Led Astray by a Rake

by Sara Bennett

  Lady Lacey seemed startled by Olivia’s answer, or perhaps she just wasn’t used to being contradicted. “Would he not? How do you know what Dominic would do, Miss Monteith? You know nothing about him.”

  “Yes, I do. He isn’t the man he pretends to be, my lady. But surely you must know that—he is your son. You must know him better than anyone.”

  Lady Lacey’s face twisted, as if some great emotion had caught her unawares. “My son. Yes, he is my son, I cannot deny that. But he has destroyed himself, and me, and I can never forgive him for it.”

  The outburst was bitter and shocking, and Olivia searched for an answer. She knew there was something, an awful scandal—her father had hinted as much, as had Nic himself. I have done things… But surely his mother, of all people, would be on his side whatever awful crime he might have committed? And Olivia did not for a moment believe it was so awful.

  “Lady Lacey, I do not pretend to know what it is that he has done,” she began tentatively. “But I am sure that—”

  “You are sure that what, Miss Monteith? That he is very sorry? Please, keep your opinions to yourself. You are ignorant of our circumstances, more ignorant than you know. Now, will you please leave me.”

  “Lady Lacey—”

  “I am not in the habit of asking for something twice, Miss Monteith.” Her voice was icy. “Leave me. Now.”

  For the second time that day, Olivia walked away, her back straight, her fingers clenched on the parasol. Tears stung her eyes but she would not let them fall. Perhaps Lady Lacey was right, perhaps she was ignorant and foolish and knew nothing of Nic. I was bored. His words came back to her. At the time she’d believed he was simply trying to drive her away, but now she wondered if they were true. She had loved Nic all her life, but what if she had been in love with a man who didn’t exist?

  Olivia stood alone in the gardens, remembering the past, every treasured memory, from the age of ten until just a few moments ago. There were reasons to doubt, yes, but there were also reasons to believe in her vision of Nic. Olivia, he’d groaned as she held him against her breast, and she’d heard all the longing in his voice, all the need he could not express for fear of hurting her or being hurt.

  Whatever the real reason for his abandoning her three years ago, she would discover it, and she was certain it was not due to boredom. Nic, the Nic she knew, wouldn’t do that.

  “I am not going to be beaten,” she told herself for the second time. So Nic thought of her as too fragile and innocent to be in his company? He would not soil her with his presence? Olivia smiled to herself, her plans crystallizing in her mind. What better way to convince him otherwise than to go to the demimonde ball? And Estelle would help her.

  Gripping his cane in one hand, Nic heaved himself up from his chair. Slowly, painfully, he began to make his way down the long walk, every step exquisite agony. He refused to rest any longer like a cripple. He must get away from Castle Lacey and leave behind the memories of his past.

  The demimonde ball was less than two weeks off, and he was damned if he was going to miss it. He needed the hot forgetfulness of being with a stranger, when nothing mattered but losing himself in the pleasure of the moment. No past, just the here and now.

  Then why did an image of Olivia’s face pop into his head, as he ordered her to leave? Betrayed, abandoned. And why could he think of nothing but the sweet anguish of her hand stroking his cock?

  Irritably, he turned down another avenue, which ran beside the old bailey wall. He remembered his father scaling that wall, turning his head to grin down at him, urging him on. Come on, son, you can do it. You should see the view from the top. This will all be yours when I’m gone, the Lacey estate.

  His mother always said that one day his mountaineering father would fall and kill himself, but in the end it wasn’t he who fell, it was Nic. And it was Nic who killed his father.

  He stopped and placed his hand against the wall, feeling the warmth of the sun on the aged stones. Hard to believe he’d been happy once, hard to believe it could have been destroyed so completely in a moment of bad decision.

  He heard the sound of a step and he turned, just in time to see his mother’s black skirts swirl as she spun around and made her way swiftly back the way she’d come. No words, no glances, nothing. He didn’t exist for her; he hadn’t existed since 1828.

  Nic didn’t feel this was his home, not any longer. He could never be happy here with the past suffocating him, and now there was Olivia to confuse matters. It was time, he thought bitterly. Time he left Castle Lacey, and with any luck he wouldn’t be back for a very long while.

  Abbot stroked Estelle’s bare back as she snuggled closer to him in the narrow bed. They’d taken advantage of Olivia’s visit to slip away to his room and spend some time together.

  “He plans to send her away once and for good,” Abbot explained, as they lay quiet, pondering their situation.

  “Can’t you persuade him to see her again?” Estelle murmured at last, her breath soft against his neck.

  “He won’t. He thinks he’s being noble, or as noble as it’s in his nature to be.”

  “I thought he was a rake. Don’t rakes seduce girls?”

  “Lord Lacey may be a rake but he has his self-imposed limits.”

  “Scruples! What sort of rake is he if he has scruples?” Her voice trembled. “There must be a way. There has to be a way.”

  Abbot tried to move aside to see her face, but she clung closer. “Estelle? What is it? Are you crying?”

  “They have to marry, they have to…”

  Her tears were hot and damp against his skin, trickling down into the bedclothes.

  “My love, tell me what is wrong?”

  It took a while but eventually she did tell him. And Abbot, stunned, didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “I’m going to be a father?”

  Estelle nodded, wiping her cheeks, watching him anxiously.

  “Then we need to marry.”

  Her eyes met his, filling with tears once more, and that was when he saw the problem. Married or not, they would remain separated, unless…

  “We need Nic to marry Olivia,” Estelle spoke his thoughts aloud. “And as soon as possible. That is the only way we can be together, Abbot.”

  “Estelle, you know I can only do so much to bring this about. I will not force Miss Monteith into matrimony with Lord Lacey, not if they end in misery.”

  “So we end in misery instead,” she said dully.

  Abbot didn’t know what to say to her. His position, his loyalty to his master, were integral to him as a person. How could he put his own needs first? And yet he wanted to. Right now, he wanted to carry Estelle away from here and keep her safe. But that was a fantasy and this was real life. Estelle needed him to be strong, but she also needed him to be honest.

  “No, my love, that will not happen,” he said firmly. “Everything will be all right. Even if I have to leave you for a time, be assured you will be safe and well looked after. I will not abandon you. I would never do that.”

  Estelle’s eyes grew sad, but she quickly buried her face in his shoulder. He held her, telling himself she would just have to accept that perfect happiness might not be for them. He knew of many other couples in their situation, and they managed with what they had. He was old enough not to expect miracles, but Estelle was young and idealistic. He hoped she would be content, but he had a niggling feeling that she wouldn’t, and she was already making her own plans.

  Chapter 9

  Nic, elegant in his black and white evening wear, stood with a glass of champagne in his hand and observed the ebb and flow of the crowded ballroom. Guests were arriving and greeting one another, their voices rising above the soft music of the orchestra on the dais at the far end of the enormous room. Above, a chandelier the size of a small moon shone down on glossy hair and glittering jewelry and the finest clothing money could buy.

  A casual visitor might have imagined these were lords and ladies, th
e aristocracy come out to play, but if he looked harder, he’d notice that the evening gowns were far more risqué than any true society hostess would dare wear, and the manner in which the men and women were gazing at each other, the experience and come-hither in their eyes, was a world away from innocent flirtation.

  The truth was, these women were not respectable matrons and debutantes; they were whores and dancers and actresses, and they were seeking a meal ticket in exchange for their professional expertise. A few of the men had brought along their mistresses, but the rest of the women were on the lookout for a lover for the night, or even a billet for a month or more, if the conditions were right.

  That suited Nic perfectly.

  Apart from satisfying his physical needs, Nic wanted a companion who was intelligent enough to hold her own in conversation with him—when he felt like conversing—and who was familiar enough with his privileged world, even if she did not originate from it, not to embarrass him with too many faux pas. More importantly, he wanted someone who wasn’t foolish enough to believe their liaison was anything more than a business transaction.

  There was a surprisingly large number of women out there who were happy to agree to his terms. They had a living to make, and they did not want anything permanent, and that was the way Nic liked it.

  He sipped his champagne and enjoyed the view. For the past six years he’d been to every demimonde ball, and this was the part he looked forward to the most—watching the arrivals, catching the sly glances and the suggestive pouts. Then came the difficult task of making his choice, circling his prey, and consummating the bargain.

  He’d never been refused. He was wealthy and reasonably good-looking. It was true that his temper was sometimes uncertain and he was lame, but he was known as a generous protector. When he was done with them, his mistresses were always left well rewarded.

  Nic’s gaze lingered on a brunette with a wide mouth, her bosom bursting from her emerald green bodice, and moved on to a redhead with wild springing curls and a trilling laugh. There was a yellow-haired creature in red, and a Gypsy-like dancer with flashing eyes and a temper he’d like to tame. He’d been standing there for an hour, and he didn’t have any complaints, he was spoiled for choice, this was his favorite part of the demimonde ball, and yet…

  And yet he didn’t feel the same as he usually did.

  There was something wrong, and for some reason he couldn’t explain, the usual excitement and anticipation just weren’t there. Instead he felt irritable and restless and…yes, bored. What the devil was wrong with him? All these stunning women perambulating around the room and he couldn’t see a single one he was inclined to make the effort to pursue!

  Disgusted with himself, Nic reached for another glass of champagne from a passing servant. He had a trip to Paris planned, and he was damned if he was going alone. Perhaps if he invited both the brunette and the redhead into a private room, and gave himself up to the hot sensual pleasures of the flesh, he’d feel more like his old self? Nic smiled as he imagined a ménage à trois, each woman vying with the other for his attention.

  But the next moment he was cursing under his breath as he realized that he’d been picturing the two women with the same face. A face he knew all too well and was trying hard to forget.

  Olivia Monteith’s face.

  As soon as Olivia stepped through the door, she entered another world. A darker, far more sensual world than any she was familiar with. Beautiful women in revealing gowns circled the room, as elegant as gazelles, and gentlemen prowled among them, like sleek jungle lions, hunting.

  A shiver ran over her flesh.

  In all the preparation and fuss of getting there, she had not allowed herself to consider that what she was doing was dangerous, but she knew that if she had…well, she would have ignored the warning. After all, she was hunting, too—husband hunting. She was on the scent of Wicked Nic Lacey, and when she found him she’d lure him into her trap and close the door.

  Estelle had been very helpful, seeing to her travel plans and her stay, incognito, in an inn at a nearby town—information, she said, she’d learned from Abbot. Olivia soon discovered she wasn’t the only single lady staying there, and what was normally a situation for censure and comment provoked no questions at all, not even a curious sideways glance. Understanding followed. The demimonde ball, held in a grand manor house outside London, was a lucrative yearly event, and the innkeeper had no intention of making things awkward for his customers.

  Estelle also chose her clothing for the ball, smuggling it into her room at Bassingthorpe. She’d liberated it from the attic, and after a thorough cleaning, and various additions and alterations, it was ready. Olivia laughed when she tried on the dress for the first time, unbelieving that anyone would be seen in public in anything so revealing, but Estelle insisted there would be far more eye-catching outfits than this. Now, of course, she understood that the dress was perfect. Estelle had known exactly what Olivia needed to wear in a place where the woman who created the most attention attracted the wealthiest protector.

  Black silk and velvet.

  The dress was tight at the waist and indecently low over her breasts, accentuating her curves, while its starkness framed her fair beauty. The other women had gone for bright colors, to draw the eye, or pale shades, as if to mock their long-lost innocence. In her black dress, Olivia stood out like a raven among the pigeons. She was already being ogled, and although she had yet to see the man she had come to capture, she told herself that it wouldn’t be long before he spotted her.

  “Pretend you’re at a debutante ball, miss,” Estelle had advised her. “Abbot told me that the principle is the same, really, because the prettiest, most outstanding ladies go to the highest bidders.”

  This seemed a cynical attitude, but Olivia found it did help to think of the exercise in such terms. After the first moment of awkwardness, she set her chin high, and thrust back her shoulders, and strolled into the glittering ballroom as if she had been born to be a demimondaine.

  She soon discovered that many of the women knew one another, and there were some curious and resentful glances cast in Olivia’s direction. Ignoring them, and the stares of the gentlemen standing around the perimeter of the room, she began to circle with the others.

  It didn’t take Olivia very long to pick up their manner of walking—swinging her hips and tossing her head. A wicked smile curled her lips as she perambulated, wishing her four friends from the Husband Hunters Club could see her now. They were the only ones she would ever be able to tell about this adventure, and she was looking forward to describing to them, in lurid detail, the grand ballroom and its colorful occupants.

  A gentleman taking snuff stopped with his fingers halfway to his nostrils to ogle her chest. Olivia glanced down, realizing her décolletage was slipping. It was already so low that it barely clung to the upper swell of her breasts and was dangerously close to exposing the pink circles of her areolas. Olivia gave the neckline a surreptitious tug. It was all very well to play at being a demimondaine, but she had no intention of showing her naked body to anyone but Wicked Nic Lacey.

  The snuff-taking gentleman was trying to catch her eye, but she ignored him, setting out to circle the room again. If she didn’t find Nic soon she’d have to rethink her plans. Perhaps he’d changed his mind, perhaps he wasn’t here after all and this had all been for nothing…

  And then she saw him.

  His long body was folded against the wall, and he looked devastatingly handsome in his evening wear. A swath of dark hair had fallen over his brow, giving him an even more rakish appearance than usual. How could any woman not give him a second, or even a third, glance? As she watched, he sipped from his glass, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the passing parade of women, coolly assessing them. He was like a groom at a horse fair on the lookout for a new mare.

  The metaphor made her flush. Such thoughts were not for respectable young ladies. But Olivia had discovered she was different from the others of her c
lass and position, and if Nic didn’t know it by now, then he soon would.

  He sipped his champagne again. She was directly in his line of sight now, but he seemed to be concentrating on the redhead next to her, the one with the appallingly horsy laugh. Just as she thought he’d never see her, and she’d have to go around again, his gaze shifted and he looked straight at her.

  Nic’s expression went blank with shocked surprise. He straightened up, and she saw anger flash into his dark eyes, as they slid over her black dress and lingered on all that bare, exposed flesh. Anger turned to outrage as his gaze returned to hers, holding her frozen for a brief moment that seemed an eternity, before her steps took her past him.

  She realized she was trembling.

  Olivia knew she was a little afraid of his anger, but at the same time, the memory of his eyes scalding her bare skin was exciting and shocking, almost as if he had physically touched her. She knew it was up to her now. To soothe Nic’s temper and show him that she was not the untouchable young lady he believed her to be, and that there was absolutely no need for him to be noble.

  “What in Hades are you doing here, Olivia?”

  She jumped before she could stop herself as his angry voice rasped in her ear. He slipped his arm through hers and pulled her against his side, holding her there. She stumbled a little, steadied herself, before turning her head to look up into his face. She could see the emotion boiling in his dark eyes, turning his smile into a sneer. He was spoiling for a fight, but she wasn’t about to give him one.

  “I don’t think my presence here is any of your business, Lord—”

  “Nic or Lacey.” His voice was a furious hiss. “Tonight we are men and women first, lords and ladies second.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought there were any ladies here.”

  “You’d be surprised who’s here, Olivia.” His breath felt warm and intimate against her cheek. “And you haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”