

Olivia lost her footing and stumbled. Marcus caught her against him, pulling her close to his chest. Their breath mingled, blurred as one.

Several gold-kissed locks tumbled free of her haphazard chignon. Marcus caught the tresses between his thumb and forefinger. He inhaled the floral scent that lingered in her hair and wondered if her whole body carried the scent of summer. “Like silk,” he said, and jerked as he realized he’d spoken aloud.

Long golden lashes fluttered, and she leaned into him and, God help him, he was lost. His physical disfigurement, her upcoming marriage to the earl, all of it, slipped away as he lost himself in the remembrance of her kiss.

His lips slanted over hers as he reacquainted himself with the pink bow-shaped flesh.

Olivia moaned and arched against him. She looped her hands behind his neck and raised herself up.

Marcus slipped his tongue inside and explored the taste of her: cinnamon and chocolate, a heady sensation. He’d never taste the like again without remembering this moment.

Her fingers smoothed the expanse of his shoulders and then traversed a path along his jaw.

Marcus’s body jerked as though he’d been shot. He set her away and took several retreating steps back from her. God, if he didn’t put distance between them and soon, he would do something utterly foolish, like take her in his arms again.

Olivia touched her fingers to swollen lips. “Marcus?” she whispered. “I have missed you.”

He took a steadying breath. “This was a mistake.”

The cold, flat delivery of his statement seemed to rob Olivia of speech. She shook her head several times and then found her words. “Don’t say that. You still love me as I…”

Marcus strode over to her. The rapidity of his movement sent her scurrying until she froze, and then held her ground. He ripped the patch off his empty socket and revealed the depths of his physical scar.

Olivia gasped. A hand fluttered to her breast.

Her reaction struck him like a lash across the back. “This,” he hissed. “This is why it is a mistake. I’m a beast. A monster.”