Led Astray by a Rake

by Sara Bennett

  His hand splayed over her waist, holding her firmly against him, so that they were molded together at the hips and thighs. She felt him growing hard against her, and knew from his wicked smile that he was quite prepared to play her at her own game.

  She went deeper into his arms, brushing her breasts against his waistcoat, knowing they couldn’t be seen in the crush of couples around them. He dipped his head and nipped her fingers, then sucked them. She felt the warmth between her legs, the trembling in her thighs, and the ache in her breasts. Her hand slid down, delving through the folds of her skirt, and brushed the jut of his shaft.

  Olivia wondered at her own daring. She was behaving in a manner she could never have imagined before she met Nic—although perhaps she could have imagined it, and that was why they were so ideally suited.

  But she had pushed their game too far, and as soon as the music stopped again, he was hurrying her off the dance floor, zigzagging through the other guests with ease.

  “Nic…?” she began, breathless.

  The coach was waiting, and he could barely wait to collect their outdoor garments, before he was urging her inside the vehicle and closing the door.

  “The long way home!” he ordered the coachman.

  They moved off, heading into the London night.

  Nic leaned into her as they rounded a corner, pressing her into the soft leather seats, his mouth almost but not quite touching hers.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw you at the top of the stairs,” he said, his voice low and soft, making her skin tingle. “I want to make love to you at least ten times a day, do you know that? If I had my way you’d never leave the bedchamber.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes, aware of heavy tension between them, making it difficult to breathe evenly.

  He stroked one finger down the side of her face, moving to her mouth and tracing its shape, slowly, intently. And then he began to kiss her.

  Olivia felt herself melting. Her arms went around his neck and clung, their lips meeting and melding, her tongue sliding against his. He reached down, brushing aside her skirts and her petticoats. She felt his hand seeking and then he stopped, lifting his head to stare down at her.

  “You’re naked,” he said, with a startled grin.

  “I thought it would save time,” she replied innocently, knowing she looked anything but innocent.

  He bent to press openmouthed kisses across her bosom, edging down her dress so that he could suck at her nipples. Olivia groaned and let her head fall back. A moment later Nic was pushing into her, his shaft filling her, stretching her. They paused, panting, and then he began to move, while Olivia met him with urgent jerks of her hips. When she reached her peak she muffled her cries against his shoulder, while Nic groaned deeply against her throat, resting his chin against her as he sought to catch his breath.

  It felt wonderful. It always did.

  Olivia reached up to brush the rogue swath of dark hair from his eyes, feeling a wave of love so powerful it made her ache all over again. The words trembled on her lips, but for a moment she held them back, uncertain whether saying them would change things between her and Nic. There was a great deal of vulnerability in not only giving your heart to someone, but in saying it aloud.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Nic’s dark eyes were hooded as he returned her gaze. “Do you realize what you’ve done by saying that to me?” he said.

  “What have I done?”

  “You’ve made yourself my prisoner for life.”

  Olivia kissed his mouth, tenderly. “A willing prisoner, Nic.”

  He rested his brow against hers and sighed. “I love you, too, Olivia. I believed my heart was locked up safe and tight, but you snuck in and stole it before I was even aware of you being there.”

  She caught his face in her hands, lifting it for more kisses.

  “How can I maintain my reputation as Wicked Nic if I’m in love my wife?” he protested half seriously, eagerly returning the kisses. “As a rake I’m a ruined man.”

  “You’ll always be Wicked Nic to me,” she teased.

  Outside the traffic rumbled and jostled around them, and Nic cursed as he saw they were nearly home. He smoothed her skirts and tucked her breasts out of sight. Sitting back, he cast a narrowed look over her, brushing back a curl here and smoothing a wrinkle there, until he seemed satisfied with her appearance. As for himself, he looked immaculate, and Olivia wondered darkly if that was part of being a rake, the ability to never appear rumpled, as if one has just been making violent love, even if one has.

  The coach turned into their square, and he smiled at her. Olivia knew then that her happiness was complete. She was aware that she had the Husband Hunters Club to thank for much of her success—if they hadn’t given her the confidence to pursue the man she wanted, she’d probably have ended up married to Theodore Garsed, gazing at Nic from afar, and wishing “if only.” Instead she’d gone after what she wanted, and she’d won.

  Not that there weren’t possible problems and differences looming on the horizon, but right now Olivia was certain in her heart that they could work anything out. They loved each other, and surely that was all that really mattered?

  Chapter 30

  Abbot had been waiting and delayed Nic in the hall, just inside the front door.

  Olivia, halfway up the stairs, and still floating on a cloud, at first didn’t realize there was anything wrong. She looked back over her shoulder, where Abbot and Nic stood together, deep in conversation. There was something about the way Nic held his body, still and rigid, as if he had turned to ice, and Abbot’s furtive glances in Olivia’s direction…

  Slowly Olivia began to descend the stairs again, intent on discovering exactly what was wrong. Because something was definitely wrong—it was as if she could taste it in the air.

  “Nic?” she said, as she reached them. “What is it?”

  Abbot bowed to her, his expression tense. “Lady Lacey, I apologize for interrupting your evening. I—”

  Nic spoke roughly, cutting him short “No, Abbot.”

  “Nic, whatever is the matter…?” Olivia cried, deeply worried now and not troubling to hide it.

  He wouldn’t look at her. Instead he looked at Abbot, a frowning glance. “Abbot, not a word, do you understand?”

  The manservant didn’t look happy but he nodded. “Very well, my lord.” Abbot turned to her then, and his gaze was sympathetic—as if she had suffered a loss.

  “Olivia, I have to go out.”

  “Nic!”

  He did look at her then, and his dark eyes were full of pain. Olivia’s panic increased, but he stopped her before she could ask him again what was wrong. Holding her hands tightly in his, he said, “Please, my love, no questions. I will explain everything to you when I get back.” He didn’t wait for her answer, he just turned and walked away.

  Olivia was very afraid now. She stared after Nic, watching him hurry out of the door and down the front steps, back to the coach and horses. A moment later, the vehicle had rumbled away again.

  “My lady.” Abbot was waiting anxiously by her side.

  “What is happening, Abbot?”

  He did everything but wring his hands. “My lady, I cannot tell you, you heard Lord Lacey say…”

  “Oh, very well,” she said impatiently. She turned to the stairs but stopped again and looked back at him. “Can’t you at least tell me where he has gone, Abbot? Is that betraying your master’s orders?”

  Abbot hesitated, and then said firmly, “Lord Lacey will explain when he returns.”

  “I want you to explain to me now. Abbot?” Olivia tapped her shoe, glaring at his profile.

  Abbot crumbled, but not the way she’d hoped he would. “My lady, forgive me, but I am only a servant. I do as I am told. How can I do as you wish when Lord Lacey has expressly told me not to?”

  Olivia knew she was being unfair, but this was Nic, her husband, and she wanted to know. “
Tell me what is happening, Abbot. I will explain to Lord Lacey.”

  His face was creased as if he was in pain. “I would love to, my lady, believe me, but I have promised to be silent on this matter. Forgive me, please.”

  It was unfair of her to press him, Olivia knew that. Abbot had his loyalties, too, and his position was dependent on his holding firm to them. She would have to wait for Nic to return and then ask him what on earth could have made him leave her without a word, with a single glance at the wife he had just told he loved with all his heart.

  A moment ago Olivia had been so very happy, and now she felt as if there was a stone lodged in her heart.

  The coach came to a stop outside the narrow house and Nic climbed out, ordering his driver to return home, and saying that he had no idea how long he would be. As the coach moved away, Nic stood alone in the cobbled street and watched it go. Across the river the fog obscured his view of the city, although he could pick out the occasional church spire. As if to increase his feeling of isolation, bells rang, sounding hollow and forlorn.

  Why now? Why did she have to send for him now? Just when everything was perfect with Olivia.

  He felt suddenly resentful, and remembering the way he’d left Olivia, and the expression on her face, only made him feel worse. But he couldn’t explain to her—there was no time. She would have been upset, and rightly so, and he didn’t want to face that, not until he was able to tell her the full story, in his own way. Make her understand.

  Nic sighed and shifted his weight from his lame leg. Who was he fooling? How the devil was he going to be able to make her understand? She was more likely to walk out and never return, and he wouldn’t be the least surprised if she did. He wouldn’t blame her if she felt her love for him was a betrayal and a sham, but still he’d have to try. Because Nic knew now that if he lost her he himself would be lost.

  He turned toward the narrow house. Better get it over with, he thought wearily. If it was anything like the last time, it would probably take him hours to smooth over the crisis, and the sooner he started, the sooner he could go home to his wife. And he walked up to the front door and rattled the knocker.

  A moment later Mildred, the housekeeper, opened the door, her unsmiling face as unfriendly-looking as ever. Appearances could be deceptive—Mildred was a kind and generous woman, and, importantly, Nic trusted her.

  “Lord Lacey,” she said with obvious relief. “Thank you for coming, sir. I’m so sorry to bother you on such a night. You know I wouldn’t have asked if—if—”

  “I know, Mildred,” he reassured her. “Where is she?”

  “She’s locked herself in the pantry,” she said, showing him inside the house. “There’s a key. I keep it myself to stop the kitchen maid from filching. The mistress must have found it, and now she’s locked the pantry door from the inside. I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t listen. She keeps asking for you.”

  “Of course.”

  He followed Mildred down the corridor that led past the stairs and into the back part of the house, where the small kitchen, scullery, and laundry were situated. A fire was burning merrily in the hearth, and the table and other surfaces shone, while the floor was spotless. A tray of small cakes was sitting by a tin, ready to be put away when they were cool enough.

  Mildred saw him glance at them. Her mouth curled up in a surprisingly sweet smile for such a dour face. “There’re for Master Jonah, sir. His favorite. When he’s home I always like to bake him a treat or two.”

  Nic smiled back, thinking Jonah was a lucky boy to have Mildred. “Is he well?”

  “Oh yes, bright as a button. And he’d doing very well at his lessons, sir. Even when he’s on holidays he has his head in a book.”

  “Ah, an intellectual. My father was the same. One day I will have to show Jonah the library at Castle Lacey and—”

  Just then there was a loud thumping coming from behind the pantry door.

  “Nic, Nic!” screeched a high-pitched voice. “Is that you, Nic?”

  He and Mildred exchanged a glance. “Lord Lacey is here now,” Mildred called. “Please, do come out, mistress.”

  Nic walked over to the pantry. The door was old and heavy, and looked as if it might once have belonged to a cellar. He didn’t relish the thought of breaking it down, and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “I’m here,” he said in a gentle tone, leaning against the door. “I’ve had to leave in the middle of the Querrols’ ball, just to come and see you.” The lie was a small one, but he knew she preferred the dramatic.

  “In the middle of a dance?”

  “A waltz, yes. I left the lady in the middle of a spin, and I don’t know what happened to her afterward.”

  She giggled. Always a good sign if he could make her laugh.

  “You’re a wicked man, Nic,” she said.

  “That’s my name.”

  A heartbeat later they heard the key turning in the lock and the click of the latch. Slowly, cautiously, the door opened a crack, and a woman’s piqued face loomed out of the shadows.

  “Nic,” she sighed.

  Nic smiled, held out his hand for her to grasp, and prepared to have his patience stretched to its limits.

  Olivia had undressed and washed, and now Estelle finished helping her into her nightgown. Nic still hadn’t returned.

  “I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to wait up for Lord Lacey,” she said, as Estelle slipped the warming pan beneath the covers of her bed.

  Estelle said nothing.

  “He promised me that when he came home he’d explain why he rushed off like that.”

  Estelle said nothing.

  Olivia sat upon the stool at her dressing table and watched as her maid moved the warming pan on its long handle back and forth inside the bedding, taking the chill off the sheets. And all the while Estelle was carefully avoiding her eyes.

  “Estelle?”

  “My lady?”

  Olivia decided that Estelle looked plumper than she used to, and there was a dark, unfaded strip of cloth on the side of her uniform, suggesting she’d recently taken the seam out to give herself more room. Both clues meant something, but just now Olivia was more interested in what she saw in Estelle’s face.

  “You know something, don’t you?” Olivia folded her arms and fixed her bright eyes on her maid. “Estelle, I want to know.”

  “I don’t know anything, miss…I mean, my lady.”

  “Estelle.”

  Estelle sighed and finally turned to face her mistress, her expression a mixture of doubt and concern, with a touch of excitement. “Abbot told me not to tell you, my lady,” she protested.

  “But you will tell me, won’t you, Estelle?”

  For a moment Olivia thought her maid was going to refuse her, as Abbot had, but then Estelle came and stood beside her at her dressing table, fiddling nervously with her frilly white apron. The swell of her stomach was quite prominent, even with the bulk of her skirt and petticoats, and Olivia knew then that Estelle was with child. There would be time later to discuss that, she told herself.

  “Please, Estelle, I need to know. I thought you were my friend. You’ve helped me before. If it wasn’t for you I’d never have become Lady Lacey, and I wouldn’t be so happy…”

  Estelle rushed into speech, almost as if she wanted Olivia to stop. “He’s gone to see her and the boy, Jonah.”

  “What do you mean?” It made no sense, and yet in a terrible way—if she was to think the very worst—it did.

  “My lady,” Estelle murmured, tears in her eyes, “I am so sorry. I didn’t know until the night you came home from the ball…from Castle Lacey, and then there was the scandal…I didn’t say anything because I hoped it wouldn’t matter. There’re many gentlemen with children born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

  Olivia stood up, trembling as if she were cold. “You’re talking in riddles, Estelle. Explain to me what you mean or—or I think I will scream.”

  “Lady Lacey, do y
ou really want to know?” Estelle said, and it sounded like a warning.

  “Yes!” Olivia cried. “Of course I want to know. I need to know.” She took a breath, lowering her voice, calming herself. “Tell me, Estelle. You must tell me.”

  Estelle chewed on her lip. “Abbot will be very cross with me. He swore me to secrecy.”

  “It is not Abbot’s secret to keep,” Olivia replied coldly.

  Estelle nodded her head. “Lord Lacey has a child, miss, a son. His name is Jonah Lacey.”

  Nic was a father? Olivia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t know what to say. The first tingling of shock was followed by a wave of confusion, and then a sense of betrayal. She felt as though he’d been unfaithful to her, which she knew was ridiculous in the circumstances. Whatever this woman had meant to Nic, it was in the past, and the child was simply the result of their liaison.

  “I have never heard mention of a child at the castle,” she said, finding her voice at last.

  “Jonah lives here in London, with his mother. Lord Lacey visits them whenever he’s here.”

  “Visits them” had so many connotations. Did it mean Nic was somehow involved with the woman? Was she his mistress? An image of a cozy family entered her mind and refused to go away. She pictured them in a parlor with a crackling fire, laughing, happy. But even as the picture sharpened in detail, tormenting her, there was something unreal about it.

  Nic was not that kind of man.

  “This woman was a respectable lady,” Estelle went on, her voice dropping confidentially. “He ruined her. Then one morning she arrived at Castle Lacey with a babe in her arms, begging for his help. There was an awful to-do when Lord Lacey’s parents found out about her and what he’d done.”

  “I imagine they would be disappointed.”

  “There’s worse to come, miss. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  Olivia had a cowardly urge to stick her fingers in her ears, but it was too late now. She must know the whole truth, no matter how painful. “Yes, Estelle. Go on.”