CHAPTER ONE
Olivia held her hands tightly folded at her waist, refusing to fidget. She was not a fidgeting sort of girl, but right now she would have loved to straighten her sleeves or pat at her hair or twitch her skirts. The walk to Castle Lacey, rather than calming her, had only given her more time to worry.
What if he rejected her?
She'd known Lord Lacey all her life, and had called him a friend for most of those years, albeit a secret friend. Until three years ago they'd met now and again to chat--a habit that was formed when Olivia's sister died--and he'd seemed to genuinely care about her. Yes, he'd thought of her as a child, and if he noticed the stars in her eyes when she looked at him, he pretended he didn't. The very fact of the secrecy--innocent though their meetings were--made their meetings more special, and knowing that her parents would have been horrified if they knew what she was doing gave than an extra deliciously dangerous quality.
The Monteiths and the Laceys had lived in the same village for centuries, but that did not make them socially compatible. The wealthy Monteiths had risen from humble country folk to country gentry, and were keen to rise further. The Laceys were aristocrats, blue bloods, and aloof, although what they had to be so proud about Olivia had never been able to fathom. Yes, they did live in a castle, but it was large and drafty and reputably cost them a fortune. Yes, their name was tangled up with kings and queens and the more important dates in British history, but being mentioned in history books meant they were cunning enough to be on the winning side, not that they were brave or particularly loyal.
Setting aside Wicked Nic's reputation, and apart from the social differences, the match would be a good one. Entirely suitable. Perfect in fact. With the Monteith fortune and new blood, and the Lacey lands and old blood, the two families would combine forces.
Not, she reminded herself, that the suitability or otherwise of the alliance of their families was what had brought her to Castle Lacey this morning. Not directly, anyway. The Laceys would mean nothing to her if it wasn't for the identity of the current heir. Rake and wastrel, the sort of man respectable mothers warmed their daughters about, and respectable men secretly envied. The sort of man women sighed over and longed to tame, even knowing they'd more than likely end up brokenhearted.
Lord Dominic Lacey was known far and wide as Wicked Nic for good reason.
But the respectable Miss Olivia Monteith didn't entirely agree. Over the years she'd seen a very different Wicked Nic, a man capable of great kindness, a man who would make a good husband, and she was determined to have and hold him, from this day forward, till death did them part.