Led Astray by a Rake (4 page)

N
ic wasn’t pleased. He was irritated and annoyed, mostly with himself. He’d sworn he wouldn’t respond to the note sent to him by Olivia Monteith yesterday evening, that he would find something far more important to do, or go for a ride, or browse his father’s collection of books in the library. Why should he meet her? They might be neighbors, but it wasn’t as if he had an obligation to her.

But try as he might, he hadn’t been able to put her from his mind. The questions kept coming, crowding his thoughts, agitating him so much he couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

What did she mean by “urgent”? How could a meeting by the stream possibly be urgent? And why had she chosen him as the ultimate prize in her mad quest for a husband? Surely there were plenty of other men out there, men who would be far more eager to succumb to her charms?

Meeting with her would be a big mistake.

And yet, now, here he was, striding furiously through the woods toward the stream that
marked the boundary between his land and the village, his glower dark enough to frighten the birds down from the trees.

His foul mood wasn’t helped by the fact that he had run into his mother in the walled garden that morning. Not literally, of course, but they had both turned a corner at the same time and found themselves face-to-face.

His first thought, after the shock of seeing her, was that she looked old and tired. Although they lived on the same estate, she in the gatehouse and he in the castle itself, they did not see or speak to each other. His mother had not spoken to him directly since 1828. She preferred to communicate through the servants and the occasional terse note.

And suddenly there they were, inches apart.

But if he’d expected that morning to be the start of a new era of understanding, he soon realized his mistake. Her dark eyes widened, her mouth tightened, and she spun around and began to walk away with an angry rustle of her black skirts. Black, of course black. She’d been in mourning ever since his father died. He’d been told by Abbot that she still had a place set at her table for him, in case his spirit might decide to join her for dinner.

The idea made him queasy. Imagine sharing a table with his father’s ghost. No, thank you. But it seemed a waste for her to be so obsessed with a dead man, when her son was still living. Was it any wonder Nic spent more time away from the castle than in it?

He strode on through the woods, feeling upset and irritable, and knowing the last thing he wanted to do was listen to Miss Monteith’s fantastical imaginings of married bless. Nic slipped his fob watch from his pocket and flipped open the cover. Two o’clock, exactly. He could only hope she wouldn’t turn up.

It was the last coherent thought Nic had as he stepped from the leafy trees and onto the grassy bank of the stream.

Olivia Monteith had kept their assignation, but she wasn’t standing, waiting, demurely on the bank. She was balanced preciously on the stepping stones out in the middle of the deep, fast-flowing steam. The very same stones she’d been standing on all those years ago.

Nic heard himself shout. Even as his memory reminded him that this was what had happened last time, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“For God’s sake, get down from there!”

She looked up.

She was wearing a pale lemon dress, the hem lifted so that he could see her slippers as she balanced on the slippery stones, and her fine stockings molded to her trim ankles and calves. Her hair was pinned up simply, making a halo of gold for her beautiful face. Olivia Monteith was no longer a child, she was a woman, and she took his breath away.

“I’m not going to fall this time,” she called to him.

Nic found he could breathe again.

“I’m going to jump.”

He shouted, but it was too late. She sprang neatly from the stones and landed with a splash. A moment later she’d gone under the swift, rushing water. Cursing, he waded into the freezing stream, not even pausing to take off his boots.

She came up, spluttering and splashing wildly in her attempts to stay afloat. She started to sink again, weighed down by her clothing, just as he reached her.

“Of all the ridiculous, dangerous stunts…” he said, or tried to between mouthfuls of water. He wrapped an arm about her and began hauling her toward the bank. He expected her to struggle, but she didn’t, and he wondered whether that was because she trusted him to rescue her or because she was half drowned.

He soon discovered it was the latter.

When they reached the bank she could barely help herself at all, and he ended up pushing and pulling her shivering body onto dry land. By the time he’d got himself out of the water, she’d crawled several feet away and was lying on her stomach in the grass, her tangled hair covering her face, and her sodden lemon dress clinging to her body. Nic turned her over, smoothing her hair away so that he could see her face properly.

Olivia’s lashes were very dark against her white cheeks. They fluttered and her eyes opened, purest sapphire blue, and she gave him a feeble smile. “I knew you hadn’t changed,” she rasped.
A second later her eyes widened, her face took on a green cast, and she looked about wildly, trying to sit up.

Nic turned her onto her side as she retched, bringing up the water she’d swallowed. When she was done, he wrung out his handkerchief and, lifting her into his arms, proceeded to wipe her face. “You bloody fool, woman,” he growled as he worked. “Are you trying to kill yourself? Or do you want me to be blamed for your death as well as—as—?”

He stuttered to a stop just in time, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

Nic dug into his pocket, and his fingers closed on the silver flask that was his father’s. It went everywhere with him, and he was thankful he’d thought to refill it only that morning. He tilted Olivia’s head back, pouring brandy down her throat.

“No…” she gasped, pushing his hand away.

“Yes. More.”

She gave him a mutinous look and then took another sip. The color had come back into her cheeks, and her eyes had lost their glassy stare. As he recapped the flask, she gave a sigh and snuggled against his chest. He could feel her soft bosom, and when he looked down, he realized that her pale dress was clinging to her like a second skin. He could see the full curved shape of her breasts, and more interestingly, the jut of her cold nipples.

A bolt of lust speared through him.

He might have conquered it. He hadn’t forgotten that he used to be a gentleman. And then the minx lifted her long, dark lashes and gazed into his eyes with a look that a man of his experience couldn’t mistake. With a groan, Nic bent his head and kissed her.

Her lips were cold and tasted of brandy, but she was enthusiastic. Very enthusiastic. He tried to slow her down, turning his attention to her cheeks, her eyelids, the curve of her jaw. She acquiesced for a brief moment, and then she took control. Olivia reached up, clamping her frozen palms on either side of his face, and held him still.

“This is what I want,” she whispered, and with that she leaned forward and began to kiss his lips again.

So this was what she wanted? She was obviously a direct kind of woman. A hot and hard kind of woman. Well, he thought, he’d give it to her hot and hard.

He tilted her over his arm to get better access to her mouth, and dived in. He felt her stiffen, briefly, and then give a little whimper. Her tongue slid along his, her arms clung about his neck. If he hadn’t known better, he would never have believed it was the cool and beautiful Miss Monteith he held in his arms, but some wild, passionate Gypsy wench eager to dispose of her virginity…

What the devil am I doing?

Shocked to the core, Nic pushed her away and
stumbled to his feet. He staggered a few steps, turning his back, knowing he was fully erect and not wanting her to see the tent in his trousers. She had almost drowned and now he was about to ravish her. Even for Wicked Nic that was pretty dastardly. Nic took several deep, calming breaths before he finally dared to turn back to look at her.

She was sitting up, still bedraggled, but she’d twisted her water-darkened hair into a knot at her nape and she was watching him with that direct, disconcerting look, as if waiting to see what he would do next.

“I apologize,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want you to apologize. I enjoyed it.”

“I apologize anyway.”

“Nic, I wanted you to kiss me. Surely you knew that? I wanted you to save me.” Her face lit up. “And you did.”

“What if I hadn’t been here?” he retorted, the anger returning to his voice. “You could have drowned.”

“But you
were
here. I’ve been trying to think of a way to break through the distance that has grown up between us, to bring back that easiness we used to feel in each other’s company.”

“So you decided to relive the past?” he growled.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Her blue eyes were full of laughter, as if she found the situation amusing.

He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to strangle her. If he touched her again…well, who knew what might happen. He was Wicked Nic, after all.

As if she’d read his mind she said bluntly, “You want me, don’t you? You want me as a—a man wants a woman.” That little stumble told him everything about her innocence when it came to the subject, and he might have smiled if he wasn’t so tense.

“Of course I bloody want you!” he roared. “But I can’t have you!”

Olivia Monteith stood up, her wet dress outlining her body in a manner that made him want to weep with desire. “Yes, Nic, you can. Marry me.”

It was finally more than he could bear. Another moment and he’d throw himself upon her, and he couldn’t risk that. With a muttered curse he strode away from her as fast as he could, back through the woods to his own land, and to safety.

He didn’t expect her to follow him, and she didn’t. He’d answered her question, and he cursed himself again for being too weak to resist her. So weak that he had to rush off and leave her, bedraggled and cold, and alone by the stream. A stream she would no doubt cross again to get home, rather than go the long way by the path and the bridge.

What if she fell in and this time there was no one there to rescue her?

Nic hesitated, slowed, then stopped. He wanted to keep walking, get home, and change out of his wet clothes, but he knew he couldn’t do it. He was either a hero or a fool, but he couldn’t do it. With a groan, he turned back.

O
livia grimaced, her dress dripping, her slippers squishing, as she walked back to the stepping stones. She was remembering the place in the woods where she had left her bundle of dry clothing—she had no intention of arriving home in a state that would make any explanations necessary. The stones looked slippery but it would take her only a moment to cross them, while if she went the long way, by the path to the bridge, it would take at least forty minutes. She shivered despite the sunshine. She’d crossed the stones many times since she was a child, and she wasn’t afraid of falling in.

Actually, the way she felt at the moment, she might simply float from stone to stone. Olivia was so full of elation and triumph, she really did feel as if she were floating as she began to cross the stepping stones. Her plan had worked—the ice between them was well and truly broken, and soon they’d be back on their old friendly footing. Nic Lacey hadn’t changed, he was still the kind and generous man he had been years ago—the type of
man you could rely on and trust. A hero in black sheep’s clothing. She’d loved him then and she loved him now, and she knew in her heart there would never be another man for her.

And added to that, he kissed her in a way that made her body go warm and shivery and her toes curl. He’d held her as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and she liked that. Nic Lacey was a rake, a master of pleasure, and Olivia couldn’t wait to benefit from his experience.

She chuckled, and then laughed out loud, remembering how she had kissed him and he had wanted her so much he hadn’t been able to resist. Surely that was a very good start to their courtship?

“Watch where you’re putting your feet, Olivia!”

His voice was so loud and so close, she jumped, forgetting how precarious her position was. She wobbled around to face him. He was standing on the first stone, only about three behind her, his wet dark hair dripping into his eyes, looking cross and rumpled and worried.

Her foot slipped, she tried to retrieve her balance, failed, gave a little scream, and toppled into the water.

Again.

The stream closed over her head, and she felt the tug of the current. Her slippers touched the pebbly bottom and she tried to use it as a springboard, but her legs were pulled from under her, and she found herself suddenly so disoriented she didn’t know what was up and what was down.
Black swirls and eddies formed around her, her already soaked clothing weighing her down like an anchor, and she began to lose consciousness.

Olivia’s last thought was the unfairness of it, that just as her life was beginning it should end.

Someone was carrying her. Her head was uncomfortably arched backward, as if her neck could no longer support it, and her throat ached appallingly. She struggled to sit up, kicking her feet and flapping her hands like a landed fish, only to be swung up and around, making her feel sick and dizzy. The next moment she was bent like a bow over his shoulder, his hand planted firmly on her bottom to keep her there, while her head now hung toward the ground, her stomach lurching with each step he took.

“Let me down!” she wailed.

“No. You’d only drown again.”

“Please…”

But he took no notice. Olivia tried to work out where she was from the upside-down world around her. Then she knew. Nic was climbing the broad, shallow steps that led to the side terrace of Castle Lacey; he must have carried her all the way from the stream. Her stomach jolted as he half ran to the glass doors, fumbled at the catch, and carried her inside.

“Abbot!” he was shouting. “Where the hell are you, man? I need you. At once!”

After that there were hurrying footsteps and panicked voices, and Abbot saying, “Put her
down here, sir,” as if he attended to half-drowned ladies every day.

Nic put her down, and when Olivia’s head had stopped spinning, she found herself deep in a leather armchair, wrapped in blankets, while Abbot busied himself with lighting a fire. They seemed to be alone, she thought, her gaze wandering…No, Nic was there, standing with his back to her and dripping all over the carpet. He was pouring a drink into a glass and he came and knelt beside her. She noticed he looked very pale, his hair plastered to his head, and his thick brows were drawn down into a frown that would frighten most people.

“Drink this.”

She drank it. More brandy. It burned her throat, and she leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the restorative do its job. She could hear Abbot and Nic speaking in low voices, and then footsteps and the door closing as Abbot left. The fire was blazing away now, and she felt quite warm despite her soaking. Sleepy and warm.

“What on earth possessed you?” Nic said, coldly for a man with so much passion.

“If you hadn’t yelled right behind me—”

“You were laughing. Are you insane?”

Olivia felt her face flush. “I thought you’d gone. I was crossing the stream on my way home. Why were you spying on me?”

Nic’s frown grew even darker. “It suddenly occurred to me that you might do something stupid like take the short way over the stream instead of
walking to the bridge. I wanted to make sure you arrived home safely.”

“So you proceeded to drown me?”

His frown lifted, and something approaching a smile twitched his lips. “No, you managed that perfectly well on your own.”

“Now
you
’re laughing. Are
you
insane?”

“I think I must be, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

His dark eyes were intent on hers. Suddenly he smiled properly, his saturnine face changing into handsomeness. “Damned if I know.” But he did know. Slowly his gaze slid over her face, her throat, her bosom, taking his time, exploring every inch of her as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

How did he do that?
she asked herself, with a shiver. How did he manage to make her squirm and grow hot, just by looking? Until she was longing for…she knew not what.

“Perhaps I’ve brought you here to ravish you, Olivia. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To be ravished by Wicked Nic Lacey?”

She opened her mouth to say yes, but closed it again. Suddenly she wasn’t so certain. The tension in him, as if he was barely under control, made her wary. She was not such an innocent that she didn’t know some men were dangerous, untamed creatures, and rakes were particularly dangerous. Her hesitation now was pure instinct, and had nothing to do with her brain or her emotions.

“Are you having second thoughts?” He laughed quietly, moving closer and resting his long fingers on her shoulder. His thumb rubbed against her neck, making circles, and her breathing quickened. Olivia forced herself to steady it; time to take the initiative again.

“Ravish me, Nic,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. “I dare you.”

He was reading her, or trying to. She saw the flicker of doubt in his face, the hardening of his mouth. He bent down, so close she could feel his heat and smell the spicy scent of him and the steam as his wet clothing dried in the warmth of the fire.

“You’ll be sorry if I do,” he growled. “You’re pushing me, Olivia. I can only be pushed so far. You don’t know what I could do to you. What I
have
done…”

Despite his warning, she ached for him to kiss her again. “Tell me.”

His gaze narrowed. “I can tell you what I’d do to you if you were one of my usual flirts. Can you pretend to be a pretty little dancer from the East End, or a refined courtesan with a dark past?”

“The dancer,” she said at once, enjoying the thought. “Can I imagine myself wearing a short skirt and pink stockings? I have heard that’s what they wear.”

“Oh yes, definitely,” he drawled. “Will you sing me a saucy song?”

Olivia considered. “I don’t know any saucy
songs. Perhaps I can just kick up my legs, will that do?”

“I’m sure that will catch my attention.”

“Is that all I have to do?”

“No. There’s more. Later, when you’ve finished kicking up your legs, I’ll come to your dressing room. I’ll bring a bottle of champagne with me, and pour you a glass, and tell you how much I admire you.”

“I’d be flattered. Will you kiss me?”

“I think so.”

“Good. And then what?”

“And then, my little dancer, I’ll—”

Olivia, sensing he was trying to shock her, wasn’t about to let it happen. Once again she took the initiative. “Why don’t you show me instead of telling me?” she said, and let the blankets fall from around her, pooling in the seat of the leather chair.

Something hot and dangerous flared in his eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he murmured.

“I’d never say that,” she managed, with barely a tremor.

He gave her the faintest of smiles, as if he knew exactly how she was feeling, and ran his fingertip along the neckline of her lemon dress. He stepped in closer, his hand catching her chin and lifting her face this way and that. The pad of his thumb brushed back and forth over her lips, lightly, and for a moment he seemed fascinated by the soft swell of them.

She wanted him to kiss her so badly that she was sure he could read it in her face. Her breath quickened, her skin flushed, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Ah, passion!” His deep voice startled her out of whatever trance he’d begun to put her under. “You want me. That’s something women can pretend, but an experienced man will always know when they are genuine and when they are lying.”

“I do want you to kiss me,” she managed in a husky voice that didn’t sound like her own. “I think, if you don’t, then I will die.”

“Then kiss you I will, my little dancer.”

He leaned in, capturing her bottom lip between his, sucking on it gently. The sensation was exquisite, and she made a murmur of sound to tell him so. Her hand moved to stroke his cheek but he caught it, held it away, not allowing her to touch him. Firmly his mouth closed over hers, caressing, stroking, delving deeper.

Olivia felt as if she’d entered a sensual world she’d known nothing about before she asked Nic to marry her, and their kiss was taking her deeper into that world. Her skin was feeling hotter and more sensitive, there was an ache between her thighs, and with it came a need she still only half understood.

Nic finally lifted his lips from hers. “Inexperienced,” he murmured, “but sweet, very sweet.” His fingers slid into her fair hair, releasing it from
its pins and fanning it out around her shoulders. The damp strands were already drying. He pressed his face against her hair, breathing deeply, nuzzling against her.

“Nic?” she said, trying to see his face, but he held her too close. “What are you doing?”

“Smelling your scent,” he spoke against her hair.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in, and thought that he was right. She could smell the essence of him, too, and she liked it.

“I’ve seen what you look like with your clothes on,” he said, his voice muffled, “but I need to see you without them. Corsets and petticoats can hide a multitude of sins.”

She pushed him back so that she could read his face, his eyes. They were sleepy, his eyelids sunk low over them, but there was a gleam there that made her heart begin to beat faster.

“I could make an exception. In your case.” He stroked her lips with his fingertips, running them down over her jaw until his hand was resting on her chest, his fingers splayed. “I don’t think clever undergarments have anything to do with your figure.”

“But I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” Olivia said breathlessly.

He gazed into her eyes a moment longer, and then he slid his hand down over her bodice, over her breast. He cupped her flesh, tenderly, as if testing to see how well it fit into his palm.
Olivia gasped, her eyes widening, gripping the arms of the chair as if she needed to steady herself.

“Very nice,” Nic murmured, still squeezing her gently. “Full and yet firm. What color are your areolas? I like pink, but I won’t quibble. I can feel your nipples, too. Little hard buds. I’d like to roll them with my tongue and take them into my mouth.”

This image was so vivid in Olivia’s mind that she almost felt as if he had done just that, causing her breasts to feel full and almost painful with desire. Seeing her predicament, he smiled again, and now there was a hint of color in his tanned cheeks. “You’d like that, too, wouldn’t you, Olivia? I can see it in your face. You really are a passionate woman.”

“People…people call me icy and controlled.”

“Do they? Well, they don’t know you at all, do they, Olivia?”

No, they didn’t. Only her friends knew the real Olivia. Nic was her friend, or he used to be. “Nic,” she breathed, and lifting her hand, rested it against his lean cheek. She had meant to ask him the question, but now, gazing into his eyes, she found that words were beyond her. What she really wanted was to be with him. To be his.

He knew. How could he not? For a breathless moment she thought he was going to oblige, but then his eyelids closed, briefly, and when he opened them again the sleepy look was gone. His voice was like a frosty morning. “I want you
to undress now. Every stitch. I want to see what I’m buying. I never sign off on a deal until I’ve seen the merchandise. If I don’t like what I see, then I’ll leave you a tip and pass you on to my friends.”

Shocked by the abrupt change in him, Olivia felt her passion give way to anger. “Are you really capable of such callous behavior?” she demanded. “You would really force a woman to disrobe before you so that you could look her over like a—a beast? Before you hand her over to the next man?”

He shrugged indifferently. “Of course. Why not? I’ve had no complaints. If I choose a woman, she and I are together for an agreed period of time, and during that time we give each other pleasure, and when it is over she is well paid. Both parties get exactly what they want.”

Olivia’s ideas of men and women and love were far more romantic than his, and she found his attitude disappointing and difficult to comprehend. “And you’ve never felt inclined to keep a woman with you for longer than the agreed time?” she asked, struggling to understand. “You’ve never fallen in love?”