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He received his cup and saucer with thanks and proceeded to load the tea with sugar. “You have been away from home,” he said, in that direct way she liked.
“I have been attending Miss Debenham’s Finishing School in Dorset for the past year.”
He smiled, leaning toward her, and she felt herself drawn like a pin to a magnet. “And are you ‘finished,’ Miss Monteith?”
“Most definitely, Lord Lacey.”
He laughed quietly, still watching her. “So, what happens now? Will you be launched into society?” He stirred the sugar into his tea. “A woman as beautiful as you could snare a duke or an earl. A lord, at the very least—”
“A lord like you?”
He stopped stirring his tea. His smile faded. “No, not like me. Women like you do not marry men like me and live happily ever after…”
“Humor me. Why don’t women like me marry men like you?”
“Very well, I will explain, Miss Monteith. I am a rake and you are an angel. Polite society would be appalled by such a match, and rightly so.”
“I didn’t realize you were a prude,” Olivia said.
“There are some rules that even I prefer not to tamper with.”
Olivia felt her hands begin to tremble, and set her cup hastily down on the tray. Briefly she looked away to the fireplace, to gather her words and her courage. Could she do this? Could she really? But then she remembered Mr. Garsed and what a future with him held, and she knew she could do anything in her desperate attempt to secure the marriage and the future she craved.
“Lord Lacey, I have a proposal to make to you. I hope you will listen.”
He was watching her, that frown back between his brows and an oddly intent expression on his face. “What sort of proposal?”
“A marriage proposal.”
He laughed. After a moment, when she didn’t respond, he stopped. She saw he had begun to rub his leg, and wondered if that was the one he had broken all those years ago. When he noticed her interest he stopped, his manner a little less friendly. “I assume you will tell me why you want to marry me, Miss Monteith.”
Olivia launched into her speech.
“I have practical reasons. My family is wealthy and we are neighbors. I know we are not titled, but surely in these modern times, where engineering and science and manufacturing are making men great no matter what class they originally came from, such a thing as a title can be overlooked? It is time to set aside old values and enter the new Victorian age. A marriage between us would encapsulate all that is exciting and daring. It would be a breath of fresh air in a world that has grown stale.”
He seemed stunned, and it took a moment for him to reply. “Miss Monteith, do you know what they call me? Wicked Nic. Do you understand why they call me that?”
“I believe because you are a rake, my lord. That is immaterial.”
He stood up, looming over her, so that she had to stretch back her neck to meet his eyes. “It is not immaterial. Modern times or no, society has not changed, and marriage to me would destroy your good name and your reputation. You would be blackened by me, you would be ostracized…” Again he frowned. “Or do you think your spotless reputation would make me pure again? Believe me, it wouldn’t! You would suffer, and you would regret ever giving such a preposterous idea voice. No, Miss Monteith, I will not marry you, and I find it am
azing you would ask. You are no longer a child—you should know better than to imagine there could ever be any sort of future between us.”
Olivia, tired of straining her neck, stood up and faced him.
“You made a promise. Are you now breaking your word?”
“I did what?” he all but shouted.
Olivia raised an eyebrow, unshaken by his temper. “You promised to marry me.”
“I don’t believe you are bringing that up again after all these years.”
“Ten years, to be exact. It happened where the stepping stones cross the stream. You said you would marry me when I came of age, and I accepted. I was ten years old and you were twenty-two.”
He put a hand up to his eyes and rubbed them. “Good God,” he muttered. “The woman is insane.”
“I remember it perfectly well and I am not insane. You called me a witch.”
