Page 5 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘Return the contents of my purse, Your Grace, and I shall leave you in peace. Refuse, and I shall leave you in pieces.’
* * *
Olivia was still trying to pull her thoughts together after watching Philippa train.
She had been hiding in the corner of the ballroom, waiting for the servants to go to bed before seeking out Philippa’s bedroom. Then, like a gift from the heavens, a light had flickered down the hallway. The door creaked open, and the duchess had appeared in the cavernous room, her face illuminated by a single candle.
A gasp had caught in Olivia’s throat before she swallowed it down, cursing herself for three times a fool. The duchess’ beauty was renowned in the beau monde. The dramatic contrast of midnight hair and silver streaks, pale skin, and bold, crimson lips – a colour Olivia knew the duchess enhanced with cosmetics despite Queen Victoria’s decree that a plain face was most appealing. Perfectly sculpted cheekbones, eyes the colour of a stormy sea.
Lovely. I’m waxing poetic about a woman determined to see me hang.
But only a blind fool could deny Philippa’s sharp beauty. And Olivia was neither.
Instead of attacking immediately, she had indulged her fascination for the deadly woman, telling herself she only watched Philippa gliding across the ballroom floor, the steel of her blades flashing in the moonlight, to better learn her foe’s skills.
I must understand her strengths if I am to take advantage of her weaknesses.
And what Olivia learned had disturbed her in the extreme. Because the duchess appeared to have no weaknesses. Philippa moved so quickly, she was like a bird of prey effortlessly twisting, sliding, and leaping in a pattern impossible to predict. Her black silk pants and loose top fluttered as her long braid whipped behind her. The wickedly dangerous blades were unfamiliar to Olivia, and certainly nothing like the massive broadsword of the highlanders, or the much thinner rapier preferred by most lords of the beau monde. One blade was just longer than Philippa’s arm, the other about half that size. She had wielded them as extensions of her body, arcing and slicing in movements closer to dance than the brutish thrust and parry Olivia had seen when lords duelled. It was mesmerising.
Olivia had only intended to watch for a few moments, but she became lost in Philippa’s violent beauty. She might as well have been a child gorging on the sweet ices served at Gunters with no parent near to temper her voracious appetite. But, as with all temptations, there was grave danger in such gluttonous indulgence. Because the longer she had watched Philippa, the more convinced Olivia became that she could not defeat this woman. Not if she played by the rules. So she had determined to break them, starting with bringing a pistol to this sword fight. Albeit a pistol she didn’t know how to use, but Philippa need not know that.
Forcing her body to move before she melted into the cracks of Philippa’s polished parquet floor, Olivia had pushed down the confusing blend of emotions gripping her chest in a tight squeeze and making it hard to breathe.
I must remember why I’m here. She is my enemy. And I must vanquish her if I have any hope of a life beyond this madness.
She had attacked without hesitation, which brought her to this moment, straddling a very angry duchess, her hand wrapped around the woman’s throat.
‘Return what you stole,’ she demanded.
She deserved a chance to escape and restart her life. After fighting so long to escape the prison created for her by cruel men, she had earned the right to control her choices. The only person standing in her way was trapped between Olivia’s thighs.
‘You really expect me to hand you the one thing keeping you from escape?’ Philippa’s pupils were blown wide, betraying her seemingly calm demeanour.
Olivia should have tightened her hand around the woman’s delicate throat. Jasmine and frankincense wrapped around her, muddling her thoughts. Instead of pressing her advantage, Olivia’s fingers gently caressed over the soft skin behind Philippa’s left ear. The hitch in Philippa’s breathing confirmed one suspicion Olivia had about the duchess. There was more simmering between them than just vengeance and justice.
‘Not willingly. But yes. I think we can both agree my money isn’t worth your life. You already think the worst of me, so it shouldn’t stretch your imagination to believe I will kill you if you refuse.’
Philippa strained forward, lifting her head from the floor, pressing her throat harder into Olivia’s hand. She bared her teeth in a feral smile. ‘Do it then. I dare you. Because you will get nothing from me.’
Ridiculous, stubborn, impossible woman!
She was calling Olivia’s bluff. It was the worst possible outcome. Olivia was desperate, but she wasn’t a killer. She needed the money, but she couldn’t end someone’s life for it. Even if that person enraged her. And now Philippa knew Olivia’s weakness.
With a frustrated scream, she shoved Philippa back to the floor, taking petty satisfaction from the thunk of Philippa’s head hitting the wood panels. Getting to her feet, Olivia scanned the room and found her pistol as Philippa stood and reclaimed her blades.
Olivia backed slowly to the open window.
‘You know I can’t let you leave, Lady Smithwick.’ Philippa slid one foot forward, holding the blades in front of her in a fighting stance.
Olivia re-aimed her pistol at Philippa’s chest, for all the good it would do. She had taken it from where she knew Percy kept his guns, but she had no idea if it was loaded, how to load it if it wasn’t, and what to do to make the thing go bang. Given that Philippa kept calling her bluff, her only option would be to throw the heavy thing at the duchess if she attacked with her wickedly sharp blades.
‘And I can’t let you catch me. There is far more at stake here than you’ll ever know. You’ve no idea the power of the Devil’s Sons. Running is the only choice I have left.’ The words tasted bitter. Cowards ran, and that is what she was.
‘Who is their leader?’ Philippa took a sidestep that brought her closer.
The pistol shook as Olivia’s throat closed, making it impossible to speak even if she wanted to reveal the Crow. Which she would never do. It would mean more than just her own death. He would destroy her daughter. Slowly. Painfully. While he forced Olivia to watch.
‘I can’t tell you that.’ Olivia stepped back, closer to the open window. The curtain fluttered against her calf.
