The Phoenix Of Love

All signs of dissipation, so evident eight years ago, were almost completely erased from the marquis’s appearance. All that remained of the hard living he had subjected his body to back in his younger days were the lines etched around the sides of his mouth, and the hard glint in his chilling gray eyes. They gave him a hard, implacable look. Many members of society had remarked that Traverston looked like a man who had fought with the devil…and won.

Monquefort’s reply to his friend was amused. “Excruciating, indeed, my lord.” His next comment caught the marquis off guard. “I see you have noticed the Ice Queen.”

Traverston’s raised eyebrow was the only prod Monquefort needed to burst out laughing at his friend’s expense. “Come now, man,” he exclaimed. “Don’t try and tell me you didn’t notice her. I saw you gaping.”

“Really, Monquefort,” purred the marquis warningly, “your attempt at levity fails to amuse me. If you really want to amuse yourself, I suggest you seek your pleasures elsewhere. I’m not in the mood to entertain you tonight.”

With his usual lack of respect for proprieties, the earl plowed ahead with his observations. “But that’s why you like me, Trav,” replied the man. “I’m such an amusing fellow. Besides, you know part of my charm is my disarming honesty,” he smirked.

“Cut line, Alex,” demanded the marquis with none of his usual tolerance for the young nobleman’s witty banter. “You’ve obviously got something you want to say. Come out with it!”

Monquefort blinked at the marquis in mock confusion, his hands held up in a gesture of innocence. “I just wanted to give you the information you are looking for. What more could a friend offer than that?”

Though the silence emanating from Travcrston was palpable, the earl managed to retain his easy smile even in the face of this unencouraging response. But he didn’t have to wait long for the marquis’s reply.

“And what,” he growled softly, “is it, pray tell, that I want to know?”

Monquefort’s smile was triumphant. “But her name, of course,” he replied equally quietly.

In the face of the marquis’s black frown, the earl wisely decided not to tease his friend any longer. “The lady in question is Miss Olivia Wentworth.” When this tidbit of information failed to lighten the expression on Traverston’s face, Monquefort cautiously added, “Miss Wentworth is the granddaughter of the Duke of Stonebridge.”

In point of fact, the marquis did not react to Monqucfort’s news for the simple reason that he was stunned. It was a full five seconds before Traverston whipped around to seek out the vision in white again.

There she was, just ten feet away from where he had spotted her originally. The young lady was deep in conversation with one of British society’s queens, Lady Jersey. Any other girl in her slippers would be quaking in fear, noted the marquis, but Olivia was not.

Olivia’s height and posture gave her a regal appearance, and she somehow managed to make Lady Jersey, an animated person with a powerful presence in her own right, look small and bland by comparison.

Her perfectly shaped head was blessed with the classical features found only on Greek statues. That, and her long, graceful, swanlike neck, made Olivia look like a goddess who had stepped down from the heavens to temporarily grace a gathering of mortals. Her white gown of gossamer-thin silk, draped in folds over a petticoat of pale blue satin, only heightened this illusion. And her hair! He had never seen such a glorious pile of rich dark hair on any other woman.

The heat didn’t touch her, Traverston noticed as he felt the sweat trickle down his own brow. She was a spot of calm in a tempestuous sea of humanity. She was as cool as…as cool as ice. The Ice Queen. Wasn’t that what Monquefort had called her? Somehow the name seemed fitting. And not altogether appealing.

Traverston turned back to his friend. His hand shot out and he grabbed the earl’s upper arm in a viselike grip. Ignoring the other man’s outcry, Traverston propelled him backward through the crowds until they reached the far corner of the ballroom. The immediate area was cluttered with potted plants, providing the men with some measure of privacy.

“What the devil…” sputtered Monquefort, but Traverston quickly cut him off.

“What do you know of her?” demanded the marquis, shaking Monquefort’s upper arm for emphasis.

Monquefort, startled at his friend’s unusual behavior, looked astounded. “What the devil has gotten into you, Trav?” queried the earl.

Traverston removed his hand from Monquefort and partially turned away from him in an effort to gain control over himself. Without meaning to, he automatically searched for Olivia. She was still with Lady Jersey. After the briefest of moments, he turned back.

“What do you know of her?” repeated Traverston again, only slightly more calm than before.

Monquefort eyed his friend warily before answering. “Very little, actually. Mostly what I’ve just said.” He hastily continued when the marquis started to become angry again. “She’s just come out…made her debut about a month or two ago. It took her awhile to do it, seeing as how her grandmother was sick last season. Apparently she had no one else to see to the task. She doesn’t seem to care for men, leastwise not the young ones.” He racked his brains for something else to say. Traverston’s look grew grimmer until the earl quickly added, “Flattery turns her off. Doesn’t seem to be any way to get a reaction out of her. That’s why she’s called the Ice Queen.” He stopped and eyed the marquis with trepidation.

Traverston’s eyes seemed to ignite with an inner fire as he listened to the words trip off Monquefort’s tongue. His face took on the lines of decisiveness as his friend finished his litany. “Introduce me to her,” he commanded.

“Hell and damnation, Traverston!” exclaimed the earl belligerently. “I can’t do that. I’ve not even properly made her acquaintance myself!”

Traverston was remorseless, however, and he gripped Monquefort’s arm tightly, leaning into his face for emphasis. “Introduce me to her,” he said slowly, enunciating each word carefully.

The look Monquefort gave the marquis was penetrating, and what he saw there must have convinced him that he could not refuse his friend’s request, because the next thing he knew, he was leading Traverston over to where the beautiful Ice Queen herself was standing.

A minute or so passed before Olivia and her grandmother noticed the presence of the two men standing to their left. Thoughtfully, both ladies graciously turned enough in their direction in order that the men could politely “do the pretty” without undue hardship on their part.

The Earl of Monquefort stood patiently waiting for an opening in the ladies’ conversation, but a painful pinch reminded him of the marquis’s urgency. He kicked himself mentally as he butted in. “Lady Raleigh, Miss Wentworth, I do hope you remember me,” began the earl with no little embarrassment.

Olivia was the first to respond to the handsome peer’s polite intrusion. She graciously inclined her head. “Of course we do, Lord Monquefort. We met at the Seftons’ masque.”

The earl’s relief was almost palpable. “You are quite gracious to remember, Miss Wentworth. But please, allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine who is most anxious to make your acquaintance.”

Olivia’s eyes shifted away from the earl to take in the gentleman standing next to him. She was totally unprepared for the sight of the darkly handsome marquis. Traverston’s sudden appearance at her side shocked her speechless.

By this time, the marquis’s control had returned to him. Bowing over Olivia’s hand and brushing her fingers with his lips, he allowed himself to make eye contact with her. He was momentarily taken aback by their unusual color. They were such an unusual shade of blue he didn’t see how he could have forgotten them.

He held her hand for just a little longer than polite society would dictate as proper before righting himself again. He smiled into those pale, pale eyes and made his own introduction.

“Your husband, I believe.”

At Traverston’s words, Olivia’s famed expressionless cool gave out with a vengeance. Without a word she crumpled slowly to the floor, her body having no more firmness to it than that of a rag doll.

Chapter Five

As Olivia’s grandmother let out an exclamation of horror, Traverston picked up his wife’s still form and carried her swiftly from the room. With luck, he found an unoccupied salon a few doors down from the ballroom. Carefully he deposited his bundle on a red velvet sofa.

Within moments. Lady Raleigh and the earl came hurrying into the room, each demanding an explanation.

With a calm that astonished the earl, given his friend’s intensity earlier in the evening, Traverston swiftly walked to the entrance of the salon and closed the door, effectively blocking out the startled onlookers. He turned back to face the pair, his expression a mask.

“Is this young woman really Olivia Wentworth?” he demanded, his harshness at odds with the delicate way he had treated his wife. His question cut through Lady Raleigh’s impending tirade.

“Of course she is,” she replied with outrage. “Why should you doubt it? And what on earth possessed you to say such an incredible thing to my granddaughter?” The dowager duchess’s demands were every bit as compelling as the marquis’s in tone and temper.

Traverston sneered slightly as he replied, “I doubt it, because the last time I left my wife,” he said, emphasizing the last word, “she was safely ensconced at Gateland Manor.” The marquis’s hostile glare beat down on the small wrinkled form of Olivia’s grandmother as he waited for her reply.

Before his very eyes, Lady Raleigh seemed to gain height and stature. She drew herself up to meet the marquis’s challenge. “My lord,” she began grandly, imperiously, “I believe we should discuss this in private.”

Turning briefly toward the earl, who had witnessed the past five minutes in stunned silence, Lady Raleigh supplicated in a very different tone of voice, “My lord, I kindly ask that you watch over my granddaughter. I don’t want her to wake up in here alone.” He had nodded his head, for once unable to move his normally quick tongue, and the old woman marched out of the room without sparing a single glance for the marquis. It was obvious that she expected the marquis to follow.

Amazingly he did. It was evident to the marquis that Lady Raleigh was familiar with the house, because she unerringly led him to the Eddingtons’ massive library. After a quick glance around the dimly lit room, she beckoned the marquis in and shut the door.

With a grim smile she turned and faced her opponent. “I doubt the tabbies will be able to make anything of my being cloistered in here with you. I’m at least twice your age.” Then, as if it had only been an illusion, her smile disappeared. “We must talk.”

Traverston responded with a slight nod and waited for her to continue.

“My lord,” began Lady Raleigh, only to falter. The fact of the matter was she didn’t know what to say. Her magnificent diamond tiara and necklace sparkled in the candlelight as she began to agitatedly pace across the carpet. In all her long years, she had never had to deal with a situation like this. The simple fact of the matter was that the Dowager Duchess of Stonebridge was at a loss.

Watching her evident confusion, the marquis felt a trace of pity for the old lady. But almost immediately he squelched the emotion. She should be uncomfortable, he reasoned. This muddy state of affairs rested on her head. How dare she bring his wife into society without notifying him first?

At length, Lady Raleigh began again. “My lord,” she addressed him, her voice stronger and with more authority than before, “my granddaughter has lived with me for the past six years, and I never once heard her mention your name.” She stared at the marquis triumphantly, as though she had finally hit upon the heart of the problem.

Traverston was silent, his eyes mere slits as he studied her. Did this woman really expect him to believe that she knew nothing at all about his marriage to Olivia? It was impossible! Unthinkable!

And then his conscience nagged at him. Or was it?

Casting his mind back to the scene in his family chapel so long ago, the scene he had tried so carefully not to remember, Traverston realized it might indeed be possible.

After all, what proof did he have that Wentworth had informed his daughter of her married status? What mention had he heard made of the arrangement in front of Olivia? A smile almost flashed across his face as he remembered a young girl solemnly declaring “amen” to the question of matrimony. She hadn’t even realized she had a leading role in the wedding ceremony, the poor chit.

But she was hardly a chit now. His loins became warm at the thought of the regal beauty lying close by. No, she was a woman, and a highly desirable one at that. He couldn’t quite grasp the enormity of having such a stunning morsel as his wife. For that matter, he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of having a wife at all, much less one that looked like Olivia.

As the marquis mused on these matters, his reply was almost inaudible. “I imagine that is because she never knew my name.”

Lady Raleigh stared at the marquis, her mouth forming a surprised O. His was an unanticipated response. “But…but that is absurd!” she sputtered.

At the dowager’s outrage; he snapped out of his reverie. “What? Not knowing her own husband’s name? I couldn’t agree with you more.” His words were angry, clipped. “I imagine her father never told her of my presence at all. I doubt Olivia even knew she was married.” Suddenly he looked intense, murderous, and he stalked closer to Lady Raleigh. “Where is her father now?” he demanded.

Despite her best efforts to keep calm, a quiver of fear ran through Lady Raleigh’s breast. What rumors had she heard of this man? Something about a black and tainted past? What crimes to her person would he be capable of committing?

Pulling the pieces of her dignity around her like a cloak, Lady Raleigh replied as fervently as she could, “He’s dead, thank heaven!”

When the marquis made no move to back away from her, she explained, “He died when Olivia was twelve years old. After that, she came to live with me. She has no other family.” Lady Raleigh tried to still her quaking knees as she stared bravely into the marquis’s fearsome visage.

Traverston’s features were so still that his face might have been etched from stone. “Then it would appear, madam, I was correct. Olivia was never informed of our marriage.” He backed away as quickly as he had stalked her.

As Lady Raleigh’s courage began to seep back into her bones, she confronted the marquis with the obvious question. “But how could Olivia go through a marriage ceremony and not realize what was happening?”

One corner of his mouth twitched up in a slightly mocking smile and he replied enigmatically, “You had to have been there.”

Both parties were silent. Lady Raleigh was appalled by the marquis’s words. Desperately, grasping at any straw to extricate her granddaughter from this horrible mess, she jumped on the dim possibility looming in the back of her mind. “I don’t suppose your lordship could produce proof of this wedding?”

The sound the grim man made sounded very much like a snort. “I don’t happen to have the papers with me right at this moment, my lady,” he remarked with ill-concealed and bitter amusement, “but it wouldn’t take more than a minute to locate them at my solicitor’s. Hardly enough time to postpone the inevitable, I should think, from your point of view. Still, I’d be happy to send him round with them on the morrow. I wouldn’t want you to harbor any doubts.”

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