Let the Night Begin Read Free Page B

“Mrs. Gavin, sir. She says she is your wife.”
    Reign’s heart—damn it—flipped in his chest. “My wife?” Could it really be Olivia?
    Mrs. Willet looked positively indignant. “What nerve! Send her away, Postman.”
    â€œNo.” Both the butler and hostess looked alarmed by the force of his tone. “I would very much like to speak to her.” He turned to Mrs. Willet. “That is, if you do not mind granting me use of a parlor, ma’am?”
    â€œOf course not,” she replied with a frown. “If you are certain you wish to address this person?”
    â€œI am.” He couldn’t be any more certain.
    â€œThen show her to the peach parlor, Postman.”
    The butler bowed and took his leave. Reign prepared to do the same.
    â€œThis is not quite the diversion I had in mind,” Mrs. Willet informed him with a wry smile.
    â€œIs it not?” Reign grinned crookedly. “It is exactly how I hoped to end the evening.”
    His hostess bade him farewell and left to attend to her other guests. Reign straightened to his full height of six feet and forced himself to leave the ballroom at a leisurely pace. If Mrs. Willet was as discreet as he believed then no one would be watching him, but if she had a tongue for gossip…well, he wasn’t about to add any more fuel to that fire than necessary.
    His heart pounding, his muscles coiled tight like an overwound clock, Reign walked down the corridor, mindless of the paintings and the pretty wallpaper. His gaze was fixed on the door at the end, the one Postman just exited.
    He didn’t pause to check his appearance or draw a deep breath. If it was Olivia, she would knowwhat he had done and she would congratulate herself for it. As it was she who would no doubt hear the clamorous beating of his heart.
    The last time he saw her she had looked at him with a wounded gaze—a gaze that accused him of things he didn’t want to entertain even three decades after the fact. He had made himself a monster in her eyes. Was he still? When he thought of that night—their wedding night—it was with a mixture of regret, guilt, and anger. Mostly regret.
    He pushed the door, letting it swing fully open before stepping inside. A woman of good height and strong build stood beside the sofa. She looked up. She looked at him.
    All the breath left his lungs. It was she. It was Olivia, the woman he had loved like no other before her. There had been no one since that could make him feel so vulnerable—so oddly human.
    He liked that feeling.
    Even if he hadn’t recognized her richly hued hair—strands of faun and gold and sable, even if he hadn’t remembered those big almond-shaped brandy-colored eyes, sharp nose or wide lips, he would have known the scent of her. The taste of her on the air. He would have known her because he could hear her heart pounding as loudly as his own.
    Olivia. Beautiful and strong and bold as he remembered. His Olivia. His wife. And she wasstaring at him with a resentment he found relieving. It was so much kinder than the hatred he had last seen on her face when she discovered what he had done. Thirty years had passed and he still didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or kick her arse to the street. She obviously hadn’t forgiven him. He could live with that. He hadn’t forgiven her either.
    But she had balls, to show up on this, of all nights, knowing what it was.
    â€œHello, Liv,” he said, taking as much control of the situation as he could. “Happy anniversary.”

Chapter 2
    O livia couldn’t speak. Damn him for looking marvelous. Damn herself for wanting to throw herself on him and kiss him until dawn. She shouldn’t be so happy to see him and want to kill him at the same time.
    And damn him for remembering that it was their wedding anniversary—that was the little something that had been niggling at the back of her mind before