Chapter 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

N ic swung his leg over the saddle, grimacing at the familiar twinge. The note had come last evening. Meet me in the woods by the pagan stone at two o'clock. I need to talk. Olivia. His future bride was impatient to see him alone, he thought, with a smile. Well, he was not adverse to some sensual gratification. From what he knew about marriage, which was little enough, the bride was usually kept well away from the groom until the actual ceremony. This would heighten his desire nicely, but the fact was he'd tasted her once, and it was becoming difficult to deny himself.

Perhaps Olivia felt the same?

She was a sensual creature. He was looking forward to tutoring her, but the interesting thing was Olivia had things to teach him. It was quite an admission for a rake. Nic might know a great deal about technique, the coolheaded ways of increasing pleasure, but Olivia was warm and passionate, and she was ruled by feelings. He found that fresh and fascinating. The shifting expressions on her face as he touched her, the way she arched beneath him, and her eagerness to share her enjoyment with him.

Nic smiled again as he kicked his horse into a gallop and rode across the park. He and Olivia could spend many long hours in each other's company and never grow bored. For a man who'd been more or less forced into making this marriage proposal, he was very cheerful, very cheerful indeed.

Olivia made her way through the densely growing trees, feeling the damp chill creeping through her clothing and into her flesh. She'd never liked this part of the Lacey estate. It was said in the village that these woods were the only remnant of an ancient forest, and the stone that stood in the clearing in the center was all that was left from the days of the pagan Britons, before they were swept away to the west by the incoming tides of settlers.

She remembered coming there as a child and being scared silly by the tales she'd been told of ghosts and monsters lurking in the trees, waiting to pounce on her and gobble her up. Well, she told herself, she was grown up now and she knew there was nothing to fear. Besides, Nic would be waiting there for her.

The thought of Nic warmed her, although it didn't calm her. Her heart began to beat more quickly and her breath to shorten. She'd been longing to see him, but it seemed that since they'd announced their forthcoming wedding there was so much to be done—seeing dressmakers and cloth merchants; arranging for shoes, bonnets, flowers, invitations . . . The wedding was small and was to be held in the village church, but still the arrangements were endless. As soon as she finished one thing, her mother found her another to do. She was quite certain Mrs. Monteith was doing her best to keep Olivia busy so that she could keep Nic and Olivia apart.

Meet me at the pagan stone in the woods at two o'clock. I need to see you. Lacey.

Well, Olivia told herself, she needed to see Nic, too. She needed the reassurance of his smile and his strong arms. She glanced down at the heavy engagement ring he'd presented her with last week, when he and Lady Lacey had come to dine with the Monteiths. It had been an awkward affair, with Nic's mother struggling with her disdain for a family she considered so much lower than her own, and Olivia's mother clearly unconvinced Nic was the right man for her daughter. And then her father had insulted Lady Lacey by asking her how much she paid her estate manager.

Olivia and Nic were the only ones who seemed at all happy, and when he had presented her with the ring, he'd made a pretty little speech about it being a token of his affection. Lady Lacey informed them that the ring had been in the Lacey family for generations and had been worn by every new bride. Then Mrs. Monteith had shuddered and said that emeralds were unlucky. All the same, when Nic slid it onto Olivia's finger, it fit perfectly, as if it was meant to be worn by her.

Olivia made her way deeper into the woods, ignoring the warning call of a bird far above her and the niggling doubt that if Nic wanted to see her then surely he would pick somewhere more pleasant than this. Unless . . . had he something so secret to tell her that he dared not take the risk they might be overheard?

No, that was just plain silly. If he wanted to tell her something confidential, he would ask her to visit him and sit her down in his library. No one would overhear them there.

Estelle, who'd accompanied her as far as Mother Eggin's cottage, told her that she thought a man like Lord Lacey probably had a great many secrets, but it wasn't likely he'd share any of them with Olivia.

Mother Eggin's cottage was on the Lacey estate, the old woman having been a servant in the castle at one time, and been granted the right to live there. Mrs. Monteith often visited her with a basket of food or other necessaries, and Olivia had taken over the task today. Of course her real reason was so that she could meet Nic, but Estelle would remain at the cottage and wait for her return. Mother Eggin, who was ninety years old at least, would be no trouble; she habitually slept through the visits of her neighbors.

"Gentlemen don't think their private matters are anyone's business but their own," Estelle had carried on, sounding as if she was quoting Abbot. " Just be glad he's marrying you, miss, and forget about the others. You don't want to be like that Bluebeard's wife, do you, and discover something awful?"

"I don't think Nic has any other wives hidden in the cellars," Olivia had said, smiling.

But Estelle wasn't about to be diverted from her warning. "You never know, miss. Just as well I'll be there with you. Me and Abbot will protect you."

The bird in the treetops called again, bringing Olivia back to her lonely trek through the woods. She wished Estelle was with her now, and Abbot, too. But most of all she wished for Nic.

Alphonse settled himself in the undergrowth. He was wearing an overcoat and an old cap that he could pull down low over his brow. He was trying to look like a poacher, or some other kind of desperate character, just in case anybody saw him. Although he'd taken very good care that no one did. The gun was his own property, and he was a rather good shot, if he did say so himself. It was just one of his many accomplishments.

Theodore was still suffering, and still in bed. Alphonse had left him sipping peppermint tea and complaining about a headache. Well, if Theodore wouldn't do anything to make his dreams come true, then his brother would.

Nic dismounted, leaving his horse tethered at the edge of the thick wood, and began to make his way along the narrow, overgrown path. He didn't come there often—there was something alienating about this place. He knew of the rumors of pagan rites and witches' covens meeting in secret around the old stone, but he'd never seen any sign of it, and he had trouble imagining the good folk of Bassingthorpe cavorting naked under the full moon.

Olivia must know of the rumors, too, and he wasn't sure why she'd chosen this place. Any proper young lady would surely avoid the pagan stone and the clearing, but Olivia wasn't your conventional proper young lady. There was a wild streak in her, a willingness to fly in the face of convention. He remembered that when he'd suggested he might pretend to be his wicked Lacey ancestor while she pretended to be a beautiful peasant girl, she'd not only agreed, she'd reveled in it.

Had Olivia brought him there for more playacting? Nic could be the pagan prince and Olivia the willing sacrifice, or perhaps she was the pagan goddess and he the innocent plowman who'd stumbled into her web.

Nic grinned. He was more than ready, whatever she wanted to do. Devil take it, he could hardly wait. The rake was entirely enthralled by Miss Monteith. Not that he'd tell her that, not yet anyway. There would be plenty of time to tell each other their secrets, and he certainly was in no hurry to share Jonah with her.

Not that he was ashamed of the boy, but a secret like that . . . Olivia might leave him. Not physically, he knew she wouldn't do that; their social positions made leaving impossible. As Lady Lacey, she'd stay and play her part, standing by his side in public and smiling her calm and beautiful smile, even producing the heir he required. But beneath the brittle surface he would have lost her, she'd have taken her heart and her mind somewhere else, leaving him with nothing but an empty shell.

Nic cursed softly under his breath and quickened his steps.

Olivia saw the clearing ahead of her, with the pagan stone in its center. It was actually three stones—two upright pillars with another flatter stone forming a lintel across the top—giving the impression of a roughly hewn table. The honey-colored stones glowed eerily, as if from a fire burning within them, although Olivia knew it was simply the light filtering through the leaves above. She had the impression of something very old and very powerful, standing as it did in the center of the clearing, in the center of the wood.

Softly, because it felt as if noise was forbidden here, she walked forward. No birds sang now. She might have been the only living thing in the woods . . . if it were not for the sensation that she was not alone. Olivia had a strong urge to glance over her shoulder, just in case there was something there, but she stifled it, telling herself not to be silly .

Nic would arrive soon.

Olivia made up her mind she'd ask him if they could go somewhere else and talk—the place where the stepping stones crossed the stream would be much more comfortable. Soft grass and the ripple of the water and sunbeams shining down on them as they lay in each other's arms. Sheer bliss.

A rustle at the far edge of the clearing distracted her. "Nic?" She listened intently but the sound didn't come again, and she could see nothing but shadows among the trees. With a sigh she stood restlessly by the stone and prepared to wait.

Alphonse heard Olivia's call and knew she was in place. Good. He settled his gun against his shoulder, sighting along the barrel. Nic would be coming along the path in a moment, all unsuspecting and full of his victory. Let him enjoy it while he could, Alphonse didn't begrudge him a few more moments of triumph, because very soon Lacey would be gone and Theodore could take what was rightfully his.

Footsteps.

He watched intently from his hiding place as a figure approached, at first just a dark shape moving between the tree trunks, and then growing clearer as it drew closer. Lacey's head was bowed, and he was limping slightly—Theodore had said something about him being lame. Alphonse knew the exact spot where he was going to pull the trigger. There was a dip in the path and then a fallen log. To get to the clearing, Lacey would have to climb over the log, and that would make him the perfect target.

Alphonse's finger waited on the trigger and he took a breath, clenching his teeth. One moment more and it would all be over.

Lacey reached the fallen log and stopped. Alphonse could see him deciding how best to climb over it with the burden of his lame leg. Finally he sat down and swung his leg over, and in that moment he was astride the log and facing Alphonse.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

The moment had come.

Alphonse heard her before he saw her. Olivia, running along the path from the clearing. She flung herself into Lacey's arms, causing him to lose his balance.

Alphonse barely managed to lift the gun barrel in time, sending the bullet plowing harmlessly into the trees. The crack of the shot was deafening.

Olivia screamed. Lacey leaped over the log with her still in his arms, tumbling her down onto the ground and out of sight. Cursing under his breath, Alphonse did the only thing he could. Ran. He crashed through the undergrowth, his heart pounding, not daring to slow down or turn and see if he was being pursued.

He'd almost shot Olivia. He'd almost killed his brother's future wife!

This was Lacey's fault, Alphonse thought furiously. Theodore was right, the man deserved to die .

The horse was tethered on the far side of the woods, and when Alphonse reached it, he crouched over to catch his breath. It was difficult to hear with his heart thumping, but after a moment he was certain there was no one following him. He was safe. Now all he had to do was calmly ride his horse home again and pretend to be annoyed that the friend he'd set out to visit wasn't at home.

Alphonse tore off his cap and shrugged off the overcoat, bundling both out of sight into his saddlebag. Did this mean he'd have to think up another plan? If all had gone as expected it would be over by now, and he'd be preparing to bask in Theodore's gratitude.

He wouldn't be able to use the forged notes again, and any arranged meeting would be looked on with suspicion. That meant he'd be hard-pressed to eliminate Lacey before the wedding.

But then it occurred to him that if Olivia Monteith was married, and then widowed, she'd stand to inherit the castle and the estate and all the Lacey wealth. As her second husband, Theodore would have the benefit of that; everything that was once Lord Lacey's would become his.

Alphonse's face split into a grin. Theodore would be twice as wealthy, and he'd certainly reward his brother. And this plan was bound to be even better than the last one.