Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

by Janice Preston

  She pushed him away and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, shooting icy shards at him from those extraordinary eyes of hers.

  ‘How dare you kiss me like that, without my permission!’ Her brows were elevated in haughty disdain, as though she were a queen addressing a subject. Far from angering him, he admired her spirit. ‘Until now, Lord Hugo, you have proved useful in enabling me to gain a little experience in the art, but I suggest you do not try again unless expressly invited.’

  She opened her reticule and withdrew a small but bulging pouch which she then thrust at him. ‘This is part of what I owe you, sir. Once I pay the remainder, there will be no need for further contact between us. Good evening.’

  She flung aside the curtain—apparently heedless of anyone who might see her—and stalked away. As luck would have it, there was no one else on the landing.

  Hugo permitted himself no regrets. This was for her own good. Better that she hate him than continue to harbour that hope that shone so clearly every time she looked at him. Better, too, that he slam the door on his own feelings and that pointless, raw eagerness to see her, even from afar, to talk to her, to ask her dance.

  He simply could not see how this...this...whatever it was blossoming between them—he could not see how it could end well for either of them. When her father returned to London he would for certain show an interest—and not in a good way—were he to become aware that a man of Hugo’s ilk was paying any kind of attention to his daughter.

  Hugo would still protect her from Clevedon, but only by dint of staying close to his erstwhile friend rather than to Olivia. Someone needed to protect her—from her own impetuosity as well as from the prowling wolves of the ton.

  Wolves like Clevedon. And himself.

  He made two vows.

  He would try to warn her father about Clevedon, even though the Duke would be highly unlikely to listen to anything Hugo had to say.

  And he would avoid any future contact with her.

  * * *

  It took him all of one day to break that second vow. It seemed he couldn’t help himself. He was walking around Grosvenor Square, on his way to his mother’s house, when a squeal of laughter and a series of frenzied barks from the garden in the centre of the square caught his attention. And the mere sight of her—her jet-black hair gleaming in the sunshine as she chased a giggling child, who trailed a chip straw bonnet from one hand—thumped him in the heart and he found himself gasping for breath.

  And instead of obeying his inner common sense that commanded him to walk on by—to leave her angry—he found he could not bear for her to think so very badly of him and so he changed direction and strolled into the garden, the gate nearest to Beauchamp House having been left unlocked. A footman standing just inside the gate stared at him, but the recognition was mutual—it was the same man who had admitted him to Beauchamp House when he called on Freddie—and although he kept his eye on Hugo, the man made no attempt to stop him.

  That gigantic hound that belonged to the Duchess was gambolling at Olivia’s heels and he was the first to notice Hugo. He charged up to him and Hugo—even though he knew the dog to be friendly—still had to steel himself not to flinch in the face of the sheer size of him. Hector’s disappearance from their game captured Olivia’s attention and she slowed, glancing after the dog. Then she slammed to a halt, her mouth a perfect O of surprise. Her cheeks glowed pink and, without her hat, her hair had worked loose from the controlling hair pins.

  This is how she would look after a night of bed sport.

  Hugo felt his body respond to that wayward thought as he walked up to her and he cursed his newly discovered streak of morality—the voice of conscience that urged him to protect her rather than to seduce. Seduction was his speciality—he knew exactly how to please and satisfy a woman with his body and there were many, many women in the ton who could testify to his skill. How much easier it would be, and more agreeable, to follow his male instincts to take and be damned to the consequences. But knowing the consequences for Olivia would far outweigh the consequences for him meant he could not—for the first time in his adult life—pursue his own desires.

  Which had left him floundering in, for him, unfamiliar territory.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lady Olivia.’ He tipped his hat.

  Olivia dipped a curtsy, but the tip of her chin and the martial light in those temptress eyes of hers suggested she had not forgiven him for his behaviour the night before. And he could not blame her. He had behaved exactly like the rake she believed him to be. Except she had no idea of the restraint he had exercised and he could not tell her.

  ‘Good afternoon, my lord.’

  Her voice was decidedly frosty, but the effect was wasted when the fact she was panting ever so slightly put him even more in mind of pleasurable romps and beds and—

  He swiped those thoughts away. He was not here to rekindle her feelings for him—was he?—but to...his thoughts lurched to a halt. He did not know quite why he was here. Or, indeed, why he had chosen to walk to Mama’s house via Grosvenor Square when there were several other routes he might have taken. But he was here now...

  He smiled. ‘Would you care to introduce me to your friend?’

  Olivia elevated her chin, but she beckoned to the child, who eyed Hugo shyly as she came forward. Olivia held out her hand for her bonnet and put it on—tucking the loose tresses away—before introducing the child as Susie, her father and stepmother’s adopted daughter. Susie stuck her thumb in her mouth and mumbled around it.

  ‘She is still a little worried by men in tall hats.’ Olivia, arms folded, watched Susie rather than looking at Hugo. ‘She was raised by her foster parents on an isolated farm and I don’t believe she had ever seen a fashionable gentleman until she met Papa.’

  ‘She does not appear to be intimidated by that great brute, however,’ said Hugo, as Susie, losing interest in the adults, ran after Hector to fling her arms around his neck. ‘He is almost as tall as her, but she shows no fear.’

  ‘That is because she trusts Hector. She knows he would never hurt her.’

  He supposed he deserved that subtle dig.

  ‘How did she end up with your family?’

  ‘Her foster parents were cruel and she ran away from them.’

  ‘She is fortunate to be taken in by your father. Speaking of whom, can you tell me when you expect him back in town?’

  ‘Some time—’ Olivia’s jaw snapped shut and her eyes widened as her attention latched on to something beyond Hugo’s left shoulder ‘—today,’ she finished.

  Hugo spun on his heel. Sure enough, a travel-soiled carriage with the Duke’s crest emblazoned on the door had pulled up in front of Beauchamp House.

  ‘We must go.’ She did deign to flick a glance at him then. ‘Please wait until we are indoors before you leave the garden.’

  It was a demand rather than a plea. She certainly had spirit; not by a flicker did she betray any embarrassment over what had happened between them in that window embrasure.

  ‘You are asking me to skulk in the bushes?’ He hardly knew whether to be amused or offended.

  ‘I have no wish for Papa to know we are acquainted. I will not risk him finding out about Vauxhall because he will blame Alex and then—’

  ‘Yes. Very well. I get the gist—you will do anything to protect that scapegrace brother of yours, will you not?’

  She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. ‘Of course. Do not think I am ungrateful for your assistance but...yes. I will. At least you no longer need concern yourself with my family. You have proved useful, but you may return to your carefree life without guilt.

  ‘Now, come, Susie. Let us go and welcome Papa home.’

  Olivia left the garden without a backward glance and Hugo followed her progress across the road to the carriage. Had he got her completely wrong? Had she just been playing with
him, the same as he had accused her of doing with Clevedon? If she had, the reason why was clear enough—she had needed his help to watch out for Alex.

  Although that still did not explain why she had kissed him so enthusiastically.

  The Lady Olivia who had—almost carelessly—dismissed him just now was not the Lady Olivia who had clung to him and sighed in his arms last night, before he had intentionally infuriated her. But...could he have been wrong? An old saying came to mind—while the cat’s away, the mice will play. Quite apart from the need to protect her brother, had Olivia merely made the most of the Duke’s absence to experience a bit more of life? Had he allowed himself to be reeled in with the rest of her admirers—believing she had feelings for him when in reality she was simply enjoying herself and gaining experience? Was he just another damned gullible fool?

  He had never felt so wrong-footed by a woman. Who was she really? The naïve girl or the scheming woman?

  Anger tore at his gut, but he forced himself to remain out of sight until the Beauchamps disappeared inside the house. He would do that much for her. Then he strode from the garden, nodding to the footman to relock the gate as he passed. As he neared his mother’s house, though, his steps slowed. No matter what Olivia’s purpose had been in kissing him—in enticing him to feel more for her than he had ever felt for another woman—the fact remained that he did care for her. And—amazingly for a man who had mostly only ever considered his own pleasures—the compulsion to protect her still hummed in his blood.

  She was so busy watching over Alex—but who was watching over her? Hugo would do one last thing for her—he would warn the Duke to keep a closer eye on her. Hell, if she was in Hugo’s care, he would have her under permanent lock and key because that was the only way he could ever be certain she was not up to mischief.

  The problem now was—how, precisely, did he warn the Duke without landing both Olivia and Alex in trouble?

  * * *

  And that particular dilemma was resolved as early as the next day, when he walked into the morning room at White’s and there, by the fire, sat the Duke of Cheriton. Hugo gave himself no time for second thoughts. He crossed the room and cleared his throat. The Duke glanced up and his expression changed from one of polite enquiry to recognition and then to curiosity. He folded his newspaper with a rustle and placed it on the table by his side.

  ‘Alastair.’ He nodded as his silvery-grey eyes—so like his daughter’s—narrowed. ‘To what do I owe this privilege?’

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Please do.’ Politeness rather than warmth coloured the Duke’s tone.

  Hugo sat in a nearby chair and signalled to a footman to bring him a drink. Now that the moment had arrived, he felt somewhat awkward. It was one thing, vowing to do the right thing, quite another to do it when faced with Olivia’s powerful father.

  After several silent minutes, Cheriton enquired: ‘And what might I do for you?’

  Hugo’s gaze jumped from the glass of brandy he had been contemplating to the Duke’s face. This was more difficult than he had anticipated. He could not see how Cheriton would fail to wonder at Hugo’s sudden interest in his family.

  ‘It is more a case of what I might do for you,’ he said at last. ‘Something I overheard and thought you should know, that’s all.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It concerns your daughter—Lady Olivia.’

  Cheriton’s eyes turned icy. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Best keep an eye on her, that’s all. There are some unsavoury types sniffing around her.’

  Hugo started to rise, but Cheriton reached out and caught his wrist in a steely grip.

  ‘Explain yourself,’ he growled.

  Hugo stilled. He looked down at the hand gripping his arm, then raised his eyes to the Duke’s and raised his brows.

  Cheriton held his gaze for a fraught number of seconds, then released his grip and leaned back in his chair.

  ‘What do you know?’ he asked in a more conciliatory tone.

  Hugo hesitated. It went against his code of honour to name Clevedon but...his need to protect Olivia was stronger. He had no choice.

  ‘Clevedon.’

  Cheriton’s brows shot up. ‘Clevedon? Unsavoury?’

  He looked Hugo up and down, and he didn’t need to add—who are you to call the Earl of Clevedon unsavoury? His opinion of Hugo was clear in that disdainful look.

  Hugo gritted his teeth. ‘He’s in love with someone else—’ He could not bring himself to admit it was Lord Sudbury. Who knew if Cheriton could be trusted with such sensitive information? ‘He needs a wealthy wife and he’s set his sights on your daughter. He’ll break her heart.’

  The Duke’s eyes narrowed and he studied Hugo, who battled to keep his expression blank. When he spoke again, his voice was very quiet, sending a shiver down Hugo’s spine.

  ‘And why, I ask myself, are you concerning yourself with my eighteen-year-old daughter’s welfare, Alastair?’

  Hugo stood. ‘I don’t approve of naïve little chits being used as pawns, that’s all. Just watch out for her.’

  As he strode away he heard the Duke say, ‘Oh, I shall do, Alastair. You may be sure of that.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘You wished to speak to me, Papa?’

  Her father stood up as Olivia entered his study. ‘I do. Thank you, Freddie. That will be all for now.’

  Olivia waited until Freddie had gathered up his papers and limped from the room, trepidation coiling inside her. What had Papa found out? Did he know about Alex? But, no. Or he would be speaking to her brother, not to her. So why had he sent for her?

  Hugo.

  Her insides somersaulted as his name popped into her head. As they always did. Even though she tried very, very hard to never think of him, somehow he was always there. At the edge of her consciousness, just waiting to catch her unawares...waiting until she forgot to brace herself and forcibly keep his memory at bay. And then the memories would erupt, right into the centre of her thoughts, and the black cloud would descend, reminding her of her splintered heart and her shattered dreams.

  He had returned her kiss at the Pendletons’ soirée. He had groaned. She had been sure he had felt something. But then, afterwards, he had reverted to that same cool, detached, arrogant way of his and taken no notice of her whatsoever. It was no longer a matter of him not asking her to dance, or taking her to supper. He did not even look at her. Not once. He had kissed her and then dismissed her. And she had vowed to do the same with him. And she had been proud of her effort in the Square yesterday. She had been as cool as cool could be. And she had dismissed him this time. Take that, Lord Arrogant Alastair.

  But that did not stop him invading her thoughts whenever she was unwise enough to allow her guard to drop. Well, she would keep—

  ‘Livvy?’

  The gentle enquiry jerked her from her thoughts. Papa was holding a chair for her, waiting for her to sit down. She plastered an airy smile on to her face.

  ‘I am sorry, Papa. I was debating which gown to wear to the opera this evening.’

  Papa raised a single brow. Olivia wished she could master the art—she had spent hours in front of a mirror trying to mimic that look, but to no avail. Pity—it was a very effective expression, suggesting just the right degree of cynicism. She’d love to be able to quell Lord Arrogant Alastair with just one such look—she thrust him from her thoughts and sat down. Papa pulled another chair close and took her hand.

  Olivia’s heart plummeted as fear rocketed through her.

  ‘Is it Aunt Cecily? Has something happened?’

  A frown darkened Papa’s expression. ‘No, nothing has happened and it does not concern your aunt. Why should you think that?’

  She could not confess that deep panicky feeling she always experienced whenever the thought of losing one of her fa
mily came into her head. That was her secret and Papa had enough to worry about.

  ‘No one will tell me why you have squabbled.’

  Papa sighed. ‘Livvy. We have not squabbled. We are rational adults—we do not have squabbles.’

  Olivia put her nose in the air. No one ever told her anything, just because she was the youngest. And female. And then they wondered why she had become adept at winkling out secrets!

  ‘Now, I wish to ask you about somebody, but I need to trust you not to reveal this to anyone else. Can you be discreet?’

  Her curiosity aroused, Olivia nodded eagerly. From thinking that no one ever told her anything, it seemed Papa was about to confide in her. She preened at the thought he was treating her as an adult—someone to be consulted, rather than a child to be tolerated or ordered about.

  ‘Who is it, Papa?’

  ‘Lord Clevedon.’

  ‘Clevedon?’

  Sick dread crowded her throat. Had Papa found out? Had he already sent Alex away?

  ‘Yes,’ Papa went on. ‘I have already spoken to Lady Glenlochrie and she told me that his lordship has called upon you and that you often dance with him.’

  The air left her lungs in a relieved whoosh. ‘Yes, that is true...’ A horrible thought occurred to her. ‘Papa? Lord Clevedon has not offered for me, has he? Because if he has, despite what Lady G. says, I do not wish to marry him. You will not make me, will you?’

  Relief flashed across Papa’s face as he gathered her other hand in his. ‘No, no, I have not even seen Clevedon. And you must know I would never force you to wed against your wishes, Livvy.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa.’

  ‘That is all I wished to ask you.’

  Olivia stood to go. ‘Papa?’

  ‘Yes?’ He was already halfway around his desk, his attention on a stack of correspondence.