Led Astray by a Rake (11 page)

S
he couldn’t believe it. Well, she could, but she didn’t want to. To suddenly develop scruples now, at the last possible moment! Her body was humming from his touch, aching for more, and he was going to tell her that stopping was for her own good. It really was too much.

“I’m taking you home,” he said gravely, and sitting down on the edge of the bed, began to pull on his black evening trousers. The silky cloth slid over his thighs and his shaft, still erect, but when he saw her watching he turned prudishly away.

Olivia felt like screaming. Where had the rake gone? He’d disappeared, along with the Nic who had stood before her, naked and unabashed, talking of tutoring her in the ways of the demimondaine and making her feel weak at the knees. Now in his place stood a puritanical prude who seemed determined to spoil everything while telling her it was for her own good.

Olivia could weep with frustration, but she wouldn’t let him see how much she was affected. He’d probably offer her his handkerchief
and tell her she’d have forgotten all about him by morning. She’d had such hopes for tonight, such certainty that he would finally wake up to the truth, and instead she was right back where she’d started.

“There’s no need for you to take me home. I’m staying at the inn,” she informed him coldly. “Besides, I might remain at the ball for a little longer. I was enjoying myself before you—”

“Spoiled it?” he mocked, and began to pull on his white shirt, covering the broad expanse of his wonderful chest.

“Exactly.”

“Believe me, Olivia, you’d be sorry if I left you here. These people don’t have your best interests in mind.”

“I thought they were your friends!”

“They are acquaintances, and I hold no illusions about their reasons for being here.”

“How do you know I’d feel sorry if you left me here? You don’t know me at all. I might be glad!”

He didn’t seem repentant, and the look he gave her was totally unmoved. “You are coming home. That inn is no place for you. I will have someone collect your belongings and then we will leave.”

Olivia opened her mouth to argue, and then paused as the meaning of his words sank in. “But I thought you were going to Paris?”

“I thought I was, too,” he muttered, stooping to pull on his shoes.

He wasn’t going. He was changing his plans. For her. Olivia tried hard not to let a triumphant smile slip out. She’d won! Not in the way she expected, but nevertheless she had won this bout.

Slowly, as though unwilling, she climbed off the bed and began to straighten her clothing. Now that her head was clearing she couldn’t help but notice her surroundings. The bedchamber was shabby and none too clean, and there was an odd smell coming from the empty fireplace, as if something had died in the chimney. This was not the sort of place she would have chosen to be initiated by Nic into the pleasures of the flesh. She gave a shiver, and then started as his arm came around her shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he said, his deep voice sending more chills up her back. “Did you bring a cloak, Olivia?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll fetch it on our way out. Are you ready? Can you walk in your stockings, or would you rather I carried you?” His eyes slid down, and for a moment he seemed to lose his train of thought, before his gaze skittered away.

Olivia looked down at herself. The décolletage had slipped again, and once more she tugged it up to a respectable height. “I will walk, thank you,” she said. As they went toward the stairs, she noticed Nic was limping quite badly, and she was glad she hadn’t asked to be carried. He’d already carried her from the ballroom, she remembered, and he’d only just recovered from his fall. Had he
injured himself further? She thought about asking him, but knew it would only make him cross to draw attention to his infirmity—he seemed to consider his lame leg a weakness of character rather than a physical affliction.

Downstairs, her cloak was fetched, and Nic sent for his coach. When it arrived, Olivia was surprised to see Abbot with it. “Miss Monteith!” he said, obviously as surprised to see her. “How…how extraordinary!”

Nic gave his manservant a cool glance. “‘Extraordinary’ is one word for Miss Monteith’s appearance at the demimonde ball, Abbot, but I can think of others. I’m wondering exactly how she managed to get here all by herself.”

Immediately Abbot’s face assumed a blank expression.

“I am very glad to see you, Abbot,” Olivia said, with a reproving frown at Nic. “I did not realize you were attending the ball, too. What do you do while Lord Lacey perambulates?”

Abbot’s mouth twitched. “I wait, Miss Monteith. This ball is not for the likes of me.”

“When you are both quite finished passing the time of day…” Nic interrupted with quiet menace.

Abbot hastily resumed his blank servant face. “I’m sorry, my lord. May I inquire if we are still going to Paris now that Miss Monteith is here? You are not thinking of taking her with us, surely?”

“Do I hear a note of censure in your voice,
Abbot?” Nic asked in a silky voice. “I don’t expect my morals to be questioned by my inferiors.”

Abbot stiffened. “I am not questioning your morals, Lord Lacey. I am simply asking whether your plans have altered.”

“As a matter of fact my plans
have
altered. We’re not going to Paris after all…at least not today. We are going to Miss Monteith’s inn so that you can collect her belongings and find her some slippers, and then we are taking her home to Bassingthorpe.”

Taken off guard, Abbot forgot himself. “Well, I am relieved!”

Nic’s eyes narrowed even more dangerously. “Did you say relieved?”

Abbot hesitated and then appeared to decide that if he was already in trouble, he might as well go ahead and express his true feelings. “We are neither of us getting any younger, my lord. Speaking for myself, I would much rather go home to Bassingthorpe than argue with French domestics when the housekeeping in Paris does not please you.”

Olivia held her breath, prepared for Nic to give his manservant a severe set-down. So it came as a surprise when instead he sighed and said, quite mildly, “You are becoming a bore, Abbot. Especially when you are right. Now if we are quite finished with the nonsense, we must get going, or it will be dawn before we start.”

Abbot apologized, although Olivia didn’t think it necessarily his fault, but as he opened the coach
door for Olivia, she caught the hint of a smile in his eyes. Perhaps she had things all wrong, she thought, and what had seemed like an argument to her was simply Nic and Abbot’s way of sorting out their differences.

“Are you comfortable?” Nic was watching her from his corner.

“Thank you, yes.”

The Lacey coach might be an antique, old and heavy, but the interior was sumptuous. There was even a monogram etched into the glass windows, an M and a W entwined.

“Who are M and W?” she said, touching the cold glass.

“My parents. It was a love match. You’ll find M and W all over the castle.”

Remembering Nic’s mother and her harsh, unsmiling countenance, Olivia found it difficult to believe she was ever young and in love. She wondered what sort of childhood Nic might have had, and whether love had much to do with it.

Things would be very different when she became the next Lady Lacey, she told herself. Their children would be welcomed and loved, and Castle Lacey would ring with laughter rather than tears. Her thoughts were full of the blind determination that had carried her this far, and if there was a hint of doubt in her heart, then she refused to listen to it. Olivia knew she’d come too far to turn back.

But just for a moment she stared at the entwined letters on the coach window, thinking that not all
dreams came true, and not everyone ended up happily ever after, and it was like staring into a cold, deep chasm that had opened unexpectedly in front of her feet.

Nic was trying to sleep. He was tired but not tired enough to stop the brooding thoughts whirling around in his head. After Abbot had collected Olivia’s belongings from the inn and paid her bill, she’d cuddled up in her cloak and a lap rug provided by the ever-reliable Abbot, and promptly fallen asleep. In repose her face held an innocence that made him feel even more ashamed of his lack of self-control.

In the past he’d always assured himself that the women with whom he consorted knew the rules of the game. They were professionals. He did not pursue innocents, and he did not seduce respectable women. The one time he’d become involved with the seduction of a respectable woman, disaster had come crashing down on his family. His father had died as a consequence, and his mother blamed him for his father’s death. Nine years later, Nic was still entangled in that web of deceit and lies.

Why then was he about to make the same mistake? Pursuing and seducing an innocent, no matter that she seemed to want to be pursued and seduced, would have serious repercussions for them both. He’d be setting a marriage trap for himself and dragging Olivia Monteith into the mire of scandal and disgrace.

She didn’t deserve that and he didn’t need the complication.

Eyes closed, Nic toyed with the thought that perhaps he should let Theodore have her. The man was clearly in love with her, and although in Nic’s opinion he wasn’t nearly good enough, Nic had to grudgingly admit that Theodore would do his utmost to look after her. Olivia would be comfortably off, cared for, and treated as she deserved—like a queen.

And with Olivia safe, Nic could then travel to Paris with a clear conscience, despite what Abbot said about being too old.

Blast the man!

He reminded himself that there was a time when Abbot would never have dared to speak to him like that. It was just that after so many years together they had become as familiar with each other as…as, well, friends. The word startled him. He could hear Abbot and the coach driver now, their voices rising and falling over the rattle and rumble of the wheels. He remembered how overjoyed Abbot had seemed when he found out they were taking Olivia home, and how concerned he’d appeared to be that some harm might come to her.

No, Nic admitted uneasily, that wasn’t quite right. Abbot had been concerned that
Nic
might harm her.

He shifted in his seat, easing his leg into a more comfortable position. Surely Abbot didn’t believe that Nic would really harm Olivia? He might have
seen his master do some things they would both rather forget, but Abbot also knew Nic had his own moral code. Nic Lacey had been brought up as a gentleman, and at heart that was what he still was.

What the devil did Abbot want him to do? But he thought he knew. Abbot wanted Nic to marry her. He hankered for the quiet domestic life, wearing slippers and putting his feet up in the evenings, wearing a nightcap and drinking a glass of hot milk. Well, Nic thought irritably, Abbot might be ready to retire but
he
wasn’t. And why the hell, he asked himself angrily, should he care what Abbot thought anyway!

Nic sank into brooding, his thoughts going around and around, as the coach rumbled onward.

Olivia woke off and on throughout the journey. She was warm and relaxed, and the movement of the coach was soothing. As well as refurbishing the interior, Nic must have had the springs replaced. She could see him across from her, head back against the velvet squabs, eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. Now and again he would give a soft snore.

She felt easy and comfortable in his company, and she couldn’t help but wonder how she might have felt if Nic had done as she wanted him to, and slid deep into her body and made her his own. Surely such intimacy would have brought them even closer, created a bond between them, for how could it not?

The memory brought a smile to her lips. The moments with Nic, brief as they had been, boded well for their future happiness. Olivia was no shrinking violet, and she looked forward to spending many nights in Nic’s bed. And he was obviously physically attracted to her. She imagined them together, enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, as he tutored her in all he knew. And because he was a rake and knew so much, it would take him a long time to teach her everything.

And then what?

Olivia admitted to herself that if she did have a worry about their future, it was that he might grow bored with her. Once they were used to each other, once they had discovered all their secrets, would he return to his old ways? There was that old cynical saying, “Familiarity breeds contempt,” and unfortunately in Olivia’s experience there was some truth to it. She pictured herself in a year’s time, alone in the drafty castle, while Nic rode off in splendor to the demimonde ball…

“No!”

Olivia heard her own voice with a shock, and held her breath as Nic stirred, a frown creasing his brow, before settling into sleep again.

No
,
I won’t let him go off alone. If he insists on going to the demimonde ball, then I will insist on going with him!

W
hen at last Nic opened his eyes, he found they were on the outskirts of Bassingthorpe. Surprisingly, in the circumstances, he had slept deeply and well, better than he’d slept for a long time. On the few occasions during the journey when he’d awoken, he’d only had to look across at Olivia’s beautiful, calm face, and he’d drifted off again, perfectly content.

He yawned and stretched, sitting up straight. Olivia was also awake, watching him sleepily, the hood of her cloak drawn over her head so that only the pale oval of her face was visible.

“You were snoring,” she announced.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I am a very sound sleeper.” She smiled, and then turned to the window. “We’re home,” she announced, and sighed, as if the fact was a disappointment to her rather than the relief it was to him.

“Yes, we are.”

She looked down at herself, at the black velvet
visible beneath her cloak. “I can’t let anyone see me in this.”

He was tempted to frighten her into thinking he was going to drop her at her gate and leave her to explain herself, just to teach her a lesson. But she looked so woebegone he didn’t have the heart.

“We’re going to Castle Lacey first. You can change your clothing there.”

“Thank you. I am grateful.”

“I’ll wager you are, you minx. How on earth did you manage to get to the demimonde ball in the first place without Mrs. Monteith finding out what you were up to?”

“I told her I’d been invited to one of my friend’s homes outside London, to celebrate her birthday. My friend—her name is Marissa—agreed to help me and arranged for a coach to collect me and take me to the ball.”

“So you and your friend are both complicit in the lie. Who is this Marissa and why should she help you to ruin yourself?”

“Marissa is…never mind.” Olivia pulled a face. “Yes, you’re right, I did lie. But it was either that or be locked in my room and married off immediately to Mr. Garsed.”

“Perhaps being married off to Mr. Garsed would be the best thing for you, Olivia.”

“You were warning me against him before!”

“Yes, but I’ve had a chance to reconsider the matter. If you married Theodore you’d certainly have far more freedom than you have now.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Freedom?”

“Yes. The man’s besotted with you. If you were so inclined you could twist him around your little finger.”

Olivia shook her head at him pityingly. “Is that all you think I want? A man I can run rings around by pretending an affection I don’t feel? I don’t think either of us would be very happy in those circumstances, do you?”

Nic shrugged, assuming a bored expression. “Is marriage meant to be happy? Perhaps you’ve wasted your time reading too many romantic novels.”

“Perhaps
you
haven’t read enough,” she snapped.

Despite himself, Nic grinned. “I have read quite a few warm books, do they count?”

“You’re avoiding the question. You’ve decided it would be best if I marry Mr. Garsed so that you won’t have to bother about me anymore. That’s it, isn’t it, Nic? You want to go back to your cozy life where you don’t have to care about anyone, and if you start to care, well, you can just pay them off.”

Nic felt a tingle of shock as her words sank in. Was that true, was he such a cold and heartless bastard? He tightened his mouth. Well, even if it was true, she had no right to judge him.

“I refuse to be miserable just so that you can lead an easy life.” She folded her arms and stared from the window, refusing to look at him.

“Am I spoiling your rosy dreams of love?” he mocked. “Better you learn the cold realities now than be disappointed later. In my experience love
is merely a fantasy, a biological trick to lead naïve couples into the sort of illogical behavior that usually ends in disaster.”

Now she was looking at him, her blue eyes narrowed as if she was seeing inside him and didn’t like what she saw. “What a horribly bleak way of looking at things!”

He shrugged. He supposed it was a bleak outlook, but he’d been shaped by his past, and he wasn’t going to change his mind now. If Olivia was seeking a husband with bright and shiny dreams of a future together, then it was just as well for her sake, and his, that Nic had not the slightest intention of marrying her.

“You didn’t used to talk like this.”

“Perhaps I didn’t want to spoil your childish dreams.”

“And then I grew so boring you dropped me.”

He met her quizzical gaze and forced a bland smile. “Exactly.”

“Nic, if you’d only let me, I could—”

“No!” He took a deep breath, moderating his tone. “Olivia, please. Enough. Let’s just get this over with as painlessly as possible. Then you can go home and I can go to bed, and we can forget this ever happened.”

She gave him one last glare and turned back to the window.

They were still not speaking—and Nic thanked God for it—when they trundled up the driveway to Castle Lacey. His mother’s house was in darkness, and there were no lights from the castle. Although
the dawn light was creeping across the park and gardens, reflecting in the mullioned windows, the buildings themselves looked forbidding. Not the cheeriest of homecomings, especially when he’d left so recently believing he wouldn’t be back for several months.

It wasn’t always like this. Nic had to admit that when his father was alive and his mother was speaking to him, the atmosphere had been different. His childhood hadn’t been unpleasant, not at all. As an only child he’d been spoiled, and he knew at school he’d caused his parents quite a bit of worry and despair, but they’d sorted through that. The day he saved the child Olivia from drowning he’d realized what a fool he was being, and he’d made a vow to do better. Eventually he would have grown into the man they expected him to be and everything would have been all right. If only…

“Nic?”

Olivia’s voice startled him out of his gloomy thoughts. She was watching him, a worried crease between her brows.

“Hmm?”

“Won’t Lady Lacey be wondering who is arriving so early?”

“My mother occupies the gatehouse these days. She doesn’t interfere in my life, nor I in hers. Don’t fret, Olivia, she won’t come poking her nose in where it isn’t wanted.”

“Is it true—” she began, but whatever she meant to ask was never finished. The coach drew to a halt
before the castle, and the next moment Abbot was busy opening the door. Olivia gave him a smile as she was assisted out into the chilly morning.

“I’ll get rid of any of the servants who may be up,” Abbot said to his master. “Then Miss Monteith can be comfortable.”

“By all means let’s make sure that Miss Monteith is comfortable,” Nic replied dryly.

“It may take me some little while,” Abbot went on, pointedly ignoring his tone. “I suggest you take your time, my lord. Admire the roses. I have been told they are at their best in the dawn dew.”

Nic groaned, but Olivia was already smiling and declaring, “What a good idea, Abbot!”

It wasn’t until Abbot had gone and they were alone that she seemed to recall his lame leg. He blamed himself for stumbling, slightly, as he opened the gate into the walled garden. Olivia opened her mouth, met his gaze, and closed it again. He was grateful she had the wit to realize he wouldn’t appreciate her drawing attention to his status as a cripple.

But Olivia could never be kept down for long. Now, smiling, she took his arm in hers, surreptitiously supporting him. “Isn’t this lovely,” she murmured, breathing deeply of the cold, clear air. “So—so bracing.”

Knowing very well what she was about, Nic shot her a mocking glance. “Extremely bracing,” he added. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so braced.”

Her smile wavered. “I am trying to be polite,”
she said quietly. “I know it is difficult, considering it is barely light, we are hiding from the servants, you are in a foul mood, and my feet hurt from dancing most of the night. But I am trying.”

Blast it! Nic wished she wouldn’t do that—make him feel like a cruel monster. Now he would have to make it up to her, he thought, as they made their way into the rose garden.

“I call this one Mildred’s Rose,” he said, pausing by a particularly enormous bloom. “The scent reminds me of an old aunt who has long since died. She reeked of a perfume just like this.”

Olivia bent and breathed in the scent. “Oh. It is a little peculiar.”

“She was a peculiar woman.”

She smiled uncertainly, and they moved on, and he pointed out another rose, smaller and darker, with yellow stamens.

“This one makes me think of a woman I met in Brighton. I don’t know why.”

“Or you won’t tell me,” she retorted.

“Probably,” he said, with a twitch of his lips.

But Olivia had found something more to her taste, and she exclaimed over the full and exquisite bloom, before burying her nose in the huge cup of purple-pink petals. “Oh, heavenly,” she sighed. “So romantic.”

When she lifted her head Nic noticed she had some pollen on the tip of her nose.

“Do you know the name of this one?” she said, glancing at him cautiously as he continued to stare. “Nic?”

“No. I’m sorry, but I don’t. My mother will know. I’ll see if I can find out.”

“You’ll ask her for me?” There was something in the question that made him think she wanted him to confide in her, and when he didn’t immediately answer, she answered it herself. “It’s true, isn’t it, what the gossips in the village say? You and your mother don’t speak, do you?”

Nic gave her a sideways glance. “Yes, it’s true. My mother and I do not speak. We have not spoken for a very long time.”

“I wish I knew why, Nic.”

He could see her thoughts in her eyes. What had he done that was so terrible that his mother no longer had contact with him? What was the dark and desperate secret of Castle Lacey? He wondered what would happen if he told her the truth, but he didn’t really have to wonder. He knew.

“Nic?”

Instead of answering her, Nic reached out and brushed his fingertip down her nose, holding it up for her to see the smear of bright yellow pollen.

“Oh.” She blushed. “Thank you.”

He smiled down at her, and their gazes met and tangled, and at that moment he knew he was going to kiss her. He was saved from making another mistake by the sound of a voice drifting from the direction of the castle.

“Is that Abbot?” Olivia said, turning to look.

It was indeed Abbot, waving at them from the steps on the terrace.

“Come on,” Nic said, sounding relieved. They
made their way back through the rose garden to the gate, and he strove to walk without limping as they hurried toward the terrace. His leg still hadn’t mended from his fall and the cold air wasn’t helping, but he was eager to get Olivia home.

Nic didn’t trust himself, and it was getting more and more difficult to remember why he couldn’t have her.

Olivia followed Abbot as he led them to a small room off the salon, where a fire was warming the room, and two chairs were drawn up before it. Nic moved to hold his hands out to the flames, leaning against the mantelpiece, so that he could ease the weight on his painful leg. Olivia slipped off her cloak and sat down, surreptitiously checking to see whether her dress was decent.

A moment later Abbot returned with a tray of food, bits and pieces from the pantry, and a jug of red wine and two goblets. Nic splashed the liquid carelessly into the goblets and swallowed down his own.

“You may as well go to bed, Abbot,” he said, refilling his goblet.

Abbot looked at Olivia, an uneasy expression in his eyes. “What about Miss Monteith?” he protested.

Nic met his gaze and held it. “Don’t you trust me to deal with Miss Monteith, Abbot?” he said lightly, but there was an underlying note of something more serious in his voice.

“I thought you might prefer to go to bed and let
me
deal with Miss Monteith, my lord. Your leg has not yet healed and—”

“I am not quite a cripple yet, thank you, Abbot. I will do what is necessary to see Miss Monteith is safe.”

Abbot hovered in the room, clearly not wanting to obey, but Nic was having none of it.

“Go, Abbot. Unless you don’t trust me. Is that it? Don’t you trust me to behave like a gentleman?”

Abbot knew when he was beaten. “Nothing of the kind, sir. Good night.” His manservant bowed low, and closed the door carefully behind him.

There was an awkward silence.

Nic rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Blast it,” he muttered. “Why does he have to put my back up? He should know by now what is and isn’t acceptable in a servant. In
my
servant.”

“He was only trying to be thoughtful,” Olivia replied soothingly.

“So was I,” he retorted. He took another swallow of the wine and nodded at the platter. “Are you hungry?”

In truth, Olivia felt light-headed from the late night and now the red wine she was sipping. She took a piece of cold meat and popped it into her mouth, adding a slice of cheese and a crust of bread. There was nothing sophisticated about the meal—Theodore Garsed would be appalled—but she thought it tasted delicious. It was a moment before she noticed that Nic wasn’t eating, although he’d poured himself yet another goblet of wine.

His face was wearing that dark, brooding expression that never seemed to bode well.

Not that she was afraid of him, she told herself. How could she be afraid of Lord Lacey when she had set her heart on making him her husband? Anxiously she slid another piece of food from the platter into her mouth, only realizing as she bit down that she’d inadvertently taken a pickled onion.

The vinegary taste took her breath away. Olivia coughed, trying to stifle it, but that only made things worse. She coughed again, and then as the stinging fumes reached her nose and eyes, sneezed violently. A large handkerchief appeared in front of her and she took it gratefully. When she finished mopping her face, she cleared her throat and tried for a calm smile.

Nic was watching her with concern. “Olivia?”

Her calm smile trembled at the edges. “Pickled onion,” she whispered shakily.

He glanced at the tray, then glanced at her, and his expression cleared. He began to laugh. Olivia found herself joining in. It wasn’t really funny, but it gave them the chance to release the tension, and she was delighted to see the brooding, haunted look had vanished from Nic’s face. He took one of the onions himself, pulling a face as he crunched into it.