Led Astray by a Rake (14 page)

He shook his head, the grim line softening. “No, it isn’t so terrible.”

“Then tell me what you meant. What has Lord Lacey done that makes his compromising Olivia so much worse?”

He bent over her, urgency in his voice. “You must swear to me to tell no one else. Swear to me, Estelle.”

“Yes, yes, I swear.”

He took a breath, and she could see what a struggle it was for him, the loyal manservant, to break a confidence. “Before Nic’s father died there was a woman, a—a respectable young woman. Her parents were well-to-do, but that didn’t stop Nic. He seduced her…ruined her. Her parents hid her away, but one day she returned to Castle Lacey. She was carrying a child—a mere babe in arms.”

“Oh dear,” Estelle murmured, her spirits falling.

“Lady Lacey was out calling on friends, so the girl was taken to the library, to speak with the late Lord Lacey, Nic’s father. Nic arrived, and soon afterward the girl and the baby were taken away in the coach, to London. Nic and his father remained in the library—they had a dreadful argument. It could be heard all over the castle. His father kept shouting: ‘Swear to me. You must swear to me.’ It went on for a long time, and then Nic slammed out of the library and went to saddle his horse. He rode off across the park. When he came back, he seemed calmer, though he still looked dreadful. He went back to the library, but when he opened the door he found his father lying on the floor. He’d taken a turn and was close to death. In fact, he died moments later.”

“The shock killed him,” Estelle breathed.

“When Lady Lacey returned and discovered
what had happened…well, I don’t think she has ever recovered from the shock of it. She blamed Nic entirely for what happened, which is why she’s never spoken to him since.”

“What happened to the woman and the child?” Estelle said, after a moment’s respectful silence.

“They live in London, and Nic visits them whenever he is there. He pays for their home and all their expenses.”

Estelle chose her words carefully. “This isn’t unique, Abbot. There are a great many gentlemen with bastards, and not all of them treated as well as this one. I’d be more shocked if Nic had abandoned the child into squalor.”

“I heard him swear to his father it would never happen again,” Abbot said stubbornly. “After his father’s death he was so consumed with guilt and grief, he got drunk and climbed the old wall. He fell and broke his leg, badly. When his mother regained her senses, she came to his bedside, and she made him promise he would never prey upon a respectable young woman again. It was the last thing she said to him for nine years.”

“You heard him swear?” Estelle said after a moment.

Abbot nodded. “I was in the room.”

“So he has broken his word.” Estelle shrugged. “I’m sorry, Abbot, but sometimes it is necessary to break your word. A promise is only good as long as it makes sense. Olivia Monteith is set on capturing Nic Lacey, and no promise was going to stop her, especially when he is wild for her, too.”

Suddenly Abbot looked exhausted. “Is that what you really think?” he said. “That promises are worthless?”

Estelle wrapped her arms about him and held him, cradling him against her. “I didn’t say that, not exactly. Besides, what are the Laceys to you? This isn’t your fault. Let them sort it out among themselves.”

His voice was muffled against her hair. “What was Miss Monteith doing at the demimonde ball, Estelle?”

Estelle felt a moment of panic, but it was brief and she pushed it firmly aside. She convinced herself that her interfering had not jeopardized anyone’s happiness, or harmed the man she loved.

“Never mind about the ball. You have more important things to think about. You’re going to be a father, Abbot. We’re your family now, and we love you. You need to take care of us.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, I need to take care of you and the babe.”

Estelle longed to take him upstairs, but she knew she didn’t dare. The Monteiths were very strict about such matters, and if she was caught she would be instantly dismissed. It made her angry that she couldn’t lie down with the man she loved when he so desperately needed her. They must marry, and soon.

N
ic didn’t know where his manservant had gone and he told himself he didn’t care. Abbot would only give him one of his disappointed looks, and Nic didn’t need to be reminded of what he’d done. And he certainly didn’t want to think about why he’d done it. He bathed and donned his silk dressing gown and removed himself to the sanctuary of the library. There was much to think about and consider, and he preferred to do it alone and uninterrupted.

The scene on the terrace had been appalling. His mother, white-faced and shocked, and Olivia standing there, seeing it all. He could imagine how it had looked to her. What must she have thought? He admitted to himself now that he’d had an overwhelming impulse to spill everything into her sympathetic ears, all his secrets, all his lies. Olivia was so easy to talk to, so comfortable to be with. But how could he do that to her? How could he begin to explain?

Besides, she would never forgive him.

Suddenly he wanted to see her again. Her cool
beauty had drawn him from the first, and when he discovered the hot and passionate woman beneath, Nic knew he’d already been more than half in lust with her. But love…well, that was another matter. He didn’t think he’d ever been in love.

There was a time he’d come close to it, when he was a callow youth at Cambridge. He’d been visiting with friends and set eyes on the sister of one of them. She was called Miriam, and although she was a “lady,” she was already a practiced flirt and more—she’d introduced him to the pleasures to be found in a woman’s body—and he’d dreamed of making an honest woman of her. But Miriam had other plans and soon lost interest in him, moving on to other conquests. It had been painful and for a time he’d been a mess—that was early in the summer when he’d pulled ten-year-old Olivia from the stream.

Nic remembered he’d taken a bottle of his father’s best brandy up to his room and drunk most of it. He was still tipsy when he wandered down to the stepping stones, but luckily not so far gone that he couldn’t play the hero and save Olivia Monteith. That afternoon, as he sat with her, basking in her admiration, Nic had come to the realization that there were more important things in life than Miriam, and he’d determined to be the son and heir his father wanted him to be.

Now he sat, alone, in the chair that was once his father’s, surrounded by the books his father had spent a lifetime collecting, and the past
rushed in on him, try though he might to stem the tide.

There was his father, red-faced, furious, his mouth wide as he said things Nic had never heard him say before. It was like looking at a stranger, and the shock and shame Nic felt rendered him a stranger, too. They were father and son, how could this be? He heard his own voice shouting back, saying things he now regretted, intensely regretted. But how was he to know that his father would be dead before nightfall?

If one good thing had come out of it all, then it was the child: Jonah.

He hated the name. The child’s mother had named him, claiming it was a suitable punishment for them all. She had always been dramatic, nothing was ever simple when it came to dealing with her. The reason she gave for naming the boy was that they had flouted the laws of the church and man, and been punished for it, and Jonah would remind them of that, always. But Jonah himself was an intelligent, bright boy with Nic’s dark eyes and a laugh that was delightfully infectious. Nic preferred to think of him as a blessing rather than a curse.

Over the years he’d made certain Jonah wanted for nothing. The boy lived a quiet life, that was a necessary requirement, but it was a full one, a rich one in many ways. Jonah’s mother had been obedient to Nic’s wishes, well most of them, although lately she had begun to grow more difficult. Her family had long ago cast her off, but they
still lived in the village. Nic saw them occasionally, when their paths crossed, but nothing was ever said about the past.

It was as if the seas had closed over the truth, leaving little trace. If you didn’t look closely you wouldn’t have known it had happened.

And now Olivia had come into his life.

In other circumstances he would have thought her the perfect companion—intelligent, beautiful, educated, knowledgeable in the ways of society, and eager for him to tutor her in the pleasures of the flesh. But how could he think of making a life with her, in the circumstances? And yet that was exactly what he was doing.

He’d known that to touch her was to ruin her, and still he’d done it. Almost as if he’d planned to surrender his principles so that he could have her, despite what her parents, his mother, Abbot, Theodore Garsed, and anyone else might say. Was that why he’d taken her over and over again? So there could be no doubt that she belonged to him?

Nic’s musings were interrupted by a commotion in the hall. He could hear voices—for a moment he thought it was his mother, but of course he knew he must be mistaken. His mother hadn’t set foot in Castle Lacey for years, and after what had happened tonight he didn’t expect her to change her mind. But then he heard the voices again, and this time he was certain.

He rose to his feet, but before he could open the door, a wide-eyed servant burst in. “Lady Lacey is
here to see you, my lord,” she said, as if she could hardly believe her own words, before scuttling away again.

And then there she was standing in the doorway—his mother.

Her face was flushed and her dark eyes snapping with anger, and in that moment he was thrust back into the past again, to that time after his father died and she blamed him.

Nic took a shaky breath. No, he wouldn’t let himself be drawn into those bitter, murky waters. He was older and wiser now, and he knew what he wanted and what was important. He forced his voice to be calm.

“Will you sit down, Mother?”

Her hand trembled as she rested it on the back of a leather chair, and he wondered if she was seeing his father sitting there. But like him she rallied, and when she answered, her voice was as calm as his.

“Thank you, I think I will.”

The good old aristocracy, Nic thought, with an inner smile. The rules had been drummed into them for generations.
Don’t show your feelings, keep it all chained up inside, and under no circumstances be impolite.

“This room hasn’t changed at all,” she said, gazing about her in surprise.

“Nothing has changed, as you’d know if you visited more often.”

She flared up like a firework. “How could I visit you after what you did?” she burst out, her voice
shaking, rising to her feet. “And now I am glad I didn’t. I thought after last time you had learned your lesson but you haven’t. You haven’t changed at—at—”

“Mother, sit down. Please.”

Her knees gave way and she sank heavily into her chair. Nic reached to take her hand, but she immediately stiffened and turned her face away, refusing to speak or look at him until he moved away. With a weary sigh Nic did so, sitting down opposite her and watching her profile.

“Why have you come to see me, Mother? What do you want?”

“I
don’t
want to hear any excuses,” she said in a low, wavering voice. “Not this time. This time, Dominic, you will do what is right. This time, you will marry Miss Monteith.”

Nic stood up and poured himself a drink. He took his time. The clink of the glass against the decanter, the gurgle of the liquid, the first sip, and the lingering taste on his tongue. He allowed himself to get over the shock of his mother’s words and the strange tingling joy that had filled him when she spoke them.

“Miss Monteith is a beautiful young woman from a respectable and wealthy family. She can have her pick of husbands, Mother. I am definitely not a suitable candidate.”

She stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You have ruined her, Dominic, that makes you a very suitable candidate.”

“I can’t marry her. Surely you can see that?
The whole thing is complicated enough without making it worse.”

“You’re young, titled, and wealthy. Your blood-line goes back to the Norman conquest and you have a fine estate. What else could a woman want when she marries, especially when her own family are so much less distinguished than yours? I don’t pretend I didn’t hope for better…the daughter of a duke, perhaps, or even minor royalty.”

“Mother…”

“You think the past will be a stumbling block, Dominic, but you wouldn’t be the first man with a past to marry and make a new beginning.”

“The Monteiths will refuse permission. How can it be otherwise?”

“The benefits will outweigh the difficulties where her family are concerned. They would be very foolish indeed if they denied you permission to marry because of a long-ago scandal.”

“You make it sound inconsequential, Mother,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Olivia doesn’t know. What if she finds out? What if she couldn’t forgive me? I can’t take the risk.”

She looked at him, her dark eyes compelling. “What risk, Dominic? I don’t understand you. She will be gaining a fine name and a title, and a grand home. You will have a beautiful wife on your arm, and in time an heir. Why should that be a risk? What does it matter if she finds out, or what she thinks? You will have your roles to play in public, and I’m sure she will play hers no matter how she might feel behind closed doors. That is part of the
marriage contract, and Miss Monteith has been brought up to keep her true feelings well hidden.”

“I agree that would be so if this was one of those cold and soulless marriages. A mating of convenience. But that’s not what I want. You loved my father. You often said yours was a love match. Why should I have anything less?”

Now when she looked at him she was really looking at him, properly, for the first time since his father died, and Nic wondered what she saw to make her mouth curl into a smile.

“Dominic, happiness in marriage is elusive. Who knows, you may find it. I did, and for that I consider myself more fortunate than many of my peers. But if you’re waiting for a love match, then you’re more of a fool than I thought you. People of our class and position cannot expect to marry for love. Imagine the chaos if we did? Every second duchess would be a parlor maid!”

Nic laughed. “And every second duke would be a groom. You are speaking of lust, Mother, not love.”

She waved her hand impatiently, as if the conversation was beginning to tire her. “Dominic, you know what you must do. What your father would tell you to do, if he were here. Marry Miss Monteith.”

She was right, of course she was. He would have to marry Olivia Monteith; even a rake accepted when something was inevitable. But the strange thing was, despite all his protests…

Nic didn’t mind at all.