Lucille hesitated. This sudden generosity seemed odd and out of character. What new approach was this? Could he be trying to lull her suspicions, pretend to stand her friend, whilst he tried to find a new way to break the lease? No doubt, were she really Susanna, she would be thinking that he had proved susceptible to her charm after all!
‘It’s monstrous good of you, sir,’ she said, giving him a melting look from under her lashes. ‘I knew you would relent. I am so grateful…’
‘Keep your gratitude within bounds, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave said coolly. He let go of her at last. ‘Make no mistake of it, I want you out of Cookes. But the lease of the property is yours by right of inheritance. I shall not have it said that I have driven you from the house with no recompense. Good day, Miss Kellaway.’
Arrogant man! Lucille let out a huge sigh as she watched him mount a very disgruntled Bucephalus and canter off up the track towards Dillingham Court. She never wanted to have to go through such an encounter again. She felt exhausted, and overcome with remorse. She had behaved in a truly disgraceful way, and if Seagrave had called her bluff and offered her carte blanche it would have served her right! Dangling her bonnet from its strings, she made her way slowly through the dappled shade of the orchard towards the house, her mind still full of the charismatic Earl and his quixotic generosity.
Had she but known it, Seagrave’s own reaction was just as complicated as her own. Once clear of the village he set the stallion to a gallop across the fields to the Court. The speed was exhilarating, but did nothing to help him clarify his thoughts. He was both puzzled and annoyed by his response to Susanna Kellaway. He was not an inexperienced youth, nor was he willing to delude himself. He was therefore obliged to accept that he was attracted to her, and had been ever since their first encounter. He had lied when he had said that he was not interested in her—he was beginning to want her like a fever in the blood. His feelings prevented him from driving her out of the village with the ruthlessness the situation clearly demanded. It was a completely unexpected reaction and one that was as unwelcome as it was surprising.
Worse, he could not make up his mind about her. She was so contradictory, so unpredictable! One moment she was truly the Susanna he remembered, then a moment later she would reveal unexpected depths before retreating behind that superficial façade once more. It was infuriating, but it was fascinating as well. There was something else, too, that did not fit the case—something at the back of his mind, troubling him…something that his agent had mentioned about the Kellaway sisters when he had first arrived at the Court. He handed over the sweating horse to a stablehand with a word of thanks and strode into the house, calling for Josselyn as he went. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it escaped his notice that his habitual boredom had vanished like mist in the summer sun.
Chapter Four
There were five days left before Lucille could depart for Oakham, and she felt sometimes as though she were counting the hours. She had not ventured beyond Cookes’s boundaries again, contenting herself with strolling through the orchard or sitting beside the pond and watching the brown trout basking in the sun. Lucille had always considered herself to be a solitary soul by choice, with plenty of resources to help her occupy her time, and she was surprised and depressed to find her self-imposed solitude lonely. Since she could not go out, her only companion was Mrs Appleton, and the housekeeper had made it plain in the most pleasant of ways that Lucille’s position as her employer’s sister precluded a closer friendship between them.
Lucille understood this, but found herself wishing for someone in whom to confide. Over the years Miss Pym had fulfilled this role admirably, and Lucille missed her mentor’s advice. She considered going to see Lady Bellingham again, but did not want to impose, and that left only her books for distraction. In an effort to immerse herself once more she turned to Miss Austen’s Mansfield Park, hoping that the wittily observed social conventions would divert her from her feeling of isolation.
She had been sitting on the rustic bench beneath the apple tree when she heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. For a moment her heart began to race in the absurd hope and conviction that it might be Seagrave, but the man who appeared around the side of the house was a complete stranger to her. Excitement was replaced by apprehension, but she had little time to wonder about his identity as he hurried forward across the grass.
‘Suzanne! Ma belle! Enfin!’ Then, breaking into English: ‘You little minx, I have scoured this so-dull countryside just to find you!’
He took her hand and covered it with moist kisses, then held her at arm’s length, his berry-black eyes twinkling suggestively. ‘But you have lost weight, mon ange! Whatever can ’ave ’appened to you?’
‘I am very well, I thank you, sir.’ Lucille knew she sounded ludicrously formal after his fulsome greeting, but she could not help herself. In the first place she did not have the least idea who he was and she was repelled by his moist breath on her face. She tried surreptitiously to wipe his kisses off her hand.
The gentleman was looking comically crestfallen. ‘So cold, ma belle? You were not so cruel to your petit Charles last spring! Why, we made a fine time of it, you and I, did we not, Suzanne!’
Lucille was fairly certain that she could now place the gentleman as one of Susanna’s ex-lovers. And at least she knew his name now. She wished she had been inside when he had called; wished Mrs Appleton had been on hand to help her; wished even that the ground could open up beneath her feet and swallow her up before she had to attempt this difficult conversation. But there was no help on hand. It was a beautiful day, perfect for a romantic tête-à-tête beneath the spreading branches of the apple tree. A turtle dove began to coo above their heads.
She looked at her unexpected visitor thoughtfully. He looked very Gallic, with long black locks, heavily pomaded, and impressive side-whiskers. He was wearing a gaudy purple coat with huge gold buttons, and there was excessive lace at his wrists and throat. There was also a twinkle in his black eyes which Lucille, inexperienced as she was, recognised with misgiving. So far, none of the men who had cast covetous eyes on her in her role as Susanna had actually taken any action, but there was the same lascivious gleam in this man’s eyes as she had seen from the occasional father, delivering his daughter back to school, and she had once had to fight off the goaty advances of a repellent geography master. A suspicion that the Frenchman might wish to rekindle his relationship with her sister took shape in her mind.
Lucille gave him a cool smile, moving away to sit down gracefully on the bench. ‘My dear Charles, that was then and this is now.’ She gave Susanna’s light shrug. ‘You know how fickle I am, my dear!’
The gentleman seemed to take this in good part, smiling a little cynically as his familiar gaze continued to rove over her. Lucille found this presumptuous but knew by now that Susanna must be used to such attentions. Under his scrutiny the mauve silk and lace dress, another of Susanna’s most modest confections, felt as though it was both far too low cut and too transparent. He took a seat at the opposite end of the bench, which was too close to Lucille for comfort, and allowed his arm to lie along the back of the seat, just touching her shoulder. Lucille found she had to steel herself not to flinch away.
‘I am aux anges to see you again, mon amour,’ he murmured seductively. ‘I have missed you so much!’ Lust flared suddenly in his eyes. ‘Ah, Suzanne, there is no one quite like you—so warm, so skilful! Do you remember—?’
Lucille broke in rather desperately. ‘So how did you find me, Charles?’ she asked, certain that Susanna would not have told anyone of her address in Suffolk.
The gentleman rolled his eyes. ‘Mon Dieu, Suzanne, you put me to a lot of trouble! No one at your London house would give your direction—in the end I had to bribe a kitchen maid for the information I wanted! Why are you hiding in this tedious place, ma belle?’ He raised an interrogative eyebrow.
Lucille shrugged evasively. ‘There were reasons, Charles
…’
He laughed. ‘Reasons? That I understand very well! After all, I have my own reasons for seeking you out, ma chère!’
Lucille gave him what she hoped passed for a look of languid enquiry. At least she seemed to have successfully distracted his thoughts from seduction—for the time being. ‘Money, my dear?’
Charles looked a little chagrined. ‘Alors, you have no delicacy, you English! I admit to a temporary embarrassment only…If you could see your way clear to advancing me a small loan…’
‘My dear…’ Lucille hesitated. How difficult it was to achieve the casual intimacy of old lovers! Never having had a lover, old or new, she had no idea.
But the gentleman was on his feet and speaking again. ‘A paltry sum, mon ange, only my card debts are becoming pressing…’
Lucille felt uncomfortable with him looming over her and stood up. They were of a height and his pleading black eyes, so like a puppy’s, gazed melodramatically into hers. She was hard put to it not to laugh.
‘My dear Charles,’ she began again, ‘I would truly love to help you, but I fear I have with me here nowhere near the amount you need. Now, if you were to apply to me in a few weeks’ time in London, I might be able to be more forthcoming.’
‘You wish to get rid of me,’ the gentleman said, hangdog. ‘Alors, Suzanne, be kind to me! I have come all this way—’
Before Lucille had realised it, he had caught her to him and was trying to kiss her. She turned her head just in time and his wet lips landed on her cheek rather than her mouth. She pushed hard but ineffectually against his chest. He was a lot stronger than he appeared and Lucille suddenly wished Mrs Appleton were there with her saucepan.
‘Suzanne!’ This time there was reproach in his voice. He really was a consummate actor, Lucille thought. Perhaps he could mend his fortunes with a career on the stage. ‘To deny a man a little comfort when he has travelled all this way to see you—’
‘To borrow money from me, you mean!’ Lucille snapped, twisting her head away again to avoid him. ‘Let me go at once!’ She had no idea how Susanna would have handled this and did not really care. Her only concern was to get away from him. She looked round a little desperately, but there were no suitable objects within reach. If only they had been inside she could have used one of her father’s Chinese souvenirs, although it would have been a pity to treat a Ming vase in such a way…
She felt his lips trail wet kisses down her neck and his insinuating hands slipping from her waist to knead her breast. It was disgusting. Freeing one hand at last, she delivered a stinging blow to the side of his face. He let her go with an oath, and at the same time an amused voice from just behind them drawled: ‘A very true and proper hit, Miss Kellaway!’
Both Lucille and the gentleman, now nursing his jaw, turned to see the Earl of Seagrave saunter across the path towards them. His muscular height dwarfed the other man and beside Seagrave’s severe elegance the gentleman’s fussy tailoring suddenly looked completely ridiculous.
Seagrave fixed him with his most quelling look. ‘My dear Comte De Vigny, can you not take a hint? I believe the lady expressed a disinclination for your company! You will oblige me by removing yourself at once!’
‘Parbleu!’ De Vigny’s gaze moved from Seagrave to Lucille with sudden comprehension. ‘So that is how it is, hein!’
Lucille opened her mouth to dispel his illusions but Seagrave was before her.
‘Precisely so,’ he said easily, sliding a proprietorial arm around Lucille’s waist, ‘so you see how damnably de trop you are, do you not, sir?’
There was suddenly an ugly look on De Vigny’s face. ‘Not your usual style, is it, Seagrave, to deal in such shop-soiled goods? Merde, I can tell you all the tricks this one will turn—if you pay her enough—’
‘But you will do no such thing!’ Seagrave’s voice cut across him like a whiplash. The hostility between the two men was suddenly almost tangible. ‘Take yourself off my land, De Vigny, before I call you out!’
De Vigny knew when he was beaten. He muttered a epithet which Lucille, for all her extensive knowledge of French, did not recognise, and sketched a mocking bow. ‘Au ’voir then, Suzanne! I congratulate you on your conquest! Monsieur…’
Lucille sat down rather suddenly on the bench, afraid she might faint. Of all her recent insights into Susanna’s lifestyle, this had been the most shocking because it had touched her so closely. De Vigny’s ugly words had spilled corrosively across the bright beauty of the summer day. Seagrave, who clearly expected her—Susanna—to be inured to such coarseness as De Vigny had shown, was watching the retreating figure with some satisfaction.
‘He will not trouble you again,’ he said carelessly. He took a closer look at Lucille’s white face and gave a quick frown of concern. ‘Are you all right, Miss Kellaway? You look a trifle pale. I will fetch you a brandy…’
Lucille closed her eyes, turning her face up to the soothing warmth of the sun and allowing the shock to drain out of her mind. It was absurd to be so affected by an attack which was not really aimed at her, but she had been shaken in the same way as when she was exposed to the malice of the villagers. Yet again the effects of her masquerade had come home to roost in an unexpectedly unpleasant way…
‘Your father always kept an excellent brandy. You will find it most restorative.’ Seagrave’s voice broke into her thoughts and Lucille opened her eyes. He took the seat beside her and handed her the glass.
‘The spite of old lovers must be a hazard of your profession,’ he said commiseratingly.
Lucille, who had just taken a mouthful of liquid, choked as the fiery spirit caught in her throat.
‘That’s better,’ Seagrave continued approvingly, as the colour returned to her face. ‘I had not imagined the encounter would shake you so. I must say, that was a very accurate shot you delivered, Miss Kellaway! One might almost believe that you had learnt cricket, to be so on target!’
‘We play rounders at school,’ Lucille began thoughtlessly, then caught herself. ‘That is, I played when I was at school…’
Seagrave’s dark eyes dwelt thoughtfully on her face. ‘An unexpected talent, Miss Kellaway.’ His voice hardened. ‘And no doubt a useful one for a lady in your position. There must be times…But I doubt the Comte was truly dangerous. From what I have heard, I would judge he believes himself more a Lothario than he really is! But, of course—’ he inclined his head ‘—you are the only one who knows the truth of that!’
Lucille was beginning to feel much better. The brandy had restored her natural resilience and added something besides but, unaccustomed to strong liquor, she was in ignorance of its effect on her. She looked at Seagrave pugnaciously. ‘You could have intervened to help me, sir! To stand by and do nothing—well, upon my word!’
Seagrave gave her a lopsided grin which seemed to do strange things to Lucille’s equilibrium. ‘But you might have been wanting to encourage him, ma’am! How was I to judge? Besides, you coped very well on your own, did you not?’
Lucille gave him a fulminating look which met nothing but his unrepentant smile. Another thought occurred to her. ‘And now you have led him to believe I’m—’ She broke off in confusion.
‘My mistress,’ Seagrave supplied, with a smile. ‘I am not flattered by your aghast expression, Miss Kellaway! Am I then so unattractive that you cannot stomach the idea?’
Lucille blushed. Her fertile imagination, inflamed by the brandy, presented her with the image of herself held close in Seagrave’s arms. For a moment she could even feel the hard lines of his body against her own pliancy. Heat suffused her. There was nothing unattractive about the Earl of Seagrave. Those dark, gold-flecked eyes, fringed with thick black lashes, were holding hers with a hint of mockery in their depths that suggested he could read her mind.
Lucille’s bemused gaze considered his face thoughtfully. Its delineations were very pleasing, with those high cheekbones, straight nose and firm jaw, and that mouth…Lucille removed her gaze hastily,
remembering the fire that had overcome her the last time she had dwelt on its firmly sensuous lines…Yet there was more to Seagrave’s face than a mere collection of features. It was the humour and vitality that gave it its character…Lucille suddenly realised that she had not answered his question and blushed even more.
‘I…yes…no!’ She made a grab for her self-control. ‘You are pleased to jest, sir!’
‘I assure you, I was never more serious in my life.’ Seagrave’s gaze was unfaltering. ‘We should deal admirably together.’ He took the empty glass from her hand and put it gently on one side. Lucille, suddenly gripped by the most terrifying of premonitions, found that the power of movement had temporarily deserted her. She watched, mesmerised, as he leant closer, and closed her eyes when he was too near to be in focus any more. His lips brushed hers in the lightest of kisses, shockingly sweet and piercingly intense. He had already started to withdraw as Lucille gasped with surprise, her eyes opening wide.
‘Think about it,’ Seagrave said softly, persuasively. He sat back, his tone changing to one of brisk practicality. ‘In the meantime, I have another proposal for you to consider. I have a house in Chelsea, which I am willing to offer you on the same terms as this—provided that you give up all claim to the lease of Cookes.’
The kiss completed Lucille’s confusion. She struggled to regain some small semblance of control over her wayward reactions. Her whole body was trembling with what she realised was a deep and disturbing sense of anticipation. All that, from one light touch of his lips! There could be no scientific explanation for such a phenomenon. The reassuring thought of the laws of science served to steady her. This could only be a temporary lapse and soon her own innate good sense would be restored.
Then she realised her next dilemma—whilst Susanna might well be thrilled to exchange Cookes for the more appealing prospect of a fashionable London house, Lucille could not make that decision for her.
The Virtuous Cyprian Page 8