The Fifth Kiss Read Free

discover for herself that her adored husband, the so-brilliant, so-striking, so-gifted Miles Strickland, the Earl of Langley, had been standing back there on the street, brazenly—and with disgusting fervor—embracing a tart!

chapter two
    Olivia slept fitfully that night, troubled to the depths of her being by indecision. On the one hand, she felt disloyal to her sister by not revealing what she’d seen. On the other, she was revolted by the prospect of having to play the role of tale bearer—and of such an ugly, distressful sort of tale as that.
    Besides, she knew herself well enough to understand that she was not at all comfortable in dealing with matters of the heart. She’d had no experience of love herself, and she knew nothing of married life, not even as an observer. She was vaguely aware that she’d been brought up in an abnormal household. She had no recollection of her mother, and she had difficulty imagining her father in the role of a loving husband, although she’d been told he’d been a devoted one. As a father, Sir Octavius Matthews was a failure, not so much from a lack of warmth as from a pervading absentmindedness and lack of interest. It was as if his Greek studies absorbed so much of his emotions that there was nothing left for his family.
    It was not at all the case that Olivia felt neglected or unloved. Her sister had been a most affectionate mother-substitute, and her brother, Charles, a wise and fond surrogate father. Even Jamie, self-centered and hedonistic as he was, treated her with playful affection. Nevertheless, Olivia realized that she had never experienced the normal relationships which existed in a household presided over by a happily married couple who showered each other and their offspring with natural and loving attention.
    Olivia had never felt sorry for herself and only rarely yearned for a more conventional existence. But she’d never missed having a real mother as much as she did this night. How comforting it would have been to be able to confide in a sensible, thoughtful, mature woman. But the Mama of her imagination was too vague and indistinct a person to offer advice, and Olivia got out of bed the next morning no more certain of a course of action than she’d been the night before.
    The morning was cold and wet, but the weather had evidently not daunted Clara. From across the hall, Olivia could hear the telltale sounds of Clara’s stirrings as she packed to leave. Olivia dressed quickly and started across the corridor to assist her, but some instinct kept her from knocking at the door. Perhaps , she thought as she turned away, it would be best to avoid Clara until I’ve made up my mind about what to do .
    Seeking some sort of help or advice, she wandered down the stairs and into her father’s study. Although it was not yet eight, he was already bent over the papers on his desk, hard at work on his translation of Thucydides’ Melian Dialogue . She crept up behind him and planted a light kiss on the top of his head. “Will you come to breakfast with us, Papa?” she asked as he looked up at her, blinking distractedly. “Clara’s leaving this morning.”
    Sir Octavius looked at his daughter through his spectacles, his eyes foggily revealing his struggle to concentrate on the Athenian envoys in the book before him rather than on this unwelcome interruption. “Is she leaving already?” he asked absently. “I thought she intended to remain for a few more days.”
    â€œShe’s been here over a week, you know,” Olivia explained patiently.
    â€œHas she?” He shook his head and lowered his eyes to the pages before him. “I don’t know where the time goes.”
    Olivia persisted in her attempt to gain his attention. “Leave the Athenians for a few minutes, Papa. I want to talk to you.”
    â€œYes, yes, but let me jot this down first. The Melians are saying, ‘It is