Led Astray by a Rake (3 page)

“You proposed to me and I accepted.”

He limped to the window, favoring his injured leg. “So you did. I was in enough trouble that summer without being accused of drowning you, Miss Monteith.”

“When my sister died—” she began.

“Yes.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his expression troubled. “I remember your sister.”

Sarah was her older sister, her only sibling, and she had been away at school. She had caught a chill, and instead of recovering she grew weaker and sicker, and died. Nic had come upon Olivia wandering desultorily along the lane. He walked with her, leading his horse, and his soft, kind way of speaking, his generosity, were all good memories during that dreadful period of sadness. He might try and play it down, but to Olivia it meant a great deal.

“You were very kind to me.”

“Kindness is a simple matter, Miss Monteith. It means nothing.”

“We began to meet by the stepping stones and talk. You made me laugh. There has not been much laughter at home since my sister died, and our meetings were something I looked forward to.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “It was all perfectly innocent, but imagine what it would do to my reputation if it became known I was playing big brother to you?”

Olivia shook her head decisively. “I never thought of you as a brother.”

His eyes narrowed. “I know you didn’t, Miss Monteith. I was aware you had a girlish fascination for me but I chose to ignore it.”

She felt her cheeks heat up. He knew she was in love with him all these years and he “chose to ignore it”? “You used to call me Livy.”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “Then you can’t possibly marry me. ‘Livy Lacey’? What self-respecting woman would lumber herself with a name like that?” His smile faded and he grew serious again. “Come now, Miss Monteith, be sensible; you know such a proposal is not binding. You were a child and I a fool. You can’t hold me to something like that. You would be a laughingstock if you tried.”

“Perhaps, but I still want to marry you. I am quite serious.”

Impatiently he pushed his hair out of his dark eyes. “So I see. You are a beautiful woman. You could have your pick of men. I don’t understand why you have chosen me.”

Because
, she thought,
you are everything I want in life.

“Will you agree?” she insisted.

He hesitated, and she thought for a moment she’d won, and then his gaze slid over her again and he smiled with regret. “You’re grown up. And as much as I would like to have the pleasure of your presence in my bed every night, Olivia, I have to say no, I will not marry you.”

She thought of arguing, of pleading, but in the end she decided whining would not further her course, and she should leave it there. For now. The matter had been set in train and that must be enough until next time. Leave him guessing. Olivia walked out of the room and did just that.

Out in the hall, Abbot, the manservant, was pretending to straighten a mirror. He turned when he saw her and hurried to open the front door for her.

“Miss Monteith, I do hope you will call again,” he declared fervently.

His manner was strange, and she stopped and looked at him. “I don’t think Lord Lacey wants me to call again, Abbot.”

“Lord Lacey has so few visitors. He is a troubled and lonely man in need of company.” He seemed to be trying to tell her something, and when she didn’t answer, he spoke even more forthrightly. “Miss Monteith, you are exactly the sort of young lady he needs to have visit him more often.”

Well, at least someone appreciated her, Olivia thought, as she began her walk home. But she couldn’t help feeling a little down.
Did you really expect him to say yes this soon?
She must prepare herself for a long campaign rather than a swift skirmish. And surely that was the whole point of husband hunting? The more difficult the hunt, the more satisfying the happy ending.

Wicked Nic was a good man—he’d been generous and kind to her during a difficult part
of her childhood—but according to his manservant, he was also a lonely man. He’d admitted he found her attractive. Perhaps it was time to bring into play some of her feminine wiles, Olivia thought, with a little smile. If cool, rational argument did not work, then an appeal to the senses might.

And Nic Lacey was a very sensual man.

Nic, shaken, bemused, and enchanted, swallowed his tea without tasting it. Olivia Monteith was a beauty, with the sort of glacial air that spoke of little emotion. Except that Nic had seen a great deal of emotion in her sapphire blue eyes. It bubbled and seethed below the tranquil surface like a volcano that might erupt at any moment.

When he had met her before, she’d been a child—amusing and charming, yes, but a child nonetheless. Three years ago he’d realized she was growing up. It was at one of their innocent little trysts when he’d seen that they must stop. It was the turn of her head that did it, the curve of her cheek, the soft pout of her lips. All of a sudden he’d seen that to continue meeting was to invite the sort of trouble he didn’t want. He’d been thinking of her as a child but she was nearly seventeen, and showing promise of the woman she’d become—intriguing, delicious, and oh so tempting.

Clearly she’d now fulfilled that promise.

A hot wave of lust made him shift uncomfortably in his chair. What he wouldn’t give to be
the one to bring about the full transformation from virgin to woman. To have the cool and lovely Olivia Monteith squirming and panting in his arms. Could he make her scream with pleasure? He thought he could; at any rate he’d like to try.

Regretfully he set down his cup. Fantasies were all very nice, but in this case they were a waste of time and energy. Olivia was not for him, and the less he thought about her the better.

But how the devil could he have forgotten that long-ago interlude by the stream? The memory seemed idyllic now, the scents of summer and the splashing water; the child with her golden hair and dark-lashed blue eyes, and his own youthful idiocy. Later, they met as friends. How could he ever have imagined that she would demand he honor his reckless promise? Any union between them, sanctioned by the church or otherwise, was completely and utterly out of the question.

Nic had vowed long ago never to marry and place himself in the power of someone else. He’d been burned too badly by circumstance and was determined to live his life on his own terms, asking nothing and being asked for nothing in return.

Delicious as Olivia Monteith was, he would have to forgo her. There were plenty of other women available to him, the sort of women who knew exactly what he wanted—a monetary transaction for physical release and a very little
conversation. Nic found himself looking forward to the approaching demimonde ball, an event he attended every year, and made a determined effort to put the tempting Olivia Monteith from his mind.

O
livia poured coffee, added cream, and sipped the delicious brew, her elbows impolitely propped on the table. It didn’t matter. The breakfast room was empty, her father having long ago retired to his study to answer letters, and her mother was busy elsewhere about the house. Sunshine slanted in through the narrow windows.

It promised to be a fine day for her enterprise.

Olivia smiled to herself as she imagined what was to come. She’d composed the note and sent a servant to deliver it to Castle Lacey the evening before. A reply had come back with the same servant, a scrawl in Nic Lacey’s hand.

Olivia didn’t answer him; silence was the best option. He might say he wasn’t coming but she
was certain he would. And if he didn’t? Her certainty wavered, but she refused to let doubt color her optimistic mood. The Nic Lacey she believed him to be would meet her at the appointed place at the appointed time. Unless he had changed a great deal in the past three years, he wouldn’t be able to resist the word “urgent.”

Olivia set down her coffee cup, just as her mother entered the room, and the smile of anticipation she’d been unable to repress turned into a smile of welcome.

“My dear,
there
you are.”

“I’m sorry, Mama, did you need me for something?” Olivia pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. She was taller and more slender than her mother, and her smooth face did not have the markings of grief that were deeply etched upon her mother’s.

“No, nothing in particular. I just wondered where you were. I like to see you and know you are safe, Olivia. It gives me comfort.”

It was the same old story. Ever since her sister had died her parents seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety and fear that something equally tragic would happen to Olivia. Her mother in particular clung to her, worried about her—it had been a battle to remain at Miss Debenham’s for the whole year—and now she wanted Olivia to marry Mr. Garsed and live in the same village forever and ever. Although Olivia understood her parents’ pain and loved them, she found such constant watchfulness and attention suffocating.

Life, she thought, couldn’t be lived properly if one was constantly afraid of making a wrong move or believing something bad was about to happen. Olivia didn’t want to be always frightened and she didn’t want her parents to be always frightened for her. It didn’t seem fair that her sister’s death should result in her own demise. They did their best, but their insistence on taking the safe route was choking the life out of her, and Sarah wouldn’t have wanted that. It was Sarah who had taught Olivia that life was for living and that one should never take second best. Olivia’s family wanted her to marry Mr. Garsed, but in Olivia’s eyes Mr. Garsed was very much second best.

Her mother was watching her, the familiar crease between her brows, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Olivia, have you thought about Mr. Garsed—”

But Olivia didn’t let her finish.

“Shall we look at the cloth I had sent up from London?” she asked brightly. “I thought you might like a new dress, Mama. And the color would suit you.”

“If you are certain, my dear,” her mother said with a forced smile, “though I rarely go anywhere where there is a need to wear pretty things. It still does not seem quite right.”

To Olivia’s relief her mother had begun to wear bright colors again at last, after being in mourning and half-mourning for far too long. Sarah would have been horrified that she was the cause of such
drabness. Sarah had reminded Olivia of a butterfly, a joyful creature who flitted in and out of their lives all too briefly. She’d loved to paint, the brighter the colors the better, and she’d believed that the wearing of black as a sign of bereavement was an abomination.

Now Olivia scolded her mother gently. “Why shouldn’t you wear pretty things? I’m sure Sarah would be the first to tell you you should. We will look at patterns and you can decide on the style you prefer.”

Estelle, Olivia’s and her mother’s maid, was standing at the top of the stairs as they ascended to the sewing room.

“We are going to look at patterns this morning,” Olivia said, with a conspiratorial glance. Estelle had always been sympathetic to her attempts to ease her mother’s grief.

“I’m glad to hear it, miss,” Estelle replied. “It is well past time the mistress had a new dress.”

As her mother continued to make her way up the stairs, Estelle touched Olivia’s arm to hold her back. Olivia gave her a questioning look.

“Is something the matter, Estelle?”

The maid’s pretty, plump face was unusually serious, her hazel eyes lacking their sparkle. “I am a friend of Abbot, Lord Lacey’s manservant, miss.”

“Oh?” Olivia raised her brows, playing at ignorance. If Estelle had something to say, then she would say it.

“You called on His Lordship, miss.” Estelle glanced about, making certain they were still alone, and her strangely secretive behavior made Olivia even more wary.

“There is nothing wrong in visiting a neighbor, Estelle, but nevertheless I would prefer it if you didn’t mention this to my mother and father. They are old-fashioned and—”

“On the contrary, miss,” Estelle hastened to reassure her. “Abbot and me, we think it’s a very good idea that Lord Lacey has a—a proper lady for a friend. Not one of those nasty, rackety creatures he seems to spend all his time with these days.” As if only just realizing who she was speaking to, and the inappropriateness of her comment, she stopped and gave a little cough. “I just wanted you to know that if you need help, well, you only have to ask me.”

This was a surprising turn of events. Did Estelle know about the proposal? Had Abbot been eavesdropping? Olivia studied the maid a moment more, pondering her sudden helpfulness and what it meant. Estelle was older than Olivia, in her mid-twenties, though her lively personality had always made her seem like someone younger. Instinctively Olivia trusted her, but that didn’t mean she was going to tell Estelle about her planned meeting with Nic at two o’clock.

“I will bear it in mind,” she said at last.

Estelle dropped a little curtsy and went on her way.

Estelle put a hand to her bosom as if she might be able to slow her heart, it was beating so fast. Miss Olivia had a way of looking at one that was quite nerve-wracking, as if those blue eyes might pierce your very soul. Not that she could possibly know the reason that Estelle was so eager to help her fulfill her wish and marry Nic Lacey.

Abbot had been listening at the parlor door. He knew everything that had been said. Amazing and scandalous as it was, Miss Monteith had asked Wicked Nic to marry her. When everyone was expecting her to accept Mr. Garsed, she had her sights set on Wicked Nic. And from what Estelle knew of Miss Monteith, she was not a young lady who was easily deflected from her goal. “Headstrong” and “determined” were just two of the words you could apply to Olivia.

“He’ll refuse,” Abbot had said, after he’d told Estelle what he’d overheard. “I know him. He thinks she’s too good for him, and besides, he won’t risk his heart.”

“Then she’ll just have to try harder.”

“Or we can help.” Abbot had wrapped his arms tighter about Estelle as they snuggled up together in the narrow bed in Abbot’s room. “If they married then we could marry, too, and be together always, in the same house and the same bed. No more separations, no more you at the Monteiths and me at the castle. Imagine it, Estelle.”

She did; she longed for it. Especially now that there was another consideration, something she had yet to tell Abbot, despite the increasing urgency of her situation.

After an affair lasting nearly five years, Estelle was with child.

It was a gift in one way, and a disaster in another. All this time they had snatched their intimate moments when they could. Nic Lacey was often away from home, and then they mightn’t see each other for months at a time. Once Abbot had been away for almost a year, and Estelle had thought her heart would break.

She supposed she could have forced the issue. Abbot would marry her if she wanted him to, but that would not keep her from being alone whenever he traveled with Nic. Because Nic was a single man, with no wife, there would be no place for her with Abbot on his travels. And once she began to show her pregnancy she wouldn’t be able to keep her position with the Monteiths; a pregnant maid was not at all the thing, and she would be asked to leave.

But if Miss Olivia married Nic, Estelle and Abbot could be together forever. It was the perfect solution, and Estelle wasn’t about to let it slip through her grasp. And Abbot was with her, up to a point. Sometimes he was far too cautious and proper for Estelle’s liking, such as when he refused to contemplate any of Estelle’s clever plans to get His Lordship and Miss together.

That was when she decided she’d have to play her own game,
her own way, and if a little dishonesty and trickery were necessary, then so be it. Abbot didn’t have to know. What did it matter about scruples when she was fighting for her happiness?