Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

by Janice Preston

  They had arrived back in Bruton Street and Sir Horace had been full of that unexpected invitation to Beauchamp House.

  ‘A small and most exclusive gathering, my dear Lucy, and we are all invited.’

  ‘Catalani!’ Mama clasped her hands at her breast. ‘Oh, how wonderful. But...what on earth prompted Lord Avon to invite us?’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t Avon, my love. At least—it was not he who originally invited us. It was Lady Olivia. Very sweet of her—she thought of Mary, you see, and how much she would enjoy hearing Catalani sing.

  ‘But I have never attended an opera in my life,’ said Mary. ‘I do not know why Lady Olivia should think of me.’

  ‘I suspect,’ Mama had then said, her eyes sparkling as she smiled at Hugo, ‘that Lady Olivia had quite another purpose in inviting our family.’

  And now, thanks to his incorrigible mother, the entire family were aware that there was...something. A growl vibrated in his throat but, out of respect for his valet as he helped Hugo into his form-fitting tailcoat, he swallowed it back. He only hoped Mama would be discreet around the Duke.

  Safety in numbers. He repeated the mantra as he trod down the staircase of the house in which his chambers were situated and again as he waited for the rest of his family to collect him in the carriage. And he repeated it again as he followed Lucas and Mary and Mama and Sir Horace up the magnificent marble staircase of Beauchamp House. As long as they were within sight of others, he knew Olivia would not directly approach him.

  It was a most select gathering, he saw, when they were shown into the salon. A space at one end had been cleared for the musicians and the singer, and chairs—Hugo counted twenty-one in all—had been spaced throughout the remainder of the room to accommodate the guests. It was quite some coup for Cheriton to persuade the oft-times capricious Catalani to perform at a private musical soirée. The London theatres—Catalani was the resident soprano at the King’s Theatre in Haymarket—would now close until the winter and it was her habit to tour a few of the provincial towns during the summer.

  She had not yet arrived, it seemed. The musicians were in place, playing quietly as the guests mingled and chatted. A footman offered a glass of wine from a tray, which Hugo accepted and then cast his gaze around the company. He stilled when he saw her. She was stunning, sheathed in a gown that clung to her slender form and set off her pale skin and black hair to perfection. She stole his breath...he wished—

  A nudge dragged him back to a sense of his surroundings.

  ‘Close your mouth, Brother. You look like you’re catching flies.’

  He snapped his jaw shut and glared at Lucas, who shrugged. ‘She is gorgeous, I grant you. But you need to decide if she’s worth the hassle you’ll get from her father if he gets wind you’re interested.’

  ‘I am not interested.’

  Lucas raised a brow.

  ‘Not in the way you mean,’ Hugo growled.

  ‘With a lady like her, Little Brother, there is no other way to be interested, if you get my meaning.’

  Freddie limped towards them then, a welcoming smile on his face. Hugo introduced him to Lucas.

  ‘I hear Alex is doing a grand job with Sir Horace’s mare,’ said Freddie and Hugo gratefully followed his lead into a general conversation about horseflesh.

  He was relieved when Angelica Catalani finally swept into the room and he selected a chair towards the rear of the salon, after watching Olivia sit near to the front. The trills and swells of Angelica’s remarkable voice washed through him almost unnoticed as he spent the entire time watching Olivia. At a break in the entertainment drinks were again served and Hugo snatched a glass of wine and headed for the terrace outside before anyone could engage him in conversation. He could not trust himself to discuss the singing that he had barely heard. He would be hard pressed to name one piece Catalani had sung. He crossed the narrow terrace and stared out across the darkening garden, as rigid as one of the dimly seen statues dotted below. Eventually, he released his pent-up breath with a whoosh, raised his glass, tipped back his head and drained it with one gulp.

  ‘Here you are.’

  He stiffened, and carefully set his wineglass on to the stone balustrade before he turned. They were a mere ten feet from the open window and the room beyond.

  ‘What are you doing? Your entire family is in there.’ He jerked his chin towards the salon.

  ‘We are quite safe. Papa is discussing politics with Lord Castlereagh. Once they get started, they will not stop until Signora Catalani is ready to sing again. And my aunt and stepmother are talking to your brother and his wife.’

  ‘That is not what I call safe,’ he growled.

  Frustration sent his blood surging around his body. He wished he might claim his frustration was due to anger at her risk-taking, but the tightening of his trousers suggested it was a different sort of frustration altogether. She looked so...edible...standing there, her silvery eyes glowing as she looked into his.

  ‘Nell is keeping watch. If anyone looks like they might venture outside, she will come out quickly and join us.’

  He scanned the windows. Sure enough, he could see Lady Helena, her back to the window as she faced the room.

  ‘It is still an unnecessary risk. Why did you follow me out here?’

  ‘Why?’ Her voice rose. ‘Because I—’ She stopped and he saw her bring herself back under control. His heart ached for her, but he would do nothing to foster false hope in her. When she spoke again her words were measured, the only sign of agitation a crease between her dark brows. ‘I wanted to see you. I needed to see you.’

  Hugo rubbed his hand across his jaw. She appeared to believe herself equal to anything. How on earth could he get through to her that she must take better care of her reputation?

  ‘That is no reason. You know the ways of our world—it is scandalous for us to meet unchaperoned and you would be ruined if we were discovered. You cannot always have what you want, Olivia. You are old enough to understand that.’

  ‘But why not? You are the son of a marquis. I am the daughter of a duke. We are very nearly equal and I assure you I do not aspire to be a duchess.’

  ‘Even if I wanted you, it is not a case of our respective births, as you well know.’ He swept a hand through his hair in utter frustration. ‘My past is sufficient to send any respectable father rushing to barricade his daughter behind locked doors. You must have heard the renewed stories about Rothley and me.’

  Lucas’s reappearance in society had resurrected all the old tales of wild and scandalous behaviour.

  ‘Those are ancient history.’

  ‘Hey!’ He laughed, swatting gently at her. ‘Less of the ancient, if you please.’

  She laughed back and he battled the urge to sweep her into his arms and to kiss her.

  She needs to be protected. From me and from herself.

  ‘I did not mean you are ancient, simply that those stories are the past. You are only eight years older than me. It is not so much. Papa is ten years older than my new stepmother.’

  ‘And, as your papa would no doubt point out very quickly, I have no prospects.’ He would not tell her about Sir Horace’s offer of Helmstone—that was way off in the future and would only feed her hope when he must starve it. ‘And I am in constant debt—my allowance is paltry. It would be barely enough to keep you in hats, my sweet.’

  ‘I do not care about hats. Or about m-money.’

  Only because you have never had to go without either of those things.

  He hardened his heart and turned to pace along the terrace and then back to her. ‘Besides, you need to understand this—I have no desire for matrimony, not to you or to anyone. I have an enviable life—I answer to no one.’

  There was a pause. ‘That does not sound enviable to me.’ She sounded thoughtful. ‘And neither is it true.’

  She’s righ
t. And it’s not true.

  But they were words he could not say. He cocked a haughty brow in reply, but she merely shook her head at him.

  ‘If you answer to no one, it implies you have no one to care about you and no one that you care for. And yet you have your mother and your stepfather. And your brother and his wife. And me.’

  And if only that were true.

  He waved his arm. ‘Unnecessary emotional baggage. And unwanted.’

  ‘I do not believe you.’ She placed her hand on his chest and his heart twitched at the gentle pressure. ‘You have changed. The man in those stories...that is not who you are now.’

  Why would she not listen? What she wanted...what she asked...it was impossible.

  ‘What is it you want from me?’ The words burst from him. He swung around and braced his hands on the balustrade, leaning his weight on them as his chest heaved with each tortured breath. He swung round to face her. ‘Should I take you to my bed? Is that what you want? Because that is where we are heading if you do not stop this. There is only so much I can take, only so many times I can resist you and what you offer.’

  His fury subsided as he took in her stricken expression...the pale hand that rose to splay across her chest...the movement of her slender throat as she visibly swallowed. He steeled himself against the longing to haul her close—to hold her and soothe away her pain—as he glared down into her silver-grey eyes.

  ‘You must stop this for both our sakes.’ She visibly flinched at his harsh words. ‘The only future acceptable for a lady of your breeding is marriage and I am not the marrying kind.’ He could resist touching her no longer and reached for her hands as he gentled his voice. ‘If you continue to contrive such clandestine meetings it can only be a matter of time before we are caught. You will bring shame on your family and ruin upon yourself and all for nothing. You know your father would never, ever countenance a match between us and I know you would accept nothing less than marriage, despite appearances to the contrary.’

  She bent her head at that, staring down at their joined hands. Then a single teardrop splashed on his skin.

  ‘But I cannot help myself,’ she whispered. ‘I long to spend time with you and you will barely even acknowledge me when anyone else is around. What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘You are supposed to remember your upbringing and what is expected of you as the daughter of a duke. You are supposed to conform to society’s edicts. You are supposed to be the perfect young lady and to marry appropriately when the time comes.’

  ‘So I am expected to wait patiently and never even try to follow my heart simply because I was born a woman? It’s not fair.’

  ‘Life isn’t fair.’

  The truth of that ripped at him, leaving him raw and vulnerable as the memory of his father and his violent childhood loomed large.

  A sob tore from her. ‘But I love you. And do not tell me that I am too young to know what love is.’ She tilted her face to his, tears spilling. ‘I am not too young to know how I feel and I am woman enough to recognise how you feel about me. I might lack certain experience, but I am wise enough to know that if you did not care for me, you would have tried to bed me long ago. But you did not. Instead, you have done your utmost to protect me—not only from the folly of my own actions, but also from yourself.’

  He stiffened, then stepped back, flinging her hands from his as he hardened his heart, knowing he must, once and for all, make her believe he did not care.

  ‘You have no experience in what goes on between a man and a woman,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘You are a beautiful and desirable young lady and I respond to you as a man would to any such woman. You are too young and too inexperienced to distinguish between lust and love and your naivety will lead you into trouble if you do not grow up very quickly. Stay away from me.’

  He fought to maintain his forbidding frown as she touched his mouth, the pad of her thumb drifting across his lips. She lowered her hand and stepped back and he suffered the bleak reality of loss.

  She stood tall.

  Proud.

  Every inch the daughter of a duke.

  ‘Very well. You have made your position clear. It is time to accept I cannot always have what I want and I must stop making this impossible for us both.’ The sadness in her eyes tore at his heart. She removed a small drawstring bag that had dangled from her left wrist and thrust it at him. ‘This is the last of the money I owe you.’

  She turned away and walked to the salon window where she paused for a minute and raised her gloved hands to her face, patting at her cheeks. Then, back straight, she disappeared into the salon, as the opening strains of an aria from The Magic Flute drifted out of the open windows into the night.

  It was the outcome he had planned, so why then did he feel so wretched? It wasn’t just her tears—although they had tugged at his heartstrings. How he felt now was not even about Olivia, as such. It was about him. His feelings weren’t the result of guilt or shame that he had upset her. This tearing, heart-wrenching desolation was for himself. It was pure misery. It was the knowledge that he had just sent away the woman he loved with his whole heart and being, and it was the deep gut-wrenching knowledge that he could do not one damn thing about it. He would have to continue his life without her.

  He waited ten minutes before following her inside and resuming his seat at the back of the room. The only person who noticed him slip back into his chair was his mother and his heart sank as her beady gaze wandered from him to Olivia, who had regained her seat at the front of the audience. His mother might believe she was being discreet, but he knew her only too well and she had clearly taken note of both Olivia’s and his absence and would be, without a doubt, drawing her own conclusions.

  * * *

  After the final song Catalani finished to huge applause, with the audience on their feet. She lapped up the adulation as her due, bowing and smiling graciously.

  Hugo kept an eye on Olivia as the guests again mingled while waiting for supper to be served. Although she conversed with others easily enough she was clearly unhappy, earning her worried looks from both her father and her aunt. He set his jaw. There was no more he could do. Olivia would get over her infatuation with him eventually.

  As for what he felt for her...his feelings were so muddled he could no longer think straight. If he had ever thought in the past about permanence...marriage...it had been a thought speedily dismissed. The memories of his father had ensured that. He wanted none of that misery. And he—like Lucas, until he had fallen in love with his Mary—had vowed never to wed.

  And now? If he could stand aside and counsel himself, his advice would be to stay well away from Olivia, despite—if he were brutally honest—suspecting that what he was suffering from was not unrequited lust but something much, much more profound.

  Love.

  The word crept into his thoughts. Swelled his heart. Made his pulse pound and sweat prickle his back. Could it be? For either of them? For despite what Olivia had said, he could not believe she knew what love was. Hell, he did not know what love was and he was eight years older than her.

  He sat with his family to eat supper and Olivia sat with hers. After ascertaining her whereabouts he did not look in that direction again, but mindlessly ate his food as the conversation washed over him. Then a shadow fell across him and the talk at the table ceased. He looked up, straight into the silvery gaze of the Duke.

  ‘Might I have a word, Alastair?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Hugo pushed back his chair and stood, wondering what on earth Cheriton wanted with him. He followed him out on to the terrace.

  ‘I wanted to thank you for what you have done for Alexander.’

  The breath left his lungs in a silent gust of relief. He’d steeled himself against an accusation about Olivia, certain someone had seen them earlier and told her father. He silently reiterated
his vow to keep his distance. This man standing before him—a hugely powerful man used to commanding his world—would want more for his beloved daughter than a cynical, world-weary rake of a second son with only his stepfather’s goodwill, which could be withdrawn at any time, to secure his future.

  Hell, of course she deserves better than me. All that youth, beauty and innocence...she deserves the very best in the land.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Sir Horace has been regaling me with tales of the wonders Alex has wrought with that mare. He told me it was your idea and, again, I thank you for thinking of it.’

  He thrust out his hand and Hugo shook it. Then he took a huge breath. He owed Olivia this much. He would avoid her, for both their sakes, but someone needed to continue to watch over her.

  ‘That matter we spoke of once before,’ he said.

  The Duke frowned. ‘Clevedon? I have spoken to my daughter. She has shown no interest in the man so you do not need to concern yourself further, Alastair.’

  ‘But Clevedon still has an interest. You sh—’

  He fell silent as Cheriton lifted his hand, palm facing Hugo.

  ‘It is a family matter, Alastair. My sister is home now and, between us, you may rest assured my daughter has all the protection she needs.’

  The Duke nodded, swung around and strode back to the house, leaving Hugo frustrated that he had not put his case more clearly.

  * * *

  Olivia waited until she was alone in her bed that night. Until then, she went through the motions and behaved as though there was nothing amiss, shrugging aside Nell’s anxious enquiry about what she had said to Hugo. And what he had said to her. Nell, at least, would be relieved. She would no longer be asked to cover for Olivia while she pursued her silly childish daydream of an all-time love with Lord Hugo Alastair.