Led Astray by a Rake (13 page)

S
leep for Nic wasn’t as easy as it seemed to be for Olivia. He’d thought to frighten her, he admitted it now. In some perverse way, by playacting as his wicked ancestor, he’d considered driving her away. But it hadn’t worked. She’d thrown herself into the playacting with him, losing any inhibitions she had left and thoroughly enjoying herself. Besides, he knew that if she had been frightened he wouldn’t have gone through with it.

His body was drained, totally relaxed, in a way he couldn’t remember feeling before. Who’d have thought an inexperienced girl could do this to him, the wicked rake? Remembering the way she’d touched him, the wet lick of her tongue, he almost groaned again. The sight of her lying under him, naked and wild with delight, was something he’d never forget.

He considered all his years of sexual excess, wondering if at moments like this he was meant to regret them. But he couldn’t. He’d learned a great deal, and now Olivia was the beneficiary.
Was Abbot right? Was he growing old? Because instead of dreaming of catching the ferryboat to Paris, all he really wanted to do was lie here in his bed in his castle with his woman in his arms.

Domesticated Nic? The idea made him uncomfortable, but he forced himself to stop and look at it. He smiled wryly. Could Wicked Nic really live a life of cozy nights dining in and cozy mornings making love to his wife? Or watching her tending to their child? No,
children
, he corrected himself. He’d been an only child, and he was strongly of the opinion that he’d have done much better with at least one brother or sister.

He’d sworn never to marry. Was he changing his mind? After one night? It was ridiculous, insane, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The rake wasn’t tamed, no never that, but maybe, just maybe, he had met his match.

There was a soft knock on his door. Before he could tell whoever it was to go to the devil, it opened, and Abbot stepped inside.

“My lord?” he said quietly. “I was just…” His voice trailed off.

Nic saw him peer toward the bed, and something in the stiffness of his bearing told him that his manservant knew very well who it was sleeping beside him. A wave of guilt washed over Nic as he remembered his assurances that no harm would come to Olivia, but almost immediately he replaced it with anger.

He’d damned if he’d be dictated to by a servant!

Nic sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Abbot took a step back—perhaps he was planning to run for it—but Nic stopped him with a single word.

“Stay.”

He pulled on his trousers, leaving his chest bare, and reached for the half-full glass as he passed, drinking the brandy down in one gulp. His leg ached, twinging with every step, but he ignored it, just as he’d been ignoring it for the past nine years. He shoved Abbot outside the door into the corridor, closing it securely behind them.

Abbot didn’t even draw breath.

“You swore to me you would return Miss Monteith to her home. I would never have—” His voice was low and harsh, as if he was having trouble keeping the emotion from it, and his face was even more creased than usual.

“What time is it?” Nic interrupted.

With difficulty Abbot swallowed down his ire. “Nearly time for luncheon.”

“Hmm. Better wait until nightfall then, before you take her home. Bring some food up, Abbot. I’m famished.”

“Lord Lacey.” Abbot took a deep breath. “My lord, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situa—”

“You think not?” Nic mocked. “Let me see. I’ve seduced a woman of impeccable breeding and respectable family, and ruined her utterly.”

Abbot was struggling to hold his tongue.

“Actually, I think I’ve done her a favor, Abbot. At least she’ll have something to remember when she marries that bore Theodore.”

He sounded cruel. He was angry and disturbed and he hardly knew what he was saying. He didn’t want Abbot’s disapproval, he didn’t need it. He knew what he’d done.

“I cannot begin to imagine what repercussions this will—”

“What if I marry her?”

Abbot stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, then made a snorting noise and turned down the corridor, his back stiff as a poker.

Nic gave an impatient sigh and went after him. “Abbot, wait,” he began, but when his manservant turned troubled gray eyes on him, he hardly knew what he was going to say. “I never intended it to happen,” he said, rubbing a hand over his own eyes, feeling weary and depressed. “I tried very hard not to let it happen.”

“She’s a respectable young lady. You always said you would never make it your business to—to consort with respectable young ladies. Not after—”

“I did say that, and I meant it.”

Abbot considered him in silence. “If we can get her away tonight with no one the wiser then all will be well, my lord.”

“Will it, Abbot? You don’t think I need to go down on my knees then and pop the question?” He laughed, but it had an odd forced sound.

“Not unless you want to,” Abbot said, with a
lift of an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you want to marry Miss Monteith?” he added, for good measure.

“No! Yes…Blast it, how should I know?” Nic turned away. “Fetch us something to eat and drink, man.”

He could feel Abbot’s eyes on him, boring a disapproving hole into his back. The manservant hadn’t believed him when he said he’d marry Olivia. He thought it was a stupid idea. Before now Nic had thought it a stupid idea, too. Had he really changed his mind?

Nic slipped back inside the bedchamber. Olivia was still sleeping, her yellow hair a bright splash on the pillows, and Nic stood a moment, watching her. He let himself imagine what it would be like if she were here every day of his life, just for a single, brief moment, and then he shut his mind down.

Olivia stretched and opened her eyes. She could smell food, delicious food. She rolled over and saw that someone had brought a banquet. There were steaming dishes, bowls of fruit, champagne sitting in ice, and a delicious-looking cake decorated with cream and strawberries.

“Oh,” she groaned.

Nic chuckled. He was standing by the window, bare-chested, his trousers low about his hips, his hair tousled, with the light slanting across his face.

“Nic, I am so hungry…”

She climbed from the bed, peering into the dishes and under the plate warmers, dipping her finger into a bowl of syllabub, and plucking one of the strawberries from the cake.

“What will we have first?” she said, glancing up at him as he came to join her.

“Whatever you want.”

It felt decadent, exciting, and all the other things she’d been longing to bring into her life.

Nic began to load a plate. They ended up sprawled on the bed, eating and drinking. Afterward they made love, slowly and thoroughly, and went back to sleep in each other’s arms. Olivia couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive, her mind and body humming, and it was like a dash of cold water when it ended.

There were more respectable clothes to change into, and she left the black velvet and silk dress lying forlorn on the bed. Nic left her alone to wash and dress, and she was just finishing pinning up her hair when he returned with her cloak.

“You have to go,” Nic said, drawing the warm garment about her. “Abbot has arranged everything.”

“Of course,” she agreed, while in her heart Olivia wanted to stay forever. “When will I see you again?”

He avoided her eyes. “Who can say?”

She’d wanted him to say,
Come again soon
, or better still,
I can’t live without you
, but it was clear to her now he would say neither. She had won the battle but the war still hung in the balance, and as
she stood before him she wondered whether she’d ever bring it to a satisfactory conclusion.

He pulled her hood up over her hair and bent to kiss her lips, gently and without passion, and she sensed him withdrawing from her. Was that what he did with all those other women, once the liaison was over? Remove himself emotionally as well as physically, as if they’d never existed as a couple?

Olivia told herself, a little desperately, that it wasn’t going to happen with her. If necessary she’d camp on his front steps.

“Come on,” he said, moving to the door. “Abbot will meet us at the coach. He believes in punctuality.”

In no time, they were outside and following the winding path that led through the shrubbery.

“Where are we going?” she asked him, feeling the dew-damp grass soaking through her thin slippers. “I thought there was a coach waiting.”

“There is. Abbot arranged for it to collect you some way along the road beyond the village. If we cut across the garden and the park, then beside the gatehouse, we will be able to reach it without being seen.”

“Abbot has gone to a great deal of trouble.”

“Yes. The coach,” he explained, “was even hired under a false name. If he is asked, the driver is under instructions to say he has driven you from London and your friend’s house. Abbot is doing his best to protect your reputation, Olivia.”

“Yes, I see Abbot is very thorough. Perhaps
he’s had a great deal of practice?” she suggested evenly, casting him a sideways glance.

“Perhaps he has,” Nic said dryly, “and he never fails to let me know he disapproves of the necessity. Sometimes he’s like an old nursery maid.”

Olivia drew her skirts aside to avoid catching them on a hedge. “He thinks you could do better with your life. He knows that you are a good man, Nic, just as I do.”

He turned to look at her, and even in the darkness she thought she saw pity in his eyes. “Olivia, you don’t know me.”

Olivia gave a smile. “But I do know you.”

“If I was like Theodore Garsed, with nothing to talk about but my last meal, would you be here with me now?” he mocked. “I don’t think so. My reputation makes me interesting, Olivia. The half-whispered secrets and the shocking gossip. I know what they say. If I became just another ordinary man no one would give me a second glance.”

Olivia laughed, but stopped when she realized he was being serious. She shook her head at him. “Oh Nic, that’s not true. Whatever you did, whatever you were, you would never be ordinary.”

They walked in silence, entering the park, and making their way along the edge of the long driveway. After a time they crossed to the other side, following a path through the thickening trees, as the park turned into a wood. Olivia saw the dark bulk of the gatehouse rearing up ahead of them, with only one or two lights showing.

“This is the quickest way to the road,” Nic said,
seeing her looking doubtful. “Don’t concern yourself. No one will see us. My mother keeps early hours. We are quite safe.”

Olivia trailed after him through the trees, and eventually they reached a mown stretch of grass that bordered one side of the building.

“The coach should be waiting just beyond the gates that open from the road to the driveway,” Nic said. “Not far now.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a shout behind them. Branches snapped as someone crashed through the undergrowth. They both froze. The shout came again, and now there was the dull gleam of a lantern, getting nearer, the light wavering and shaking because whoever held it was running.

“Devil take it,” Nic said, releasing his breath. “Wilson, the gamekeeper. The bloody fool thinks we’re poachers.”

Olivia knew it wasn’t funny but she felt a terrible urge to giggle, and put her hand up to her mouth to stifle it.

“I don’t want him to recognize you,” Nic went on, lowering his voice. “Go over to the gatehouse and wait for me in the shadows. I’ll get rid of him.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, hurrying to meet his overzealous gamekeeper, calling out his name in warning. Olivia did as she was told, moving closer to the gatehouse. There was a terrace flanking this part of the building, and she climbed the stone steps that led up to it. There were rows of
pale blossoms, and a fountain splashing, catching the moonlight in ripples of silver. She leaned over to peer into the pool that collected the water, but if there were fish they were well hidden among the reeds and lily pads.

A shiver ran up her back, the hairs standing up on her nape. Even before the voice spoke, Olivia knew she was no longer alone.

“W
ho is there?”

Haughty and used to being obeyed, the tone was instantly recognizable. It was like a repeat of their first meeting, in the castle garden by the Pan fountain. Olivia tried to breathe calmly, wondering if it was possible for her to turn and run. If she reached the stairs she could reach the safety of the trees. But Nic and the gamekeeper were over there, she reminded herself. What if Wilson recognized her? What if he thought she was a poacher and shot her?

But she had dilly-dallied too long and it was already too late. Lady Lacey moved from the shadows and stopped directly behind her, trapping her against the wall of the pool and preventing her from going anywhere.

“You are trespassing. Who are you? Turn and face me, I say, or are you a coward?”

Olivia was no coward, and she turned, keeping her face deep in her hood. She was surprised to see that Lady Lacey was holding a thin cigar in her fingers, the pungent smoke mingling with
the strong perfume of night-scented stocks. She knew that there were women who had taken up the masculine habit of smoking, but Lady Lacey seemed like the very last person she could imagine joining their ranks.

“I-I’m sorry to have startled you, my lady,” she said, in a low, husky voice, disguising her usual calm tones as best she could. “I didn’t realize you were still awake.”

Suspicious, Lady Lacey peered at her, but Olivia only lowered her face further into the folds of her hood. Just then the voices of Nic and his gamekeeper drifted toward them from the woods, rising and falling over the distance. Lady Lacey looked in their direction with a frown.

“What on earth is going on? Who is out there? I am going to call my servants—”

She turned away, taking a step toward the house, but Olivia reached out and caught her wrist, holding it tight. It was the hand holding the cigar and it dropped from her shocked fingers.

“No, you must not, Lady Lacey.”

Lady Lacey stared at her in amazement, as if no one had ever dared to tell her no before. “How dare you! Release me at once. I will not—”

The glow of the lantern shone out, then faded into the trees, and a moment later Olivia could hear someone coming quickly up the stone steps. She recognized Nic’s tall figure as he reached the terrace, and was silhouetted against the night sky. He saw them at the same time and slowed, taking in the situation, before he approached them.

“That is my son,” Lady Lacey said, her voice heavy, as if the weight of the words was actually causing her pain. Her gaze slid back to Olivia, sharpening. “You must be one of Dominic’s unmentionables.”

That was when Olivia made her decision to run for it. As if she’d read her mind, Lady Lacey’s bony wrist twisted in her hand, and the woman’s fingers fastened painfully about hers, holding her prisoner.

Nic’s tall figure stopped in front of them, and Olivia could feel the agonizing tension between mother and son. She didn’t understand it.

“I hope for your sake my son paid you well,” Lady Lacey said with a dry bitterness, speaking to Olivia but looking at Nic. “He prefers to pay. You see, that way he doesn’t feel he needs to engage himself, emotionally. My son doesn’t feel, he doesn’t care. He’s selfish and immune to the suffering he causes those around him. Heed my words, girl, or you’ll end up as one of his victims.”

The words must have stung, although Nic said nothing. But Olivia wasn’t going to be silent—if he would not stand up for himself then she would do it for him.

“You’re very wrong.”

“Oh, am I!” Lady Lacey spoke angrily. “Well, then, speak up, girl. Tell me why I am wrong about my own son.”

“Olivia,” Nic murmured, “don’t.”

“It’s not true,” Olivia said boldly. “Nic isn’t like
that. You may be his mother but you don’t know him at all.”

Lady Lacey peered more closely at the dark formless shape of Olivia in her cloak, with her face hidden inside the shadows of the hood. In response Olivia tried to make herself smaller.

“Who are you? Answer me, girl! I will not be ignored.”

For a brief moment Olivia considered playing at being one of the women she’d met at the demimonde ball, but it seemed a poor trick to play on Nic’s mother, no matter how wrong she was about her son.

“I am no one important. A friend. Someone who has known Lord Lacey all her life and who trusts him. I know he would never hurt me.”

Nic groaned softly in despair.

Lady Lacey was silent. Olivia had expected her to be furious. No one liked to be told she was wrong, and Her Ladyship seemed like the sort of woman who was used to being deferred to rather than challenged. But when Olivia dared to lift her head and glance up at the other woman, she saw that Lady Lacey wasn’t angry after all, but pensive and sad. Lady Lacey’s haughty face was old and wan and tired, and for the first time Olivia found herself pitying her.

“My son lives his own life. He does what he does, and although I don’t approve of it, I don’t try to stop him. I decided a long time ago that my son must go to hell in his own way.”

“Very wise of you, Mother,” Nic said dryly.
“Never allow yourself to have unrealistic expectations about me, then you can never again feel disappointed.”

There was a silence. Olivia tried to pull away from Lady Lacey’s grip, but the older woman only tightened it further. It was a mistake because it drew her attention back. “Who are you, girl?” she demanded yet again. “I know your voice.”

“I told you, my lady. I am no one.”

“Then take off your hood and show me what ‘no one’ looks like.”

Olivia looked at Nic, caught in a trap. They really had no choice, and he gave a nod, looking resigned. She reached up and slowly slid back her hood, letting it fall about her shoulders. Her hair was pale gold in the moonlight, and as Lady Lacey stood, peering into Olivia’s face, there was no doubting the appalled recognition gathering in her eyes.

“Miss Monteith!” She gaped. “It is Miss Monteith from the village, isn’t it? Oh dear Lord, another one.”

“Lady Lacey, please, I must go,” Olivia said breathlessly, her fingers beginning to ache. “I really must go. Please.”

But Lady Lacey had no intention of letting her go. She was so distraught she didn’t even appear to realize she was still holding her. “Miss Monteith, have you no care for your reputation? Are you so lacking in good sense that you would risk everything? I can hardly believe what I am seeing.”

“Lady Lacey—”

“How could you?” She was glaring at Nic. Her voice dropped, and there was a tremor in it, as if she could no longer contain her emotions. “Have you forgotten what you did last time? Have you forgotten your promise? Despite myself I believed you when you said you would never harm an innocent girl again. I believed Abbot when he said you only indulged yourself with trollops and trulls. And yet here…here is Miss Monteith, as large as life…” She put a hand to her chest, as if she was finding it difficult to breathe.

“Mother.” Nic moved as if to touch her, but she stumbled back, away from his hand.

“I cannot let this pass,” she whispered. “This time I cannot look the other way. There will be a price to pay, Dominic.”

And with that she turned and half ran across the terrace toward the house, her skirts rustling furiously. A door slammed, and afterward the silence seemed twice as loud.

Olivia was shaking. She wrapped her arms about herself, tucking her hands inside the cloak. “What will she do?”

Nic’s face was bleak. “I don’t know.”

“Should I speak to her?” Olivia offered. “Perhaps I can make her understand.”

“I doubt that.” He put his hand on her waist, urging her toward the terrace steps. “Come. The coach is waiting. When you are home, tell your family you had a fine time at your friend’s birthday. Say nothing of this, Olivia.”

“Of course not.”

“I’ll try and smooth things over. When my mother understands that your reputation is safe, she will agree to leave the matter lie.”

Olivia doubted it. Lady Lacey had been so fired up with self-righteous anger, Olivia wondered if anyone could stop her from carrying out her threat.

“What did she mean, Nic? About last time? About the other one? And what promise did you make?” Olivia hurried after him as Nic increased his long strides.

He didn’t answer her.

“Nic,” Olivia murmured, “do you really think everything will be all right?”

But if he heard her, again Nic didn’t answer.

Abbot was beside himself by the time Olivia and Nic finally arrived at the coach. It was pulled up by the side of the road, half hidden among some elm trees. He didn’t give them a chance to explain or say good-bye, before bundling Olivia inside and banging his hand on the door as a signal to the driver to move. Then he and Nic stood and watched as the heavy vehicle trundled away toward the village.

“No one will know,” Abbot said, eyeing his master, who seemed very quiet. “The girl’s reputation is safe.”

Nic gave a strange breathless laugh. “Oh, do you think so, Abbot?”

“Yes, of course. Why not?” he asked curiously. “Have I forgotten something?”

Briefly, unemotionally, Nic told him what had happened.

After he was finished, Abbot stared at him for several long, horrified seconds. “But what will Lady Lacey do?” he said at last, trying to take an optimistic view of what was a catastrophic turn of events. “What can she do?”

“Don’t be deceived, Abbot. My mother may be old, she may be a recluse, but she has a great deal of power. The Laceys once owned this village and everyone knows it. She can do me, and Miss Monteith, a great deal of damage.”

“Would she be so vindictive, my lord?”

Nic turned to look at him, his eyes full of pain. “I think she would. I didn’t realize just how much she hated me until tonight. Stupid of me, perhaps, but I thought that, one day, she might forgive me. Now I know she never will.”

Abbot wanted to reassure him, but for once he could find no words to say. He felt drained and exhausted. Even when Nic began to walk back to the castle, and Abbot knew he should follow like the good servant he was—the good friend—he didn’t.

For years he’d protected Nic, tidied up after him, smoothed over his problems. Well, he was sick of it. Nic was old enough to look after himself. It was time he and his mother actually spoke to each other, face-to-face, instead of exchanging notes through him. Perhaps if they’d spoken to each other before, this situation would never have occurred.

Abbot began to walk in the direction of Bassingthorpe. He didn’t see the shadow against the window of the cottage on the opposite side of the road—he was too deep in his own thoughts. And even if he had, he would have thought nothing of it. Mrs. Brown lived in the cottage and she was almost blind, and her maid, Jenny, came in only during the day, returning to her home and family at night.

As far as Abbot was concerned they could not have been seen, and besides, he had other things on his mind.

Estelle opened her eyes, sitting up in her warm bed, and wondering what had woken her. And then she heard the sounds outside—a vehicle and horses. Voices. She knew one of them belonged to Miss Olivia. She had come home safe and sound from her risqué adventure. Estelle was glad about that—she was fond of Miss Olivia—and hopefully she had won Nic Lacey over, or at least forced him into making her a proposal of marriage. Estelle smiled to herself, imagining Abbot’s face when she told him they could finally live together as man and wife.

Her smile faded as she contemplated what he would say to her when he knew she’d been behind Olivia’s attendance at such a scandalous gathering as the demimonde ball. Abbot was far too straitlaced, but conversely that was one of the traits about him she loved the most. She accepted that it was up to her to take the risks and dodge
around the obstacles, so that they could get the conclusion they both wanted. Surely the end justified the means? Well, it did in her book, anyway.

“Estelle!”

The hissing whisper had her out of her bed and reaching for the latch on her window. When she leaned out and looked down she saw Abbot standing below, his face a pale blur as he gazed up at her. Never before had he visited her like this, in the middle of the night. For one brief, excited moment she thought he must be so full of love for her that he couldn’t keep away, and then common sense reasserted itself.

If Abbot was there, then there was a practical reason.

“Wait there,” she called out softly, and hurried to the door, slipping on her robe and shoes as she peered out into the narrow corridor. No one else was about, and she was soon creeping down the back stairs. When she opened the tradesmen’s door, Abbot was waiting right outside.

He put his arms around her, drawing her against his body, and held on tight.

Surprised, but pleased all the same, she hugged him back. But this was so unlike him that she couldn’t help but worry that something was wrong.

“What is it?” she murmured, pressing her lips to his chin, which was the only part of his face she could reach. “Abbot, what’s happened?”

“I need you,” he groaned, with such longing in his voice that tears stung her eyes.

“Something’s happened,” she declared sharply, drawing away so that she could see his face in the moonlight. “Abbot, you must tell me what’s happened or I’ll go mad.”

His mouth was a grim line, and the heavy crease between his brows looked as deep as a valley. “Lord Lacey has ruined Miss Monteith. He told me he wouldn’t, but he did it anyway. I trusted him, Estelle. After all these years, I thought I knew him. I never thought he’d do something so unpardonable again, not after what happened the last time.”

Estelle hardly heard him in her mounting excitement. Wicked Nic and Olivia were lovers; he’d have to marry her now.

“You’re glad, aren’t you?” Abbot accused her, correctly reading her expression. “You think it’s a good thing.”

“I…yes, I suppose I do. But what did you mean, ‘after what happened’? I don’t understand.”

Abbot shook his head, turning stubbornly away.

She reached up to cup his cold face in her warm hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m sorry if I’m not as upset as you. I’m glad because I love you and I want to marry you and live beside you. Is that so terrible?”