Led Astray by a Rake Read online

  “Tea, my lord, definitely tea.”

  Nic nodded. “Tea it is then. Oh, and Abbot, does this brave and beautiful young lady have a name?”

  But Abbot, by error or design, had already closed the door.

  Olivia sat straight-backed on the very edge of the chair. Her bonnet was set at a jaunty angle, the feather curled just so, and her dark blue dress flattered her, and was perfectly suited to a morning visit. She felt confident, which was just as well because she needed all the confidence she could muster. She might appear to be her usual calm self, but beneath her serene exterior was a maelstrom of turbulent emotions.

  Her anxious state wasn’t just because she was about to put a marriage proposal to Wicked Nic Lacey. There was the additional worry that since she’d come home her parents had been putting increased pressure upon her to marry Mr. Garsed, their choice of a suitable husband. Try as she might to hold firm against them, they were beginning to wear her down.

  Mr. Garsed was handsome and rich, and if he was vain about his appearance, there were worse faults in a man. He would look after her and spoil her, basking in her beauty and good taste and her suitability as his wife. And—the main reason for her parents’ eagerness for the match—his home was on the other side of the village, which meant that apart from occasional visits to London, it would be as if she had never left them. Her life would hardly change.

  She loved her parents dearly and she understood their anxiety to have her close, but such a tame, mundane existence wasn’t what Olivia wanted at all.

  Where were the passion and the excitement? Where were the racing pulse and pounding heart and desperate longing? Mr. Garsed inspired none of these things in her, and she knew he never would. If Olivia married him she would wither away within the year, and become a shell of the vibrant girl she was now. She must fight to prevent it; she must find the courage to reach out for what she wanted.

  The door opened and a gentleman entered.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair a little shaggy, his features saturnine, and his dark eyes deep-set, he was staring back at her boldly, rudely, and when he didn’t speak she was obliged to stand up and hold out her gloved hand.

  “Lord Lacey, how do you do?” she said politely, showing him how it was done.

  “Good God.” He took her hand in a hard, warm grip. “It’s Miss Monteith.”

  Well, he remembered her. That was a start.

  “What can I do to help you, Miss Monteith?”

  He still held her hand, and as he raked his gaze over every inch of her, not restrained by any idea of impoliteness or impropriety, his eyes were lit by a spark deep within. Olivia knew this was one of the reasons she liked him so much. He was so different from everyone else she knew. Wicked Nic said and did exactly as he liked, and the rest be damned. It must be very restful not to feel compelled to mouth meaningless platitudes and offer compliments you didn’t mean. It must be very liberating.

  “We are neighbors, Lord Lacey. Do I need a reason to call on you?”

  His smile made his rather austere face warm and handsome. “Of course you do, Miss Monteith. I’m surprised a woman as beautiful as you is allowed anywhere near a man like me. Do your parents know you’re here?”

  Her anger only made her seem calmer, her blue eyes cool as a frozen river, but he must have sensed something of her true feelings, because a quizzical frown drew down his thick dark brows.

  “We are also friends, Lord Lacey, or at least I used to think so.”

  “Friends? Well, perhaps. It’s been years since we met and spoke, Miss Monteith, and you are no longer a child.”

  “I am twenty years old, Lord Lacey, and will be of age within twelve months. I can do as I please.”

  “I like the sound of that but I don’t believe it,” he retorted. “As you please? A woman like you? You can no longer do as you please, Miss Monteith.”

  The silence was broken by a loud throat clearing, and a male servant entered with a tea tray. The man, shorter than Nic, and with gray hair, carried the tray to the low table in front of Olivia, and bent to set it down. His gray eyes flicked up to meet Olivia’s briefly, curiously, before he straightened and turned to his master.

  “Tea, my lord, as requested. Is there anything else you require?”

  “No, Abbot, thank you.”

  The door closed behind Abbot and left them once more alone. Nic gestured at the tea things. “Will you pour?”

  Happy to oblige, Olivia busied herself with the familiar, calming ritual. She could feel him watching her intently as he sat opposite, but she ignored him, refusing to meet his dark gaze until she was ready.

  He received his cup and saucer with thanks and proceeded to load the tea with sugar. “You have been away from home,” he said, in that direct way she liked.

  “I have been attending Miss Debenham’s Finishing School in Dorset for the past year.”

  He smiled, leaning toward her, and she felt herself drawn like a pin to a magnet. “And are you ‘finished,’ Miss Monteith?”

  “Most definitely, Lord Lacey.”

  He laughed quietly, still watching her. “So, what happens now? Will you be launched into society?” He stirred the sugar into his tea. “A woman as beautiful as you could snare a duke or an earl. A lord, at the very least—”

  “A lord like you?”

  He stopped stirring his tea. His smile faded. “No, not like me. Women like you do not marry men like me and live happily ever after…”

  “Humor me. Why don’t women like me marry men like you?”

  “Very well, I will explain, Miss Monteith. I am a rake and you are an angel. Polite society would be appalled by such a match, and rightly so.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a prude,” Olivia said.

  “There are some rules that even I prefer not to tamper with.”

  Olivia felt her hands begin to tremble, and set her cup hastily down on the tray. Briefly she looked away to the fireplace, to gather her words and her courage. Could she do this? Could she really? But then she remembered Mr. Garsed and what a future with him held, and she knew she could do anything in her desperate attempt to secure the marriage and the future she craved.

  “Lord Lacey, I have a proposal to make to you. I hope you will listen.”

  He was watching her, that frown back between his brows and an oddly intent expression on his face. “What sort of proposal?”

  “A marriage proposal.”

  He laughed. After a moment, when she didn’t respond, he stopped. She saw he had begun to rub his leg, and wondered if that was the one he had broken all those years ago. When he noticed her interest he stopped, his manner a little less friendly. “I assume you will tell me why you want to marry me, Miss Monteith.”

  Olivia launched into her speech.

  “I have practical reasons. My family is wealthy and we are neighbors. I know we are not titled, but surely in these modern times, where engineering and science and manufacturing are making men great no matter what class they originally came from, such a thing as a title can be overlooked? It is time to set aside old values and enter the new Victorian age. A marriage between us would encapsulate all that is exciting and daring. It would be a breath of fresh air in a world that has grown stale.”

  He seemed stunned, and it took a moment for him to reply. “Miss Monteith, do you know what they call me? Wicked Nic. Do you understand why they call me that?”

  “I believe because you are a rake, my lord. That is immaterial.”

  He stood up, looming over her, so that she had to stretch back her neck to meet his eyes. “It is not immaterial. Modern times or no, society has not changed, and marriage to me would destroy your good name and your reputation. You would be blackened by me, you would be ostracized…” Again he frowned. “Or do you think your spotless reputation would make me pure again? Believe me, it wouldn’t! You would suffer, and you would regret ever giving such a preposterous idea voice. No, Miss Monteith, I will not marry you, and I find it am
azing you would ask. You are no longer a child—you should know better than to imagine there could ever be any sort of future between us.”

  Olivia, tired of straining her neck, stood up and faced him.

  “You made a promise. Are you now breaking your word?”

  “I did what?” he all but shouted.

  Olivia raised an eyebrow, unshaken by his temper. “You promised to marry me.”

  “I don’t believe you are bringing that up again after all these years.”

  “Ten years, to be exact. It happened where the stepping stones cross the stream. You said you would marry me when I came of age, and I accepted. I was ten years old and you were twenty-two.”

  He put a hand up to his eyes and rubbed them. “Good God,” he muttered. “The woman is insane.”

  “I remember it perfectly well and I am not insane. You called me a witch.”

  He dropped his hand and looked at her again, once more taking in her face and figure, her hair and eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it,” he murmured. “I was going through a bad patch. I’d probably been drinking my father’s brandy—I used to do that when I was home from Cambridge—fell asleep in the soup once or twice.”

  “Lord Lacey…”

  “It was afternoon and I went for a walk and you were…” His mouth twitched. “You were climbing over the stream on those cursed stones.”

  “Stepping stones.”

  “Yes, well, you fell in.”

  “You startled me by yelling.”

  “I could see you were going to drown, of course I yelled.”

  “You frightened me and I fell in and almost did drown, except you saved me. You sat me in the sunshine until I dried and told me it was our secret and not to tell. And I said—”

  “You would have to tell unless I married you, and then you would be legally obliged not to tell.” He stared at her and shook his head. “Are you sure you were only ten? No wonder I called you a witch.”

  “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 de
mand 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.

  Chapter 2

  Olivia 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.

  What do you mean meet you by the stepping stones at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon? I do not make assignations with respectable young ladies. You say the matter is urgent. I don’t believe you.

  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.