Led Astray by a Rake (The Husband Hunters Club 1)

Olivia managed a laugh. “Yes, I am very wet, Estelle.”

“I brought you some dry clothing,” Estelle said, glancing at Abbot, who was carrying a bundle, and some message seemed to pass between them. “I don’t want you to worry,” she went on. “No one knows about this but us.”

“And no one will ever know,” Nic added, giving them both a stern look. “Miss Monteith had an unfortunate accident in the stream, that is all. No need to turn this into tittle-tattle for the amusement of the village.”

Estelle was helping her up. “Come with me, miss. Abbot tells me there is a room prepared for you, with a nice warm fire. You’ll soon be yourself again.”

Olivia doubted she would ever be the same again, but she allowed Estelle to lead her from the room.

“Thank you, Abbot,” Nic said. “I am grateful, as always. If we can manage to keep this blasted incident hushed up, then no one will suffer for it.”

“Of course, sir. I would hate to see your reputation blackened even more than it already is.”

“Yes, that would be a tragedy,” Nic said dryly, pouring a brandy for himself. Abbot had come at just the right moment. A second more and he’d either have taken her maidenhead on the hearth rug, or frightened her out of her wits in order to escape the net he felt closing around him. Haven’t you ever fallen in love? The devil he had! Nor was he going to.

Abbot was choosing his words carefully. “Miss Monteith appears to be a very headstrong young lady, my lord.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“A young lady who knows what she wants.”

“Well, she may think she knows what she wants, but we know better, eh, Abbot? Young ladies like Miss Monteith are not for the likes of me. Besides, what would I do with her? She’d drive me to distraction within a week, wanting me to reform all my wicked ways. I can’t have that.”

Abbot’s smile lacked humor.

“No, Miss Monteith is not for me. As you are aware, I like my ladies to be anything but ladies. They should know their business and go about it cheerfully, and then leave. No tears, no regrets, no expectations. That is the way I prefer it.”

“As you say, my lord.”

“Yes, exactly as I say, Abbot. Now see to a bath. And, damn it, bring up the best brandy. I think I deserve to celebrate my elevation to sainthood.”

“Sainthood, my lord?”

“Only a saint could withstand Miss Monteith’s charms, Abbot.”

And with those final words, he sank into the chair recently vacated by Olivia and stared moodily into the fire.

Chapter 5

Olivia was certain she’d escaped any repercussions—she arrived home in dry clothes, and no one seemed the least bit suspicious when she explained she’d been out walking and enjoying the sunshine, and had forgotten the time. However, during the night she developed a headache and a rising fever, and by morning she was very ill indeed. Her mother called the doctor, and he declared Olivia had contracted a chill, possibly influenza.

“But she will be well again?” Mrs. Monteith asked, beside herself with her fears.

The doctor was used to dealing with worried relatives. “Your daughter is a strong and healthy young woman. Give her plenty to drink, keep her quiet, and she will soon be her old self.”

By the following day the fever had broken, leaving Olivia weak and listless, so that it wasn’t until the fifth day of her illness that she was allowed out of bed. Estelle helped her downstairs to the parlor, where she was confined to the chaise longue.

It was torture.

Olivia longed to go out into the garden, to stretch her legs and take deep breaths of fresh air, but instead she was a prisoner of overheated rooms and medicinal tonics and questions about her every symptom. Since Sarah died she’d frequently felt as if she was being held captive by the love and anxiety of her parents. Sometimes in the past she had longed to scream in frustration, only to feel guilty and ungrateful moments later. On the occasions when she did speak sharply, her mother didn’t reprimand her or appear hurt—she simply gave Olivia what Olivia secretly thought of as “the look.” It always had the effect of making Olivia feel lower than low for what she had said or done, or what she hadn’t said or done.

“There,” Mrs. Monteith said, tucking the rug about her daughter, and rearranging the pillows, “that’s much better. Now you can look out of the window and be safe inside.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“Mr. Garsed has called every day,” Mrs. Monteith reminded her for the umpteenth time. “Such steadfastness shows a man of dependable character, Olivia.”

“Or a man with very little else to do,” said Olivia.