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Theodore’s expression grew smug and he leaned toward Nic, his voice taking on a confiding note. “Can you keep a secret, Lacey? Miss Monteith and I are soon to become engaged. It’s not official yet, so you need to keep it to yourself, but it’s more or less a fait accompli as far as her mother is concerned.”
Nic felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Olivia and Theodore Garsed? It was so ludicrous, he was inclined to dismiss it as mere wishful thinking on Theodore’s part. Surely if it were true then Olivia would have mentioned it to him when she proposed?
“She’s a little in awe of me, I believe,” Theodore added with a man-of-the-world chuckle. “Only to be expected. Do you know, last time I was in Bond Street I had at least a dozen gentlemen stop me and ask where I got my waistcoat and the name of my tailor?”
Nic bit his tongue on what he’d really like to say, and cast an eye over Theodore’s attire.
His fair hair was carefully brushed and styled, disguising a hint of a bald spot on his crown, and he was wearing a jacket nipped tightly to his waist and excessively padded at the shoulders. Probably because he wanted to disguise his growing paunch, Nic thought unkindly. Theodore liked to give the impression that he was sporty, but in reality he was a sedentary gentleman who enjoyed his food far too much. In a few years’ time he’d have run to fat.
He tried to picture Olivia on Theodore’s arm, and couldn’t. Revulsion rose up inside him at the idea that this man might possess a woman like Olivia. That he might touch her soft skin and lie upon her body, plunging inside her. The images disturbed him, and Nic decided right then that he was going to put a spoke in Theodore’s wheel.
A woman servant answered the door, her eyes swiveling from one gentleman to the other. “Miss Monteith is in the parlor, m-my lord…sir.”
Theodore seemed to know his way about intimately, waving away the offer to show them in, and striding ahead. He was the first one through the parlor door, warbling a greeting, while Nic paused in his wake.
“Mr. Garsed!” Mrs. Monteith was breathless with excitement—it was quite clear she favored his suit. “Do come in and see how well dear Olivia is doing. She has the roses back in her cheeks.”
“Miss Monteith will never be anything less than exquisite in my eyes,” Theodore replied, hurrying to take Olivia’s hand and raise it to his lips.
“Mr. Garsed.” She smiled up at him with her serene and beautiful smile, and Nic wondered if Garsed saw the hint of panic in her eyes, or was it only he who noticed it? He knew then that it was true and not some lurid fantasy of Theodore’s—he really did intend to marry her.
“There’s someone else to see you,” Theodore interrupted, the note of disapproval heavy in his voice.
Olivia’s gaze slid by her suitor and fastened on the second visitor standing in the shadows. And Nic could have sworn that her eyes flashed blue fire as he entered the room.
The greeting he received was very different from Theodore’s. Mrs. Monteith gasped and then rattled off a “How do you do, Your Lordship?” while clearly wishing him to the ends of the earth. Estelle, the maid, gave a hasty curtsy. But Nic was more interested in Olivia.
She kept her smile in place, although the color in her cheeks deepened, and when he took her fingers in his he felt them tremble. “Lord Lacey,” she said, “how…unexpected.”
“We are neighbors, Miss Monteith. Why is my visit unexpected?”
If she noticed his paraphrasing of her own words when she’d called on him, she gave no sign. Besides, now that he was close to her he saw that she had indeed been ill. Her face was wan and pale, and there were shadows beneath her eyes. There was a fragility about her, too, that hadn’t been there before, and he was tempted to sit down beside her on the chaise longue and try to instill some of his own vigor into her.
“I hope you have been taking your medicine, Miss Monteith,” Theodore said archly, waggling a finger in front of her nose.
Olivia glanced away. “Religiously, sir. I really am much better. I wish I could walk outside in the sunshine. It is very stuffy inside, and I’m sure I wouldn’t take any hurt.”
She sounded wistful, but a chorus of voices rose in protest.
“Why not?” Nic said, loud enough to break through the racket. “The sunshine will do you the world of good, now that you’re on the mend.”
There was a silence. Mrs. Monteith was frowning, but it was Theodore who reprimanded him. “You should leave the matter of Miss Monteith’s health to those who know her best, Lacey.”
Another uncomfortable pause. Olivia broke it by suggesting, with her calm smile, that both gentlemen sit down, as staring up at them was making her neck ache.
Theodore sat, perfectly at home, and began a long and detailed description of the quail his cook had placed before him for last night’s dinner. Irritated and bored, Nic tried to catch Olivia’s eye, but she was giving every sign of listening to her beau with fascinated interest.
“Mr. Garsed is quite a gourmet,” Mrs. Monteith explained fondly. “Do you have a French chef, Lord Lacey?”
“My cook has been in the family for years, Mrs. Monteith. I can’t say she’s ever tried her hand at quail, but her jam roly-poly is to die for.”
Olivia laughed, and Nic turned to her with a smile.
Theodore shuddered. “Good God, man, you need to dismiss her immediately and find yourself someone who is au fait with the latest dishes.”
Nic’s smile faded. “Is that what you would do, Theodore? Dismiss her without reason? Out with the old and in with the new?”
“Most definitely. If you like, I can give you the name of a superlative chef. Expensive, but well worth it.”
