The fact that her first meeting with Sir James hadn't gone precisely as she'd imagined, didn't mean anything. They hadn't really had the chance to get to know one another. But once they did ... Once they did, he would come to appreciate her much more than Valerie. And before long he would drive all thoughts of Ivan Thornton right out of her head.
The problem was, she was dwelling on Ivan too much. But not any more. She would make herself think of Sir James instead of Ivan. She would imagine him kissing her wrist, instead of Ivan. She would imagine him dancing with her and sweeping her away into an empty library, then kissing her like a starving man.
His hold would be possessive. His lips would be firm, but tender, and incredibly exciting.
Lucy sighed and gave her imagination free rein. She could almost feel his hands hauling her up against him, then circling her body and pressing her even closer. She pictured his mouth on hers, and the exquisite slide of his tongue.
What if she let him go further? What if his hands slid other places—places that only a husband's hands were free to touch?
Of their own volition one of her hands pressed against her heart, the other against her belly. She knew about husbands and wives, about what went on between men and women. She'd always thought it sounded extremely awkward and more than a little unpleasant. But now to imagine herself and Ivan like that raised the most wonderful wicked feelings—
No! She let out a groan. Not Ivan. She hadn't meant Ivan at all!
With a guilty start she snatched her hands away then pushed herself upright on the big bed. She was not going to think such thoughts! She simply refused to.
If her feelings for Sir James—and his for her—were not what she had hoped, then so be it. But she was not about to let herself be seduced by a handsome scoundrel, who was as little concerned for the hearts he broke as he might be for a pair of boots he had ruined. He cast the former off as easily as he did the latter.
If only he were sincere.
But that was wishful thinking and Lucy ruthlessly squelched it. Though it was not yet dawn, she abandoned her bed and instead set about preparing for the day. A hundred strokes of the brush through her hair and a chilly wash, to~be followed by an hour in the library.
No, she did not dare venture out into the still sleeping house lest she come upon Ivan again.
She let the hairbrush fall idle as she racked her mind. She would write a letter home. She had paper and pen, and soon enough it would be dawn. The house would come alive and then it would be safe for her to leave the sanctuary of her chamber. At least she hoped so.
Two hours later Lucy started do.wn to breakfast. As it happened, Lady Westcott was departing her chamber at the same time.
"This is convenient, Miss Drysdale. I had hoped to quiz you this morning about the lecture you and Valerie attended. Was it a worthwhile use of your time and hers?"
Lucy fell into step beside the aristocratic old woman. "I enjoyed it very well," she began. Then an idea occurred to her, a rather devious idea. "I enjoyed it, but I'm afraid Valerie enjoyed it perhaps too well."
"Too well?" Lady Westcott paused at the head of the grand stairs. "Pray tell, what do you mean by 'too well'?"
Valerie would be furious with her, but Lucy consoled herself that what she was doing was in the girl's best interest. "I'm concerned that Valerie may have formed an unwise attachment to the lecturer."
"An unwise attachment? Precisely what do you mean by an 'unwise attachment'? She was only in his presence for an hour or two. And who is this person, anyway?"
"He is Sir James Mawbey, and Valerie was very favorably impressed by him, both by his intellect and his person. He was equally impressed by her," Lucy added, feeling like the worst sort of sneak.
"If I am to interpret your concern rightly, he must not be the right sort of person for her. He is not already married, is he?"
"Oh, no. No, not married. But he is not favorably disposed toward the British system of primogeniture."
Lady Westcott let out a short laugh, then started down the steps. "No doubt a younger son. If you find him unacceptable, then discourage her from seeing him. You are, after all, her chaperone."
"I plan to do just that. However, I myself would still like to attend his lectures, as we agreed I might on the day I consented to become Valerie's chaperone."
They had reached the bottom of the stairs and once again Lady Westcott paused. She turned to study Lucy. This time she was frowning. "Why would you wish to do that? He sounds unhinged to me. Could it be you are interested in this man for yourself?"
Lucy vehemently shook her head. "No. Of course not. It's just that I have read his articles and wish to attend his lecture. They're not all about inheritance. Mostly they're concerned with children and the effects of upbringing."
"His lectures. Harrumph. I hope I have not introduced a radical into my own household."
"I suspect your grandson is far more radical than I am," Lucy answered with some asperity.
That brought a faint smile to the older woman's face. "Well said, Miss Drysdale. But tell me, what is it you wish me to do concerning this matter with Valerie?"
"If you would make plans for Valerie on Thursday afternoon that do not require my presence, I believe we shall all be content."
"All of us except Valerie," Lady Westcott pointed out.
"I do not believe she shall long mourn him," Lucy said. "They spoke but a few words. She will forget him."
Lady Westcott considered that, all the while still studying Lucy. "Your diligence in the discharge of your duties is to be commended. First you would protect her from an earl, her own cousin whom you perceive as a poor choice for her. Now you guard her from some radical lecturer, penniless, no doubt. You certainly cannot be faulted in your sincerity, Miss Drysdale. I must say, I look forward with great anticipation to meeting the paragon you think worthy of our dear Valerie."
Put that way, Lucy supposed she did seem an exceedingly conscientious chaperone. But as the two of them made their way to the dining room, Lucy feared it was less diligence and more selfishness that motivated her. For of Valerie's two so-called suitors, the one she desired for his intellect; the other ... the other she simply desired.
She had filled the plate at the sideboard. Now she sat down at the table, staring at the eggs and ham and scones on her plate. In the face of this new self-knowledge, she had lost her appetite.
Could a woman be in love with two men? One man's mind and the other man's physical person?
A knot of self-disgust formed in her stomach. She should never have come to London. She should have stayed in Somerset and tried harder to find contentment in her life there. How many times had her brother exhorted her to be satisfied with her situation, to be less particular of the men who courted her, to find satisfaction as other women found satisfaction; in a pleasant husband, a household to manage, and a nursery full of children?
But no, she'd always been too high-minded for that. And look where it had gotten her: reduced to lust and petty jealousy.
Then a footstep sounded in the hall and her self-disgust trebled. It was Ivan. She recognized his step, though why that should be so, she did not understand.
She wanted to run and hide. But of course, she could not do that. So she awaited his entrance in terrible anticipation, eager and dreading and more confused than she'd been in her entire life.
"Good morning." Ivan addressed them both, but his gaze lingered on Lucy.
Lady Westcott had already settled herself at one end of the table with Lucy beside her. After filling his plate, Ivan took a seat opposite Lucy. "Isn't this cozy," he remarked as a servant poured coffee for him.
"My, but you're in a jovial mood this morning," Lady Westcott said.
"So I am."
"Dare I hope it is on account of a woman?"
Ivan's gaze locked with Lucy's a moment before he turned to his grandmother. "You would be overjoyed if I answer yes. So I'll say instead that I had an enjoyable evening, a good night's
sleep, and the most interesting dreams. Now I am awakened to what I hope will be a pleasant day. Unless, of course, you decide to make it unpleasant."
Lady Westcott's mouth pursed in a tight circle of lines. "Up to now it has taken no more than my presence to make your day unpleasant—or so you have led me to believe. Could it be we are making progress, you and I?"
Ivan gave the old woman a cool look. "Your presence here, or more rightly, the presence of your entourage, specifically Valerie and Miss Drysdale, has provided a greater distraction than I anticipated." His gaze returned to Lucy.
A distraction. How kind of him to remind her. Here she'd been berating herself for being too interested in the man — in love with his physical person, she'd even termed it. But she was only a distraction to him. How had she allowed herself to forget? It was, after all, that very insincerity of his which made him unacceptable for Valerie as well as for any other good and sensible young woman. Including her self.
As quickly as that her self-remorse was obliterated by a righteous anger. "I'm sure I speak for Lady Valerie as well as myself when I say we both live for a chance to be a distraction to a man of such discriminating tastes as yourself, my lord."
He grinned at her and his gaze fell to her lips before rising again to her eyes. "Dare I hope this sarcasm of yours reveals a wish to be more than simply a distraction?"
Lucy shoved her chair back from the table and lurched to her feet. "Don't hold your breath," she snapped. "If you'll excuse me?" she said to Lady Westcott. Then not waiting for a response she stormed out of the room.
In Lucy's wake a resounding silence fell. Ivan was so caught up in visions of that magnificent anger released in another, more passionate fashion, that he did not consider his grandmother's reaction to this little scene.
"Is something going on here that I have not been informed of?"
When he only stared at her, she continued. "Are you trifling with the hired help, Ivan?"
His good humor soured. "Would it matter to you if I was? I'd only be following the example of my esteemed father."
"Miss Drysdale is a lady and deserving of your respect."
"Whereas my mother was a Gypsy and deserving of nothing. Right?"
She patted her mouth then laid the monogrammed napkin aside. "Do not put words in my mouth. I never said that."
"But you believe it. You believed it when you found out your son had impregnated a Gypsy. You believed it when you learned she'd borne you your first grandson. You believed it when you resigned yourself to the fact that I would be your only grandson. Your only heir. You stole me from my mother—"
"She sold you to me!"
She'd made that accusation before. Then, as now, it caused Ivan to see red. "What in hell choice did she have! She probably believed I'd have a better life as the son of an earl. Little did she know." He jerked to his feet, sending his chair toppling backward. "You tried so hard to keep your precious Westcott name from being tainted by Gypsy blood. But you failed. I am half Gypsy, and when I take a wife, it'll be a Gypsy wife. They're a damn sight more appealing than any cold-blooded English bitch!"
He left while she was still in shock, slamming out of the dining room then out of the house. He stormed out to the Stables, called for a horse, and impatiently saddled it himself. Then he was off, flying out the service gate and down the alley to Berkeley Street. Unmindful of traffic or pedestrians, he urged the horse down Picadilly, giving the animal its head as they approached the park. But he stayed away from Rotten Row and any other place where he would encounter other riders.
As he raced the eager steed flat-out over the uncut meadows and through the dappled shade, he and the horse were like one—just as his Gypsy forebears were said to be. He whispered to the gallant animal, urging him on. The horse's ear flicked back to listen, and as if it understood, its efforts increased.
Over a hedge. Through a creek. Then up a rise into the deep shade of a pollarded stand of hornbeams.
Only then did he slow the animal. Only then did he allow himself to think past his anger and pain.
Though he'd used the words as a weapon, the idea of a Gypsy wife held a certain appeal. He'd long thought it more than appropriate. But he'd been with enough Gypsies during the years he'd been gone to know that was not the answer. He didn't fit in with them any longer. He was no more at ease in the company of Gypsies than he was in the company of the ton. He was neither fish nor fowl, but a man caught between two families. Two cultures. He'd been at war with himself as long as he could remember. But now, when he was poised at last to wreak vengeance on the woman and the society that had made his life an unending hell, he found that the one thing he most craved was peace.
It was the one thing that most eluded him. Worse, he had the sinking suspicion that nothing he did to shock or humiliate his grandmother would bring him that peace.
For a moment he thought of Lucy, of how earnestly she fought his attentions, first toward Valerie and now toward herself. Was it his Gypsy blood she objected to, or was it the person he'd become, the disenchanted, insincere rake who cared for nothing and no one but his own selfish pleasure?
Weary and covered with sweat, he flung himself off the blowing horse and began to walk it beneath the canopy of interlaced branches.
Maybe Lucy was right. He did behave like her young nephew, like a spoiled, resentful child. But only when it came to his grandmother. His feelings regarding Lucy were those of a man for a woman. And though she fought them, her feelings for him were those of a woman for a man.
Except that she thought she wanted Sir James.
He patted the horse's damp neck and continued to walk. The branches of the ancient hornbeams formed a dense roof above him, alive with the chatter of sparrows, jays, and scolding squirrels. Thick trunks surrounded him like a living wall. He could almost believe he wasn't in London, in the midst of over a million people, each beset by his own troubles.
How he would like to get away from town, from the ton, the marriage mart, and most of all, his grandmother. And how he'd like to have Miss Lucy Drysdale accompany him.
He halted and considered that idea. If her purpose for being in London were removed, she would be left at loose ends. First he needed to rid her of any hopes regarding a certain scholar. It galled him to even think of her attachment to the man. He would also have to end her association with Valerie, and therefore his grandmother.
Then he grinned, for the solution was obvious. An added bonus was that it would enrage the dowager countess.
With his good humor restored, Ivan mounted the rested animal and turned it back toward town. Precisely what his long-term intentions were for Lucy he could hot yet say. For now it was enough that he had a plan of action. The rest he would deal with as necessary.
"A dinner party? Why was I not informed?" Lady West-cott demanded to know.
"I... I am informing you, my lady. That's exactly what I'm doing right now—" The housekeeper fell silent under Lady Westcott's withering glance. She buried her hands in her skirt.
In the ensuing silence Lucy looked up. The dowager countess met her gaze.
"Well. Did you hear that, Miss Drysdale? After all that unpleasantness yesterday at breakfast, it appears that my grandson has decided to host a dinner party. What do you make of such a turn of events?"
"I'm sure I cannot fathom what goes on in Lord Westcott's head," Lucy answered. In truth, the man was a total enigma to her—as were her convoluted reactions to him. She hadn't seen him after breakfast yesterday. Nor had he been around at all today. She should be glad, she told herself. But the truth was, she was annoyed and unhappy and exceedingly confused.
She threaded a hat pin through her bonnet, catching a knot in her hair and securing the pin well. As she pulled on her gloves she turned to face Lady Westcott. "Thank you for providing the carriage to take me to the lecture." Lady Westcott waved off her thanks. "Where is Valerie?"
Lucy grimaced. "Taken to bed with a sick headache. I'm sorry your plans with the Pintners
are ruined."
"Hettie Pintner is a blowhard. Even more so than her husband. A quiet evening may be just the ticket." She paused and for a long moment just gazed at Lucy. "Enjoy the lecture, Miss Drysdale. At least one of us is benefitting from our time in town."
Benefitting? As Lucy made the solitary drive to Fatuielle Hall she didn't feel like she was benefitting at all from being in town. London was not turning out as she'd hoped. She was not supposed to be infatuated with an amoral rogue, but with a high-minded scholar. As for the scholar, he was supposed to become interested in her, not a pretty heiress fresh from the schoolroom.
No, London was not turning out at all as she'd hoped.
She was in as grim a mood as she'd ever known by the time she arrived at the lecture hall. Once inside she recognized several of the same people in attendance from the previous night. She chose a seat in the back, not certain whether or not she should approach Sir James this time. If he were to look disappointed at Valerie's absence, Lucy didn't think she would be able to bear it.
The house lights went dim when the lamps at the podium were lit. Just before Sir James took the stage, however, a group of latecomers made their noisy entrance.
Lucy hoped the group would not sit in front of her, for she wanted an unobstructed view of Sir James. She meant to convince herself that he was just as attractive to her senses as was another man—a man she refused to think about. But sit in front of her they did. Three men and one woman, judging from their silhouettes.
Then a fifth member of their party took a seat right beside her and she looked over, irritated by his boldness. "If you don't mind, sir."
"Is this seat reserved?" asked a familiar voice.
Lucy's heart flipped over. Ivan! Blast the man for torturing her so unmercifully.
"You're following me again!" she accused, struggling mightily to hide her emotional reaction to him.
"As a matter of fact, I am. Bad enough that I spirited your innocent charge out of the house without anyone the wiser. But her reputation would be ruined beyond even my ability to repair it were she to be seen alone in the company of not one, but four notorious rakes."
Dangerous to Love Page 16