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her into a dark alcove, and she’d been so stupid and naïve for not dashing away from him before he’d taken her there.
    He’d leaned into her ear and whispered nasty, horrid things to her. About how he’d tear her clothes off and lay her down. About how he’d take her so hard that she’d feel him for a week.
    Then he’d pulled her against him again and his wet mouth slathered over her neck and his hand snaked down her bodice. She had pushed him off her, managing to hold back the scream threatening to reveal herself and Lord Fenwicke in a compromising position to half the London
ton.
    She’d turned to run away, but he’d grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Later, she’d found a ring of bruises around her arm. He’d said, “I’m a marquis, if you recall.” As if it was unthinkable that she would turn down a man of his status.
    She’d responded that she didn’t want any man, any marquis, any wretched London rake, and especially not him, and that she intended to die a spinster. Then she’d turned on her heel and marched away. She’d felt disgusted and dirty for a week.
    How could she look in the eyes of Lord Fenwicke’s wife? Goodness, even thinking the man’s name made Olivia feel all clammy and cold.
    Lord Hasley’s fingers still curled around her arm, but his touch was gentle, nothing like Lord Fenwicke’s painful grip. Neither of her sisters seemed to have noticed her agitation, thank goodness. Now, Lord Hasley squeezed gently and then removed his hand. “Miss Donovan? What do you think?”
    She tried to smile at Serena, but she was certain it came out as more of a grimace. “It is a good idea. Neighborly relations are important.”
    “Very true,” Lord Hasley said.
    “Are you acquainted with Lord and Lady Fenwicke, my lord?” Serena asked.
    Olivia turned to him, curious as to how he’d answer. In truth, a description of the extent of his relations with Lord Fenwicke would go far in helping Olivia firm her opinion about Lord Hasley.
    “Lord Fenwicke is an acquaintance,” Lord Hasley said, “but not a friend. Stratford and I have known him since our school days.”
    “And his wife?”
    Lord Hasley nodded. “I met her in London two years ago.” He smiled, but it was a tight smile that didn’t make his dimples appear. “She was a very charming, very lovely young lady.”
    “But you haven’t seen her since?” Jessica asked.
    “No. It’s been almost two years to the day.”
    “But that’s all right, isn’t it?” Jessica asked. “At least we won’t be a group of complete strangers bombarding the poor lady’s privacy.”
    Nerves jumped along Olivia’s spine. The woman probably wouldn’t instinctually hate her, and of course, chances were that she knew nothing of what her horrid husband had said and done to Olivia. That had happened in London, far from here.
    “It’s settled then.” Serena rose from her seat as a footman whisked away her plate and coffee cup. “We’ll leave in half an hour, and I’ll take some of those lovely tarts Cook made last night for her.” She smiled. “She’s just a little older than you are, Jessica. You never know, she may turn into a wonderful friend.”
    “Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely?” Jessica clapped her hands at her chest in anticipation. Out of all the sisters, Jessica was the most outgoing. She made friends wherever she went. “A friend for us all.”
    Max loitered in the library, scanning the rows of old books while he waited for the ladies to come downstairs for the walk to Brockton Hall. He liked this room. It was large for a library, and spacious. Rows of books covered three of the walls from floor to ceiling. The fourth held two deep-set tall and narrow windows on either side of a very comfortable-looking chaise longue. Four old chairs, all of different designs and colors but all large and soft, were scattered around the room, welcoming anyone who desired to lose themselves within the pages of a book.
    Max ran his fingers along