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

“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.

Chapter 26

Abbot 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 La

cey ring, and lifted it to his lips.