AllFreeNovel
Share Us
What did she mean by “urgent”? How could a meeting by the stream possibly be urgent? And why had she chosen him as the ultimate prize in her mad quest for a husband? Surely there were plenty of other men out there, men who would be far more eager to succumb to her charms?
Meeting with her would be a big mistake.
And yet, now, here he was, striding furiously through the woods toward the stream that marked the boundary between his land and the village, his glower dark enough to frighten the birds down from the trees.
His foul mood wasn’t helped by the fact that he had run into his mother in the walled garden that morning. Not literally, of course, but they had both turned a corner at the same time and found themselves face-to-face.
His first thought, after the shock of seeing her, was that she looked old and tired. Although they lived on the same estate, she in the gatehouse and he in the castle itself, they did not see or speak to each other. His mother had not spoken to him directly since 1828. She preferred to communicate through the servants and the occasional terse note.
And suddenly there they were, inches apart.
But if he’d expected that morning to be the start of a new era of understanding, he soon realized his mistake. Her dark eyes widened, her mouth tightened, and she spun around and began to walk away with an angry rustle of her black skirts. Black, of course black. She’d been in mourning ever since his father died. He’d been told by Abbot that she still had a place set at her table for him, in case his spirit might decide to join her for dinner.
The idea made him queasy. Imagine sharing a table with his father’s ghost. No, thank you. But it seemed a waste for her to be so obsessed with a dead man, when her son was still living. Was it any wonder Nic spent more time away from the castle than in it?
He strode on through the woods, feeling upset and irritable, and knowing the last thing he wanted to do was listen to Miss Monteith’s fantastical imaginings of married bless. Nic slipped his fob watch from his pocket and flipped open the cover. Two o’clock, exactly. He could only hope she wouldn’t turn up.
It was the last coherent thought Nic had as he stepped from the leafy trees and onto the grassy bank of the stream.
Olivia Monteith had kept their assignation, but she wasn’t standing, waiting, demurely on the bank. She was balanced preciously on the stepping stones out in the middle of the deep, fast-flowing steam. The very same stones she’d been standing on all those years ago.
Nic heard himself shout. Even as his memory reminded him that this was what had happened last time, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“For God’s sake, get down from there!”
She looked up.
She was wearing a pale lemon dress, the hem lifted so that he could see her slippers as she balanced on the slippery stones, and her fine stockings molded to her trim ankles and calves. Her hair was pinned up simply, making a halo of gold for her beautiful face. Olivia Monteith was no longer a child, she was a woman, and she took his breath away.
“I’m not going to fall this time,” she called to him.
Nic found he could breathe again.
“I’m going to jump.”
He shouted, but it was too late. She sprang neatly from the stones and landed with a splash. A moment later she’d gone under the swift, rushing water. Cursing, he waded into the freezing stream, not even pausing to take off his boots.
She came up, spluttering and splashing wildly in her attempts to stay afloat. She started to sink again, weighed down by her clothing, just as he reached her.
“Of all the ridiculous, dangerous stunts…” he said, or tried to between mouthfuls of water. He wrapped an arm about her and began hauling her toward the bank. He expected her to struggle, but she didn’t, and he wondered whether that was because she trusted him to rescue her or because she was half drowned.
He soon discovered it was the latter.
When they reached the bank she could barely help herself at all, and he ended up pushing and pulling her shivering body onto dry land. By the time he’d got himself out of the water, she’d crawled several feet away and was lying on her stomach in the grass, her tangled hair covering her face, and her sodden lemon dress clinging to her body. Nic turned her over, smoothing her hair away so that he could see her face properly.
Olivia’s lashes were very dark against her white cheeks. They fluttered and her eyes opened, purest sapphire blue, and she gave him a feeble smile. “I knew you hadn’t changed,” she rasped. A second later her eyes widened, her face took on a green cast, and she looked about wildly, trying to sit up.
Nic turned her onto her side as she retched, bringing up the water she’d swallowed. When she was done, he wrung out his handkerchief and, lifting her into his arms, proceeded to wipe her face. “You bloody fool, woman,” he growled as he worked. “Are you trying to kill yourself? Or do you want me to be blamed for your death as well as—as—?”
He stuttered to a stop just in time, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
Nic dug into his pocket, and his fingers closed on the silver flask that was his father’s. It went everywhere with him, and he was thankful he’d thought to refill it only that morning. He tilted Olivia’s head back, pouring brandy down her throat.
“No…” she gasped, pushing his hand away.
“Yes. More.”
She gave him a mutinous look and then took another sip. The color had come back into her cheeks, and her eyes had lost their glassy stare. As he recapped the flask, she gave a sigh and snuggled against his chest. He could feel her soft bosom, and when he looked down, he realized that her pale dress was clinging to her like a second skin. He could see the full curved shape of her breasts, and more interestingly, the jut of her cold nipples.
