Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

by Janice Preston

  He smirked as Alex subsided on to his chair and reached for the glass before him with a hand that visibly trembled.

  ‘Allow me to fetch you a chair, Lady Olivia,’ said Mr Randall.

  She shuddered, recalling his slimy behaviour at Vauxhall Gardens, and barely nodded her thanks as he collected a chair and placed it between his chair and Alex’s. Then he bowed.

  ‘We have not been introduced, but...will you do the honours, Beauchamp?’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said Alex ungraciously. ‘M’sister ain’t staying and she d-d-don’t need an acquaintance with you fellows.

  Olivia’s face flamed at Alex’s rudeness. Not that she had any wish to be introduced to any of these scoundrels, but whatever was the matter with Alex? He was abrupt and disrespectful at home at times, but—like her—he knew enough to watch his manners when out in polite society. This was unlike him. Surely he hadn’t had the time to get so drunk since their arrival and even he would not drink to excess at a ball such as this. What he did afterwards, when he was out and about with his pals, was a different matter. Her heart crawled up into her throat and she looked anxiously at the rest of the occupants of the room, but everybody was busy concentrating on their own games, taking no notice of anything else going on. The two footmen on duty to supply the players with drinks stood like sentries near the door, their gazes firmly fixed on the opposite wall.

  Olivia lowered her voice and put her hand on her brother’s arm. ‘Please, Alex. Come with me. You can play cards again later.’

  Alex jerked his arm, dislodging her hand as Tadlow sniggered.

  ‘Yes, go on, Alex. Do as your little sister bids you.’

  Alex turned to Olivia. ‘Go back...d-dance. I ’shcorted you, di’n’t I? What m-m-more ish a man to do?’ His words were a disjointed mumble and his hand, as he pushed at her, missed her entirely and flopped to swing by his side for a moment before he heaved it back up to the table and fumbled to pick up his cards.

  There was nothing she could do without making a huge fuss, which Alex would hate and which would only make him dig in his heels more stubbornly. She rose from the table, glared at the three other men and stalked to the door. Inside, her nerves churned until she felt quite sick. Something was wrong with Alex. He was not just foxed...she had seen him enough times in that state to recognise the signs. By this time of the evening he should be the life and soul of the party...alcohol seemed to sharpen his wits, not dull them as she had just witnessed. She headed back to the ballroom, crushed, desperate and feeling very alone. Why did this have to happen now, when Papa was away? She had always prided herself on her resourcefulness, but how could she cope with this on her own? How she missed the security of knowing her family were around her, ready to support her.

  She hesitated at the door of the ballroom, scanning the men present. Was there anyone she could confide in? Beg for help? But to do that would be to expose Alex’s folly to someone outside her family. Perhaps Neville Wolfe? She’d seen him earlier. He was a loyal friend to Alex and would not spread gossip, but he was young himself, and a bit of a fool at times, as young men often are.

  No. Neville would be no match for those men with Alex. She would wait a bit longer, until Hugo arrived. He would know what to do. He already knew the danger Tadlow posed to Alex and had proved he could be discreet.

  He had promised Freddie he would watch over Alex, so where was he?

  Chapter Twelve

  Hugo strolled into the Denby ball and halted, adjusting his cuffs as he took stock of the dancers and those watching them: the chaperons, seated together, gossiping behind their fans; the hunters, prowling the perimeter of the ballroom as they surveyed their prey—the young ladies with generous dowries and influential family connections; the wallflowers, clustered together, their heads defiantly high.

  He had stayed away as long as he could, delaying the moment when he would see Olivia—beautiful, desirable Olivia who kissed like a dream. He knew tonight he would face a battle to avoid her—that damned kiss had opened a door within his soul that, no matter how he tried, he could not quite shut again. He swallowed down a self-deprecating snort—he was well on the way to behaving in the same way as all the other lovelorn fools who constantly surrounded her.

  He hadn’t suspected he could feel such a longing to simply dance with a woman and now, since Lady Charnwood’s introduction, there was not a single thing to stop him asking her. And it wasn’t only the desire to dance with her that had caught him entirely unawares. He wanted to be the man to escort her to supper. He wanted to talk openly with her and make her laugh...see her smile at him...and only him.

  Knowing he ought not to do any of those things gnawed at him. She haunted his thoughts every waking moment and danced through his dreams every night. Hence his tardy arrival. The less time he spent resisting all that temptation, the better.

  His roving gaze found her soon enough. She was on the opposite side of the ballroom, standing among a cluster of friends—including, he was irritated to see, Clevedon—looking as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Which, of course, she hadn’t—she was wealthy, well born and beautiful. Her pale blue gown clung to her, outlining her willowy elegance, and her dark hair was piled on her head, with soft waved tendrils left loose to frame her face. Hugo took his time, enjoying the simple pleasure of just watching her from afar. But gradually he realised she was putting on an act. The people around her were talking, but Olivia only joined in when addressed directly—the rest of the time her gaze darted around the ballroom as she bit into her bottom lip.

  And then she saw him and her expression lit up, a smile widening those luscious pink lips. Hugo’s body responded to her clear joy at seeing him even as he cautioned himself to take care—her unguarded expression would surely cause any observer to suspect an existing intimacy between them and her reputation would suffer. She was young and naïve and had not yet learned to conceal her true emotions, but she must learn to do so if they were to escape detection in future.

  He frowned. There could be no future. He was only interested in women for one purpose and she was too innocent and too highly connected for him to even think of her in those terms. She deserved a young swain, not a world-weary cynic like him. Or Clevedon. Hugo had seen the Earl arrive at Beauchamp House earlier, clutching a bouquet, and Hugo—on his way to confer with Freddie Allen—had been forced to hang around outside until Clevedon had left again. He did not want Clevedon to know he was looking out for Alex in case he passed that information on to Tadlow. Hugo prayed Olivia was too clever to fall for Clevedon’s courtship. He could not bear to see her joy in life battered and squashed by marriage to a man who could never be a proper husband to her.

  He tried to keep his attention on the dancers, but he could not resist sneaking another look at Olivia. Her expression was no longer full of joy, but...she looked desperate. And, as their gazes clashed again across the room, he thought back and realised that her earlier joy had been liberally mixed with relief.

  Bloody conceited fool!

  He had assumed her glow of happiness when she first saw him was purely down to her pleasure at his arrival. But there was clearly something else troubling her and his heart clenched just with the knowing that she was upset. So, despite his misgivings, he stood his ground as Olivia began to make her way to him, keeping his gaze on the couples forming the next set.

  Was it Clevedon? Had he done something else to try to compromise Olivia when he had called on her? He noted the bastard tracking Olivia’s progress around the room, but then forgot all about him as Olivia paused next to him, her arm brushing against his sleeve. The hair on the back of his neck rose as the smell of violets awakened his senses. Olivia kept her attention on the dancing couples and her voice low. He had to strain to catch her words.

  ‘Alex is playing cards with Tadlow. I tried to persuade him to leave, but he would not listen.’ There was a pause. ‘He looks strang
e, almost as though he is drugged.’

  ‘Stay here. I’ll go and check on him.’

  Hugo headed downstairs to the card room. And just in time, by the look of it as Tadlow and Bulbridge, with a slumping Alex between them, emerged from the card room. A footman pointed towards the rear of the house and, as Hugo drew closer, he heard the man say, ‘Through that door, follow the passage and the door to the back yard is the one at the end, sir. There’s a gate through to the mews from there.’

  ‘Thank you, my man,’ said Tadlow. ‘We cannot have our inebriated friend here kicking up a rumpus. It is far better to remove him discreetly through the back than risk offending your master’s guests.’

  Some instinct made Hugo glance over his shoulder. Olivia, her troubled gaze fixed on Alex, was hurrying towards him. Hugo waved her back. She kept coming until she was by his side.

  ‘Stay out of this,’ he growled.

  ‘He is my brother,’ she hissed through gritted teeth.

  ‘Stay back. You cannot help. Please. Trust me to look after him.’

  He didn’t have time to see if she obeyed him. If he didn’t act quickly, the men would be gone. They were already heading off towards the door the footman had pointed out, Alex’s arms slung over the shoulders of the other men as he stumbled in an effort to keep up with them.

  ‘Tadlow!’

  The man’s head swivelled to peer back at Hugo. He scowled.

  ‘What is it, Alastair? As you can see, we have our hands rather full here.’

  ‘I am come to relieve you of your burden,’ said Hugo. ‘Beauchamp’s carriage is at the front door.’

  ‘This way is more discreet. My carriage is waiting out this way.’

  Hugo lengthened his stride and overtook the trio. He faced them. They kept coming and he found himself walking backwards. Olivia, he was relieved to see, had stayed back and was watching, wide-eyed.

  ‘What is a gentleman’s carriage doing at the back entrance, Tadlow? Did you plan to leave this way?’

  ‘Keep your nose out of my affairs,’ snarled Tadlow. ‘Beauchamp owes me. We have unfinished business.’

  One bonus of Hugo’s misspent past was that men such as Tadlow assumed he was as indifferent now as he ever was. And that assumption made men indiscreet as they revealed things they might otherwise hide, not realising that the man they knew from before was not the same man today. Hugo could at least now hold his head up that he had begun that process of change, even if it had taken him longer than most young men to come to his senses. If only he could imbue some of that sense into young Beauchamp.

  ‘Beauchamp.’ Alex did not respond, his head drooping listlessly although he was taking some of his weight on his legs. ‘Alexander!’ His head snapped up at that. His wavering gaze fixed on Hugo’s face, then he grinned. ‘Thought you were m’father for a minute.’

  The entire time Tadlow and Bulbridge had continued to advance, and now Hugo found himself with his back against the door at the end of the passageway.

  He stepped forward, shoving Tadlow aside to grab Alex’s arm. ‘Come with me, Beauchamp. You don’t want to go with these two, do you?’

  ‘Go? Go?’ Alex’s head swivelled. ‘Where we goin’? Diablo’s? Don’ wanna go there. Told you...it’s crooked.’

  ‘You heard the man, Tadlow,’ said Hugo. ‘I don’t want to cause a scandal here in Denby’s house, but you’d best leave Beauchamp be. He’s going nowhere.’

  ‘Brave talk for one man against two. Now, get out of our way.’ It was Bulbridge who spoke this time, a squat, coarse-featured, unmannerly man. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Alastair—interfering in things that are none of your business. Although...’ and he glanced behind him before fixing Hugo with a leer on his face ‘...I can see which part of your anatomy is leading you. You’ve no chance there, you fool. Stand aside.’

  Tadlow pushed between Hugo and Alex. About to grapple with him, Hugo paused. Olivia was still watching and, beyond her, people were still moving to and from the card room. He should take this argument outside rather than risk a scandal in here, in front of witnesses—Olivia in particular. He stood aside, opening the door for the three men as, behind them, Olivia started forward. Hugo waved her back again, more urgently this time. What was likely to happen was not for a lady’s eyes. To his astonishment, she obeyed, spinning on her heel before hurrying back towards the main staircase.

  Hugo followed the three men into a short passageway, dimly lit by a single candle in a wall sconce. There was a door at the far end and a narrow flight of stairs led down to the right, presumably to the kitchen and other service areas in the basement. They soon reached the door at the end and, as they manoeuvred Alex through and into the yard, Hugo saw Alex revive a touch and start to resist the men who were manhandling him. His head lifted, his legs straightened, and he began to struggle. ‘No...back... Livvy...’

  Hugo overtook the men again, blocking their way to the gate set into the surrounding wall.

  ‘You heard him. He wants to go back. For the last time, leave him with me and we’ll say no more about this.’

  Tadlow released Alex, shoving him towards Bulbridge, who swung him round and backed him sharply against the wall. Tadlow came towards Hugo, his hands balled into fists.

  ‘And I say it for the last time, too, Alastair—get out of our way.’

  Tadlow did not trouble to keep his voice down and every sinew in Hugo’s body hardened as the implication of that—coupled with the sound of the gate behind him creaking open—registered. Even as he began to turn, raising his own fists, a blow to the side of his head sent him staggering back. He kept his feet as Douglas Randall—Bulbridge’s cousin—stalked towards him. Hugo feinted with his left and then, as Randall blocked him, he jabbed hard straight at the other man’s nose. His fist connected with a satisfying crunch and Randall reeled away. This was no time for gentlemanly conduct. With three against one Hugo could not allow the man time to recover and he followed him up, grabbing his shoulder and swinging him around as he let fly with a roundhouse punch to the side of his face and followed that immediately with a solid punch to the gut that floored him. Then he spun to face Tadlow, but hesitated as Olivia burst through the door into the yard and slammed to a halt by Tadlow’s side, her mouth a perfect O of horror.

  Tadlow wrapped his arms around Olivia, entrapping both her arms and lifting her so her feet flailed helplessly off the ground. With a roar of rage, Hugo charged at Tadlow, but Bulbridge then thrust Alex away and barged Hugo aside. They grappled and, even as they swayed together, each attempting to loosen the other’s hold, Hugo saw Randall attempting to get to his feet and his heart sank.

  ‘Liv!’ Suddenly, Alex was on Tadlow’s back, his arm around the man’s neck as he throttled him. ‘Let my sister go, you bastard,’ he snarled and Hugo saw him sink his teeth into Tadlow’s ear.

  That gave Hugo renewed strength and he heaved again at Bulbridge, breaking his hold. He stepped back smartly and jabbed once, twice, three times at the man before he could recover his balance. Blood spurted from Bulbridge’s nose and mouth, but still he came at Hugo. The swiftest of glances showed Alex with Olivia, pushing her behind him as he—swaying slightly and with a scowl of pure concentration on his face—stood between her and Tadlow and then all his attention was on Bulbridge as they fought. He must disable the man quickly, for Alex was no match for even Tadlow—the weakest of the three men—in his current state and if Randall recovered enough to get involved, all would be lost.

  At least, he thought grimly, Alex will never again trust Tadlow after this.

  Then the door back into the house opened and Clevedon stepped through into the yard. Everyone seemed to freeze, for the briefest of seconds, as the Earl took in the scene. Then he caught Hugo’s eye, nodded and strode across to haul Randall to his feet. He dragged him to the gate and shoved him through before returning to Tadlow. Bulbridge backed aw
ay from Hugo, but he followed, jabbing relentlessly until the Viscount’s back hit the wall. The man looked almost done and Hugo grasped his collar and hauled him to the gate.

  ‘Don’t you dare let me see your ugly face near the Beauchamps again,’ he growled before throwing Bulbridge to the cobbled ground of the mews beyond. He was then almost knocked aside as Tadlow rushed past him and grabbed Bulbridge, tugging him to his feet. Hugo started after the men, intending to make sure they did actually leave, but Clevedon gripped his shoulder.

  ‘Allow me to escort these gentlemen off the premises.’

  He did not wait for a response but strode off, following the three men hobbling in the direction of the road.

  * * *

  The breath whooshed from Olivia’s lungs as Hugo returned to the yard. She rushed to him and framed his face with her hands, peering closely in the dimming twilight. His breathing sounded harsh in the sudden quiet. His hand—large, warm, comforting—slid around her waist, pulling her close.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ His deep voice curled around her and through her, heating her blood, making her own breath hitch.

  No,’ she whispered. ‘Hugo. I—’

  Her heart clenched as she spied a dark line trickling from the corner of his mouth. She stripped off her evening glove and touched his mouth with trembling fingertips. The indrawn hiss of breath told her all she needed to know. She moved closer, sliding her fingers through his hair, relishing the solid strength of his hard body against hers as his scent filled her. He’d been in danger and she needed to know he was safe.

  ‘It is you who is hurt. I am so sorry.’ She brushed her lips across his cheek. Saw his lids close. Felt the swell of his chest as he drew in a long, deep breath.

  ‘You have no reason to apologise.’ He bent his head, his forehead touching hers as his warm breath feathered her skin. ‘This is not your fault.’ His fingers stroked featherlight along her jaw. ‘I am so sorry you had to witness that.’ He heaved in another breath. ‘Oh, God!’ His voice cracked. ‘When he grabbed you... I felt... I wanted to—’