"Well," he said, "I’m still sorry that you’ve found yourself in this position."
She paused again mid-step and stared up at him, puzzled. "Thank you."
"But I still don’t think it answers my question," he said. "You seem more than capable of taking over your father’s company."
"And you seem more than capable of ignoring the realities of our society," she said, speeding ahead.
"Me? The one refusing to accept reality? You’ve proposed giving me public shares without the approval of your father, on the supposition that a false engagement may lead to yet another engagement by one particular individual."
"For someone who believed me capable of running my father’s company, you vastly underestimate me in other arenas."
He smiled at her comment. He realized that he wasn’t one to smile lately, although his good humor was his trademark. It felt good to smile again—it felt as though he were himself. In his past engagements, whenever he felt the need for humor his fiancees had been confused, had felt teased. Not Miss Chastity Drummond. He could barely toss a teasing comment to her before she batted it back with twice the force.
As they neared the harbor, the stench of sea and fish mixed with the muggy humidity. He saw a swinging wooden sign that read Drummond Shipping a few yards away. He tried to open the door beneath it, but he apparently wasn’t fast enough for her. She yanked it open herself.
Miss Drummond greeted the gentleman by the front door and introduced them. Lucas didn’t miss the wide-eyed surprise at his presence. He nodded at the man and gollowed Chastity as she began a tour through her port offices, showing him their maps and equipment as well as an entire warehouse dedicated to inventories.
Everyone seemed to know her and she, everyone. Most of all, everyone seemed to respect her, even the burly delivery men as she barked at them about taking the longer route to countryside deliveries. It would actually save more money when one accounted that the smoother roads led to a faster commute with less overnight accommodations.
When she’d finally managed the last of the men, she glanced up with a secretive smile. "Do you want to see the girls?" she asked.
"Who are the girls?"
"You’ll see." She walked him out the warehouse door back to the docks, to the shadow of three of her family’s vessels. The ships rose out of the water, their bows curving into the air high over their heads. Seagulls squawked as they dove through the air, landing on the bowsprit.
She reached out and laid her hand on the dark wood with a sigh. She caressed it almost as she might a horse, almost as though she loved it. Her eyes hooded, she had a look of complete satisfaction.
Lucas was struck with the realization that he wanted her to look at him that way. As though he were the answer to her every need.
He hadn’t always wanted this in a woman.
At first, he’d been content with the idea of a partner—someone to be by his side day by day. Hence his first engagement, a match made by his parents. Then he decided the woman he married should be a good mother to his children, hence the second engagement to a woman he’d seen charm the candy from children, she was so sweet to them. As his idea of marriage changed, so did the women he chose, but one by one, they’d chosen another, leaving behind nothing but faint memories, apologies, their engagement rings, and the realization that he hadn’t…quite…minded.
Oh, it had stung to be rejected. But their leaving left him as happy as before, and that thought left him more and more depressed. How could he have agreed to become engaged to someone whose absence meant so little? Surely his motivations for marrying were as good as any. Yet yesterday, as he watched his latest former fiancee dancing in the arms of his brother, he’d been struck by the foulest of thoughts—that he wasn’t ever going to find someone who mattered to him.
That he wasn’t ever going to want someone.
He certainly didn’t think he could expect Chastity Drummond to look at him the way she was staring at her ship. He realized why she did not begrudge her father his love of the seas—because she loved their ships just as much.
She dropped her hand and turned to him with shining eyes and a gleaming smile. "She’s beautiful, isn’t she?"
He stared at her, and as the seconds ticked by, her smile slowly shifted into a questioning look.
She seemed in that moment to have more life, more vibrancy, and more emotion—toward wood and rope—than he’d felt toward any woman in his life.
"Lord Willoughby?"
He couldn’t stop himself from bending and pressing his lips to hers.
Quick heat lanced through him as she gasped beneath his mouth. He stole the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He gripped her shoulders, his fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her pelisse.
Unspeakable fantasies dashed through his imagination. The feel of her legs wrapped around his waist. The soft tendrils of her hair dragging down his chest. He caressed her mouth, drugged by the very taste of her.
She pulled away and somewhere in the heady fog of passion he found his sense of reality. "Isn’t this what engaged people do?" he teased.
He felt the sting of her palm against his cheek. "This is what women do when men take advantage." She sashayed away, leaving him staring after her, his blood boiling, his nerves quivering. He was feeling, feeling, for the first time, and he had no intention of letting it go.
Chapter Three
Chastity walked in a daze back to the house, clutching her satchel to her chest. Her fingers gently prodded her lips, which still tingled from the kiss.
She knew what Lord Lucas Willoughby was about. He was taunting her. He was trying to make her run. He was trying to convince her that their engagement was a bad idea. He was provoking her into admitting she was wrong and her idea was ridiculous.
Perhaps it was, but that wasn’t going to stop her.
She walked inside, only to be distracted by clanging from the kitchen. She made her way back there to find Cassandra bent over the sink, which was steaming with God knows what. One second in the kitchen and she felt the condensation on her face, sticking strands of her hair to her cheeks.
"There you are," Cassandra said. Although a year younger, she was practically a mirror of Chastity, but with green eyes instead of blue and sleek blonde hair that swept gracefully from her face, although presently it was also plastered to her cheeks by sweat and steam. "Where’ve you been?"
"Out."
"Why are you touching your mouth? Have you a sore?"
Chastity dropped her hand. "Of course not!" She wiped a smudge of dirt from Cassie’s face. At least the house was still steady, which was more than she could say about herself.
He’d kissed her.
Scratch that. He’d devoured her mouth, hungrily, searchingly. What could possibly have possessed him to think that would deter her?
Cassie turned her attention back to the sink and when she spoke, her voice was mouse quiet. "I don’t think I can attend dinner tonight."
"Cassandra! You know how important tonight is. Mr. Highster and his cronies will be there and some would rather speak mechanics than business."
"So?"
"So? I need to tell them about…your things." Chastity waved her hands at the sink.
"It is this very thing," Cassandra said, "that demands my presence at home. You know I’ve theorized that our fuel burning is inefficient, which does no good until I solve the inefficiency. Well—I think I finally have, but I need time to test my theories."
"Can’t you continue this tomorrow, after I’ve had time to charm Mr. Highster?" Chastity begged, which was ridiculous because she knew very well that she could handle Mr. Highster and his kind without help from her sister—that, in fact, wondering whether her sister was comfortable would distract her from her true goal. No, managing Mr. Highster did not worry her. It was the handling of Lord Lucas Willoughby she was less and less certain about.
"You know they’ll be serving meat and how much I detest unnecessary cruelty to animals."
/> "Of all the—"
"Please, Chastity." Cassandra dropped her metal pieces with a clank and gripped the edges of the sink. She blinked, her long eyelashes shimmering with tears. "Don’t make me go. You know how these events make me feel."
Chastity laid a hand on Cassandra’s back. "It will get better with time."
"It doesn’t," Cassandra said. "Please just leave it be. I can’t."
Chastity didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if it was right to push her sister into social situations. Cassandra was beautiful and intelligent, yet lacked the confidence for it. She couldn’t be in a crowd more than a few minutes before being hit by crippling anxiety. It was this anxiety that had forced Chastity to become the face of the company in their father’s absence, though it was Cassandra’s inventions that had brought the company to new glory—and were the only thing that kept them afloat now that they had lost a quarter of their business.
She gave Cassandra a tight squeeze. "So…shall I wear the teal ribbon?"
Cassandra smiled. With a sniffle she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I’d recommend the red."
"But if I wear the red I’ll have to change my dress."
"If you wear the teal, you’ll realize I tore it when it snagged in my comb."
"Cassandra! It was satin!"
"And the red is grosgrain." Cassandra wiped her hands on the front of her dress and Chastity resisted the urge to tell her that no cleaning agent on earth would salvage the threads from the stain. "Come, I’ll help you change."
* * *
Lucas couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t meeting his eyes, though he was making rather a fine point of staring at her from the other end of the table through three courses. Instead, she was focusing all her attention on Mr. Highster, which for some reason made him want to stab his quail repeatedly. Especially because Mr. Highster was failing to pay her any meaningful attention.
Not that he wanted Mr. Highster paying her the same sort of meaningful attention that he himself wanted to pay her, but the man could have the decency to be more than merely polite.
"—and if the routes were connected, then we’d have the advantage of inter-trading," she finished breathlessly.
Mr. Highster nodded politely, his jaw desperately masticating. How was he not taken in by her enthusiasm? By her pinked cheeks and bright eyes?
"I was also thinking," Chastity continued before launching into another round of benefits to linking the new Singapore route through the Pacific with another being planned around India. What kind of man was Mr. Highster that his eyes could glaze over with boredom?
Lucas noted that his brother, at least, was listening with interest, leaning forward over his plate. But then, his brother was a mercenary man—he would have to be in order to steal Grace from under his nose.
"How are you, Lord Willoughby?"
Lucas moved his gaze to Grace, his most recent ex-fiancee, who sat across from his brother but next to him at the long dining table.
"Hungry, which is fortunate, given the occasion." She frowned at him. He’d never been able to make her laugh, he realized. Not once, as much as he tried. "And you?"
"I am well. I hope…I hope you are well, too." She didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring intently at her quail.
She hoped he was well? He was well, of course he was. But he shouldn’t have been. That was the feeling that nagged at him. The idea that one shouldn’t be well when the sixth lady one has been engaged to runs off with one’s brother.
One should be miserable.
Especially when that lady was reasonably attractive, incredibly well bred, and of moderate fortune to boot.
"That is incredibly insightful," he heard his brother say.
Lucas snapped his head up. His brother was speaking to Chastity, who, for the first time, looked up from her end of the table although her gaze continued to avoid him.
"Thank you, my lord," she said to his brother, and this time Lucas did stab his quail.
"Do you think your ships capable of the journey through both routes?" he asked.
"They looked capable enough," Lucas found himself saying.
The table went still and quiet for three heartbeats.
"You’ve seen the ships yourself?" his brother said sharply. "When?"
Just then, Chastity looked at him. Finally—and then, slowly, reluctantly, she smiled. For the first time that dinner, he smiled, too.
"I saw the ships just this afternoon when I visited the port offices," Lucas said.
"You visited the port offices?" Mr. Highster said, drawing himself up in his chair.
The whole table went silent again, the only noise being the ticking of gazes as they flew between Lucas and Chastity and back to Lucas again.
"Was that…wise?" Grace asked finally.
"I assure you the port offices are very safe," Chastity answered.
Lucas wondered if Chastity had deliberately misinterpreted Grace’s question and the insinuation behind it. That what wasn’t safe was the idea of the two of them, together, engaged…in something.
"Are the port offices open to visitors?" Mr. Highster asked.
"Not to the public," Chastity said, turning her smile away from Lucas. "However, we can make an exception for good friends."
"Great friends," Lucas chimed in.
Chastity threw him a sharp glare. He raised a brow—did she think his last remark was too much for her charade?
He couldn’t believe Mr. Highster was succumbing to this game, but the man who had barely looked at Chastity a moment ago was now practically devouring her with his beady little eyes.
"Visiting ports now, are you?" his brother said. "That seems very industrious. I thought you’d mentioned a relaxing season this year. One without any…surprises."
His brother meant one without any engagements. They’d had a surprisingly candid one-sided discussion about it at the start of the Season, in which his brother said that it would be better for the family if Lucas avoided any future embarrassments, if he could last one Season without becoming engaged. Never mind the fact that his brother had contributed to the family embarrassment by stealing Grace. "I was going to spend a relaxed Season," Lucas said, "but I can hardly turn down a worthwhile opportunity with such an interesting investment."
"You can hardly afford more interesting things in your life," his brother retorted.
The table hushed again.
Lucas looked away from his brother to Chastity, who was studying him with the strangest look on her face—a mixture of ferocity and compassion. But why should she feel either emotion?
"Your well-being is our primary concern," his brother said.
"What your brother means to say," Grace said after clearing her throat, "is that we worry you might be too…stimulated."
"You know what could use stimulation?" Chastity interrupted quickly. "This conversation. Might I suggest another topic? Mr. Highster?"
Mr. Highster chimed in with something—something boring, no doubt—but Lucas barely noticed. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Chastity was playing the hero for him.
* * *
Chastity waited until the street was dark and deserted before venturing into the cold London night. She drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders and quickly tripped down her stairs to the sidewalk and back up the neighboring stairs to Lucas’s home.
With another quick glance down the empty sidewalk, she knocked on his door.
Nothing happened after several moments and she wondered if she should run back home. This was stupid, this was folly. But she had to speak to him. Tonight.
Not tomorrow. Tonight.
Things had been going so well at dinner. He’d engaged in her charade—finally! She wasn’t sure what had convinced him. Not the kiss. Why was she still thinking of the kiss, anyway? It hadn’t been her first—it was amazing how many tried to steal a kiss when one assumed your morals were as low as your birth. But it had been, by far, the most interesting. She’d n
ever realized that one’s body could become so attuned, so eager for something…though just what, she didn’t quite know.
She knocked again. What she did know was that she was eager to clarify their charade. As she predicted, Mr. Highster had become interested in her the moment he assumed that she and Lord Willoughby had an arrangement.
But after what had happened between Lucas and his family, how hurt and still he had become at their comments, she wasn’t sure there was an arrangement anymore. How could he want to continue after their horrid treatment of him? She had to be sure he was all right.
She knocked again.
Nothing. She didn’t know if she could wait until tomorrow to see him. Surely she should be able to wait. Dawn was hours away. But for some reason, she absolutely felt she had to see him now.
The street wouldn’t remain empty forever. She had just turned on the step when she finally heard the door open behind her.
When she turned back, Lucas was standing in the open doorway holding a candle. He was still dressed as if he’d fallen asleep without changing. The top button of his shirt was undone, his cravat hanging down, and his hair was in disarray, as if he’d run his hands through it over and over.
His dark eyes widened at the sight of her and he reached out to grab her shoulder and haul her inside. With an expletive, he looked out onto the street and shut the door before whirling around.
"Are you insane?" he said, practically seething. "What are you doing here?"
"You stopped talking to me." She rubbed her shoulder, not because he’d hurt her, but because it felt strange. As though she’d fallen asleep on it and it was now all pins and needles.
"What do you mean, I stopped talking to you?" he asked, taking a step closer. "I’m speaking with you now."
"At the dinner party," she said. "I was worried that after that episode, you might have changed your mind."
He shook his head, as if waking himself up. "You’re not making sense. Changed my mind about what?"
"About helping me."
"To be fair, I never formally agreed to help you in the first place," he said. "You keep assuming I will."
An Illicit Engagement (The Gentlemen Next Door) Page 3