by Diane Farr
Lord Rival halted midstride, a slow smile dawning. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. Then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and uttered a crack of laughter. “That’s it, begad! He was pulling my leg, the cagey old codger! Here I thought I was the one cutting a wheedle, and Beebe was up to every rig and row! I never guessed it. Would have fallen right into the trap, had he sprung it.” He shook his head in rueful amusement. “What an excellent joke it would have been, too. A pity he never had the chance to play it.”
Olivia felt a chill of foreboding. “What was the joke?” she asked, trying to smile. She was very much afraid that she did not want to hear the answer.
He dropped himself down on a wooden crate, his face alight with mirth. “The joke is, I was cultivating Beebe’s friendship because he was the only man of my acquaintance whom I knew to be a friend of the Fairfax family. The old wheezer cozened me into playing cribbage with him every Thursday—cribbage! And I even let him win!” Lord Rival’s shoulders shook with laughter. “All the while, I was working my way round to coax an introduction to Lady Olivia out of him. And he knew it! He must have guessed that I wanted to meet her—and he must have guessed why! He wouldn’t tell me a blasted thing about her; just that he thought we’d be an excellent match. He tolled me along like a right one! He must have been enjoying it, picturing the look on my face when I finally met the witch.”
Olivia was unable to join in his laughter, but he was enjoying himself too much to notice. He was still shaking his head in amused appreciation. “I daresay old Beebe thought he would teach me a lesson.” His teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. “He wouldn’t have, of course, but I can’t blame him for trying. He seemed fond of Lady Olivia, whatever her shortcomings.”
Olivia felt her throat constrict. “Yes, I believe he was.” Poor old Mr. Beebe. She had been fond of him, too.
“Well, heigh-ho! On to the next name on my list.” He smiled and stretched, putting her irresistibly in mind of a panther again.
This was what she had feared, she thought miserably, but forced herself to ask. It was better to know. “What sort of list? Surely you don’t plan your—your conquests?”
He seemed a bit startled, then winked. “So! My reputation precedes me.” She must have looked appalled, for he suddenly grinned. “I’m a villain, but not as bad as that. How lowering to discover that one’s unsavory exploits have trickled down to the servant class! I must be infamous indeed.”
“Yes, you are.” She sniffed. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Oh, no doubt I should,” he said easily. He looked perfectly unperturbed, however. “I’ve enjoyed the company of far too many women. But I never did anything so crude as to make up a list of . . . er . . . targets. The thing is, I now have marriage on my mind, not pleasure. Ergo, I made a list.”
“I see. A list of marital prospects,” she said numbly.
“That’s it. It’s a short list.” His grin looked a little bitter, as if he were mocking himself. “I cannot afford to marry just anyone.”
Her heart felt as if it were sinking into her shoes. “I suppose you need an heiress?”
“Indeed I do,” he said cordially. “Just as Beebe guessed. And you’d be amazed at the dearth of heiresses on the Marriage Mart these days! All the rich women I know are either married or hideous. Or boring.”
Olivia assumed an expression of polite puzzlement. “But everyone knows that Lady Olivia is not interested in marriage. She’s a confirmed spinster.”
One of his brows flew up. One corner of his mouth turned down. Mocking devils danced in his eyes. “She may be. But I have a talent for persuasion.”
Good heavens, the man was dangerous. More than dangerous. What a lucky escape she was having, Olivia thought feverishly. What if she hadn’t known all this, and this gorgeous, teasing man had suddenly entered her life, introduced by a trusted family friend? She might have fallen—hard. It made her feel faint to think of it.
But he was leaning back, very much at his ease, seeming to enjoy explaining himself to a friendly ear. “Confirmed spinsters are often lonely souls. And innocent. They can be easy prey for a man of . . . persuasive talents. Just as confirmed bachelors often lose their hearts to clever little mantraps.”
She forced a smile. “I suppose you are right.”
“Lady Olivia’s name was at the top of my list. She intrigued me. She’s an unknown, and it’s been devilish difficult to find out anything about her. I knew her age, her lineage, where she lived, the fact that she ran a charity dedicated to her mother’s memory. And nothing else—not her personal history, nor what she looked like, nor anything about her. The more mysterious she was, the more interested I became. The thrill of the chase, I suppose.”
Anger licked through her. She struggled to maintain her sympathetic expression. “I see. What a blow to discover she’s as unappealing as the other rich women on your list.”
His mask of urbane amusement slipped for a moment, and she saw the bleakness beneath it. “Ah, well. I hadn’t expected to enjoy this.” He recovered his aplomb immediately, however, and his eyes twinkled appreciatively as he glanced over at her. “But I should count my blessings. Spending time with you has been quite illuminating. And far more amusing than cribbage with Beebe would have been.”
“Amusing!” She choked. “We are locked in a basement, sir! This is not amusing in the least.”
He rose and lazily approached. “You don’t think so? Perhaps we haven’t made the best use of our time.”
Before she knew what he intended, he pinned her lightly against the wall, placing his forearms against the stones on either side of her head. She froze, her eyes widening with surprise and alarm. He was actually leaning against her. Even through her thick skirts she was aware of his lower body pressing intimately against hers.
Her mind raced, trying to think what to do, but came up blank. What would a saucy housemaid do, cornered by a rake? She had no notion. She knew, of course, what the well-bred and chaste Lady Olivia Fairfax would do. Should do. But she felt a strange reluctance to do it.
His gaze was traveling languidly across her face, studying her features. There was a hot, slow pleasure in the way he looked at her, like a gourmet savoring the aroma of a perfectly prepared meal before taking the first bite. He was almost certainly going to kiss her, she realized, terrified—and thrilled.
Would she let him?
Of course she would not! What a mad idea!
But, after all, he wouldn’t know who it was he was kissing. Her reputation would be completely safe. Her eyes were wide open; she knew he was nothing but a heartless fortune hunter. She was in no danger of losing her head, nor of reading anything serious into his attentions.
And what an adventure it would be!
Olivia had always longed for adventure. Well, here it was. She was about to be kissed by the worst rake in England. How delicious! How utterly forbidden! She was about to sample the delights she had deliberately denied herself by forgoing marriage. Such a chance would doubtless never come again in the course of her staid and virtuous life. Carpe diem! she thought recklessly.
Inch by inch, he relaxed his body against hers, and Olivia made no move to stop him. Their eyes were locked the entire time. She might have said “no” at any point, but she did not. Giddy with excitement, she boldly answered his unspoken question with consent. She felt the alien pressure of a male torso against her breasts, which seemed to be straining against her stays in a most peculiar way. The wall stood firmly against her back, reassuring her that however dizzy the man made her, she could not fall.
She braced herself, tingling with anticipation, but he did not kiss her. Saints in heaven, why didn’t he get it over with? The suspense was killing her. She was expecting a sudden grab, followed by a kiss of ruthless force. A rake’s kiss. She was expecting an ambush, not—not this. He approached her lingeringly, softly, in a way that would have robbed her of resistance—had she been resisting.
“Ivy,” he whispered, almost like a prayer, and bent his head to hers. His face came slowly closer, filling her world. She lifted her mouth to meet his kiss, but still it did not occur. Bewildered, she felt a whisper of warm breath against her lips, tantalizingly brief. Then his mouth moved past without touching hers.
A shock of desire went through her, frightening in its suddenness. She wanted his kiss now. She wanted it badly. The longer he withheld it, the more she wanted it. Did he know this? Was this why he was torturing her?
His lips lightly touched her forehead, then grazed her cheekbone. The sensation was magical. He was bewitching her, letting his mouth barely touch her skin, as if he had all the time in the world and was in no particular hurry to ravish her. Olivia was trembling; she could not help herself. Softly, so softly, his lips trailed across her cheek. She felt her eyes drift shut. He kissed her jawbone, so lightly she might have imagined the contact, and then she felt his breath stirring deliciously against her ear. “Tell me, Ivy, how well do you know Lady Olivia?” he whispered.
She opened her eyes, blinking dazedly. “Wh-what?”
His cheek touched hers. “Lady Olivia,” he repeated softly. The sound of his voice unwittingly breathing her name was thrilling. “Do you really know her?”
He was murmuring the words so seductively, they might have been words of love. “Yes,” she said faintly, closing her eyes. She was hardly aware of what she was saying. She probably would have said yes to anything he asked at this moment.
His mouth traveled back down her jawbone and stopped just below the corner of her mouth. Against her skin, he murmured, “You wouldn’t be playing a May game with me, would you, Ivy? You wouldn’t be pulling my leg?”
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. Her entire being was concentrated in that one corner of her mouth where Lord Rival’s lips were moving against her skin.
She couldn’t stand it another second. Unable to stop herself, she turned her head a fraction and deliberately slid her mouth under his.
Oh, this was what she had dreamed of. For once in her life, she had done something wanton, and Lord Rival’s reaction was even more exciting than she had thought it would be. She had surprised him! All trace of that maddening languor vanished, and he kissed her with all the heat and thoroughness she could desire. Thrilled by her own daring, she clung to him, determined to experience every nuance of his kiss.
All too soon, however, she had to pull her face away, fighting for air. For sanity. “Stop! Stop,” she gasped, pushing feebly against his shoulders.
He relaxed his grip and touched his forehead to the top of her head for a moment. They were both breathing raggedly. “More than you bargained for, eh, my dear?” he said mockingly. But his voice sounded strained.
He fell back a pace and looked at her, his eyes dark with strange emotions. Desire, she recognized at once—and, oddly, confusion. “More than I bargained for, as well,” he said hoarsely. He then jammed his hands into his pockets as if startled by his own confession, and walked away from her.
Well, she had done it. She had kissed Rake Rival. Olivia raised a shaking hand to straighten her cap and tried to compose herself. He was right, she thought miserably; it had been more than she bargained for. All she had wanted was an exciting adventure to remember in her old age. Not something that would haunt her dreams every night of her life.
The air seemed to hum with tension. Olivia cleared her throat. “Well, sir,” she said, with a fair assumption of crispness. “I think you would be better employed in boosting me up to the window.”
This surprised a snort of laughter out of him. “Well, there’s an abrupt change of topic. Should I feel insulted?”
His eyes were smiling. Some of the tension had left the room. Relieved, Olivia smiled back. “If I cannot fit through the window, you will have an opportunity for revenge.”
“Thank you, that will be balm to my wounds. While I am boosting you, I shall try to think of a cutting remark.” He strolled over to her, his urbanity restored. “I suppose the gentlemanly thing to do is to offer to go through the window myself.”
“Never mind,” said Olivia kindly. “The leopard cannot change his spots.”
He paused, his eyes glinting at her. “Spitfire.”
She chuckled. “I could not resist! But in all honesty, sir, the window is quite small. You would never fit those shoulders through it.”
His gaze flicked briefly down her body and his grin widened. “I shall refrain from making the obvious comment, and merely agree with you.”
Olivia blushed. Impudent man! But since she had mentioned his shoulders, something a lady should never notice, she could scarcely upbraid him for his indelicacy.
She did fit through the window, but not easily. They tried it head first, then feet first, then head first again. On the third try, feeling desperate, Olivia pushed herself past the point where she had stopped the first time. After a few frightening seconds when she was quite certain she was stuck fast and they would have to tear the house apart to free her, she popped through and was able to crawl out. The window was only a few inches above street level. Not a soul was in sight, for which she was profoundly grateful. She scrambled to her feet and raced to the front door, let herself in with her key, and hastened downstairs to free Lord Rival.
When she opened the lumber room door he was there, leaning against the doorjamb and grinning wickedly at her. “Let’s do it again,” he suggested. “I especially liked the part where—”
“Oh, hurry, sir, for pity’s sake!” exclaimed Olivia, tugging frantically on his sleeve. “You must leave at once.”
“Leave? But I am having such a charming morning.”
She hardly knew whether to laugh or scream. “Sir, I beg you to make haste! The house is full of people now. They will discover us at any instant.”
“Where’s the harm in that?” he protested, as she dragged him toward the stairs. “You need only say that I came to make an offer on the house. You were very properly showing me the wine cellar—”
“Very improperly, as anyone who sees us together will immediately perceive! What a sight we must be!”
“Oh. Am I as filthy as you are?”
“Yes, my lord, I’m afraid you are.”
“How distressing. Still, you know, no one will guess that we have been rolling about in the basement. After all, why would we? It sounds absurd.”
“They may not guess we were in the basement—but the rolling about they will surely guess! Will you kindly go?” Since her tugging was having little effect, she ran behind him and began pushing.
Still laughing and protesting, he allowed her to push him halfway up the stairs, then stopped and rounded on her. He gripped the rickety banisters with both hands, effectively blocking her on the step below him. “I will go, on one condition.”
“Anything, if you will go at once!”
“I will,” he promised. “When you tell me I may see you again.”
Nonplussed, she stared at him. He certainly knew how to take the wind out of her sails. It was impossible to give him the answer he sought.
Olivia dropped her eyes to cover her confusion. “My, you are a chap of one idea!” she complained. “What became of your courtship of Lady Olivia?”
“Oh, any heiress will do,” he said lightly. “It’s my hope that you are Beebe’s long-lost granddaughter and he has left all his fortune to you.”
“Well, you’re out, there,” she informed him, with spirit. “He’s left most of it to charity.”
“May I see you again?”
She tried to look coldly at him. “Oblige me, please, by leaving this house.”
He placed his hand on his heart and winked at her. “Obliging you, Ivy, is all I live for.”
To her relief, he then turned and climbed the stairs without pestering her further. Her relief was short-lived, however. He took his things from the hall table, solemnly placed his gleaming hat upon his disordered and dusty hair, and a
llowed her to open the door for him. But he stopped in the doorway and caught her wrist.
“Let me go!”
His eyes bored into hers, teasing but insistent. “I want your promise first. May I see you again?”
“Oh, very well!” she said, exasperated. “You may.”
“Excellent.” He instantly let her go and stepped through the door, a broad smile wreathing his features.
“Then again,” she added pertly, “you may not.” And she closed the door with a snap.
All afternoon, as she scrubbed the dust from her face and hands, as she worked with Bessie and the charwomen, as she walked home, as she looked in on Edith, as she did a hundred little chores—whatever she was doing, she caught herself smiling for no reason and chuckling at odd moments. Lord Rival’s face would pop into her mind, or the remembrance of something he had said, and she would feel strangely exhilarated. On the whole, she did not regret her encounter with a rake, she told herself. Really, he had been quite good company. For the most part. A very stimulating . . . conversationalist.
She dared not think too much about the kiss.
5
The next day, George bearded Grimsby in his lair and peppered him with questions. His detailed description of Ivy, however, was met with a blank and surly stare. Grimsby declared that females were plaguey creatures and professed not to know one from another. Yes, an army of women had descended upon the house yesterday, swarming about and kicking up a riot, but he hadn’t noticed any one in particular and couldn’t say which of the horde was the first to arrive. The only information George was able to obtain was confirmation that the invaders had come from a “school for orphings.”
George did not need to be told which school. He returned to his flat disappointed. Ivy was the most entertaining, intriguing woman he had met in years—or, perhaps, ever. But she appeared to be connected to the Helen Fairfax School for Girls in some capacity, just as he had suspected. This meant that she was—again as he had suspected—a respectable and educated woman. George knew the rules. Such women were not, alas, fair game. A pity, but there it was.
