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head
reeled and she sagged against him. He had let her go. With
dignity.
    Yet he truly
had wanted her for his wife. She nearly wept at the irony.
    ‘Thank you,
Max,’ she whispered, relief making her light-headed.
    He held her
upright, his hands straying over her body, stroking her back,
twining in her hair.
    ‘There’s just
one thing more,’ she whispered. Her mouth was dry. It was pure
stupidity yet she couldn’t help herself: she had always been a
slave to her body. ‘Kiss me.’

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    ‘YOU HAVE BEEN
punished enough, Olivia.’
    With
characteristic precision The Rev’d Kirkman replaced the fine,
bone-china tea cup upon its saucer. Mesmerized, Olivia watched as
he rearranged it until the handle was at perfect right angles to
himself.
    Then he looked
at her, smiling. Expectant. He knew she was well aware of what this
portentous meeting was intended to produce.
    Aunt Catherine
knew, too, and had been an eager conspirator, ensuring his
favourite cake presided over the beautifully set table in the
summerhouse. She’d fussed over Olivia like a mother hen that
morning, producing what she considered the most appropriate gown
for receiving a man who, nevertheless, had been a constant visitor
for the past year.
    The reverend
leaned back, his gaze raking Olivia’s dark-blue gown with its
high-necked lace collar and demure cut. He nodded, approvingly. ‘I
had wondered what you might choose to replace mourning
clothes.’
    Olivia felt
her face burn. ‘You surely could not suppose I’d wear anything
from’ – she lowered her gaze – ‘before.’ He knew she had little
enough money to keep up with current trends.
    ‘Those days
are behind you, Olivia.’ He spoke briskly. ‘Today marks a new
chapter. Having made a careful study of Mr Atherton’s character, I
want to tell you that I have composed a letter that will, I trust,
find its mark. Mr Atherton is a man of high moral integrity. He
served with great distinction on the Peninsula and has lived an
exemplary life since returning to manage Lucien’s estates. Lucien’s
low way of life, I’ve heard tell, caused him great disgust,
although I believe at one time the cousins were often together in
Town.’
    He was paving
the way towards his proposal as Olivia had imagined he would, yet
direct mention of Max, especially his upstanding character, made
her wince. Mistaking the source of her longing, her despair, he
said, ‘You will, of course, recall the terms in which Lucien
couched his wishes with regard to Julian.’
    How could she
forget? Julian was to remain under the guardianship of his uncle
until Lady Farquhar could convince Max Atherton she was ready to
acquiesce to a rigorous code of moral conduct devised by a husband
of exemplary moral character. A pillar of the church who would wash
away her sins.
    He gave her a
few moments. To squirm? Or as final reflection that Nathaniel
Kirkman was just that man?
    ‘My dear.’ He
extended his hand across the table and obediently she placed hers
within it. ‘The time has come to put an end to your suffering. You
know I can return Julian to you, and you know, also, that the
strength of my feelings overcomes any aversion to your’ – he drew
out the pause – ‘shame.’
    Olivia closed
her eyes and shuddered. To what was he referring? The countless
humiliations to which Lucien had subjected her, or…? Her throat
went dry as she forced her brain to revisit the past. Not for the
first time doubt tormented her. Could he suspect, or even know, the
truth of Julian’s parentage?
    As she opened
her eyes to face his familiar, inscrutable gaze she realized how
important it was to find out. Then the familiar anguish dragged at
her soul. What did it matter? Unless she were prepared to publicly
declare her child a bastard there could be no future with Max.
    ‘Trust me with
your future, Olivia.’ His smile over the top of his china cup was
sympathetic; as if he understood her suffering and was offering
himself to her