Led Astray by a Rake (19 page)

Her soft fingers continued to press and knead, and he felt a twinge of desire at the thought of them creeping along his thigh and closing on his shaft. Again he was tempted to reach out, but again he stopped himself. There would be plenty of time to make love to his wife. Years. And this time the thought made him smile.

Still smiling, Nic slipped into dreamless, painless sleep.

O
livia rose quietly from the bed, slipping her shawl about her naked body, her toes curling on the cold floor. It was early morning and the mist was rising from the river, drifting like smoke over the lawn toward the house. She stood at the window, enjoying the view.

Nic had slept well last night, only waking once. They’d made love quickly, silently, and she could not help but wonder if he even knew who she was. At least she did until he kissed her mouth, sleepily, and said, “Sweet Olivia. Olivia Lacey.” Then, with a chuckle, he’d gone back to sleep.

Now she stood, lost in thought, not hearing him come up behind her until his arms slid around her waist, making her start, and she felt his warm, naked body pressed against hers. He reached inside her shawl and cupped her breasts, fingering her nipples until they were as hard as his cock, jutting against her rounded bottom.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said breathlessly, trying to turn in his arms so that she could see him.

He held her where she was, against the sill. “How can I sleep with you standing in front of the light so that I can see every beautiful curve of your body.”

“I didn’t realize—”

“I know you didn’t. That’s part of your charm, Olivia. You didn’t realize, you never do. I find that kind of innocence very erotic.”

His fingers stroked the under curve of her breasts, then slid down over her ribs to the gentle swell of her stomach, and farther, to the curls between her thighs. As he probed the opening, teasing the bud, he felt her legs tremble.

“Nic,” she gasped.

Olivia realized she could see their reflection in the old glass, wavy and smudged about the edges. Her body looked like alabaster, the shawl a red blur, and behind it his bigger form. His hand moved, touching her, slipping his fingers inside her. Her thighs fell open and she leaned back against him, watching as he bent and began to lap at the side of her neck. Seeing what he was doing increased the pleasure, and she groaned.

He squeezed her gently, rolling the bud, pushing her to the edge. When he knew she was about to reach her peak, he withdrew his hand and, clasping her hips, eased her back so that she could bend over with her hands still gripping the sill for support.

Olivia felt vulnerable, her body open to him, and yet she was excited, too. Nic’s hand rested on her lower spine, and then he eased her thighs
apart, and she felt his shaft against the slick flesh between them. He held her hips firmly and began to ease himself inside her, a little at a time.

In this position he seemed able to enter her farther than before. He filled her completely. The heat of his chest seemed to scald her back, his hair abrading her, while he thrust with increasing rhythm deep into her body.

He reached around to cup her breasts, and then his fingers slid into the cleft within her curls and began to tease the sensitive bud once more. A ripple of pleasure sped through her and she lifted her head, crying out, her knuckles white as she clung to the sill. Beyond the window the mist was leaving as the sun brightened.

Nic waited until her breath had steadied and then he began to move again. Olivia realized he wasn’t done. A moment later she was glad of it. Her body began to ready itself for more pleasure, and she pushed back against him, eager for Nic to have his peak, too.

He kissed her nape, licking the salt from her skin, and she felt his hips shift slightly. Before she knew it, she was crying out, unable to stop herself, as he touched some spot deep inside her. He’d done this before, she remembered, and it seemed he’d committed that particular place to memory. He didn’t even hesitate as he pressed again, harder and deeper, and this time she screamed. She couldn’t help it. A pleasure so violent gripped her she would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her. As
her body clenched and spasmed, Nic was pushed over the edge into his own completion.

The two of them staggered back to the bed and fell upon the mattress, bodies trembling and chests heaving, and slept until the sun was high in the sky.

Estelle pressed her ear to the door but there was no sound, so she made her way down again to Abbot, waiting in the downstairs servants’ parlor. He looked up at her entrance.

“They’re still asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Lord Lacey is a very sensual man, my dear, and it seems he has found a perfect mate in his wife. Leave them to sleep and enjoy their time together. Once we reach London, things will be different.”

“You mean they will have to rise before noon?” Estelle said dryly.

“Are you bored already?” Abbot pulled her down onto his lap.

“Of course not.” She settled herself comfortably, smiling up at him. “I want to see London and all the sights—the Tower and Hyde Park. Do you think we will have time to visit them, Abbot?”

Abbot pursed his lips. “Hmm, perhaps. You will have much to do, Estelle. There will be dinners and balls and visits to the opera and the theater. Now that Lord Lacey is respectably married he will want to show off his new wife to London society.”

“So you don’t think he will go back to his old ways?”

Abbot tucked her head beneath his chin, wrapping his arms about her plump body. “I hope not, for Lady Lacey’s sake. I think he will do his utmost to be the gentleman he was brought up to be.”

“And what of the other one?” Estelle asked quietly. “The woman and the child you told me about?”

Abbot gave her a squeeze. “Shhh. That is a secret, remember. And it’s none of our business.”

Estelle huffed out an impatient breath, but she let him have his way. She loved him, despite his old-fashioned manners and his failure to understand the ways of the world. Or perhaps she loved him because of it.

The Lacey town house was in Mayfair, and Olivia soon found it was very different from the informality of the Monteith house in Bassingthorpe. When she complained that there were servants everywhere and the housekeeper’s favorite phrase was “Lady Lacey, we have a certain way of doing things here,” Nic laughed at her.

“You’ll win her over,” he reassured her.

The last time she’d been in London was with her parents, and although they’d visited the theater and gone shopping, their tastes and outlook were very different from that of the Laceys. Nic seemed to expect the best of everything, and his name was enough to ensure that he got it, too.

He also seemed determined to take her everywhere.

The first night they went to the ballet and drank champagne in their box, while Olivia was ogled by swells from the stalls and Nic sat possessively close. The next day they rode through Hyde Park and visited the exclusive shops along Bond Street. Then Nic took her to an establishment tucked away nearby, which he said catered to the best-dressed women in London.

Olivia found the shop small and dingy, and it was only when they were shown upstairs that her impressions changed. Here the room was decorated lavishly, with small chairs with spindly legs and brocade-covered sofas, and mirrors. A great many mirrors. The heavy golden curtain at one end of the room was lifted aside and a middle-aged woman in a plain gown, which contrasted starkly with the decor, came to greet them.

“Lord Lacey!” The proprietress seemed to know him well. Her eyes were tired, as if she never had quite enough sleep, and as they fixed on Olivia, her mouth widened into a smile that wasn’t quite genuine. “Ah, you have brought me your latest companion. What is it you are looking for, my lord? Something elegant and yet revealing for your nights in Paris?”

Olivia realized then that she’d been mistaken for a demimondaine. Such an error hadn’t concerned her when she attended the demimonde ball, but today it did. Today it reminded her of all the other women Nic had known in his life.

“Nic, please,” she murmured, leaning close, “let us go.”

“Nonsense, my love.” Nic frowned. “We’ve only just arrived. Madam Esmeralda has made a mistake, that is all. Esmeralda, this lady is my wife, Lady Lacey.”

“Your wife…?” The proprietress gasped. She steadied herself with one hand against a chair back, and then made a dainty curtsy. “Lady Lacey, I do apologize.”

Nic ignored the awkwardness. “Madam Esmeralda, I have brought her here to you because you are the best modiste in London.”

Esmeralda gave an uncomfortable laugh. “You are too kind, my lord.”

Olivia, too, was uncomfortable. She could see now that this was not the sort of dressmaker that the respectable ladies of London patronized. The gaudy furnishings, the opulent mirrors, all bespoke a certain type of clientele. Her fingers tightened on Nic’s arm, trying to gain his attention, but again he pretended not to notice.

“I want my wife to shine, Esmeralda,” he said, making himself comfortable on a bloodred sofa. “I want all of London to see her shine brighter than the duchesses and the countesses, and all the rest. This is important to me.”

Esmeralda looked as if she’d swallowed an egg, whole. “Yes, of course, Lord Lacey,” she said, but it was an effort. She began a slow walk about Olivia, inspecting her figure and her coloring, making notes in a little book that was fastened about her
neck with a narrow black ribbon. Olivia knew she should walk out, that was what her mother would do, and certainly what Nic’s mother would have done, but for some reason she stayed.

Perhaps it was the dark shadows under Esmeralda’s eyes, or Nic’s pride in her and the fact that he wanted to share it with such important people as duchesses and countesses…

Madam Esmeralda had finished her inspection. “Your wife is very beautiful, Lord Lacey, but hers is the beauty of the moon. If you will permit me, I will make her shine like the sun.”

Nic unfolded his lean body from the sofa, smiling his pleasure at her words. “Come to my house in Mayfair when you have something to show me, Esmeralda.”

“I will, my lord.” She curtsied again, a little lower this time, as if to ensure the sale. “My lady.”

Olivia was glad to leave, hurrying down the dim stairs and through the shop, and out into the daylight. Their carriage was waiting farther down the narrow street, a group of urchins gathered around it, hoping for a generous toff to provide them with a few coppers.

“I don’t know if I want to shine like the sun,” Olivia said in a chilly voice, as Nic helped her up. “And I don’t like your friend Esmeralda.”

He gave her a lazy smile. “Esmeralda is the best modiste in London. Why would I not take you to the best?”

Olivia reached into her reticule and took out a
handful of pennies, giving one to each child, and a smile to go with it. Nic watched her indulgently, and when the ragged crew had vanished back into the streets where they’d come, he helped her into the carriage.

They turned into the busier thoroughfare, moving slowly as the traffic grew heavier. Olivia smoothed a truant lock of hair back under her bonnet, wondering if Nic was really so obtuse or if he was just pretending, and was it for his own amusement or her embarrassment?

“Obviously you’ve taken other women to her. Your mistresses.”

His dark eyes gleamed. “Are you jealous, Olivia?”

Of course she was jealous—she was sick with jealousy! But it occurred to Olivia that it might not be wise to show him how jealous of him she had become. A man like Nic, used to his freedom, might feel suffocated by such an emotion.

“No, Nic, I am not jealous,” she said at last, with an indifferent shrug, and turned away. When she glanced at him again, he was resting back in his seat, still watching her, his eyes hooded. His gloved hand rested on his injured leg, his fingers kneading it without him seeming to notice.

Olivia opened her mouth to ask him if he was in pain, and closed it again. He would be irritated with her if she showed she’d noticed his leg was hurting. She’d had a victory the night she touched him and he allowed her to soothe him to sleep, but since then he’d refused to let her repeat it.

“I don’t need an angel of mercy,” he’d mocked, catching her hand in his, placing it on his groin instead. He’d used her fingers to make himself hard.

Remembering it now, Olivia felt herself blush. Some of the things they did together were intensely erotic. But Nic was a man who lived by his senses, a rake who had known many women, and would never be content with a prim and proper wife. It was just as well, Olivia thought, that she wasn’t one.

A
bbot brushed Nic’s jacket with the clothing brush, frowning as he worked on a particularly difficult speck of lint. When he was done he stepped back, surveying his master from all sides, before he was satisfied Nic was looking his best.

Nic knew there was something bothering his manservant, but there was no use quizzing the fellow. Abbot would tell him in his own time.

“No need to wait up for me tonight,” he said, picking up his gloves and hat. “I intend taking my wife to supper after the opera, and we may be very late.”

Abbot said nothing, merely nodding his head as he selected a cane and presented it to Nic. Nic, who had been intending to leave it behind, sighed and snatched it impatiently from his hands.

“My lord,” Abbot said, meeting his eyes in the looking glass, “there is something I want to broach with you, if you will permit.”

Nic raised his eyebrows. “When have you ever needed my permission, Abbot? Broach away.”

“My lord, it has come to my attention that you took your wife to Madam Esmeralda’s today.”

“I did.”

“You took your wife, Lady Lacey, to the same modiste you use for your mistresses.”

Nic turned and faced him. “She is the best, that is all that concerned me.”

Abbot’s expression grew pained.

“You think it was the wrong thing to do?” Nic asked, irritably tugging at his waistcoat. “Abbot, as you are well aware, the nuances of polite society do not interest me…”

“They may not interest you, my lord, but your wife needs to be protected from your past. Surely you can see how inappropriate it is for you to ask such a woman to dress your wife?”

Nic sighed. “When you put it like that, I suppose I can. I didn’t think she’d mind. And Esmeralda is brilliant.”

“Brilliant or not, she is dressmaker to the demimonde and everyone knows it. Your wife risks being cut by the very people you want her to impress.”

Nic knew Abbot was right; he was always right. Devil take it, he’d have to smooth things over with Olivia. He remembered how she’d tried to tell him in the coach but he’d been more interested in whether she was jealous. For some reason, he was spending a great deal of time mulling over whether she would remain with him once the initial gloss wore off. He’d attracted her in the first place because she thought him dangerous
and wicked, but as time went on such attractions might begin to pale.

And what of his infirmity? What beautiful woman wanted a limping husband at her side?

In the carriage outside Esmeralda’s she’d sounded jealous of the other women, but when he sought to clarify her feelings, she’d shrugged it off. She was like a beautiful fish in a pond, continually slipping out of his grasp. It was odd, because he’d been sure he knew her, and now…

Now he wasn’t sure that he knew her at all.

It was interval, and they had been served with champagne. The opera was a grand affair, the private boxes full of the rich and privileged, while the gallery and stalls were crammed with rowdy men and women, and even children. Olivia settled back, aware that she was on show, but enjoying herself too much to care. Besides, there were so many people to look at—even the young queen was there.

“Have you been presented to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria?” Nic said, watching her in the light of the grand chandelier.

“No, Nic, I haven’t,” she replied, with a smile. “I am not the presentable type.”

Nic smiled back. “You are now. Do you want to be presented, Lady Lacey?”

Was he teasing her? Olivia wasn’t sure. He reached forward and took her hand, the one wearing the Lacey ring, and lifted it to his lips.

“As my wife, you have far more privileges than Miss Monteith ever did.”

“I doubt the queen will care what I call myself.”

Nic sighed and leaned back again, dropping her hand. “Any other woman would be thrilled by my offer, but not Olivia. She doesn’t feel the slightest inclination to meet the queen. She prefers driving around the streets of London, handing out pennies to ragged children.”

“I like children,” she retorted, staring straight ahead.

“Good. Let’s make one.”

She turned to stare at him, finally shocked out of her calm reserve, and he laughed.

“Oh, Olivia, your face. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

She supposed she would let him see her righteous indignation or refuse to speak at all, but Nic didn’t respond to either. So she let herself relax, reaching up to play with the lace on her bodice, and said, “Here, Nic? I don’t think the queen would approve, do you?”

He smiled, and then he laughed, and then he shook his head.

But Olivia’s eyes had turned serious, that clear blue look that seemed to pierce his soul. “Do you really want a child? An heir? Or is it your mother who wants one?”

Nic glanced down, his fingers twisting on his cane. “The Laceys have lived at Castle Lacey for generations. It’d be a shame to end it now.”

“Do you want to be a father, Nic?” she said softly.

He didn’t answer her, and a moment later the next act began. Olivia turned back to the stage and pretended to watch the singers, but it took a long time for her heart to slow its beating and the butterflies in her stomach to stop fluttering.

As they made their way to supper in their private room, Nic wondered how Olivia had managed to turn the tables on him, and why he’d let her. He could almost think she knew about Jonah, but he was certain she didn’t. If Olivia knew she wouldn’t scruple to tell him.

“Oh,” Olivia said, her face lighting up as they sat down, and she saw the strawberries and cream. “You remembered.”

“Your favorite,” Nic replied. “You told me when we feasted in my bedchamber, the day after I brought you back from the ball.”

And we made love before and afterward
,
and it seemed like time stopped for those brief
,
exquisite moments.

But he didn’t say that.

Olivia lifted one of the ripe, juicy fruits between her finger and thumb, and bit into it. The pink syrup ran down her chin and she dabbed at it with her napkin, smiling at Nic like one of the urchins she loved so much.

“Wonderful,” she sighed.

Nic helped himself to the next strawberry, popping it into his mouth whole. The juice oozed from the corners of his mouth, and Olivia laughed
as he tried to catch the trickles with his tongue. She reached across the table to him and used her finger.

“What will Abbot say if you stain that neck cloth?” she teased, and sucked the strawberry juice from her fingertip.

Nic’s eyes went hot.

Olivia felt her body begin to heat up in response. Slowly, she slipped her finger from her mouth and licked it with her tongue. He followed her movement. She reached for another strawberry, biting into it, and he leaned over the table, taking the remaining part of the fruit in his own mouth, so that for a moment they were face-to-face. And then he severed the strawberry in half and his mouth closed on hers.

The sweetness of the fruit, the warmth of his lips, were somehow all the more delicious. Olivia found herself arching across the table, following his mouth. As he moved back, she moved forward, and suddenly he’d grasped her about the waist, and she was sprawled across the table and the strawberries and cream, her arms about his neck.

“Nic,” she gasped.

He ran his hand across her décolletage, and then chose a strawberry. The next moment he’d slipped the ripe fruit down into her cleavage. Olivia’s eyes widened as she watched him settle it comfortably between her breasts, then he smiled and began to try to tease it out with his tongue.

The sensation made her toes curl.

The strawberry slid farther down between her breasts, lodging there, and Nic pushed down her bodice, finding first one nipple and then the other.

Olivia arched against him, lying half across the table, her fingers in his hair. He ran his tongue over the swell of her breasts, lapping at the strawberry juice.

But Olivia wanted to be more than Nic’s dessert.

She reached up, clinging to his neck, and he lifted her into his arms and sank back into his chair with her cradled in his lap. She tried to catch her breath, but her stays were tight beneath her evening dress. He seemed to understand her difficulty, and ran his hand down over her waist, splaying his fingers.

“Will I take it off?” he said.

“What if someone comes in?” She glanced anxiously at the door.

“No one will come in, my sweet. They know better than to come into one of these rooms without making a great deal of noise.”

Olivia’s desire began to fade, leaching out of her like water from a wrung-out rag. “You’ve been here before?” she asked carefully.

“Yes.”

“With other women.”

“Of course.”

She went still, and then she pushed herself to her feet, turning her back as she dealt with her bodice and the sticky juice smeared across her chest. The napkin, dipped in a glass of drinking water that had somehow survived her tumble on
the table, helped to remove most traces of her debauchery, and when she was finished, she turned to face him. He was still reclining lazily in his chair, but there was something watchful in his face that belied his easy manner.

“You’re jealous,” he said, but it was a question rather than a statement.

“No. I don’t think so. Not in the way you mean.”

He waved an impatient hand. “Then what?”

Olivia sighed. “I don’t want to be another one of your women, Nic.”

He looked into her eyes. “You’re not.”

“Perhaps. At least, not yet. But I’m afraid that before long I will be. Just another in a long line of companions you hire for a year and then set free. Like—like caged birds.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Nic stood up and he looked angry, his hair untidy from her fingers, a swath of it hanging over his eyes, his lean cheeks flushed. “You’re my wife. I don’t hire you, and I’m hardly likely to set you free, as you call it. That won’t happen.”

“How do I know? You bring me here and I feel as if—as if—”

As if I am no more special than the others.

And Olivia knew with heavy certainty that she wanted to feel special when she was with Nic.

Nic knew he’d done something wrong again.

A moment ago Olivia had been writhing in his arms, a woman in the throes of undeniable pas
sion, and the next moment she was looking at him as if he were a stranger.

He wanted to please her, and he’d thought this was the way to do it. Now he didn’t know what to do. Apologize? Or give up on understanding her altogether?

“I want to go home,” she said, in a voice that trembled on the verge of tears.

Nic groaned. Not tears. Women’s tears were the invention of the devil, designed to force men to grovel in an effort to make them stop. He’d have to apologize then…

“Olivia, please, if I’ve done something wrong, forgive me. I only wanted to make you happy. I didn’t intend to upset you.”

She stopped at the door and turned to look at him.

“Yes, I have brought other women here, but I can’t even remember their faces let alone their names. I wanted to bring you because I knew you loved strawberries and I knew we would have some privacy. When I’m with you I have trouble behaving myself, you know that. I don’t want to cause another scandal, so I thought—”

She was smiling. Devil take it, she was smiling! Nic wondered what part of the rambling sentences he’d just spoken had made her smile. And then he decided he didn’t care, as long as she was happy again.

“Come home, Nic,” she said huskily, holding out her hand. “We can be private there, and I can
even ask for strawberries to be served in our bedchamber, if you like.”

“Aren’t you worried the housekeeper will tell you that isn’t the way things are done?” he teased, moving toward her, and clasping her fingers firmly, possessively, in his.

“Do you know, I think I am getting braver where the housekeeper is concerned, because I don’t care. Whose house is it, anyway?”

He bent to kiss her lips, keeping her a moment longer, before he opened the door onto the world outside.

“I do, you know,” he said in a low, quiet voice.

Olivia gave him a puzzled look. “You do what?”

“I do want a child.”

Tears filled her eyes but she said nothing, wiping them away with her fingers. Nic wondered at himself, that he could make this woman cry and smile, that his actions were capable of controlling her emotions. It should have felt like a burden, something to avoid, but it wasn’t.

He’d avoided engaging himself emotionally with women because he didn’t want to make any connections with them other than the physical, but it was different with Olivia. With her, he couldn’t live without the emotional ties.

Nic was surprised at how much he’d changed, and it was she who had changed him.