Janice Preston - Lady Olivia And The Infamous Rake

‘With what will you pay a jarvey to drive you home, Lady Olivia?’

He used her name deliberately, so she would know he recognised her. Her eyes flared.

‘You have no money, or you would have paid Clevedon,’ he reminded her.

She gasped at that, her worry palpable. ‘D-does Lord Clevedon know it was me? What if he tells my father?’

‘No. He does not know.’ The urge to soothe her took him unawares. Besides, there was no point in her fretting when he knew damned well Clevedon would never tell her father about tonight.

‘So, how will you get home if you don’t find your brother?’ he went on, ruthlessly. ‘Will you pay your fare with your bracelet?’

He raised her arm and the jewels caught the light, winking ice and fire.

‘Or maybe an eardrop?’

He slid his hand under her hood, skimming the satin-soft skin of her neck, and found her earlobe, tugging at it gently. Her breath quickened, her bosom heaving, and he snatched his hand away before he gave in to his instincts...the ones clamouring at him to haul her into his arms and to kiss some sense into her. He grasped her wrist. Firmly.

‘You’re coming with me,’ he rasped out and began to stride in the direction of the water gate, towing her along behind him.

‘Wh-where are you taking me?’

The fear in her voice had him slamming to a halt. He clenched his jaw.

‘Home,’ he gritted out. ‘And, before you ask, yes... your home.’

‘I... I won’t go without my brother.’

‘Your brother? Well, and where is he?’ Hugo flung his arm wide, almost knocking a passing gentleman’s hat from his head. ‘If he is supposed to be looking out for you tonight, he’s making a poor fist of it, that’s all I can say. I am not spending all night searching for your ramshackle brother when he clearly doesn’t give a da—hoot that he’s left you on your own in among this sort of crowd. I’m taking you home. Then I can return to my own plans for the evening.’

With that, he whirled around and set off again, his hand still clamped around her wrist.

He did not dare to slow his stride—she would only argue again. The sooner he delivered the troublesome minx home, the sooner he could forget all about her and her risk-taking, and her luminous, hypnotic eyes that reminded him of the moon and were fringed by the thickest, darkest, longest lashes he had ever seen.

Temptress eyes.

They soon reached Vauxhall Stairs and the water gate. A boat was already waiting and they embarked, along with several other passengers, some of whom Hugo knew. He nodded a greeting, but then pointedly directed his gaze across the river to discourage conversation. If any of them should recognise Olivia...his stomach clenched. She would be well and truly compromised and there was no way he ever intended to wed, not after the wretched example of his parents’ union.

‘But what—?’

‘Be quiet,’ he growled, glaring down into those wide eyes that glittered at him from behind her mask. ‘We’ll talk later.’

He ignored her loud puff of exasperation, concentrating instead on the dark ripples of the Thames slipping past the boat as the oarsmen strained to reach the opposite bank.

They disembarked, still in silence. Olivia stumbled and Hugo steadied her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

‘Oops,’ she said, stifling a giggle.

She straightened and pulled away from him, but her progress was erratic as she made for a waiting hackney. Hardly surprising, given the number of times he had refilled her glass—and her readiness to drain it every time. Hugo instructed the jarvey to take them to Grosvenor Square, where Beauchamp House—the Duke of Cheriton’s London residence—was located, then he handed Olivia up the step and climbed in behind her.

‘Why did you stop me from speaking in the boat?’ Her voice quivered with indignation. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’

Hugo shifted on the seat so he was half-facing her, and folded his arms across his chest.

‘I am the man who is saving you from the results of your own folly.’

She pushed back her hood and tore off her mask. ‘Hmmph. Some saviour you are. I should not be alone with you like this. It is scandalous.’

Her pert little nose was in the air again—she really was the most infuriating wench he had ever met.

‘More scandalous than you getting drunk and wandering around Vauxhall unescorted?’

‘I am not drunk. And I am masked. No one could recognise me. I know your reputation, Lord Hugo Alastair. You are the sort of man my aunt always warns me about. Well, you need not think you may take advantage of me, for I shall fight you and scream very loudly if you try to touch me.’

Her words might be full of bravado, but Hugo did not miss the way she shrank back into the corner of the hackney as she spoke them and the intermittent illumination from the street lamps as they passed revealed her hands gripping one another so tightly they shook.

He sighed. ‘I have no intention of touching you, Lady Olivia. I prefer my ladies willing. And experienced.’

Her eyes flashed at that but, thankfully, she remained silent.

‘I was impressed by your vocabulary back there,’ he said. Talking would, surely, help take her mind from their situation. And his. ‘Where did you learn such insults?’

‘Shakespeare,’ she replied, haughtily. ‘I am surprised you did not recognise them. I presume you did study his works at school?’

Impertinent little... He swallowed his irritation. ‘I did. Although I believe it is sodden-witted lords , not knaves.’

She glared at him. ‘Why would I call them lords ? I was insulting them.’

‘They are not the typical words one might expect from a young lady.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve heard Alex use them.’

Her brother again: Lord Alexander Beauchamp...younger son of the Duke of Cheriton and as wild as they come. Although what his excuse might be, with such a decent and supportive father, unlike Hugo’s—

He clamped down on that memory there and then. He would not allow himself to remember his childhood or his brutal father. It was shut up tight in a dark corner of his memory—a corner he refused to revisit.

‘Your brother should have more sense than to utter such words in your hearing.’

‘You sound just like Dominic. That’s what he always says. But Alex...you do not understand. Alex is...’

Her smooth forehead furrowed as she chewed her full bottom lip. Hugo waited, loath to say anything that might distract her from the confidence he sensed she was about to share. Her earlier tension had gone, to be replaced by agitation. Her hands now writhed in her lap. Hugo was certain he was not the cause this time. This was connected to her brother.

‘Alex has always been troubled,’ she said, eventually, her voice subdued. ‘He... I do not understand why, but he has always had a difficult relationship with Papa. Ever since...’ Her voice dropped to a near whisper and Hugo got the impression she had almost forgotten his presence. Then she drew in a hasty breath, and straightened. ‘Well, never mind that. The family look out for him. That is all.’

The family. Did she realise how fortunate she was to have such a tightly knit family to support her? And yet the silly chit risked disgrace and worse by this foolhardy escapade.

‘Your father will not be happy when he learns of your antics tonight.’

Her gaze flew to his. ‘ No. You cannot tell Papa.’ She grabbed his hands. ‘Please. You cannot.’

‘He needs to know the danger your brother put you in.’

Hugo marvelled at the words coming from his mouth. Him...the wildest and most reckless of them all...ready to test any boundary for the sake of having fun. And now here he was, attempting to imbue some common sense into a troublesome young lady like Lady Olivia Beauchamp.