Led Astray by a Rake Page 4

  What if she fell in and this time there was no one there to rescue her?

  Nic hesitated, slowed, then stopped. He wanted to keep walking, get home, and change out of his wet clothes, but he knew he couldn’t do it. He was either a hero or a fool, but he couldn’t do it. With a groan, he turned back.

  Chapter 4

  Olivia grimaced, her dress dripping, her slippers squishing, as she walked back to the stepping stones. She was remembering the place in the woods where she had left her bundle of dry clothing—she had no intention of arriving home in a state that would make any explanations necessary. The stones looked slippery but it would take her only a moment to cross them, while if she went the long way, by the path to the bridge, it would take at least forty minutes. She shivered despite the sunshine. She’d crossed the stones many times since she was a child, and she wasn’t afraid of falling in.

  Actually, the way she felt at the moment, she might simply float from stone to stone. Olivia was so full of elation and triumph, she really did feel as if she were floating as she began to cross the stepping stones. Her plan had worked—the ice between them was well and truly broken, and soon they’d be back on their old friendly footing. Nic Lacey hadn’t changed, he was still the kind and generous man he had been years ago—the type of man you could rely on and trust. A hero in black sheep’s clothing. She’d loved him then and she loved him now, and she knew in her heart there would never be another man for her.

  And added to that, he kissed her in a way that made her body go warm and shivery and her toes curl. He’d held her as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and she liked that. Nic Lacey was a rake, a master of pleasure, and Olivia couldn’t wait to benefit from his experience.

  She chuckled, and then laughed out loud, remembering how she had kissed him and he had wanted her so much he hadn’t been able to resist. Surely that was a very good start to their courtship?

  “Watch where you’re putting your feet, Olivia!”

  His voice was so loud and so close, she jumped, forgetting how precarious her position was. She wobbled around to face him. He was standing on the first stone, only about three behind her, his wet dark hair dripping into his eyes, looking cross and rumpled and worried.

  Her foot slipped, she tried to retrieve her balance, failed, gave a little scream, and toppled into the water.

  Again.

  The stream closed over her head, and she felt the tug of the current. Her slippers touched the pebbly bottom and she tried to use it as a springboard, but her legs were pulled from under her, and she found herself suddenly so disoriented she didn’t know what was up and what was down. Black swirls and eddies formed around her, her already soaked clothing weighing her down like an anchor, and she began to lose consciousness.

  Olivia’s last thought was the unfairness of it, that just as her life was beginning it should end.

  Someone was carrying her. Her head was uncomfortably arched backward, as if her neck could no longer support it, and her throat ached appallingly. She struggled to sit up, kicking her feet and flapping her hands like a landed fish, only to be swung up and around, making her feel sick and dizzy. The next moment she was bent like a bow over his shoulder, his hand planted firmly on her bottom to keep her there, while her head now hung toward the ground, her stomach lurching with each step he took.

  “Let me down!” she wailed.

  “No. You’d only drown again.”

  “Please…”

  But he took no notice. Olivia tried to work out where she was from the upside-down world around her. Then she knew. Nic was climbing the broad, shallow steps that led to the side terrace of Castle Lacey; he must have carried her all the way from the stream. Her stomach jolted as he half ran to the glass doors, fumbled at the catch, and carried her inside.

  “Abbot!” he was shouting. “Where the hell are you, man? I need you. At once!”

  After that there were hurrying footsteps and panicked voices, and Abbot saying, “Put her down here, sir,” as if he attended to half-drowned ladies every day.

  Nic put her down, and when Olivia’s head had stopped spinning, she found herself deep in a leather armchair, wrapped in blankets, while Abbot busied himself with lighting a fire. They seemed to be alone, she thought, her gaze wandering…No, Nic was there, standing with his back to her and dripping all over the carpet. He was pouring a drink into a glass and he came and knelt beside her. She noticed he looked very pale, his hair plastered to his head, and his thick brows were drawn down into a frown that would frighten most people.

  “Drink this.”

  She drank it. More brandy. It burned her throat, and she leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the restorative do its job. She could hear Abbot and Nic speaking in low voices, and then footsteps and the door closing as Abbot left. The fire was blazing away now, and she felt quite warm despite her soaking. Sleepy and warm.

  “What on earth possessed you?” Nic said, coldly for a man with so much passion.

  “If you hadn’t yelled right behind me—”

  “You were laughing. Are you insane?”

  Olivia felt her face flush. “I thought you’d gone. I was crossing the stream on my way home. Why were you spying on me?”

  Nic’s frown grew even darker. “It suddenly occurred to me that you might do something stupid like take the short way over the stream instead of walking to the bridge. I wanted to make sure you arrived home safely.”

  “So you proceeded to drown me?”

  His frown lifted, and something approaching a smile twitched his lips. “No, you managed that perfectly well on your own.”

  “Now you’re laughing. Are you insane?”

  “I think I must be, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  His dark eyes were intent on hers. Suddenly he smiled properly, his saturnine face changing into handsomeness. “Damned if I know.” But he did know. Slowly his gaze slid over her face, her throat, her bosom, taking his time, exploring every inch of her as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

  How did he do that? she asked herself, with a shiver. How did he manage to make her squirm and grow hot, just by looking? Until she was longing for…she knew not what.

  “Perhaps I’ve brought you here to ravish you, Olivia. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To be ravished by Wicked Nic Lacey?”

  She opened her mouth to say yes, but closed it again. Suddenly she wasn’t so certain. The tension in him, as if he was barely under control, made her wary. She was not such an innocent that she didn’t know some men were dangerous, untamed creatures, and rakes were particularly dangerous. Her hesitation now was pure instinct, and had nothing to do with her brain or her emotions.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” He laughed quietly, moving closer and resting his long fingers on her shoulder. His thumb rubbed against her neck, making circles, and her breathing quickened. Olivia forced herself to steady it; time to take the initiative again.

  “Ravish me, Nic,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. “I dare you.”

  He was reading her, or trying to. She saw the flicker of doubt in his face, the hardening of his mouth. He bent down, so close she could feel his heat and smell the spicy scent of him and the steam as his wet clothing dried in the warmth of the fire.

  “You’ll be sorry if I do,” he growled. “You’re pushing me, Olivia. I can only be pushed so far. You don’t know what I could do to you. What I have done…”

  Despite his warning, she ached for him to kiss her again. “Tell me.”

  His gaze narrowed. “I can tell you what I’d do to you if you were one of my usual flirts. Can you pretend to be a pretty little dancer from the East End, or a refined courtesan with a dark past?”

  “The dancer,” she said at once, enjoying the thought. “Can I imagine myself wearing a short skirt and pink stockings? I have heard that’s what they wear.”

  “Oh yes, definitely,” he drawled. “Will you sing me a
saucy song?”

  Olivia considered. “I don’t know any saucy songs. Perhaps I can just kick up my legs, will that do?”

  “I’m sure that will catch my attention.”

  “Is that all I have to do?”

  “No. There’s more. Later, when you’ve finished kicking up your legs, I’ll come to your dressing room. I’ll bring a bottle of champagne with me, and pour you a glass, and tell you how much I admire you.”

  “I’d be flattered. Will you kiss me?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. And then what?”

  “And then, my little dancer, I’ll—”

  Olivia, sensing he was trying to shock her, wasn’t about to let it happen. Once again she took the initiative. “Why don’t you show me instead of telling me?” she said, and let the blankets fall from around her, pooling in the seat of the leather chair.

  Something hot and dangerous flared in his eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he murmured.

  “I’d never say that,” she managed, with barely a tremor.

  He gave her the faintest of smiles, as if he knew exactly how she was feeling, and ran his fingertip along the neckline of her lemon dress. He stepped in closer, his hand catching her chin and lifting her face this way and that. The pad of his thumb brushed back and forth over her lips, lightly, and for a moment he seemed fascinated by the soft swell of them.

  She wanted him to kiss her so badly that she was sure he could read it in her face. Her breath quickened, her skin flushed, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

  “Ah, passion!” His deep voice startled her out of whatever trance he’d begun to put her under. “You want me. That’s something women can pretend, but an experienced man will always know when they are genuine and when they are lying.”

  “I do want you to kiss me,” she managed in a husky voice that didn’t sound like her own. “I think, if you don’t, then I will die.”

  “Then kiss you I will, my little dancer.”

  He leaned in, capturing her bottom lip between his, sucking on it gently. The sensation was exquisite, and she made a murmur of sound to tell him so. Her hand moved to stroke his cheek but he caught it, held it away, not allowing her to touch him. Firmly his mouth closed over hers, caressing, stroking, delving deeper.

  Olivia felt as if she’d entered a sensual world she’d known nothing about before she asked Nic to marry her, and their kiss was taking her deeper into that world. Her skin was feeling hotter and more sensitive, there was an ache between her thighs, and with it came a need she still only half understood.

  Nic finally lifted his lips from hers. “Inexperienced,” he murmured, “but sweet, very sweet.” His fingers slid into her fair hair, releasing it from its pins and fanning it out around her shoulders. The damp strands were already drying. He pressed his face against her hair, breathing deeply, nuzzling against her.

  “Nic?” she said, trying to see his face, but he held her too close. “What are you doing?”

  “Smelling your scent,” he spoke against her hair.

  She rested her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in, and thought that he was right. She could smell the essence of him, too, and she liked it.

  “I’ve seen what you look like with your clothes on,” he said, his voice muffled, “but I need to see you without them. Corsets and petticoats can hide a multitude of sins.”

  She pushed him back so that she could read his face, his eyes. They were sleepy, his eyelids sunk low over them, but there was a gleam there that made her heart begin to beat faster.

  “I could make an exception. In your case.” He stroked her lips with his fingertips, running them down over her jaw until his hand was resting on her chest, his fingers splayed. “I don’t think clever undergarments have anything to do with your figure.”

  “But I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” Olivia said breathlessly.

  He gazed into her eyes a moment longer, and then he slid his hand down over her bodice, over her breast. He cupped her flesh, tenderly, as if testing to see how well it fit into his palm. Olivia gasped, her eyes widening, gripping the arms of the chair as if she needed to steady herself.

  “Very nice,” Nic murmured, still squeezing her gently. “Full and yet firm. What color are your areolas? I like pink, but I won’t quibble. I can feel your nipples, too. Little hard buds. I’d like to roll them with my tongue and take them into my mouth.”

  This image was so vivid in Olivia’s mind that she almost felt as if he had done just that, causing her breasts to feel full and almost painful with desire. Seeing her predicament, he smiled again, and now there was a hint of color in his tanned cheeks. “You’d like that, too, wouldn’t you, Olivia? I can see it in your face. You really are a passionate woman.”

  “People…people call me icy and controlled.”

  “Do they? Well, they don’t know you at all, do they, Olivia?”

  No, they didn’t. Only her friends knew the real Olivia. Nic was her friend, or he used to be. “Nic,” she breathed, and lifting her hand, rested it against his lean cheek. She had meant to ask him the question, but now, gazing into his eyes, she found that words were beyond her. What she really wanted was to be with him. To be his.

  He knew. How could he not? For a breathless moment she thought he was going to oblige, but then his eyelids closed, briefly, and when he opened them again the sleepy look was gone. His voice was like a frosty morning. “I want you to undress now. Every stitch. I want to see what I’m buying. I never sign off on a deal until I’ve seen the merchandise. If I don’t like what I see, then I’ll leave you a tip and pass you on to my friends.”

  Shocked by the abrupt change in him, Olivia felt her passion give way to anger. “Are you really capable of such callous behavior?” she demanded. “You would really force a woman to disrobe before you so that you could look her over like a—a beast? Before you hand her over to the next man?”

  He shrugged indifferently. “Of course. Why not? I’ve had no complaints. If I choose a woman, she and I are together for an agreed period of time, and during that time we give each other pleasure, and when it is over she is well paid. Both parties get exactly what they want.”

  Olivia’s ideas of men and women and love were far more romantic than his, and she found his attitude disappointing and difficult to comprehend. “And you’ve never felt inclined to keep a woman with you for longer than the agreed time?” she asked, struggling to understand. “You’ve never fallen in love?”

  His smile widened. “Olivia,” he mocked, “this isn’t about love. It’s about pleasure, and pleasure grows stale. Moving on to greener fields is the only way to keep it fresh.” He glanced away. “I think I’ve said enough for now. I don’t want to completely destroy that attractive naïveté of yours.”

  Olivia reached out and caught his hand before he could withdraw, forcing him to remain facing her. “Do you know what I believe, Nic?”

  He sighed. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “I believe pleasure is more than a brief liaison with a stranger. Or it can be, if you make the right choice. Life doesn’t have to be about fighting off boredom and a constant search for greener fields. If you make the right choice of partner, every day of your life can become an adventure in itself.”

  Nic’s hand turned in hers, and he held it lightly, looking down at her long fingers and pink nails. “That is where we differ, Olivia. That is where our roads divide. I am not looking for the right choice, just a woman to take to bed with me.”

  “Why don’t you let me try and persuade you?” she urged. “You used to like to listen to me talk.”

  “That was a long time ago. We’ve changed.”

  “But we haven’t! Don’t you see? We’re still the same two people.”

  “Olivia…” His lips brushed hers, barely, and then abruptly he straightened and moved away.

  It wasn’t nearly enough. Olivia gave an involuntary cry of protest before she heard the voices beyond the door,
and then the hurrying footsteps coming closer. Dangers Nic had no doubt already been well aware of.

  “You’re lucky,” he said. “You’ve escaped from this with nothing more than a dunking. Don’t risk yourself again, Olivia. Go home and marry someone who won’t ruin your life and break your heart.”

  Olivia wanted to tell him that she had no intention of taking the safe way home, no matter how many times she fell in. And she didn’t believe he would ruin her life or break her heart, not deep down, no matter how often he said it. But it was too late; the door was opening.

  “Miss Monteith!” Estelle cried, looking worried, and behind her Abbot, flushed from hurrying to keep up. “Oh dear me, miss,” the maid gasped, a hand to her heaving bosom, “you are very wet!”

  Olivia managed a laugh. “Yes, I am very wet, Estelle.”

  “I brought you some dry clothing,” Estelle said, glancing at Abbot, who was carrying a bundle, and some message seemed to pass between them. “I don’t want you to worry,” she went on. “No one knows about this but us.”

  “And no one will ever know,” Nic added, giving them both a stern look. “Miss Monteith had an unfortunate accident in the stream, that is all. No need to turn this into tittle-tattle for the amusement of the village.”

  Estelle was helping her up. “Come with me, miss. Abbot tells me there is a room prepared for you, with a nice warm fire. You’ll soon be yourself again.”

  Olivia doubted she would ever be the same again, but she allowed Estelle to lead her from the room.

  “Thank you, Abbot,” Nic said. “I am grateful, as always. If we can manage to keep this blasted incident hushed up, then no one will suffer for it.”

  “Of course, sir. I would hate to see your reputation blackened even more than it already is.”

  “Yes, that would be a tragedy,” Nic said dryly, pouring a brandy for himself. Abbot had come at just the right moment. A second more and he’d either have taken her maidenhead on the hearth rug, or frightened her out of her wits in order to escape the net he felt closing around him. Haven’t you ever fallen in love? The devil he had! Nor was he going to.