Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

by Janice Preston

  Olivia frowned as she committed the course to memory.

  Clevedon smirked. ‘You need not fear you will get lost—you merely need to follow me.’

  ‘Then it is fortunate that I fear no such thing,’ she retorted, ‘for I shall be in the lead. Sprite and I will be showing you a clean pair of heels, you mark my words.’

  ‘Livvy?’

  Olivia twisted around at the sound of her name. She had been so engrossed she’d forgotten the time and Nell, worry furrowing her brow, had clearly been searching for her. She put her lips to Olivia’s ear. ‘Fifteen minutes! We agreed.’

  Olivia stood up. Clevedon was already on his feet. ‘Thank you for the tea, sir. I feel greatly refreshed now. I shall remember what you said.’

  As she and Nell made their way back to the ballroom, she scanned the surrounding faces for Hugo, but there was no sign of him.

  * * *

  The following day was bright and sunny, with a blustery wind blowing inshore. As the time for the race approached Olivia grew more and more nervous, but her pride—coupled with her concern over Alex and the impact on the family if he were to be denied Foxbourne—would not allow her to back out, or simply fail to turn up. She wondered what Alex was thinking. Was he worried sick about admitting what he had done to Papa? She could only imagine the pressure he must feel watching the clock slowly tick nearer and nearer to six o’clock. Eventually, just before two o’clock, she came to a decision. She dashed off a note to Alex, telling him not to worry because his debts would soon be clear. That would set his mind at rest. She even jokingly suggested that he might come to the church to cheer her to the finishing line.

  After writing to Alex, Olivia dressed in her riding habit and tucked the letter into her pocket. She would wait until everyone had gone before sending one of the grooms to deliver it. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Thea had arrived by the time she came downstairs, but then Papa announced he was unable to accompany them—kept at home by urgent business requiring his immediate attention—a complication Olivia could have done without. He disappeared into a parlour he had commandeered as an office—along with Freddie and Medland, his man of business, who had posted down from London with important papers—before the grooms brought their horses to the door.

  ‘Ooh!’ Olivia bent slightly, holding her stomach as she groaned. ‘Argh!’

  ‘Livvy?’ Rosalind was by her side in a trice. ‘What is wrong? Have you a pain?’

  Olivia nodded, then gasped again for good measure.

  ‘Perhaps we should postpone our outing,’ said Uncle Vernon. ‘With Leo not able to go and now Livvy not well...someone should surely stay with her?’

  ‘No! I shall be all right,’ said Livvy hurriedly.

  She caught Rosalind’s eye and endeavoured to inject special meaning into her look.

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course,’ said Rosalind. ‘I had not realised...that is...yes, you go and lie down, Livvy. I am sure it will pass soon enough.’

  From the corner of her eye, Livvy saw Aunt Thea tug at Uncle Vernon to get his attention. He bent to her as she whispered into his ear. His cheeks reddened a little and he straightened quickly—women’s problems weren’t normally even mentioned within a gentleman’s hearing, but dear Aunt Thea—not a member of the aristocracy, but a humble glassmaker’s daughter—probably didn’t realise her faux pas.

  Nell was the only one present not to regard her with sympathy. She, instead, sent Olivia a searching look; she knew full well that Olivia’s courses were not yet due. But, fortunately, she said nothing and everyone soon left the hall, leaving Olivia behind. She listened for the clatter of hooves as the party rode away—they were accompanied by grooms to care for the horses when they stopped for their afternoon picnic—and some of the indoor servants would follow in a carriage with the food and drink. As soon as she judged it safe, Olivia sped from the house and caught up with Tommy, one of the younger lads, who was leading Sprite back to the stables.

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘Yes, milady?’

  ‘I have changed my mind and I shall go with the others after all. Help me up, will you, Tommy?’

  ‘Do you want me to ride with you, milady? You shouldn’t ride alone.’

  Olivia waved an airy hand. ‘That will not be necessary. It will take me a matter of minutes to catch them up. In the meantime, though, I have an errand for you.’ She delved into her pocket and handed him the letter. ‘Please deliver this to Lord Alex. He is staying at—’ She hesitated as she realised she knew neither the name of Hugo’s house nor that of Sir Horace’s estate.

  ‘I know where he’s staying, milady—Cedar Lodge on the Helmstone estate. It’s but a short way out of town. I can be there and back fast enough.’

  ‘Very good, Tommy, and thank you. But make sure you only hand it to my brother. Do you understand?’

  She certainly didn’t want Hugo getting his hands on it. She wouldn’t put it past him to turn up and spoil the race out of some misguided sense of propriety. In fact, she now deeply regretted telling Alex the route of their race. At the time she’d thought only to amuse him with the idea of her beating Clevedon in a contest across country.

  Tommy touched the peak of his cap and then linked his hands to boost Olivia on to Sprite’s back.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own, milady?’

  ‘Of course I shall. This isn’t London, after all.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Olivia rode up a side street, away from Marine Parade—where she might see someone she knew—and then turned along St James’s Street. She trotted Sprite briskly across the Steyne and into North Street, which would take her to the chalk pit and St Nicholas’s Church. Apart from one or two curious stares—all from strangers and, by their appearance, townsfolk—no one took any notice of her, much to her relief.

  Clevedon was waiting for her, as arranged, a smile on his face. Olivia quashed any lingering doubts as she eyed his grey gelding. There was no way that animal could outrun Sprite. He barely looked fit enough to gallop a furlong, let alone a mile or more. They rode side by side until they turned off the road.

  ‘When you are ready, say the word and the race will be on.’

  Olivia slid a sideways look at Clevedon and quashed the uneasy feeling coiling deep inside. There was nothing he could do to her. She could see the windmill up the hill ahead of her and, in the distance, away off to the left, she could see a stone building, flanked by a huge tree.

  ‘Is that the barn you spoke of?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Very well then. Are you ready...? Go!’

  By the time they reached the windmill, Sprite was pulling ahead of Clevedon’s grey, who was puffing hard. Now was the time to build a lead, before the grey could recover his wind. The final, downhill stretch would favour his longer stride—although Sprite was the more nimble animal which would prove an advantage. As she steered Sprite around the windmill, Olivia glanced back over her shoulder. The grey was not as far behind as she would have liked and she urged Sprite on, setting her in a straight line for the barn in the distance. Fortunately the Devil’s Dyke road, as they crossed it, was clear of traffic and a quick scan of the surrounding countryside showed it to be devoid of human life.

  With any luck, she would get away with this and no one would be any the wiser.

  She leaned forward to urge Sprite to greater effort. At this angle, if she lifted her gaze, she could see the sea, the sun creating a lattice of sparkles on the waves whipped up by the wind. There was no time to sightsee, however. She had a race to win.

  Another glance behind. Good. She was now four or five lengths clear of the grey, whose neck and chest were dark with sweat.

  The barn ahead was an imposing stone building with a clay-tiled roof, built by the side of a curving carriageway and overhung by that massive tree, an oak. As Sprite drew level with the barn, Olivia steadied
her, ready to steer her around the far end and begin the last leg of the race back down to the church.

  ‘Aaaargghhhh!’

  Her heart, already racing with exhilaration, leapt into her throat and she flicked another glance behind.

  ‘Oh, no!’

  She reined Sprite to a halt and jumped to the ground before running back to the prone figure of the Earl of Clevedon. She slid to a halt and dropped to her knees.

  ‘My lord! Clevedon!’ She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. ‘Are you all right?’

  His eyes flew open and, before Olivia could reassemble her wits, he had grabbed her wrists.

  ‘What?’ She tugged and twisted to no avail as she attempted to scramble back, away from him. ‘Let go of me!’

  He sat up, his hard grip not slackening for a moment. Then he leapt to his feet, still holding on to her.

  ‘Calm yourself. You might as well accept this—there is no one here to save you and—’ he dragged her close and wrapped one arm around her waist ‘—as you can see, your strength is no match for mine.’

  Olivia stopped struggling at his words, knowing he was right. She fought to control her breathing and stiffened her spine. She would not show her fear. ‘What is the purpose of this, my lord?’ Her voice dripped scorn. ‘You realised you could not win and thought to take a kiss anyway?’

  He threw his head back and laughed. ‘A kiss, my precious, is the least of my intentions. By tomorrow, both you and your arrogant father will be begging me to make an honest woman of you. At least you have some spirit and you are—’ he released her hand to spear his hand through her hair, knocking her hat to the ground ‘—enticing enough. Let us hope our children will inherit those traits.’

  His grip around the back of her skull was like iron, holding her head immobile as he kissed her. His thick tongue invaded her mouth and it was all she could do not to gag. Then his other hand slid low, to cup her bottom, and she felt him pull at her skirt, gathering it, until his hand was on her skin and one finger traced the crease between her cheeks.

  He slid his mouth around to her ear. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Enticing enough. We shall do very well and your dowry will pay off Bulbridge and his blood-sucking leeches.’

  Sick dread coiled in her stomach. What he planned...the thought of being...intimate...with him...

  His mouth again covered hers and, as he continued to fondle her bottom, she battled to control her nausea, swallowing repeatedly to keep the contents of her stomach down, fearing the consequence were she to succumb to the urge to vomit.

  She listened, hoping against hope to hear a horse or a carriage passing by. Something. Anything. But the only sound was the wind as it whipped through the branches and leaves of that oak tree. Her mind went shooting off at tangents as she silently berated herself for landing in such a stupidly risky position. This was what everyone had warned her of—Papa, Aunt Cecily, Nell. Even Hugo... Her heart shredded at the thought of him and her throat thickened with unshed tears. They had warned her of the consequences of her impetuous behaviour, but she had thought she was up to every trick in the book. She’d thought she could handle everything.

  Realising that the fear spiralling through her would effectively paralyse her, she desperately tried to divert her thoughts away from what might happen and to concentrate on what was actually happening at this moment. Her thoughts whirled, seeking a way out. If she could keep him talking, maybe she could escape him, but that would only be by cunning for he was right—she was no match for him physically, a fact brought home to her as he began to drag her towards the barn, his arm yet again wrapped tightly around her waist.

  Olivia resisted at first but, realising that would get her nowhere, she relaxed, going with him. Surprised, Clevedon paused. He frowned down at her.

  ‘There is something I wish to say.’

  Olivia injected as much ice as possible into her words and put her nose in the air, playing the outraged lady for all she was worth. She moved slightly so she was facing more towards him and, as she had hoped, his arm loosened a little, allowing her the freedom to turn more. She couldn’t delay until she was in a better position lest he realise her plan, so she angled her right leg back, then swung it forward hard, bending her knee, aiming at his ‘wedding tackle’, as Alex called a man’s private parts.

  She was sure she’d succeed but, at the last minute, Clevedon twisted and her knee connected harmlessly with his hip. She could have cried with frustration as he grabbed her by the upper arms, shaking her. But he wasn’t angry, he was grinning.

  ‘As I said, I like spirit, my dear.’ Almost casually, it seemed, he raised one hand. ‘But I cannot allow such defiance to risk spoiling my plans.’

  His palm connected with Olivia’s cheek and pain exploded through her head as it whipped sideways with the force of the blow. Tears sprang to her eyes and her tongue exploded in agony where she had bitten it. Her ears rang and a sob tore to the surface, rasping up through her throat, as she felt her knees buckle.

  ‘Clevedon!’

  The roar shattered the surrounding silence and Olivia’s insides tangled and jumbled together until the only cogent thought in her head was Hugo.

  * * *

  Rage the like of which he had never known seized Hugo. As he had galloped along the carriageway that led from Helmstone down to the Dyke road he had seen Olivia fail in her attempt to knee Clevedon in the balls. Then, as he wheeled Falcon around the corner of the barn, the bastard raised his hand and the sound—like a whip crack—ricocheted through Hugo as Clevedon hit Olivia. Her head jerked sideways with the force of that blow and she slumped. Some deep, primal instinct surged to the surface as, yelling his challenge, he hauled on the reins and leapt from the saddle even before his horse stopped.

  He was in no mood for talk or explanations. He grabbed Clevedon by the shoulder, hauled him around as his right arm, fist clenched, drew back. And paused. Clevedon, in that split second, hefted Olivia to her feet and held her in front of him, his forearm crooked around her slender neck. Her beautiful silver eyes—always so full of sparkling life—were dazed and her smooth, delicate skin was imprinted with an angry red mark the shape of a hand. She looked horribly vulnerable and his heart clenched.

  ‘Let go of her.’

  His breathing came in hard, shallow pants. Fear clutched at his gut, but he ignored it. She was hurt, but she was alive. Nothing worse would happen to her now he was here. He vowed that his life from this point on would be spent protecting her. Loving her.

  ‘You’ve failed, Clevedon. Let her go.’

  Clevedon’s lip curled. ‘What is she to you, Alastair? You barely know the chit. And you were the one who suggested I court her in the first place.’ He moved back a pace, dragging her with him. ‘I need her. I need the money. She has to marry some time—popping out brats is all women are good for and she may as well pop out mine as anyone’s.’

  All the rage that had fired him up—that flaming, explosive rage—swirled tighter and faster, spinning around a point deep in his core where fury was coalescing into a cold, hard, solid mass. That fury was controlled, but it was a thousand...a million...times more deadly than all that hot, spouting rage. He took a step towards Clevedon and something shifted behind the Earl’s eyes—an uncertainty...a shaft of fear...as he held Hugo’s gaze.

  Hugo closed the gap. Slowly. Relentlessly. Clevedon continued to shuffle backwards, hampered by Olivia as she sagged in his arms.

  ‘Let. Her. Go.’

  ‘What’s it to you? What does it matter, if I have her?’ Clevedon’s voice quavered. ‘You don’t want her. Or...is that it, Alastair? You fancy that huge dowry for yourself?’

  Olivia’s eyes had been half-open the entire time. Her drooping lids sprang open at Clevedon’s words and her gaze flew to Hugo’s face, a distinct question in her eyes, but he was beyond sending reassuring messages, his entire being now a mass of rigi
d, ice-cold fury. But he saw the instant that she dismissed Clevedon’s accusation. She sent him a silent message...of reassurance...of intent... Then she dropped one lid in a wink and Hugo tensed.

  Of a sudden, she surged upright and the shock caused Clevedon to momentarily loosen his hold on her neck. As Hugo leapt at them, Olivia jerked her elbow hard into Clevedon’s gut and she twisted aside to allow Hugo to drive his fist into Clevedon’s face—the solid thwack satisfying as knuckles connected with nose. He hauled Olivia clear as Clevedon sank to his knees.

  The pounding of hooves penetrated the churning mix of fury and relief that still raged through him. He glanced back towards the town to see two horsemen galloping at top speed towards them. The Duke was in the lead, with Alex close behind—as soon as Olivia’s note had been delivered to Alex, Hugo had guessed Clevedon was up to no good and had sent her brother to alert her father. Olivia, no doubt, would be relieved to be passed into her father’s care while Hugo dealt with Clevedon.

  The two horses skidded to a halt and first Cheriton, then Alex, jumped down.

  ‘Hugo.’

  He glanced down at Olivia’s whispered plea. He still had hold of her arm, but one look at her—that handprint still livid on her cheek, stark against her ashen skin—and he forgot all about her father and her brother. She needed him. He released her elbow and opened his arms. She moved into his embrace and laid her head against his chest. As he folded his arms around her, holding her safe, he could feel the trembling of her entire body.

  ‘Alastair—’

  That one growled word of warning was cut short as Hugo’s mother and Sir Horace hurried out from behind the barn.

  ‘We came as quickly as we could,’ said Mama breathlessly. She glared at Clevedon, who had regained his feet and was holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose. ‘You utter scoundrel!’ She advanced on him, her small hands clenched into fists. ‘If I were a man, I should call you out myself!’ She poked him in the chest. ‘You should be thoroughly ashamed, plotting to despoil such a lovely young lady in such a despicable way.’