Читать книгу Lady Olivia And The Infamous Rake - Janice Preston, Janice Preston - Страница 9

Chapter One

‘Where have you been? Do you know how long we’ve been waiting? We were about to give up.’

‘It’s not my fault,’ Lady Olivia Beauchamp retorted to her brother, Alexander. ‘Do you even know how hard it is to sneak out without bumping into a servant? They’re everywhere. And what do you mean...we?’

‘Never mind that now.’ Alex grabbed her arm and bundled her unceremoniously towards the waiting hackney. ‘Hurry up. If anyone should catch us, there’ll be hell to pay.’

Huffing at his cavalier treatment of her, Olivia clambered inside, then stopped short at the sight of a figure already seated within. Alex put his hand between her shoulder blades and shoved. ‘Move. It’s only Nev. He’s come to help me keep you out of trouble.’

Olivia sprawled inelegantly on the seat opposite Neville Wolfe as her brother leapt in behind her and slammed the door. Immediately, the hackney rocked into motion, causing Olivia, by now half-upright, to tip over once more.

‘Alex,’ she wailed.

Neville’s hand covered his mouth, but he failed to muffle his snort of laughter. Olivia glared across the carriage at him.

‘Oh, God,’ Alex muttered, as he reached across and hauled her upright. ‘Tonight is bound to be a disaster.’

Neville passed a flask to Alex, who drank before handing it back.

‘Can I have a drink?’ Olivia asked.

‘No, you cannot,’ Alex retorted. ‘That’s all I need...you half-cut!’ He eyed Olivia sternly. ‘Two hours and not a minute longer, d’you hear? We’ve got better things to do tonight than dance attendance on a troublesome chit like you.’

The carriage passed under one of the new gas street lamps at that moment and Alex’s eyes widened as the light caught the ruby and diamond bracelet on Olivia’s gloved wrist. He reached across and grabbed her hand, holding it up to examine it.

‘That’s from Mama’s parure. What the devil are you about? What else have you got on?’

He yanked down the hood of her cloak, revealing the pair of exquisite eardrops and the matching necklace she wore. The set had been a wedding gift from their father, the Duke of Cheriton, to their late mother. Olivia fingered the necklace—remembering how beautiful Mama had looked, all dressed up and wearing the parure—before battening down the guilt that stirred her conscience. She stuck her nose in the air.

‘They belong to me, not Rosalind.’ Rosalind was their new stepmother and Olivia was finding it hard to adjust to calling her Stepmama, although she took care not to call her Rosalind to her face. Or in front of her father. ‘Papa said that Mama would have wanted me to have them.’

‘He also said you’re not allowed to wear them. They’re totally unsuitable for a chit in her first Season.’

‘Exactly! So when people see a masked lady tonight, wearing such fine jewellery, it will help my disguise. No one will guess I am your younger sister. They will think I am your light o’ love.’

‘That’s enough. Where did you hear such language?’

‘From you,’ she retorted.

Really! Alex is such a hypocrite!

‘God’s teeth, Olivia, you’d try the patience of a saint. How did you get the jewels, anyway? I thought Father kept them locked up in his safe.’

‘He does.’ But she also knew where Papa kept the key.

‘What do you imagine he’ll do when he discovers they’re missing, you little idiot? He’ll have the Runners out.’

‘Idiot yourself! I’ll have them back long before he returns from Birmingham. He’ll never know.’

‘Well, you be sure to keep them covered up at Vauxhall. You’ll be a magnet for every fingersmith and gallows bird there tonight. I must have rocks in my head to ever agree to such a madcap stunt as this.’

‘Well, you did not agree. I won our wager fair and square and—as you always tell me, Brother dear—gambling debts are debts of honour, so you had no choice. We had a bet and you lost!’

Alex muttered something that sounded suspiciously like spoilt brat before lapsing into a sullen silence.

A minute later, out of the dark, came a mocking, ‘Good evening, Lady Olivia.’

Olivia—miffed at having been betrayed into such unladylike behaviour in front of Alex’s friend, even though she had known him for years—responded with a hissed, ‘And if you tell a single soul about tonight, Neville Wolfe, your life will not be worth living.’

* * *

They crossed the Thames by boat and her first sight of Vauxhall Gardens utterly enchanted Olivia as they entered via the water entrance. Papa was exceedingly unfair to refuse to allow her to come to here—apart from one very fleeting visit, with him and Rosalind—early one evening, before it was even dark enough to fully admire all the lanterns. He had kept her close to his side the entire time and then whisked her and Nell—her very best friend and now her step-aunt because she was Rosalind’s stepsister—home immediately after they had watched the marvel of the mechanical cascade and just as it was beginning to get crowded and the excitement started to build. It was so unfair. Alex and Dominic—their eldest brother, Lord Avon—came here all the time and Olivia knew for a fact that Papa and Rosalind had visited the Gardens again since then, leaving Olivia and Nell to endure yet another insipid evening at Almack’s in the charge of Aunt Cecily—an activity Papa considered more suited to young ladies.

Not for the first time, Olivia wished she had been born a boy.

They have all the fun and all the freedom. It’s not fair.

They climbed the Vauxhall Stairs and entered the Gardens, which were lit by thousands of coloured lanterns, hanging in festoons between the trees. Her squabble with Alex was quickly forgotten, as always, and Olivia linked arms with her brother. With Neville bringing up the rear, she had no qualms about her safety and neither did she worry that she would be recognised. Her midnight-blue velvet domino, with its hood and matching mask—which left only the tip of her nose and her mouth and chin visible—would surely pass the closest scrutiny.

They strolled the well-lit paths, avoiding the more secluded walks—walks that rejoiced in names like the Dark Walk and Lovers’ Walk. Olivia peered down these dark and mysterious ways, catching glimpses of couples standing close together in the shadows and groups of young bucks—noisy in their cups—patrolling the walks. Alex had warned her she was on no account to enter any of these walks, hinting at dire consequences if she did not obey him.

She huffed quietly to herself. He should know she had more sense than that and as for her father’s tendency for overprotectiveness...well! It was totally uncalled-for, as far as Olivia was concerned. She was more than capable of looking after herself. She brushed aside the whisper of conscience that reminded her why Papa was so protective. She did not want to remember what had happened to Mama. Not tonight. She was determined to enjoy this evening, not dwell on past pain.

Papa is so old-fashioned. As if anything could happen to me in among all these people.

They stopped to admire the picturesque caves, grottos and waterfalls, Olivia staring in wonder at the sights, then continued until they reached the central square, where jugglers and tightrope walkers entertained the crowds and an orchestra played, the music struggling to be heard above the chatter and laughter of the crowds dancing, strolling and finishing their supper in the many supper boxes.

As they continued to stroll, arm in arm—Neville still ambling along in their wake—a female voice called Alex’s name. They turned as one and Olivia sensed her brother’s sudden tension. She had no difficulty in recognising the lady who had hailed him—Lady Shelton, the beautiful widow of Baron Shelton of Rutland. She indicated a supper box—in which several ladies and gentlemen were already seated—and beckoned Alex with a smile of enticement that set Olivia’s teeth on edge. She’d never been introduced to Lady Shelton nor, she realised as she scanned the occupants of that box, to any of the others, apart from Lords Clevedon and Sudbury. They were of an older set than the young gentleman and ladies she normally socialised with. A shiver chased down her spine. She chose to interpret it as a shiver of excitement rather than apprehension. At last she would experience a little of real life...the life outside the confined world of debutantes and chaperons and balls and Almack’s.

‘You don’t mind if we join them, do you, Livvy?’ Alex said, his eyes glued to Lady Shelton.

‘Beatrice! I’m Beatrice, remember?’

‘What? Oh, yes, of course. But you don’t mind, do you?’

Neville stepped forward and cleared his throat. ‘Alex. Have you forgotten what you said?’

‘What?’ Alex tore his gaze from the buxom blonde and stared at Neville.

Neville’s jaw firmed. ‘It’s no good givin’ me the evil eye. You said on no account was I to be tempted to join up with any of our pals while your sister is under our protection. We was to walk around a while, have a bite of supper if it’s not too late—’

‘Well, it is too late, ’cause she kept us waiting for ever.’

‘And then take her straight home.’ Neville spoke over Alex’s grumble. ‘That’s what you said. And they—’ he indicated the occupants of the box with a flick of his head ‘—ain’t even our pals. And they ain’t fitting company for your sister, neither.’

‘Oh, never mind that now,’ said Alex. ‘We shan’t stay above five minutes—ten, at the most. Do try not to be so faint-hearted. You’ll be all right, won’t you, Liv—Beatrice? We’ll both be with you. There’s no need to be afraid.’

‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid? Don’t be so stuffy, Neville. Really, you are as bad as Papa, fussing over every little thing. How can there be any risk? They’ll never recognise me.’

They approached Lady Shelton.

‘Lord Alexander, Mr Wolfe,’ she purred. ‘How lovely to see you both. I hoped I might persuade you to join our little party tonight?’ She indicated the box behind her and the neighbouring box. ‘Just a few select friends gathered here to celebrate Lord Clevedon’s birthday.’ Her gaze skimmed Olivia, who detected curiosity, but also a touch of scorn, in her ladyship’s blue eyes. ‘Will you introduce your companion?’ She leaned closer and her strong perfume wafted up Olivia’s nose, making it twitch. She held her breath, desperate not to sneeze. Lady Shelton fingered the edge of the hood covering Olivia’s head. ‘There really is no need to be bashful with us, my dear,’ she added, with an amused smile. ‘You will be among friends. We do not judge.’

‘Oh, this is Beatrice...er...well, just Beatrice,’ Alex said, dismissively, as he handed her into the less crowded of the two supper boxes. ‘She’s...er...well, she’s here incognito as a wager. Yes, that’s it. A wager.’

Olivia sat down, fuming. Really, Alex couldn’t dissemble convincingly if he tried. No one, listening to him, would believe she was his lady-love now. And that might cause them to wonder who else she might be. She might be willing to rebel now and then, and to take a few risks, but she had no wish for her behaviour to become common knowledge. She knew very well what was expected of her and, in public, she was every inch the perfectly behaved young aristocratic lady. She inched along the bench and smiled invitingly at Neville as she patted the space next to hers. He would do as a decoy. He eyed her warily and then, with a shrug, he sat next to her while Alex squeezed in next to Lady Shelton with a triumphant grin.

‘You gentlemen will already be acquainted with my companions,’ Lady Shelton said, ‘but, for Beatrice’s sake, allow me to introduce Lady Sale, Lords Clevedon and Sudbury, Lord Hugo Alastair, Mr and Mrs Bartlett and Mr Douglas Randall.’

A whisper of caution warned Olivia that these people were very different from those she was used to. She scanned their faces again, suddenly anxious, but there was nothing she could do...having accepted her ladyship’s invitation she could not now ask Alex to leave without drawing attention and speculation. She drew in a steadying breath. Ten minutes, he had said. She could manage ten minutes.

A glass was placed before her and a male hand, a ruby ring on one finger, tipped liquid from a jug, filling the glass. She raised her gaze, which had been fixed to the white tablecloth—soiled with crumbs, bearing witness to the supper recently consumed—and met the dark gaze of Lord Hugo Alastair. She felt the blood rush to her face as she forced herself to hold eye contact...there was something about his challenging scrutiny that attracted her and yet made her nervous at the same time...tingles of awareness chasing along every nerve in her body, urging her to flee. Or to find out more. His perfectly shaped mouth curved in a smile.

‘What is this drink, sir?’ Olivia raised the glass, eyeing the amber liquid.

‘Arrack punch. Not too potent for you, is it?’ There was a barely perceptible pause and she caught the twitch of his lips before he added, ‘Beatrice.’

She swallowed a sudden swell of nerves. He couldn’t possibly know her identity. Could he? She raised the glass to her lips, conscious the whole time of Lord Hugo’s scrutiny. She’d never tried arrack punch before. She sipped, and barely prevented her nose from wrinkling. It was strong. But she would not allow this...this...mocking coxcomb the satisfaction of believing her weak. Or lacking in experience.

‘It is delicious, thank you.’

She tilted her chin. He was as bad as her brothers...all her life she’d had to prove herself to them—prove herself capable of matching whatever they could do. She drank again. It tasted better this time and she felt the warmth hit her stomach, reminding her that she’d been so excited about tonight she’d barely eaten a thing at dinner and now—she glanced around the table—they were clearly too late for any supper here. She was conscious of the weight of Lord Hugo’s gaze upon her. She knew him by sight, but they’d never been introduced—he was not the sort of man who attended come-out balls or who frequented Almack’s. In fact, he was exactly the sort of man her Aunt Cecily would warn her to avoid: a disreputable rake and definitely an unsuitable acquaintance for a young lady in her first Season. She glanced at his lordship and saw his attention had been diverted by Mrs Bartlett, his head cocked towards her as she spoke into his ear. He smiled at her words and from looking rather dangerous—with his dark, sardonic good looks—his features were transformed. He looked much younger as his eyes crinkled—lines fanning out from the corners—and his lips parted to reveal strong white teeth. His right hand rested on the white tablecloth, his fingers moving—drumming lightly, as though he was restless—and that ruby ring on his third finger caught the light.

Olivia found her gaze riveted to those reflected darts of colour as she drank again and she realised, with a sense of shock, that she had drained the whole glass. Lord Hugo’s hand moved, picked up the jug and refilled her glass. Startled, she met his gaze again and a curious shock rippled through her. Again, she recognised nervousness and excitement all tangled up together. And something more. Something...deeper and slightly thrilling.

Anticipation?

His smile turned arrogant. Knowing. She recognised the look from that of her brothers when they were being particularly annoying—convinced they knew her better than she knew herself. Her brows twitched into a frown and she wrenched her eyes from Lord Hugo. Across the table, Lady Shelton was draped all over Alex, so Olivia avoided looking at them, too, embarrassed by their lack of shame in behaving in such a way in public—kissing and...and...fondling like that. Even Neville was taking no notice of her; he was too busy flirting with a gaudily made-up woman—clearly no lady—who had paused outside their box. She was starting to wish she had never goaded Alex into that wager. This was not as much fun as she had thought it would be.

‘Oh!’

Lady Shelton’s gasp brought Olivia’s attention back to her.

‘Oh, heavens.’ Lady Shelton fanned herself vigorously. ‘It is so very hot. I wonder, Alexander, would you be an absolute angel and escort me outside for some air?’ Her free hand disappeared beneath the table. ‘Perhaps we could dance...or something?’

Alex leapt to his feet, his cheeks flushed. ‘It would be my pleasure, ma’am.’

He helped her from the box, then appeared to remember Olivia, for he leaned across Neville and whispered, ‘I shan’t be gone long. You’ll be safe enough here with Nev. Just don’t be tempted to wander off. With anyone.’

And he disappeared into the crowd, Lady Shelton on his arm. Soon afterwards, Lord Sudbury, Mr and Mrs Bartlett and Lady Sale followed them, leaving Olivia alone with Lord Clevedon, Mr Randall, Lord Hugo and Neville. She edged closer to Neville, even though he was still flirting with that same woman. The prickles of awareness chasing over her skin warned her that Lord Hugo’s attention was once more upon her, so she studiously avoided looking in his direction. In doing so, however, she inadvertently caught Mr Randall’s eye. He was a bulky man of around five-and-thirty and he immediately moved, coming to sit on her side of the table, sliding along the bench until he sat right next to her, his thigh pressing against hers as he twisted his upper body to face her and fingered the edge of her hood.

Then his hand swooped down to land on her thigh and she squeaked a protest, knocking his hand away.

‘Just a bit of fun, darling,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Why not?’

‘Randall.’ There was a note of warning in Lord Hugo’s voice.

‘Alastair?’

‘The lady does not appear to welcome your attentions.’

‘What business is it of yours?’

Mr Randall then fell silent as Lord Clevedon rose to his feet. Olivia did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed. She was acquainted with Lord Clevedon, having met him at several functions—so he was clearly a respectable gentleman—but she was anxious he did not recognise her and this was drawing far too much of his attention. Up until now he had been too busy talking with Lord Sudbury to take much notice of anyone else. His gaze wandered casually over Olivia.

‘My guest is clearly a lady, Randall. You will oblige me by treating her as such at my birthday party.’

‘My apologies,’ Randall muttered. He was so close Olivia could smell the spirits on his breath and his cheeks were flagged with hectic colour. He shifted away until he no longer crowded her and she smiled at his lordship.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. Then he bowed, a smile playing on his full lips.

‘The pleasure is all mine, my dear.’ He gestured at Lord Hugo. ‘I shall leave it to you to ensure our glasses are kept topped up, Alastair. I cannot have it said that I am an ungenerous host.’

Lord Hugo—with a sardonic grin—obliged and, because she was overly warm in her velvet domino, Olivia continued to sip the punch. She dare not remove her domino, for that would uncover her hair—distinctive with its blue-black sheen—and she was now desperate not to be identified. She reached for the bow at her throat and pulled it loose, parting the front of the cloak to allow some air to reach her skin, but still leaving her head covered. As she did so, she glanced across the table at Lord Hugo.

Dark eyes lazily surveyed her chest area, then rose to linger on her lips and she trembled. She’d thought this would be an adventure. Now, it just felt dangerous and she felt very foolish and very inexperienced. She broke out in a light sweat even as her mouth dried and she snatched up her glass again and drank thirstily. She might never have been introduced to Lord Hugo, but she knew his reputation as a devil-may-care rake. A shiver tiptoed down her spine as she recalled some of the tales she had heard...stories she could well believe of the man who lounged opposite, a mocking edge to his hard gaze as he drank liberally and refilled the glasses on the table—including hers—at frequent intervals.

Uneasy at being alone in the box with the four men—even though one of them was Neville—Olivia distracted herself by drinking as the men chatted idly and made pithy comments about the people passing by. Gradually, though, she relaxed and she regained her normal, bubbly spirits, giving her the confidence to join the conversation.