Led Astray by a Rake (21 page)

O
livia was shaking inside. A storm of emotion she struggled to hide behind her serene exterior. The confrontation with Miriam Cathcart had been worse than she’d thought it would be, but then she hadn’t bargained on Nic having been the woman’s lover. On the other hand, it was pleasing when Lady Querrol asked for the name of her dressmaker, and had shown none of Mrs. Cathcart’s bias when Olivia spoke Esmeralda’s name. Several other women, hearing of Lady Querrol’s interest, had followed her lead and also asked Olivia. For Esmeralda’s sake, Olivia hoped she had found her some new clients among the cream of London society.

Meanwhile, her inner storm raged on.

How could Nic spend his time and his kisses on a woman like Miriam Cathcart? She was truly awful. Attractive, yes, but with a sly, destructive manner that spoke of many hearts broken and many lives ruined.

“Olivia…”

Nic stopped her progress effectively by slipping
his arm about her waist and turning her about. Breathless, she pressed her palms to his chest, to keep some space between them as they stood surrounded by the moving river of guests.

“Will you dance with me?”

Surprised, she looked up into his face. He was smiling his self-mocking smile, as though preparing himself for rejection. Surely no one ever rejected Nic? Olivia’s fingers crept to his cheek, stroking his skin. He turned his face and kissed the hollow of her palm, before folding her fingers over and holding them in his.

“Will you? Dance with me, Olivia? It would make the night complete.”

She nodded, a lump in her throat. “Yes. I will dance with you, Nic.”

For a time, she simply enjoyed the feel of him moving with her, his strong arms about her, the touch of his hands, the dark gleam of his eyes, his masculine scent and charismatic presence. He seemed to draw every other woman’s gaze toward him without even trying or being aware of it, and there was something very attractive about being with a man like that.

“I thought you’d be angry with me,” she said, meeting his eyes and holding them.

“Why would I be angry with you? Because you said what you thought? Olivia, I enjoyed every moment of it.”

“But she was your lover once, wasn’t she?” After the words left her mouth, Olivia wondered whether she’d gone too far, especially when Nic
allowed some time to elapse before answering her.

“Yes, she was,” he said, his voice dropping, this conversation for her alone. “You could call her my first love. I thought my heart was broken, but now I know it was my pride.”

“She left you?” Olivia asked curiously.

Nic’s gaze lowered to her décolletage, warming her skin as he took in the curves of her breasts and the dark shadow of her cleavage. But Olivia wasn’t about to be distracted, and she pinched his hand, where he held hers.

He sighed with mock despair. “She left me for another man. I considered it the worst insult. I was a lord and a Lacey, and he wasn’t anything very much at all. It was a terrible blow to my self-worth.”

Olivia laughed softly. “I can see you’ve suffered, Nic. Is that the only time you had your heart broken?”

“Yes. I made sure that the next woman knew our relationship was nothing more than a business contract. No promises, no vows, no ever-afters, just money for services provided.”

Olivia already knew that Nic was a good man, and now she understood that his seeming coldness where his mistresses were concerned came not from a lack of heart, but from too much heart. He was protecting himself. It made sense. Such a sensual man would be prone to feeling everything more keenly.

When the dance ended, he didn’t let her go,
giving a young fellow in a green jacket a baleful glare as he tried to cut in. The next dance was a waltz—until recently considered shocking because it allowed dance partners to actually clasp each other in their arms. Olivia nestled into Nic’s embrace, enjoying every moment, as they did their best to twirl around the cramped ballroom without cannoning into any of the other couples.

He spun her around and Olivia gasped, allowing her head to fall back, while the ceiling with its painted panels spun above her. Nic tightened his grip, and she felt his muscular thighs pressing to hers through the layers of her skirt and petticoats.

“I’m sorry about Miriam Cathcart,” he murmured, slowing to let her catch her breath. Olivia rested her head against his shoulder and he nuzzled her hair, his warm breath tickling her ear. “She is nothing to me. And I’m sorry about what I said to Querrol. He was ogling you with his blasted monocle and what I really wanted to do was shove it down his throat.”

Olivia glanced up at him from the corners of her eyes, before dropping her lashes to hide her thoughts. “I’ll forgive you as long as you don’t do it again,” she said, a smile in her voice.

“I promise not to do it again,” he recited like a schoolboy.

She giggled and lifted her head. She was well aware that he would see in her eyes that she desired him, even here, in the middle of the ballroom.

He did see. His dark eyes flared, his face grew taut, his fingers tightened on hers. “We should leave,” he said huskily.

“We’ve only just arrived.”

But she was teasing him. She wanted to leave, too. Her skin was tingling, sensitive to his touch, and she felt flushed and languid. His mouth was close, and she knew she’d like nothing better than to taste him…

“Stop it,” he groaned softly.

Her lips smiled and she darted the tip of her tongue over them, aware she was increasing the tension, building the passion. “Stop what?” she said innocently.

His hand splayed over her waist, holding her firmly against him, so that they were molded together at the hips and thighs. She felt him growing hard against her, and knew from his wicked smile that he was quite prepared to play her at her own game.

She went deeper into his arms, brushing her breasts against his waistcoat, knowing they couldn’t be seen in the crush of couples around them. He dipped his head and nipped her fingers, then sucked them. She felt the warmth between her legs, the trembling in her thighs, and the ache in her breasts. Her hand slid down, delving through the folds of her skirt, and brushed the jut of his shaft.

Olivia wondered at her own daring. She was behaving in a manner she
could never have imagined before she met Nic—although perhaps she could have imagined it, and that was why they were so ideally suited.

But she had pushed their game too far, and as soon as the music stopped again, he was hurrying her off the dance floor, zigzagging through the other guests with ease.

“Nic…?” she began, breathless.

The coach was waiting, and he could barely wait to collect their outdoor garments, before he was urging her inside the vehicle and closing the door.

“The long way home!” he ordered the coachman.

They moved off, heading into the London night.

Nic leaned into her as they rounded a corner, pressing her into the soft leather seats, his mouth almost but not quite touching hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw you at the top of the stairs,” he said, his voice low and soft, making her skin tingle. “I want to make love to you at least ten times a day, do you know that? If I had my way you’d never leave the bedchamber.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, aware of heavy tension between them, making it difficult to breathe evenly.

He stroked one finger down the side of her face, moving to her mouth and tracing its shape, slowly, intently. And then he began to kiss her.

Olivia felt herself melting. Her arms went around his neck and clung, their lips meeting and melding, her tongue sliding against his. He
reached down, brushing aside her skirts and her petticoats. She felt his hand seeking and then he stopped, lifting his head to stare down at her.

“You’re naked,” he said, with a startled grin.

“I thought it would save time,” she replied innocently, knowing she looked anything but innocent.

He bent to press openmouthed kisses across her bosom, edging down her dress so that he could suck at her nipples. Olivia groaned and let her head fall back. A moment later Nic was pushing into her, his shaft filling her, stretching her. They paused, panting, and then he began to move, while Olivia met him with urgent jerks of her hips. When she reached her peak she muffled her cries against his shoulder, while Nic groaned deeply against her throat, resting his chin against her as he sought to catch his breath.

It felt wonderful. It always did.

Olivia reached up to brush the rogue swath of dark hair from his eyes, feeling a wave of love so powerful it made her ache all over again. The words trembled on her lips, but for a moment she held them back, uncertain whether saying them would change things between her and Nic. There was a great deal of vulnerability in not only giving your heart to someone, but in saying it aloud.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Nic’s dark eyes were hooded as he returned her gaze. “Do you realize what you’ve done by saying that to me?” he said.

“What have I done?”

“You’ve made yourself my prisoner for life.”

Olivia kissed his mouth, tenderly. “A willing prisoner, Nic.”

He rested his brow against hers and sighed. “I love you, too, Olivia. I believed my heart was locked up safe and tight, but you snuck in and stole it before I was even aware of you being there.”

She caught his face in her hands, lifting it for more kisses.

“How can I maintain my reputation as Wicked Nic if I’m in love my wife?” he protested half seriously, eagerly returning the kisses. “As a rake I’m a ruined man.”

“You’ll always be Wicked Nic to me,” she teased.

Outside the traffic rumbled and jostled around them, and Nic cursed as he saw they were nearly home. He smoothed her skirts and tucked her breasts out of sight. Sitting back, he cast a narrowed look over her, brushing back a curl here and smoothing a wrinkle there, until he seemed satisfied with her appearance. As for himself, he looked immaculate, and Olivia wondered darkly if that was part of being a rake, the ability to never appear rumpled, as if one has just been making violent love, even if one has.

The coach turned into their square, and he smiled at her. Olivia knew then that her happiness was complete. She was aware that she had the Husband Hunters Club to thank for much of her success—if they hadn’t given her the confidence to pursue the man she wanted, she’d probably have
ended up married to Theodore Garsed, gazing at Nic from afar, and wishing “if only.” Instead she’d gone after what she wanted, and she’d won.

Not that there weren’t possible problems and differences looming on the horizon, but right now Olivia was certain in her heart that they could work anything out. They loved each other, and surely that was all that really mattered?

A
bbot had been waiting and delayed Nic in the hall, just inside the front door.

Olivia, halfway up the stairs, and still floating on a cloud, at first didn’t realize there was anything wrong. She looked back over her shoulder, where Abbot and Nic stood together, deep in conversation. There was something about the way Nic held his body, still and rigid, as if he had turned to ice, and Abbot’s furtive glances in Olivia’s direction…

Slowly Olivia began to descend the stairs again, intent on discovering exactly what was wrong. Because something was definitely wrong—it was as if she could taste it in the air.

“Nic?” she said, as she reached them. “What is it?”

Abbot bowed to her, his expression tense. “Lady Lacey, I apologize for interrupting your evening. I—”

Nic spoke roughly, cutting him short “No, Abbot.”

“Nic, whatever is the matter…?” Olivia
cried, deeply worried now and not troubling to hide it.

He wouldn’t look at her. Instead he looked at Abbot, a frowning glance. “Abbot, not a word, do you understand?”

The manservant didn’t look happy but he nodded. “Very well, my lord.” Abbot turned to her then, and his gaze was sympathetic—as if she had suffered a loss.

“Olivia, I have to go out.”

“Nic!”

He did look at her then, and his dark eyes were full of pain. Olivia’s panic increased, but he stopped her before she could ask him again what was wrong. Holding her hands tightly in his, he said, “Please, my love, no questions. I will explain everything to you when I get back.” He didn’t wait for her answer, he just turned and walked away.

Olivia was very afraid now. She stared after Nic, watching him hurry out of the door and down the front steps, back to the coach and horses. A moment later, the vehicle had rumbled away again.

“My lady.” Abbot was waiting anxiously by her side.

“What is happening, Abbot?”

He did everything but wring his hands. “My lady, I cannot tell you, you heard Lord Lacey say…”

“Oh, very well,” she said impatiently. She turned to the stairs but stopped again and looked back at him. “Can’t you at least tell me where he
has gone, Abbot? Is that betraying your master’s orders?”

Abbot hesitated, and then said firmly, “Lord Lacey will explain when he returns.”

“I want you to explain to me now. Abbot?” Olivia tapped her shoe, glaring at his profile.

Abbot crumbled, but not the way she’d hoped he would. “My lady, forgive me, but I am only a servant. I do as I am told. How can I do as you wish when Lord Lacey has expressly told me not to?”

Olivia knew she was being unfair, but this was Nic, her husband, and she wanted to know. “Tell me what is happening, Abbot. I will explain to Lord Lacey.”

His face was creased as if he was in pain. “I would love to, my lady, believe me, but I have promised to be silent on this matter. Forgive me, please.”

It was unfair of her to press him, Olivia knew that. Abbot had his loyalties, too, and his position was dependent on his holding firm to them. She would have to wait for Nic to return and then ask him what on earth could have made him leave her without a word, with a single glance at the wife he had just told he loved with all his heart.

A moment ago Olivia had been so very happy, and now she felt as if there was a stone lodged in her heart.

The coach came to a stop outside the narrow house and Nic climbed out, ordering his driver
to return home, and saying that he had no idea how long he would be. As the coach moved away, Nic stood alone in the cobbled street and watched it go. Across the river the fog obscured his view of the city, although he could pick out the occasional church spire. As if to increase his feeling of isolation, bells rang, sounding hollow and forlorn.

Why now? Why did she have to send for him
now
? Just when everything was perfect with Olivia.

He felt suddenly resentful, and remembering the way he’d left Olivia, and the expression on her face, only made him feel worse. But he couldn’t explain to her—there was no time. She would have been upset, and rightly so, and he didn’t want to face that, not until he was able to tell her the full story, in his own way. Make her understand.

Nic sighed and shifted his weight from his lame leg. Who was he fooling? How the devil was he going to be able to make her understand? She was more likely to walk out and never return, and he wouldn’t be the least surprised if she did. He wouldn’t blame her if she felt her love for him was a betrayal and a sham, but still he’d have to try. Because Nic knew now that if he lost her he himself would be lost.

He turned toward the narrow house. Better get it over with, he thought wearily. If it was anything like the last time, it would probably take him hours to smooth over the crisis, and the sooner he
started, the sooner he could go home to his wife. And he walked up to the front door and rattled the knocker.

A moment later Mildred, the housekeeper, opened the door, her unsmiling face as unfriendly-looking as ever. Appearances could be deceptive—Mildred was a kind and generous woman, and, importantly, Nic trusted her.

“Lord Lacey,” she said with obvious relief. “Thank you for coming, sir. I’m so sorry to bother you on such a night. You know I wouldn’t have asked if—if—”

“I know, Mildred,” he reassured her. “Where is she?”

“She’s locked herself in the pantry,” she said, showing him inside the house. “There’s a key. I keep it myself to stop the kitchen maid from filching. The mistress must have found it, and now she’s locked the pantry door from the inside. I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t listen. She keeps asking for you.”

“Of course.”

He followed Mildred down the corridor that led past the stairs and into the back part of the house, where the small kitchen, scullery, and laundry were situated. A fire was burning merrily in the hearth, and the table and other surfaces shone, while the floor was spotless. A tray of small cakes was sitting by a tin, ready to be put away when they were cool enough.

Mildred saw him glance at them. Her mouth curled up in a surprisingly sweet smile for such a
dour face. “There’re for Master Jonah, sir. His favorite. When he’s home I always like to bake him a treat or two.”

Nic smiled back, thinking Jonah was a lucky boy to have Mildred. “Is he well?”

“Oh yes, bright as a button. And he’d doing very well at his lessons, sir. Even when he’s on holidays he has his head in a book.”

“Ah, an intellectual. My father was the same. One day I will have to show Jonah the library at Castle Lacey and—”

Just then there was a loud thumping coming from behind the pantry door.

“Nic, Nic!” screeched a high-pitched voice. “Is that you, Nic?”

He and Mildred exchanged a glance. “Lord Lacey is here now,” Mildred called. “Please, do come out, mistress.”

Nic walked over to the pantry. The door was old and heavy, and looked as if it might once have belonged to a cellar. He didn’t relish the thought of breaking it down, and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“I’m here,” he said in a gentle tone, leaning against the door. “I’ve had to leave in the middle of the Querrols’ ball, just to come and see you.” The lie was a small one, but he knew she preferred the dramatic.

“In the middle of a dance?”

“A waltz, yes. I left the lady in the middle of a spin, and I don’t know what happened to her afterward.”

She giggled. Always a good sign if he could make her laugh.

“You’re a wicked man, Nic,” she said.

“That’s my name.”

A heartbeat later they heard the key turning in the lock and the click of the latch. Slowly, cautiously, the door opened a crack, and a woman’s piqued face loomed out of the shadows.

“Nic,” she sighed.

Nic smiled, held out his hand for her to grasp, and prepared to have his patience stretched to its limits.

Olivia had undressed and washed, and now Estelle finished helping her into her nightgown. Nic still hadn’t returned.

“I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to wait up for Lord Lacey,” she said, as Estelle slipped the warming pan beneath the covers of her bed.

Estelle said nothing.

“He promised me that when he came home he’d explain why he rushed off like that.”

Estelle said nothing.

Olivia sat upon the stool at her dressing table and watched as her maid moved the warming pan on its long handle back and forth inside the bedding, taking the chill off the sheets. And all the while Estelle was carefully avoiding her eyes.

“Estelle?”

“My lady?”

Olivia decided that Estelle looked plumper than she used to, and there was a dark, unfaded
strip of cloth on the side of her uniform, suggesting she’d recently taken the seam out to give herself more room. Both clues meant something, but just now Olivia was more interested in what she saw in Estelle’s face.

“You know something, don’t you?” Olivia folded her arms and fixed her bright eyes on her maid. “Estelle, I want to know.”

“I don’t know anything, miss…I mean, my lady.”

“Estelle.”

Estelle sighed and finally turned to face her mistress, her expression a mixture of doubt and concern, with a touch of excitement. “Abbot told me not to tell you, my lady,” she protested.

“But you
will
tell me, won’t you, Estelle?”

For a moment Olivia thought her maid was going to refuse her, as Abbot had, but then Estelle came and stood beside her at her dressing table, fiddling nervously with her frilly white apron. The swell of her stomach was quite prominent, even with the bulk of her skirt and petticoats, and Olivia knew then that Estelle was with child. There would be time later to discuss that, she told herself.

“Please, Estelle, I need to know. I thought you were my friend. You’ve helped me before. If it wasn’t for you I’d never have become Lady Lacey, and I wouldn’t be so happy…”

Estelle rushed into speech, almost as if she wanted Olivia to stop. “He’s gone to see
her
and the boy, Jonah.”

“What do you mean?” It made no sense, and yet in a terrible way—if she was to think the very worst—it did.

“My lady,” Estelle murmured, tears in her eyes, “I am so sorry. I didn’t know until the night you came home from the ball…from Castle Lacey, and then there was the scandal…I didn’t say anything because I hoped it wouldn’t matter. There’re many gentlemen with children born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

Olivia stood up, trembling as if she were cold. “You’re talking in riddles, Estelle. Explain to me what you mean or—or I think I will scream.”

“Lady Lacey, do you really want to know?” Estelle said, and it sounded like a warning.

“Yes!” Olivia cried. “Of course I want to know. I need to know.” She took a breath, lowering her voice, calming herself. “Tell me, Estelle. You must tell me.”

Estelle chewed on her lip. “Abbot will be very cross with me. He swore me to secrecy.”

“It is not Abbot’s secret to keep,” Olivia replied coldly.

Estelle nodded her head. “Lord Lacey has a child, miss, a son. His name is Jonah Lacey.”

Nic was a father? Olivia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t know what to say. The first tingling of shock was followed by a wave of confusion, and then a sense of betrayal. She felt as though he’d been unfaithful to her, which she knew was ridiculous in the circumstances. Whatever this woman had meant to Nic, it was in the
past, and the child was simply the result of their liaison.

“I have never heard mention of a child at the castle,” she said, finding her voice at last.

“Jonah lives here in London, with his mother. Lord Lacey visits them whenever he’s here.”

“Visits them” had so many connotations. Did it mean Nic was somehow involved with the woman? Was she his mistress? An image of a cozy family entered her mind and refused to go away. She pictured them in a parlor with a crackling fire, laughing, happy. But even as the picture sharpened in detail, tormenting her, there was something unreal about it.

Nic was not that kind of man.

“This woman was a respectable lady,” Estelle went on, her voice dropping confidentially. “He ruined her. Then one morning she arrived at Castle Lacey with a babe in her arms, begging for his help. There was an awful to-do when Lord Lacey’s parents found out about her and what he’d done.”

“I imagine they would be disappointed.”

“There’s worse to come, miss. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Olivia had a cowardly urge to stick her fingers in her ears, but it was too late now. She must know the whole truth, no matter how painful. “Yes, Estelle. Go on.”

“His father was so angry he dropped down dead. His mother blamed him for his father’s death, and I suppose it was his fault, in a way. She never spoke to him again.”

It explained a great deal. The scandal her parents knew of but wouldn’t share with her, their uncertainty and disappointment when it was clear she’d chosen Nic over Theodore, and Nic’s own warnings to her that he was no good. Yes, it was all far clearer now. But there was still one question that demanded an answer.

“Why didn’t he marry the woman? Surely that should have been the solution to the scandal? And then none of those dreadful things would have happened.”

Estelle shrugged. “I don’t know, my lady. Abbot didn’t say. Perhaps she wouldn’t have him after what he’d done to her, and who could blame her?”

Olivia shook her head resolutely. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

Estelle’s face grew worried. “You really do love him, don’t you, my lady? I’m sorry that I’ve upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” she insisted. “At least, I’m trying to think rationally. There are many gentlemen who have children born out of wedlock, and I am not so innocent I don’t know that. Why, there was even a girl at Miss Debenham’s Finishing School who boasted about being the love child of an Irish duke.”

Estelle brightened. “Well then, it isn’t so bad after all, miss.”

For all her calm acceptance, Olivia found Estelle’s story difficult to digest. In fact it was making her feel a little sick. But was it so very bad? Nic
had been involved with a woman to the extent that they had a child, and he was still caring for the two of them.