A Season of Hope (Danby #2)(16)

She reached tremulous fingers toward him. “You aren’t.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he cried. “I know what I am. I’m the scarred second son of a viscount and you,” he raked a gaze over her, “are to be the wife of a wealthy earl. Now, go, Olivia.”

Go before I get on my knees and beg you to never leave.

“Go,” he roared.

Olivia fled as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels and mayhap they were.

It would appear he was a beast, after all.





Chapter 8


The Duke of Danby walked around the Gold Parlor and took in Olivia and Marcus’s work.

Olivia and Marcus stood off to the side, silent, unspeaking.

“I’ll say you both did a splendid job. Who’s the fool that said decorations shouldn’t be put up until the eve of Christmas? If you ask me, it seems like an awful amount of work for two mere nights. Mark my words,” he said. “Soon the rest of the ton is going to be following suit.”

The words meant a good deal coming from the normally disapproving duke.

“Thank you,” Olivia and Marcus said in unison.

Danby turned around with such rapidity that he began to cough.

Olivia took a step toward him but he waved her off.

He removed a kerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth. “What’s all this about?” he barked, stuffing the linen back into its place.

Marcus answered for them. “Your Grace?”

“Don’t play the fool with me, boy. You two look as grim as if Cook took away all your rations of plum pudding.”

Olivia glanced down and shuffled the tip of her slipper along the Italian marble floor. Her body was held so tight, Marcus imagined all it would take was a strong winter wind to shatter her.

God, he hated seeing her like this.

She looked up.

A sheen of tears glossed the ice blue of her eyes.

Oh, Olivia. He’d rather take a bayonet to his other eye than witness this defeated side of her. What have I done to you?

“Grandfather, I’m not feeling well,” she whispered. “W-will you excuse me.”

She didn’t wait for the duke’s blessing, but instead turned on her heel and fled.

When the echo of her slippered feet had faded, the duke turned to him. “What the hell was that about?”

“What the…?”

“Oh, don’t you treat me like a fool. I may be old and sick, but I am not a fool.” He levered his cane in Marcus’ direction.

Marcus sighed and swiped a hand over his eye. “I don’t know what you expected in bringing Olivia here, Your Grace.”

Danby snorted. “You think you’re wiser than me?”

Marcus managed a chuckle. “Hardly, Your Grace.” Over the course of the years, Marcus had made enough faulty missteps; some that had nearly cost him his life. But he didn’t know what game the duke played with he and Olivia.

“You could have gone anywhere, Marcus.”

The duke’s statement gave Marcus pause. In all the years he’d spent at Danby Castle, Marcus had been boy and Wheatley but never Marcus.

“Your Grace?” he said, hesitant with the duke’s statement.

Danby gestured around. “You could have found work anywhere. You could have lived comfortably with your father, and yet you accepted my offer. Why is that?” He didn’t allow Marcus to respond. “Because of Olivia.”

Marcus swallowed and stared at the boughs he and Olivia had hung earlier that day? Or was it a lifetime ago?

“It’s too late. I appreciate your…intervention,” he lied. He didn’t. He wanted to rail at Danby for breaking open wounds he’d thought firmly closed. “I’m not fit for good company, let alone your granddaughter.”

“Are you saying my granddaughter is a shallow cit?” Danby’s voice boomed throughout the parlor.

Marcus held his hands palm up. “I’m saying I don’t deserve her, Your Grace.”

“Why?”

Marcus looked away. The scars about his mouth throbbed and ached in reminder of what he’d become.

“Because of some scars?” Danby snorted.

Marcus growled. “You say that rather flippantly, Your Grace. I lost an eye. I’m not fit for good-company.”

The duke laughed, until a cough wracked his frame. “You think you aren’t fit company because of a missing eye and some scars? I’d choose you with no eyes and no limbs for my granddaughter before any of those fops in London.”

Danby made it sound so simple. Marcus sighed. Even if he weren’t a bloody monster, there was still Olivia’s betrothal to the Earl of Ellsworth. His hands curled into tight fists at his side.

“Tell me this, Marcus. Who does deserve, Olivia? That fat, blubbering fool Ellsworth who my fat, blubbering son-in-law is going to marry her off to?”

A torrent of images flooded Marcus’s mind. Olivia with Ellsworth. In his arms. His fat, corpulent frame covering her. He closed his eyes.

“I like you, Marcus. And I don’t like anybody.”

Marcus mustered a grin.

“But do you want my opinion?”

“I suspect you’ll give it, regardless of my answer.”

Danby nodded. “Demmed right, I will. You’re one of the bravest men I know. Anyone who could survive what you did in France “Thank you.”