The Blackmailed Bride. Mandy Goff

she still felt the fear and uncertainty of the past, while only standing outside.

      She pushed the door open and didn’t immediately notice there were a few candles burning in the room.

      Her mind was too consumed with other images. Brief, fleeting pictures from that night, ones she couldn’t banish from her memory—no matter how hard she tried to erase them or dull their influence.

      Olivia sank into a chair, one closest to the door. She noticed the faint light in the room now but didn’t give much thought to why it was there.

      What thoughts had her mother had that evening five years ago? Olivia couldn’t begin to imagine.

      They’d all been mired in grief. Her father had passed away from a sickness a few months before her mother decided she couldn’t live anymore. Her devotion to her husband so complete, she couldn’t bear to part with him—even in death.

      And Marcus, the earl for three short months, had to assume another role…her guardian.

      Most of the room was still cast in shadows, making the memories more eerie than she’d thought they’d be. No one ever asked why she avoided the room. The assumption was that fear kept her away. Of course, to hear everyone talk about it, this was the room the countess was murdered in—by an intruder who had only upended some drawers and strewn around some papers before he left the dead countess sitting at the desk.

      Olivia was surprised anyone had believed that.

      The story had been as flimsy as a gossamer thread.

      But it had held.

      And Olivia had to live with not only the lies and deceptions, but also the weight of her mother’s crime.

      “Oh, Mama,” she choked. She put her fist to her mouth, stifling the sound. She wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a condemnation…perhaps both.

      “Olivia?” a voice echoed from the shadows.

      She jumped. Her brother sat forward. He’d obviously been reclining, and neither had noticed the presence of the other.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

      “I don’t know,” Marcus confessed.

      She squinted into the darkness at him, rose from her seat and crossed to sit with him. He obligingly moved his legs off the settee, so she would have room. “I don’t know, either.”

      “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

      “What is?”

      “That the one room that holds such grief for us is the one we can’t stay away from.” He stared off and around the room, as though looking at something only he could see.

      Olivia doubted it was anything like what she could see when she closed her eyes.

      Olivia lost track of how long they sat together. Eventually, she rested her head against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. For a minute, they were not the Earl of Westin and Lady Olivia Fairfax. They were a brother and sister who hurt.

      More than either of them knew.

      Olivia felt her eyes growing heavy-lidded. She was relaxed with drowsiness and knew she should return to bed. But she wanted to talk to Marcus. Wanted to in some way prepare him for what was going to happen.

      She roused herself enough to lift her head and look at her brother. She was surprised to find he didn’t look the least bit tired.

      “Do you mind if I ask a question?” Olivia began, driven by some courage she didn’t realize she had.

      In spite of the dim lighting, she could tell his look was wary. “I suppose.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me Finley had approached you to ask for my hand?”

      Marcus tensed as an immediate reaction to her words. “Finley told you that?” Although it wasn’t asked with a very questioning tone.

      She nodded, knowing he could feel the movement against his arm.

      “I gave him my answer and I didn’t think you needed to be bothered with the matter,” he said.

      “You’ve always consulted me in such things. Why didn’t you see fit to so much as mention it?” she pressed. Maybe he would tell her something that would allow her to nullify Finley’s threat, such as proof that the man was truly a pirate with a bounty on his head. Or a traitor to the Crown.

      Either would work for her.

      “I didn’t see the purpose.” He was using a tone she’d only heard a few times. It was the tone that suggested—strongly—she let the conversation drop.

      She wasn’t going to. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

      “I have many reasons” was the curt reply.

      His discomfort was no match for her current burst of tenacity. “I would like to spend some time with him. To see if we suit,” she said on a gulp.

      Had the situation been less serious, she might have laughed aloud at her brother’s appalled expression. “Are you jesting?” he managed after several moments of his mouth hanging wide. His voice was strangled, as though invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

      “No.”

      “I forbid it,” he sputtered.

      Olivia leapt to her feet, her tiredness seemed a thing of the past. If they were going to quarrel, she’d rather not do it sitting down. He followed to his feet soon after.

      “I’m afraid that would make me very unhappy.” She strove to keep her voice level.

      He was flummoxed. “You’ve never shown the slightest bit of romantic interest in him. Why now?”

      “I’ve known him for a long time,” she began, searching for something complimentary to say that wouldn’t make her choke. “He was very, ah, attentive after mother’s death.” Too attentive, obviously, she added to herself.

      “Gibbons was attentive as well, do you wish to marry him?” Marcus asked.

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.

      “I could say the same to you.”

      She slammed her hand down on a nearby table in frustration. “I’d hoped you would be reasonable about this. I can see my faith in you was misplaced.”

      She could tell the words stung, but her brother didn’t let the hurt dissuade him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not changing my mind about this.”

      Of course he wouldn’t. It would be far too much to hope that this aspect of the deed would be done swiftly and without quarrel. Why did Marcus have to make this more difficult? Was it not enough that what she had to do made her skin crawl? Could she not at least have had no interference from the one person whose good opinion she desired above all others?

      “I am an adult,” she informed him quietly.

      A muscle in his jaw ticked furiously.

      “And I’d rather this not become an argument,” she continued before Marcus could lose his temper. His clenched hands, narrowed eyes and set jaw were all omens of an impending explosion.

      “And I’d rather not issue any ultimatums. So I will simply advise you to stay away from him, or…” He didn’t finish the threat. His voice had risen to a near yell.

      Hers wasn’t very quiet, either. “Or what, Marcus? Will you disown me? Cast me out on the streets to fend for myself?” She knew she should lower her voice, help calm the situation. At this volume, it wouldn’t be long before their guest, and probably Gibbons, would be coming in to see what was amiss. But she couldn’t bring herself to back down.

      Marcus scoffed. “Now