Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

by Janice Preston

  Clevedon beckoned a footman stationed near the door. Hugo was still watching them, his eyes narrowed, and she tilted her chin. Good. He would see it was not only young men who found her of interest. She could attract a sophisticated gentleman like Clevedon, who must be thirty if he was a day, and it was a bonus that he happened to be Hugo’s friend.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I am rather thirsty.’

  Besides, she was conscious that Clevedon knew enough to cause a scandal for her and for Alex if he chose to talk of what happened at the Denby ball. They were in full view at a ball—how could there be any danger? It would not hurt her to be pleasant to him.

  ‘Would you care to stand over there by the window and catch the breeze, if there is any to be had?’

  ‘Thank you; that would be a relief.’

  Clevedon instructed the footman to bring two glasses of lemonade to them in the window embrasure and then steered Olivia towards the window, which was partly shielded from the room by a large urn of flowers. The fresher air admitted by the raised sash was most welcome and Olivia was confident in her ability to manage any unwelcome behaviour by the Earl.

  She sipped gratefully at the cool lemonade, savouring the sharp tang of the lemons.

  ‘That is better.’ Clevedon leant against the wall of the alcove and eyed her as he drank. ‘And we have the advantage that those flowers deflect some of the noise from the room. Tell me, how are you enjoying your first Season?’

  ‘It is everything I hoped it would be,’ said Olivia promptly.

  He chuckled. ‘I hear a “but” in there somewhere.’ When she did not respond, he went on, ‘You have surely achieved everything every young girl dreams of when coming to town for the first time: you have taken society by storm and, despite what happened at the Denby ball, I have not heard a breath of criticism attached to your name.’

  Her gaze flew to his. He smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Your secret is safe, my lady. Never fear.’

  He moved closer and Olivia tensed, gripping her glass in two hands and raising it to chest level to prevent him getting too close. His gaze flicked down to that protective manoeuvre and his eyes crinkled as they lifted again to hers. He leaned even closer, his lips close to her ear.

  ‘It is a challenge for a man to snatch a private word with such a popular young lady, not to mention one with two very protective brothers. But I have always relished a challenge. Tell me...can you name one single man who hasn’t fallen immediately under your spell? I’ll wager you cannot and, if you can, then I denounce that man as a fool.’

  An image of Hugo arose in her mind’s eye. Did one kiss count as him falling under her spell? Her heart sank. No. For it was she who had kissed him. He had merely responded, as any red-blooded male might, to what she had offered. She eyed Clevedon again and swallowed, suddenly uncertain of allowing him to manoeuvre her into this semi-private spot.

  There was no advantage to encouraging Clevedon if Hugo could not see them—she’d only thought to make him a little jealous. Her rambling thoughts froze. Dominic always called her a manipulative little madam when she tried to get her own way. And that’s exactly what she was doing now...using Clevedon in an attempt to—what was it he had said?—in an attempt to have Hugo fall under her spell.

  She got that squirming, shameful feeling in her stomach that she often experienced when she knew she was in the wrong.

  Clevedon brushed the back of his fingers across her collarbone and she straightened, looking him firmly in the eye.

  ‘Thank you for the lemonade, sir. I am quite refreshed and it is time I returned to my chaperon.’

  ‘As you wish, Lady Olivia. You are right to be cautious. Reputation is everything for a young lady, is it not? You may rely on me not to set tongues wagging.’

  His words sent a shiver dancing down her spine. Was that a veiled warning? No. Surely not. Her imagination really did run away with her at times.

  Clevedon bowed and stood aside. As she passed him, she felt the brush of his hand on the nape of her neck and down her back. She could do nothing but ignore it. She could not challenge him over his inappropriate caress when she had willingly put herself in a situation where he could take advantage. Aunt Cecily had warned her often enough about never going off alone with any man—even into a semi-public situation like that window embrasure.

  If you do, your actions are bound to be misconstrued. Never give any man a chance to get you alone.

  Those words echoed through her head and her spirits—already low—plummeted further. When would she come home? Olivia needed her. Papa and Rosalind were all very well, but it was Aunt Cecily to whom she had always turned. Her calm good sense always helped Olivia make the right decision.

  ‘Might I beg a second dance, my lady?’

  She wanted to refuse, but she found herself agreeing to Clevedon’s request, wary of provoking him when he knew so much about Alex. His smile told her she’d made the right decision, but she consoled herself that he could pay court to her all he liked, she would never marry him. On that thought, she scanned the room. Hugo was nowhere to be seen and neither was Alex, although Dominic was dancing with Louisa Pendleton and Nell was dancing with Lord Silverdale, one of Uncle Vernon’s friends. How she hoped Alex had not been lured into another disastrous card game.

  They reached Lady Glenlochrie, and Clevedon scribbled his name against a dance later that evening, bowed, and walked away. Olivia sank into a vacant chair and Lady Glenlochrie leaned towards her, raising her open fan in front of her face to keep her words private.

  ‘That is most encouraging, my dear. You did quite right, not lingering for too long by the window. I kept my eye on his lordship, you may be sure of that, and there was nothing untoward that I could see. Your papa will be pleased when he returns tomorrow.’

  Olivia battened down her irritation. ‘Lady Glenlochrie, I know you mean well, but I have no wish to encourage Lord Clevedon or anyone else for that matter. I do not wish to marry yet.’

  ‘Nonsense! If a man such as Clevedon should offer for you, your papa will bite his hand off, gel, make no mistake. He is a splendid catch. And, as behoves an obedient daughter, I make no doubt you will conform to your father’s wishes on the subject of your marriage.’

  Olivia only just managed to prevent her eyes rolling at that.

  Lady G. is so old-fashioned—she belongs in the last century. Papa would never force me to marry someone I do not care for.

  That thought sparked another, however. A less welcome thought. Papa might never force her to marry someone she objected to, but would he be amenable to her marrying the man of her choice if he disapproved of him? She suspected she knew the answer to that and it was not the answer she wanted.

  She thrust aside all thought of Hugo and marriage—not that he is interested in me. He is merely a convenient example, that is all—and turned to Lady Glenlochrie. There was little point in arguing with her so Olivia simply smiled, collected her reticule from where she had left it while she danced and stood up.

  ‘I need to visit the retiring room, ma’am.’

  Lady Glenlochrie inclined her head, then returned her attention to her neighbour and their gossip and Olivia made her escape. She exited the room and stood irresolute on the landing before heading for the card room, situated towards the rear of the house. In the doorway, she almost bumped into Hugo, on his way out of the room. Every nerve ending tingled and her breath grew aggravatingly short. She really wished she could prevent these unwanted reactions to the man. She tightened her grip on her reticule.

  ‘Have you seen Alex?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s in there.’ Hugo flicked his thumb at the card room. ‘He’s playing with Charnwood and a couple of other decent men. There’s no need for you to concern yourself; I’m keeping an eye on him.’

  ‘May I see?’

  Olivia stood on tiptoes to try to peer over his s
houlder and Hugo’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he stepped aside to allow her an uninterrupted view of Alex, who looked relaxed and happy.

  ‘Do you not trust my word, my lady?’

  Olivia elevated her nose. ‘I do not believe you always tell the whole truth, no. And I need to be certain Alex is not gambling with unsavoury characters.’

  ‘I can assure you that Alex has seen the error of his ways and is not likely to get embroiled with men like Tadlow again.’

  Then his lips firmed. Olivia found it hard to tear her gaze from his mouth; found herself longing to kiss him again. Was that very shocking? Of course it was, but she could not help how she felt. And as long as he did not realise it, her pride would remain intact and she could hold her high.

  ‘I wish I could say the same about you,’ Hugo then muttered.

  Startled, Olivia looked up. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. Look. We cannot talk here, it will be remarked upon. Follow me, but at a distance. And for God’s sake, be discreet.’

  He stalked away without waiting for an answer and took the stairs to the second floor. Olivia followed—reluctance slowing her pace. She knew that tone of voice—although she did not know what gave Lord Hugo Alastair the right to think he could dictate to her about anything she might choose to do. On the landing, she looked around in time to see Hugo disappear behind a pair of floor-length curtains. She followed.

  They were in a deep embrasure where the window overlooked the street. A gas lamp outside cast a pale illumination over Hugo’s grim expression. She cast her mind wide for words that might lighten his mood...anything to avert the lecture she felt sure he was bursting to deliver.

  ‘I prefer my choice of venue for an illicit rendezvous.’

  No sooner were the words out than the memory of their encounter in Sophie Wray’s bedchamber exploded into her brain, complete with every detail of that kiss. Heat erupted and, without volition, she moved closer, placing one hand on his chest as she tilted her face to his. His chest expanded as he drew in a fractured breath, his eyes dark fathomless pools in his pale face. Then he covered her hand with his and slid it up to rest on his shoulder. His fingers feathered over her collarbone and neck and up to her cheek. She leaned into his touch and stepped even closer, sliding her other arm inside his coat and around him, stroking his back, breathing in his spicy, masculine scent. Their breath mingled as their gazes fused, and then her eyes drifted shut as that delicious, melting sensation gathered deep inside her, pooling between her thighs.

  Lips brushed her skin with the most delicate of touches—dancing along her jaw and the sensitive skin at the side of her neck. She swallowed her moan and tilted her head back as he traced her collarbone and teased along her neckline with lips and tongue, leaving her tingling and craving more. Then his arm snaked around her waist and hauled her close as he seized her lips. She pressed into him, soothing her tight, aching breasts against the solid wall of his chest. She opened her mouth, meeting the thrust of his tongue with her own, matching his every move.

  His jaw rasped her fingertips as she stroked and explored his face and her other hand dipped lower, skimming the silk of his waistcoat, tracing his spine as it curved into his waist and then the hard swell of his buttocks—rounded and firm. She felt the shift of his muscles as she squeezed and a low groan rumbled in his throat. He stilled. She didn’t want him to pause. Didn’t want to give him time to think...to have second thoughts. She thrust her fingers through his hair and cupped the back of his head, holding him still as she angled her head and deepened their kiss. She was rewarded by him gathering her closer still, half-lifting her until her entire body fitted to his and she could feel a hard ridge pressing against the softness of her belly.

  And then he stopped.

  He straightened, his hands at her waist as he pushed her away. He put his fingers to her lips and his lips to her ear. ‘Shhh.’

  Jolted back to reality and the outside world, Olivia became aware of voices on the landing, just the other side of the curtain. Nerves jangled as she feared discovery, but then she relaxed as she realised, from their conversation, that the voices belonged to two maids and that they were moving away.

  She gathered her wits, leaning her forehead against Hugo’s chest as he held her. She felt...content and yet, at the same time, on edge. She had dreamed and fantasised about that second kiss, but her imagination had been nowhere near equal to the reality. She’d lost herself—she’d had no concept of where she ended and he began. They were one. And there was more wonder, more pleasure to discover. She knew it as readily as she knew her own name.

  As the maids’ voices faded, Hugo moved away from her, his hands dropping to his sides. She immediately felt his loss and wrapped her arms around her own waist in comfort.

  ‘I came here with the intention of talking to you, not to carry on from where we left off the other day.’

  He didn’t sound angry. Or regretful. But he did sound like one of her brothers might, when they were about to take her to task and not one bit like a man who was captivated by her kisses. She recalled his words, the first evening they met. I prefer my ladies willing. And experienced. Her spirits plummeted. Of course he did—he was an experienced rake and although she had proved the first to him he clearly was not impressed by her skill, even though she couldn’t help that she wasn’t as experienced as other women he might have kissed. Ruthlessly, though, she quashed any hint of sadness. She was with him now—she would not spoil their time together with misery or, even worse, tears. Growing up with her brothers had instilled in her the knowledge that men hated females who cried.

  She gathered her courage.

  ‘Talk to me? Not with me?’ It took effort to tease him, but anything was better than turning into a watering pot, as Alex would scornfully call it. ‘That sounds suspiciously like a lecture to me, Lord Hugo.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hugo chuckled. She surprised him at every turn. For a fleeting second misery had swum in those expressive eyes of hers and her pain had tugged at his conscience and stirred—deep within him—the urge to soothe it away and to put a smile on her face and a laugh in her voice. Then there was no misery, just a teasing light, and the transition had been so swift, so smooth, that he could not be sure he had not imagined the entire change of mood.

  ‘Not quite a lecture, more a warning. About Clevedon.’

  A frown tugged at her brows. ‘What of him?’

  ‘I saw you—dancing with him. And afterwards, in that alcove.’ And he had wanted to tear the bastard apart with his bare hands. He nudged her chin up, trying to instil in her how serious he was. ‘Do not think to use him, my sweet. You are playing a dangerous game.’

  ‘I do not know what you mean. I am playing no games.’

  But she was. He knew it. He had seen the glances she sent his way. He knew women. He knew when someone was trying to get his attention. If only she realised the effort it cost him to ignore her—but he must be strong, for her sake.

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  ‘You play with fire if you are encouraging him to no purpose. Unless, of course, you have a burning desire to be Countess of Clevedon?’

  She thumped his chest. ‘I do not want a husband. Not yet, anyway.’

  Through her indignation, however, he heard embarrassment quiver and he sought to soothe her. Her pride and her self-belief were just two of the things he admired in her.

  ‘All I mean is that you should take care. Leading on a man like him—an older man who is on the lookout for a wealthy wife—is very different to games of flirtation with the young bucks who surround you and who profess to be dying of love for you.’ He was envious of those young men, who could court her with impunity. ‘But you ought not to encourage Clevedon, or any man of his ilk. Goad a man like that too far and who knows what trouble you might let loose.’

&nb
sp; He had trusted that her experience at Vauxhall Gardens would keep her wary of Clevedon, but had his actions at the Denby ball changed her opinion of him? Hugo could not possibly admit the real truth about why Clevedon was so unsuitable. All he could do was try to set her straight, and encourage her to think of the consequences of her actions.

  She pouted at his words, then peeked up at him through her lashes.

  ‘Do I goad you, my lord?’

  That look rocketed through him, heating his blood. She chased every sensible thought from his head. Did she realise the effect she had on men? On him? No, of course she did not. She was an innocent. And yet...

  He did not doubt she was an innocent in fact, but she was one of those females instinctively aware of her own sexuality...her own allure. And she knew exactly how to use it. And if he ever saw her use that look on Clevedon...his hands clenched again into fists.

  No.

  He calmed himself. For all her attempts to attract Hugo’s attention, he had not once seen her use that kind of lure with Clevedon.

  Or with any other man.

  Only him.

  A knowing smile flirted around those full lips, swollen from his kiss, as her gaze dropped to his hands. He quickly unclenched them as she reached for one and caressed it between both of hers. It was all he could do not to haul her into his arms, kiss her senseless and introduce her there and then to the delights of seduction...show her the pleasures that awaited her...the sensations a skilled lover might coax from a woman’s body.

  Let Clevedon try to entice her away from that.

  But that would be unfair. Not to mention immoral. And when had he turned into such a stuffy, strait-laced prig? He resorted to the only response he could to try to get her to see sense.

  He laughed.

  He gazed down at her, half-hooding his eyes and allowed his top lip to lift in a slight sneer.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he drawled. ‘I am merely claiming my reward for acting as nursemaid to you and that brother of yours. This—’ he curved one hand around her skull and tilted her head up, taking her lips again in a ruthless assault ‘—is merely a taster to put me in the mood for later tonight, when you are tucked up in your bed with your innocent dreams.’