Led Astray by a Rake by Sara Bennett Page B

her eyes at him. “And those reasons have nothing whatsoever to do with you, Nic. Why on earth did you think they did?”
    Before he could let fly with a blistering reply, they were interrupted by the snuff-taking gentleman, who suddenly appeared on Olivia’s other side, leering.
    “What do you want, Neville?” Nic growled.
    “Lacey, you’re monopolizing the most fetching woman in the room,” Neville protested, his pale eyes sliding down over her breasts and lingering where the velvet teetered on the verge of slipping. “Come with Neville, my beauty. He’s far better tempered than this moody brute.”
    Olivia never liked men who spoke of themselves in the third person—she always believed they secretly thought themselves more important than anybody else, like royalty.
    “Oh, I don’t mind a man with passion,” Olivia said airily.
    “Neville has passion,” he rumbled. “He’s a firebrand of passion.”
    She opened her mouth to give him a set-down, but Nic was too quick for her.
    “Keep the devil out of this, Neville,” he said nastily. Sliding his arm around Olivia’s waist, he turned her and led her out of the crush.
    “That was rude,” Olivia said reprovingly, although she was secretly delighted by his possessive attitude. She was enjoying herself very much, but it wouldn’t do to let Nic see that.
    “You don’t know what rude is,” he snarled, tugging her toward a secluded alcove, where there was just space enough for a sofa and a potted fern on a plinth.
    Nic untied a gold silk cord that was holding up a looped, red velvet curtain and let it fall, effectively creating a separate room. Inside, it was surprisingly private, while the noise from the ballroom beyond became a background hum.
    “What possible reasons could you have for coming to a place like this?” he said in a voice that probably brought dread to the hearts of most people.
    But not to Olivia. “The same reasons as you, I expect,” she said mildly, seating herself on the sofa and arranging her skirts.
    He raised his eyebrows in mocking disbelief. “You’re looking for a lover for the night? I very much doubt—”
    “Nic, I have a secret.” She lowered her voice, her heart beginning to beat faster. “I am not quite the angel you think me. I find myself drawn to excitement and to danger. I want to experience all that life has to offer. When you spoke of the demimonde ball, I knew I had to see it for myself. That is why I am here.”
    He stared into her eyes as if trying to read the lies, and then his gaze dropped down to her neckline, and she recognized the sear of heat in their darkness. Olivia looked down, too, and saw that her bodice had slipped again, only this time her pink areolas were partially visible, and the hint of one nipple. In another moment she would be half naked before him.
    That was when Olivia knew for certain that she was no respectable young lady.
    Because she was looking forward to it.
     
    Nic tasted the sweet tang of lust. It tightened his muscles and tendons, and jolted his body into readiness. If she was anyone else but Miss Olivia Monteith, he’d be kissing her by now, his hands busy freeing her from her bodice so that he could caress her until she begged for more.
    But she wasn’t anyone else. She was Miss Olivia Monteith, and it was up to him to keep her safe from scoundrels and seducers like himself.
    He closed his eyes with a groan, and when he opened them again found she had tugged up her dress to a more respectable level. Although—he swallowed—not by much. The swell of her breaststhreatened to overflow again at any moment, and Nic was finding it difficult to breathe normally.
    He tried to concentrate on her expression, and the words she had just spoken. I have a secret. Nic was certain she was playing games with him, but her smooth face and unflinching gaze made it difficult for him to tell her true feelings from her lies. Olivia Monteith addicted to danger and excitement? Olivia Monteith