Led Astray by a Rake (7 page)

O
livia was glad to be alone. After yesterday’s excitement she had been exhausted and eager to go to bed, but this morning she was almost herself again. Her mother had agreed she could sit in the garden, as long as she wore her warmest shawl and tucked a rug about her feet. It was better than nothing.

She reached into her sleeve and took out the note Nic had sent with his flowers. Olivia had read it several times already, but it didn’t hurt to read it again. Not that it was in any way improper—he wished her a speedy recovery—she simply liked to see his heavy scrawl and the way he signed his name: “Lacey.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, remembering his kisses. How could she ever make do with good-enough when she’d tasted paradise? If he thought he was going to be noble and she was going to give up, then he was making a grave mistake. There was an overflowing well of passion inside her, and she refused to dam it shut or
let it dry up. She wanted to live her life to the full, and he was the man to help her do it.

“Miss Monteith?”

Olivia opened her eyes, blinking against the sunlight. Estelle was standing in front of her, hands twisting in her apron, looking worried.

“What is it, Estelle? My mother—”

“Mrs. Monteith is chatting with one of her friends in the parlor. It’s Lord Lacey I’ve come about, miss.”

“Lord Lacey?”

“He was thrown from his horse. He’s not badly injured,” she hastened to add, seeing Olivia’s eyes widen, “but his lame leg was twisted. He’s having trouble walking. Abbot thought you might like to know.”

“I did. I do. Thank you, Estelle.”

She wanted to go to him and see for herself that he was all right, but Olivia knew that even if she could, she wasn’t up to visiting yet. This was her first day outside in a week.

“Can you tell Abbot to inform Lord Lacey that I wish him well,” she said, calming herself. “Very well.”

Estelle smiled. “I’ll tell him, miss.”

“How—how did it happen?”

“Lord Lacey was on his way home from calling on you, miss. Some creature frightened his horse, and he was thrown. He lay there for an hour or more before he was discovered and help was sought.”

It sounded appalling, and Olivia was only glad
that Nic hadn’t been killed. As it was, Estelle said he was having trouble walking, and Olivia wondered if his injuries were permanent. She had a momentary image of herself gravely nursing him through his pain. She could straighten his pillows and lift his head so that he could drink, and spoon thin beef broth into his mouth when he was hungry. Olivia pictured him gazing at her in earnest adoration and declaring how wrong he had been to reject her.

It was nonsense and she knew it, but sometimes it was pleasant to tell oneself fairy stories. In reality Nic Lacey was far more likely to curse his leg, and her, than obediently take his medicine and suck broth from a spoon. He’d probably send for some of his lady friends to cheer him up.

Her smile faded.

Nic Lacey might be a rake with a string of women in his past, but Olivia was determined that once she caught him there would be only one woman in his life.

And that was Olivia.

In Castle Lacey gardens, Nic sat gloomily in the chair Abbot had set for him, his leg resting on a mountain of cushions and the damnable walking cane close by. The scent of flowers was pleasant, the sun was warm, and the drone of bees made him sleepy. But he chafed against his forced inactivity. He was being made to feel like a cripple and he loathed it, but he’d been warned of the consequences if he didn’t do as he was told.

“Rest or you may never walk again,” the doctor had told him with chilling bluntness.

“I’m sure you can get me on my feet again,” Nic retorted, gritting his teeth as the physician poked and prodded at him. “You’ve done it before.”

“I can only do so much, my lord. Your leg never set properly after you broke it the first time. I warned you then that if you didn’t go to London for the best possible treatment you’d always have trouble with it, but you chose to ignore my advice.”

“Yes, yes, so you’ve reminded me innumerable times before.”

“And you never take the slightest bit of notice. Well, this time, my lord, you will listen to me or I will wash my hands of you.”

Nic ground his teeth. Even he knew the doctor was right, but he hated to admit it. “I will take your advice and rest,” he bit out. “Now leave me alone, devil take you!”

“Very wise, my lord.” Unperturbed, the doctor gave him one more stern look, clicked his bag shut, and left.

After several dreary days confined to the house, Nic was finally allowed to begin to exercise. Just a few minutes at first, until now he could walk about the garden, with the help of his cane, and without having Abbot hovering over him like a demented nursemaid. It still hurt, of course. Sometimes the pain left him faint and his breathing ragged, but he refused to let it beat him. And he refused to
contemplate turning down his invitation to this year’s demimonde ball, as Abbot was hinting he should.

They’d had another to-do earlier, before Abbot put him out there in the garden and left him to his own devices. Abbot seemed to be prone to the sulks these days, but Nic wasn’t going to let it spoil his day. He’d go to the ball and find some smiling beauty to take to Paris with him, and they would have a splendid romp.

Until it was time to come home again.

Nic’s mood turned even gloomier, and he sat contemplating his leg, and remembering the day he had broken his thigh bone. The pain had been excruciating. He remembered the doctor telling him to get specialist help in London, but at the time it’d been impossible to leave the castle. Even though he was damaged and in agony, there was no one else to take charge with his father dead and his mother half mad with grief. He shivered, as if a cloud had slid over the sun.

Those days were some of the worst ones of his life, and being here at the castle was a constant reminder. Another reason to get away as soon as possible.

The sound of voices drew his attention and he looked up. Abbot and two women were standing at the end of the long walk. As he watched, Abbot and one woman walked away, and after a moment’s hesitation, the second woman began to come toward him.

Nic shaded his eyes.

She wore a white dress that seemed to float about her slippered feet, and her parasol cast shadows but could not dim the glow of her golden hair. Or her beauty. She was a woman in a million, a rare jewel. She took his breath away, scattered his wits, and left him in a state of permanent arousal, and that was the problem.

Olivia Monteith was the very last person he wanted to see right now, when he was at his lowest ebb. He felt as if he’d already said good-bye and relegated her to the past, and that was where he expected her to stay. That was what he’d done last time he felt threatened by her, when they used to meet by the stepping stones—the day he’d looked at the child and seen the budding woman.

Now here she was, and the fact that the sight of her made his chest tighten and his pulse give a little jump angered him.

“Lord Lacey.” She’d stopped before him, and he noted the cautious expression in her eyes as she looked down at him, as if she suddenly sensed danger.

Good! Let her beware. Let her turn around and run home as fast as her legs could carry her. But Olivia being Olivia, she didn’t run away. She stood firm and said what she’d come to say.

“I’m so sorry to see you hurt,” she said. “Is there any—any lasting damage to your—your—”

“My leg?” he demanded, furious and not bothering to hide it. “Am I even more of a cripple than
I was before? Don’t try and wrap it up nicely, Olivia, ask away. There’s nothing I love more than to discuss my physical infirmities.”

She glanced to one side—a gesture he’d noticed before when she was embarrassed or anxious. “Don’t be cross, Nic. I was worried. I couldn’t come before, but I’m here now.”

“I’m surprised the faithful Theodore isn’t here with you, just to make certain I don’t contaminate you.”

Her eyes widened, but before she could accuse him of being jealous, he gave her thoughts another direction.

“Or ravish you.”

“Estelle is with me.” She looked over her shoulder at the empty walk, gave a shrug. “Somewhere. I think she went off with Abbot.”

“Somewhere?” With a groan he covered his face with his hands. “You need her here, by your side, Olivia. You’re not a fool. Do you want your reputation to be ruined?”

“Nic…you’re in pain,” she said, “but I know you’d never hurt me. I trust you.”

There was no way to reply to a statement as ludicrous as that.

“How did you break your leg?” she went on, when it seemed he wasn’t going to try.

He nodded beyond her, toward the end of the long walk where the ruins of the old bailey wall still stood. “I was climbing and I fell.”

“You were climbing?” She stared wide-eyed.

“My father was an enthusiast and he taught
me from a young age. He climbed in Wales and Derbyshire. I was never as good as he, but I could scale that wall well enough. The last time…well, I was upset and probably a little drunk. I took a misstep and fell. They wanted to send me to London but I refused. My father had just died and my mother needed me.”

“You pretend to be wicked, Nic, but at heart you are a good man.”

“Olivia, I’m not your knight in shining armor,” he growled, sinking lower in his chair.

“Certainly not,” she replied with a shudder. “And I’m not one of those pitiable damsels in distress.”

Something in her words and her manner caught his attention, lifting him from his gloomy self-pity. “So how do you see yourself?”

“A free, independent spirit.”

He showed his teeth. “I hate to burst your bubble, but there’s nothing independent about a woman of your class and situation. Eventually you will see that and settle down and do as you’re told.”

“Never!”

She sounded fierce and determined, and he wondered if she could manage to escape the bindings and chains her family and society had already fashioned to snare her. Not maliciously, perhaps, but nevertheless their rules and unspoken laws were meant to stop her from being exactly what she wanted to be: free.

Now that he understood her situation a little
better, Nic wondered if that was why she had fixed her sights on him, as an antidote to Theodore. Well, if that was so, then he would have to do his best to disabuse her of her foolish belief.

“I turned my back on you before,” he said bluntly. “Would a man with a good heart do that?”

Olivia was making herself a comfortable seat on the grass beside his chair, her skirts drifting about her, her parasol rolling to one side on its fringed rim. She looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean those trysts you remember so fondly. Did you never wonder why I stopped coming?”

A cloud came into her eyes. “I wondered why. I visited the castle once, perhaps twice, but you were away. You were away a great deal. I suppose it occurred to me that my parents had discovered our meetings and warned you off. I resolved to wait until I was older and could do as I pleased. I told myself that if I still felt the same about you when I reached my majority, and you were still free, then I would make my feelings known to you.”

He gazed into her passionate upturned face for a long moment. There was such a look in her eyes. And he understood. He understood only too well. But understanding did not mean it was in his power, or his wish, to help her.

“Well now you know,” he said cruelly. “You bored me and I dropped you.” He moved to stand up and then gasped as the now-familiar agony en
veloped his leg. For a moment black spots danced before his eyes, and it was all he could do to stop from crying out.

“Poor Nic.” Her soft voice came through the pain. As his head cleared, he found she was kneeling beside his chair, her arms about him, holding him, with his face pillowed against her breast.

“If this is a dream then it’s a good one,” he murmured, and sighed, beginning to enjoy himself despite his discomfort.

Olivia either didn’t hear him or believed his words were induced by his suffering. “Is there nothing they can do for your leg?” she said. “Surely, in this modern age of medicine and science, there is something.”

“It has been suggested I have it rebroken,” he replied, his voice muffled by her sweet, lush flesh. “However, I don’t fancy it.”

She shuddered and held him closer. “I wouldn’t fancy it, either, but if it was the only way to make things better…”

He could feel the beating of her heart. He wondered what she’d do if he unfastened her dress and unlaced her stays and began to fondle her in the way he wanted to. If he laid her down on the soft grass and lifted her skirts and used his tongue and fingers on her until she came. And then, when she was hot and wet and ready, he’d begin the long, slow dance of pleasure.

“Olivia,” he groaned.

“Poor Nic, is it so bad?” She was stroking his hair now. In another moment she’d be kissing his
brow and he’d have her on his lap, with her legs in the air.

“Olivia, I may appear to be a helpless invalid but I am a virile man. If you don’t move away from me I will prove it to you.”

He sounded dangerous, and, startled, she leaned back. He could see she was flushed, tendrils of her hair loose about her face, and her blue eyes were brighter than ever.

Nic did the only thing he could do. He showed her just how much danger she was in.

“Give me your hand.”

It said much for her innocence that she immediately held out her hand. He took her fingers in his, and before she could struggle or protest, brought them down to the hard rod between his thighs and pressed them there.

“This is what you do to me,” he rasped.

Olivia stared into his eyes, her own perfectly round.

“Now run away, little girl, before you really are lost forever,” he added, for good measure.

She moved as if to do exactly that, but once more he’d underestimated her. Instead of snatching her hand away and running, she leaned against his shoulder and looked to where her hand lay beneath his. Her gaze slid to his again, before her long, dark lashes fluttered down, and slowly, tentatively, she began to explore the bulge in his trousers.