by Sara Bennett
“She turned you down?” she gasped. “But the girl is ruined. What does she expect to do if she doesn’t marry you?”
“Miss Monteith is a strong-minded woman.”
“No matter how strong-minded she is, she cannot restore a reputation that has been lost. Only marrying you can do that.” Lady Lacey’s haughty tones rose, as if she could hardly believe what she was hearing. “I will speak to her and insist on her doing as she ought.”
“No, Mother. I am grateful, but I will deal with Miss Monteith in my own way.” Nic glanced at the decanter but resisted helping himself to a swig of brandy. Brandy wasn’t going to help what was wrong with him.
“You must try again,” Lady Lacey insisted. “I want you to try again, Dominic.”
“And if she will still not have me—”
“She will have you and be grateful that a Lacey would condescend to marry a village girl.”
Nic’s mouth twitched.
Lady Lacey caught his eye, and waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, she has beauty and education, and that is some compensation for her lack of good family. And she will give you healthy children. Castle Lacey needs an heir and it is past time you provided one. Here is your chance to redeem yourself. If your father were here—” But she stopped and looked away, unable to go on.
“I will make her marry me,” Nic promised, to fill the silence. “If I have to drag her to the altar, then I will marry her. I give you my word, Mother.”
Lady Lacey straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, her proud face calm, once more masking any emotion. “I am glad to hear it, Dominic.”
He hesitated beside her, and then bent to brush his lips against the top of her graying hair. She stiffened, and he thought she would withdraw, but then she reached up and patted his cheek.
“You will come for supper tonight, Dominic. We will discuss this again.” She gave the invitation—more like an order—as if it were something they did every night.
Nic wondered if he should point out to her that he hadn’t had supper with her since 1828, but decided against it. They were talking again, and it was best not to question it.
He smiled. “Yes, thank you, Mother, I will come to supper.”
Chapter 21
Olivia sat on the swing in the garden, disconsolate, in disgrace. She’d loved this swing as a child. She could remember Sarah pushing her, laughing when Olivia squealed, and cuddling her when she fell off. Now here she was, a grown woman, seeking consolation from a thing of rope and wood.
She’d made her decision.
When she really thought about it there’d only ever been one decision all along. Nic Lacey. She would accept him. She hadn’t told her mother yet, and she didn’t look forward to doing so. This would make her even more upset and angry, and it was possible she might never talk to her daughter again. Olivia knew her parents wanted to protect her, but it wasn’t her fault that Sarah had died, and there was nothing she could do to change that. And they couldn’t live her life for her, nor did she want them to.
She felt better now that the choice was made, as if her fate was set. No going back now. She had always wanted live her life to the full rather than make do with second best, and now she would. Nic Lacey would be her life. Moody and difficult, charismatic and wild, and so sweet, he was and always had been the man for her.
Memories of their moments together made her smile dreamily. In fact she was so caught up in some particularly heart-stopping parts of those memories, she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching her across the lawn until she was no longer alone.
“Miss Monteith, you are looking good enough to eat.”
Olivia started and turned her head. Nic was standing behind her and to the side, smiling, his dark eyes watchful. She wondered if he could read her heated thoughts and instantly set her face into a polite and chilly mask.
“I’m not sure if that is a compliment, Lord Lacey.”
“Oh, it is, believe me.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Estelle told me. She saw me approaching the door and saved me from another meeting with your mother.”
Olivia looked away, swinging idly. “You can’t blame her for being angry and upset. I have caused a great scandal in Bassingthorpe, probably the worst scandal the village has ever seen.”
Nic didn’t answer her, but she didn’t notice his silence.
“I’ve never been notorious before,” she went on. “It isn’t very pleasant. I can understand why women go off and live in seclusion.”
“Yes, I can see you hiding yourself away in a small cottage on a windswept coast, wearing a veil and standing mysteriously on the cliff top.” He sounded sarcastic, and she turned her head and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Why have you come, Nic?”
“You know why.”
She tightened her grip on the sides of the swing. “If you’ve come to ask me again if I’ll marry you, then yes, I will.”
He snorted. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“I…It’s just that this isn’t how I envisaged it would be. I feel as if I’ve forced you to make a decision rather than coming around to it on your own. I’ve always known we would be a perfect match, but you didn’t. Now you might never discover it. You might feel resentful.”
He came up close behind her and she tilted her head back toward him. “Very resentful,” he murmured, and bent to kiss her lips.
He tasted wonderful and she felt her body grow warm and languorous, eager for more of his kisses. But Nic was already putting distance between them. She watched him through her lashes as he moved around to stand in front of her.
“You told me you wanted to live your life in your own way. I accept that. I won’t demand an accounting for your spending and I won’t ask where you’ve been and with whom. As my wife you will have that freedom.”
His expression was intent, watchful, and she wondered what he expected her to say. Olivia knew he was being very generous. Such a life as he described would be free indeed in comparison with that of most married women, and yet…Was she very ungrateful? Or just perverse? She must be, because she would have preferred him to tell her he wanted her at his side, under his eye, for the next twenty years, and that he would become unbearably jealous if she even looked at another man.
That he was offering to allow her to go where and with whom she pleased meant she could hardly object if he allowed himself the same freedom.
Olivia smiled her polite smile. “Thank you, Nic.”
“There’s just one thing,” he added quietly. “My mother has informed me I must provide her with a grandson and myself with an heir.”
“Your mother…?”
“Yes, she is speaking to me again.”
“Well, that is a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is a good thing.” He stretched out his hand toward her, and when she clasped his fingers, helped her down from the swing. “I mention the heir because I do have one stipulation, Olivia. Any child you provide must be mine. Unquestionably mine. Other than that, you can live, and do, as you wish.”
Again Olivia felt that ache in her heart. No, no, that’s not what I want. I want you, only you, and I want you to want me. But of course she said nothing of the sort. Who would have thought the freedom she’d longed for could feel like a small, dark prison cell?
“Of course. I agree.” She smiled, her calm mask firmly in place.
There was no hint of triumph in his smile. “Then come. We will return to your house and I will speak with your father.”
Olivia slipped her hand into his arm. She knew she wanted to be with Nic, whatever happened, whatever the future held. She’d always wanted to be with him. And she still believed that she could win him to her, bind his heart to hers, no matter how unlikely it seemed to everyone else.
Nic was with her father for more than an hour, and when he’d gone, Mr. Monteith seemed rather bemused by the whole matter. “Lord Lacey was very generous,” he admitted.
“I won’t bother your head with the details, Olivia, but he made no argument with anything I suggested. I must say I was surprised. I thought a man like that would drive a harder bargain.”
Mrs. Monteith wasn’t happy. “You should have refused him. You know his reputation. He can never make Olivia happy. I can hardly bear to think of it.”
They exchanged a meaningful look.
“Well, she has accepted him,” her husband said, “and in the circumstances, I think marriage is the best solution. A scandal like this will not go away, and despite his reputation, Lord Lacey is a good catch. A very good catch. I expect my credit in London will rise tenfold when they hear Lacey is to be my son-in-law. And in time the past difficulties will all be forgotten, you’ll see.”
Mrs. Monteith looked at him as if he were insane. “‘Past difficulties,’” she repeated in a shaky voice. “Is that what you call them? How can you talk about—about ‘credit’ and ‘good catches’ when we are selling our daughter to the man who—”
“Mrs. Monteith, remember what you’re saying,” he said sharply, glancing at Olivia.
She swallowed, shook her head. “He will take her away from us.”
“Don’t be foolish. Castle Lacey is his home and it will be Olivia’s home, too. I’m sure, with Olivia’s steadying influence…” He paused, perhaps recalling that Olivia had been anything but steady recently. “With Olivia’s influence, Lord Lacey will set aside his wild ways and take up the reins of his estate, instead of traveling half the year and leaving the running of it to others. His father was a good master and a canny landlord, who spread his profits into investments rather than wasting it on his back, as so many of the upper classes tend to do. I’m sure his son will be just as good, or even better.”
Olivia hid her smile. Her father was a businessman through and through, with little time for the wastefulness of those of the gentry who believed show was everything. He had raised his family from a comfortable position to a wealthy one, and he was scornful of those who were too idle or thought themselves too grand to see the mercantile opportunities awaiting them. His one vanity was his position as a self-made man, and the respect it brought him from his peers.
His wife wasn’t as easily convinced. “You know there are objections, Mr. Monteith. You are choosing not to see them for reasons of your own. Well, I can’t pretend everything has ended well. I am not so pragmatic as you.”
And she burst into tears and left the room.
Olivia and her father were alone in the study. Mr. Monteith rearranged his papers, embarrassed at the display of emotion. “Your mother will come to accept the inevitable,” he assured her gruffly. “It is just that she had her heart set on Mr. Garsed.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint, Father.”
He looked up at her under his shaggy brows, his eyes keen and intelligent. “I expect you will do the Laceys proud. I admit that if I have a weakness it is to see my daughter with a title. Lady Lacey. Yes, I will enjoy boasting about you to my business colleagues.”
Olivia smiled. “I’m glad to be able to oblige.”
“There’s something I should tell you about your sister, Sarah,” he began hesitantly, then stopped. “Or perhaps it is best to let matters lie sleeping?”
“Sarah, Father?”
He met her gaze and then looked away. “Perhaps another time, my dear.”
Olivia waited, in case he changed his mind, but he said no more, evidently distracted by something he saw in the papers on his desk. He sat down, frowning, and picked up his pen. Olivia left the room quietly and closed the door.
There was one more thing to do and she didn’t look forward to it. She’d received two proposals of marriage, and Theodore deserved to be told the outcome before news leaked out.
Theodore took a mouthful of the mousse à la Garsed, his chef’s latest dish. The rich, creamy dessert seemed to stick in his throat but he forced it down, and forced a smile. “Delicious,” he managed, beaming. “You have outdone yourself this time, François!”
Satisfied, the chef returned to his domain. Theodore put his spoon down. He felt ill, his stomach was churning with emotion. It was all Lacey’s fault.
Olivia had come to see him after he’d proposed, and he’d known as soon as he’d seen her face that she was going to marry Lacey. Theodore had put on a sad but brave face, his manner disappointed but understanding, while inside he was boiling with jealousy and rage.
“The scandal is nothing to me,” he’d assured her. “I want to marry you, Miss Monteith. Please, I beg you will not marry Lord Lacey because you believe he is the only one who will have you now.”
Olivia seemed so touched by his words, there were tears in her eyes, and her soft pink lips trembled as she strove to reply. He’d never loved her more, and his heart ached.
“I have accepted Lord Lacey, Mr. Garsed. I’m sorry to cause you pain, and I will always remember your kindness and generosity. But it is all arranged.”
Theodore thought he said the right things, he hardly remembered what it was, and she said her good-byes.
“I don’t know how you can eat that pap,” Alphonse drawled from his position by the fire.
Theodore had forgotten he was there, but now he glanced over at his brother. With his swarthy good looks he was very like his Italian mother, Theodore’s father’s second wife. Theodore could remember seeing his new half brother for the first time and finding something rather repellent in the mewling bundle, but as time went on he’d learned to accept and even grow fond of Alphonse. There was a bond of blood between them.
“If the woman doesn’t want you, Theo, then she is a fool. Do you really want to marry a fool?” Alphonse was holding up his glass of claret to the light, watching intently as the color changed.
“You don’t understand,” Theodore retorted. “Olivia Monteith would have been the perfect wife. She would have given my table and my home an elegance it lacks. Why, she’s almost as interested in François’s creations as I am!”
Alphonse smiled.
“What is it?” Theodore said hastily. “Have I said something to amuse you?”
“Not at all, brother.” Alphonse set down his glass. “I am very fond of you, Theo. You do know that?”
“Alphonse, I don’t want you doing anything awkward,” Theodore began uneasily, then he put a hand to his stomach and grimaced.
“I can see you have one of your stomachaches, brother. I think you should go to bed. You’ll feel much better in the morning.”
Theodore sighed. “I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. I always have your best interests at heart. You know that, don’t you, Theodore?”
Theodore rose to his feet, paused at the door and looked back. Alphonse was watching him expectantly. “Thank you, Alphonse.” He said the words his brother was waiting to hear.
“My pleasure, brother. My pleasure.”
Alphonse waited until he heard Theodore’s door close, and then he went to find paper and pen and ink in the desk in the library. When he was at school Alphonse had forged a letter of credit from their father to the bank, and no one had ever found out. The money had got him—and Theodore—through a difficult time. There had been other situations in which he’d helped his brother—the dancer who tried to blackmail Theodore and whom Alphonse had dealt with—rather too enthusiastically, some would say.
He’d always looked after Theodore and he always would.
Alphonse began to compose the notes that would draw their prey into the web.
Originally, he’d planned to send one note only, to Nic Lacey—he’d found Lacey’s handwriting on a polite note of refusal to one of Theodore’s soirees—but as he carefully copied Lacey’s writing, Alphonse decided it would be a good idea to have Olivia there, too. She could witness her lover’s death. That should ensure she never strayed from Theodore again.
Alphonse’s jaw tightened. Theodore was far too much of a gentleman to stand up for himself. He preferred to suffer in silence. W
ell, Alphonse would make certain he didn’t suffer for long. If Theodore wanted a fairy-tale ending with the woman he loved, then he’d have one, and everyone would believe it a horrible accident that Lacey had died. A poacher’s bullet going astray…or even a gamekeeper’s.
Wilson, the Lacey’s gamekeeper, is a most unpleasant fellow, far too zealous for his own good. Alphonse could hear Theodore’s voice in his head from earlier in the day, when Alphonse had expressed the intention of going for a stroll. Don’t go into the woods, brother, whatever you do. He’s just as likely to shoot you and ask questions later.
Theodore heard all the village gossip—people tended to tell him things—they trusted him. But people also tended to take advantage of his kind nature, and Alphonse was there to see that didn’t happen.
“Tomorrow everything will be settled,” he murmured to himself, “Nic Lacey will be dead and his molto caro will fall into Theodore’s arms.”
Chapter 22
Nic swung his leg over the saddle, grimacing at the familiar twinge. The note had come last evening. Meet me in the woods by the pagan stone at two o’clock. I need to talk. Olivia. His future bride was impatient to see him alone, he thought, with a smile. Well, he was not adverse to some sensual gratification. From what he knew about marriage, which was little enough, the bride was usually kept well away from the groom until the actual ceremony. This would heighten his desire nicely, but the fact was he’d tasted her once, and it was becoming difficult to deny himself.
Perhaps Olivia felt the same?
She was a sensual creature. He was looking forward to tutoring her, but the interesting thing was Olivia had things to teach him. It was quite an admission for a rake. Nic might know a great deal about technique, the coolheaded ways of increasing pleasure, but Olivia was warm and passionate, and she was ruled by feelings. He found that fresh and fascinating. The shifting expressions on her face as he touched her, the way she arched beneath him, and her eagerness to share her enjoyment with him.
