A small corner of Lucille’s mind acknowledged that she had wanted this ever since he had first kissed her in the garden, then all conscious thought was lost in the sensations that he aroused in her. His anger apparently forgotten, Seagrave’s mouth explored hers with a searching but gentle expertise which created such acute excitement that Lucille was lost in a maze of tactile pleasure. She became almost unbearably aware of the hard strength of Seagrave’s body pressing her backwards against the unyielding tree trunk, the softness of her own curves as they moulded themselves to the taut lines of his.
The kiss deepened, intoxicatingly sweet. She wanted it to go on forever. Nothing in her experience could explain this delicious torment. And then she felt his fingers at the neck of her jacket, slowly undoing the tiny pearl buttons. The rush of cool air against her heated flesh was utterly delightful. Lucille moaned softly with pleasure. Half of her mind was telling her that she should make him stop, that he would think her as free with her favours as her sister was; the other half was shamelessly telling her that it did not care what he thought as long as he carried on arousing these pleasurable sensations within her…
All buttons unfastened, Seagrave parted the lapels of her jacket to reveal the fine lawn of her petticoat beneath. He traced the delicate line of her neck, her jaw, then her collarbone, with the lightest, most tantalising touch of his lips. Lucille’s head fell back, the silver-gilt hair spilling from its pins to tumble down her back in a pale waterfall.
She no longer had any inclination to break off their encounter. Equally, she was so innocent, she had no real idea of what was happening to her, other than that it was wonderful. Above them, the breeze stirred the thick green canopy of leaves and the shifting shadows played over them. Though her eyes were still closed, Lucille, all senses fully alert, could feel Seagrave slide the soft material of her chemise away from her skin so smoothly, so seductively, every touch only serving to inflame her further. And when his lips continued their path downwards from her collarbone over the exposed curves of her upper breasts, she gasped aloud, arching against him, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
‘Is that far enough, Miss Kellaway, or will you take more?’ That mocking voice was so slurred that she scarcely recognised it. Lucille thought she would melt from sheer devastating pleasure. Here was a side of her nature which she had never even suspected, a side which even now was demanding that she take this much further and grant it the ultimate satisfaction.
‘Well, Miss Lucille Kellaway? What a surprising girl you have turned out to be!’ Seagrave’s mouth was now an inch from her own, though his fingers had moved inside her jacket to torment the over-sensitised tips of her breasts. His tongue teased the corners of her mouth before returning fully to cover it again, drinking deeply. When at last he paused for breath, Lucille opened her eyes for the first time and saw the intensity of desire in those narrowed dark eyes so close to her own. She reached out to pull him closer.
His hands circled her waist, holding her against him. The linen of his shirt was rough against her skin as she slid her hands beneath his coat and over the firm muscles of his back, making him gasp in turn. He bit gently at the side of her neck until Lucille arched her head back once more, allowing his questing mouth to return to its teasing assault upon her heated skin. She felt his hands move to unfasten her chemise and she wanted nothing more in the whole world. But—
‘No, oh no!’ Lucille did not want sanity to return, but it was already there at the edges of her mind, persistent, telling her what unbelievable liberties she had permitted him, what was the next logical step…She had not cared that he had kissed her out of anger; that he thought her a cheap deceiver. She knew that she loved him, and that had been enough for her. But now! This time the touch of the cool breath of summer breeze on her skin brought reality back and Lucille struggled to free herself. She was instantly released.
‘Thus far and no farther?’ Seagrave said. His voice was rougher than usual and he was breathing hard. ‘You would need to take matters much further, I fear, to imitate your sister!’
Lucille was desperately trying to regain control of her disordered senses. She knew he had only intended to punish her and in a strange way this helped to steady her. It could not be expected that an experience which had had such a cataclysmic effect on her would leave him similarly moved. She straightened her bodice, fastening the buttons of her jacket with fingers that shook and slipped. She could not look at Seagrave.
As her mind slowly assimilated what had happened to her she felt more and more horrified, desperately shocked at her own behaviour. Prudish, priggish Miss Lucille Kellaway, who lived life vicariously through her books, had turned out to be a flesh-and-blood creature whose passionate nature, whose needs and desires, could have been her own undoing. So before, Seagrave had thought her a cheat. Now he would think her of easy virtue as well!
The scalding tears which had threatened before welled up in her eyes.
‘I have no ambition to emulate Susanna, sir.’ Her voice wavered and she pressed her hand to her mouth in a desperate attempt to regain her self-control. She heard Seagrave swear softly under his breath, but whether his anger was directed at her or at himself, she could not tell. Nor did she care. Her sole attention now was focussed on getting herself back to Cookes in one piece. She turned aside from him, but he caught her arm to restrain her.
‘Miss Kellaway—’
It was too much. Lucille burst into tears.
Her eyes felt gritty and swollen with crying, her cheeks were burning hot and her nose felt as though it were twice its normal size. However, the greatest shock to Lucille was that the Earl of Seagrave was suddenly behaving as though she were his sister, and had enfolded her in arms that were tenderly protective but not remotely loverlike. Gentle fingers were brushing the damp hair away from her face whilst he pressed his own laundered handkerchief into her hand. His lips brushed her cheek and she heard him murmur gentle words of comfort in her ear. She was astounded.
Seagrave let her go. She felt bereft. ‘Forgive me, Miss Kellaway,’ he said, with less assurance than she had ever heard from him before. ‘I have behaved appallingly and I must apologise.’
‘No, sir,’ Lucille said unsteadily, scrupulously fair, even through her misery, ‘it was all entirely my fault! I am the one who should be apologising—’
‘Oh, to hell with apologies!’ Seagrave said, with uncharacteristic irritation. ‘Miss Kellaway, this is no time for polite prevarication. You are in no state to go back to Cookes on your own—you must allow me to escort you to Dillingham Court. My housekeeper will look after you until you are well enough to return home.’
Lucille almost argued with him, but she had no energy left to do so. Instead, she allowed him to place her unresisting hand on his arm and lead her back on to the path to the Court. She was amazed to see that the sun still shone and to feel the gentle breeze on her hot face. She could not begin to understand all that had just passed between them.
‘You need not worry that you will meet anyone at the Court,’ Seagrave said abruptly. ‘Peter will not be rising before lunch, for he spent the night at the gaming tables, no doubt trying to win enough money to enable him to support a wife!’ He slanted a look down at her and sighed as he took in the look of blank incomprehension on her face. Lucille Kellaway had had a tremendous shock and he was entirely responsible for it. He took a deep breath.
‘Miss Kellaway…’ his voice was very gentle ‘…forgive the necessity of referring to what has happened, which I know no gentleman should do. You are a lady of considerable intellect. What happened between us just now is what is termed, I believe, a chemical reaction. I imagine that you have studied the physical sciences and understand the concept. It was unpardonable of me to act in such a manner and it will not happen again. Do not regard it.’
Do not regard it! So that was how he considered an encounter which had left her shaken to the core! A part of Lucille was more miserable than she had ever been in her life, b
ut for her own sake she could not allow it ascendancy. It was far better to be angry than to be humiliated. She turned on him furiously.
‘I certainly understand your intention to punish and shame me, sir! It is a lesson I shall never forget!’
‘Such was not my intention, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave said quietly. ‘Oh, it may have started that way, but I was as much a victim of my desires as you were! The only difference was that I knew what I was about, which you did not!’
Lucille knew that she could not allow herself to feel this insidious sense of empathy which was threatening to draw them together. There was no future for her with him, and to believe so only to be disappointed would destroy her completely. She tried to whip up her fury further. ‘And to offer me carte blanche when you must already have guessed that I was not Susanna! That was not the action of a gentleman!’
‘No.’ Seagrave had followed her lead and sounded his inscrutable self once more. The brief flash of tenderness she had seen in him might never have been. ‘It was not. But that you brought on yourself, Miss Kellaway! If you choose to play the Cyprian, you cannot complain when people treat you thus!’
Lucille knew that he was right and it made her even more furious. Anger with herself mingled with the hurt he had inflicted. Her feelings for him were mocking her and goaded her even further.
‘I have explained my reasons, I have apologised for my actions and I can do no more,’ she said in a voice which shook. ‘And now I am going home! I would rather walk across coals of fire than spend another moment in your company, my lord!’
‘You forget Miss Markham’s situation.’ Seagrave’s voice halted her when she had taken only three steps away from him. There was no expression in his face to indicate his reaction to her impulsive words.
Lucille hesitated. She had indeed forgotten Hetty’s predicament in the tumult of emotions that surrounded her own relationship with Seagrave. And now, reminded, she closed her eyes briefly for a moment in complete despair.
‘Miss Kellaway.’ There was a real determination in Seagrave’s voice now, and for once the habitual mockery was absent. ‘If we are to help Miss Markham, we must, I think, bury our own differences.’ He rested one booted foot on a fallen log and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You should know that once I realised your true identity, I never for one moment suspected you to be a courtesan. There is a transparent innocence about you that makes such an idea nonsense! In fact, our recent passage of arms would never have happened had you truly been such a woman. It is only your inexperience which—’ He broke off, seeing the colour flood her cheeks. ‘But we will never speak of it again! As for the rest, I’ve heard and understood what you have said about coming to Cookes and—’ he shrugged ‘—am willing to forget about it. Now are you also willing to put the past behind us?’
Lucille was filled with desolation. She understood that this was all she could expect of him; understood that he was being more generous than she might have expected. It was her own feelings that made it so difficult for her to accept this. Loving him as she did, she would always want more than this, more than he was prepared to give. At all costs she must keep him from discovering her true feelings. That would be the ultimate humiliation.
‘Very well,’ she said hesitantly, ‘for Hetty’s sake, I suppose…’
‘Thank you. I believe I may have a solution to the problem. Now…’ his dark eyes scrutinised her face carefully ‘…do you feel strong enough at present to cope with this, or are you quite overset?’
His words had the desired effect. Lucille’s chin came up and a little colour crept back into her face. ‘Of course I am! I am not an invalid! I have not had an accident!’
Seagrave’s lips twitched at this. ‘Just so,’ he said, noncommittally. They began to walk once more, out of the edge of the shady woods and into the parkland that was the start of the Court’s grounds. Dillingham Court itself could be seen in the hollow of the hill, its golden stone glowing in the summer sun. Normally Lucille would have paused to admire such a charming aspect, but now she did not feel like stopping to appreciate the view. At least it made it easier to forget what had happened between them when she had another more pressing problem on which to concentrate.
‘If you have thought of a way of saving Hetty I shall be forever in your debt, sir!’ she admitted honestly. ‘I could never have foreseen that she would seek me out here and unwittingly embroil herself in this! I could not bear for her reputation to be ruined as a result!’
‘A tangled web indeed, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave said, gently. ‘Society’s rules are very harsh sometimes, and I agree that Miss Markham should not suffer as a result of the sins of others!’
For Hetty’s sake Lucille swallowed her anger and mortification. It seemed that, despite his previous words, Seagrave would be forever reminding her of her folly and deceit, but who could blame him? And if she had to bear that for Hetty it seemed the least she could do.
They were descending to the house now, through groves of late rhododendron and glades of wild flowers. It was an enchanting place, but Lucille’s spirits were lower than they had ever been. As they reached the gravel of the forecourt, Seagrave gave an exclamation.
‘Good God, my mother is here!’ Lucille followed his gaze to where a smart travelling coach with the family crest was disgorging what seemed like vast quantities of luggage onto the front steps. Seagrave swung round on her and caught both her hands. She met his imperative dark gaze.
‘Listen to me, Miss Kellaway. You can save Miss Markham’s reputation, but only if you are prepared to save your own in the process. You must stay at Cookes, and you must assume your own identity. Now, are you prepared to do so?’
He was so close. Lucille’s bemused blue gaze was trapped by the intensity of those dark eyes. Once again, that peculiar empathy seemed to draw them together. She found that she could not look away.
‘Yes, but I do not understand—’
To Lucille’s astonishment he gave her hands a reassuring squeeze before letting her go. ‘Trust me! Everything will be all right!’
Lucille gave up the attempt to think straight. In the course of one brief hour they appeared to have gone from opposition through a dangerous, if transient, physical intimacy, and were now united for the sake of Hetty’s cause. She shook her head in disbelief.
Seagrave hurried her across the gravel sweep and into the entrance hall, which was an impressive room with its waxed flagstone floor and porphyry scagliola pillars. It seemed to be full of portmanteaux and harassed servants. A pregnant silence fell as they entered. One unfortunate footman was so startled to see Lucille that he dropped the bags he was carrying. Seagrave ignored him.
‘Medlyn,’ he addressed the butler, ‘I see my mother has arrived! Where is she, please?’
‘Lady Seagrave and Mr Peter are in the blue drawing-room, sir,’ the butler said, expressionless. ‘Her ladyship is partaking of refreshment. Lady Polly is currently in her room.’ His thoughtful gaze swept over Lucille. ‘Would the young lady wish to have a moment to compose herself before going through, my lord?’
Seagrave’s gaze contemplated Lucille, taking in the twigs in her tumbled hair and the creased clothes. He smiled slightly. ‘A good idea, Medlyn! Do ask Mrs Hazeldine to look after Miss Kellaway, whilst I have a word with my mother!’ He turned to Lucille. ‘Join us when you are ready, Miss Kellaway!’ He bent closer. ‘And don’t run away!’
For some reason, his words and the warmth of his smile made Lucille feel marginally better. She went docilely with the housekeeper to a nearby cloakroom, and allowed herself to be led back to the drawing-room when once she had tidied her appearance and washed her hands and face. Her courage did not fail her until the door of the room swung open.
The drawing-room looked out across the park to the lake and Peter Seagrave and the Dowager Countess were sitting by the long windows, drinking tea. It was, Lucille thought, a particularly elegantly furnished room, with a pair of rosewood card tables and matching rosewood
sofa and chairs. Seagrave, who had been speaking as she came in, broke off in the middle of his sentence and came swiftly across to her, ushering her into the room as Peter jumped to his feet.
‘How do you do, ma’am? May we make you known to our mother?’
There was a pause. The diminutive, dark-haired lady put down her teacup and rose to her feet. Her lack of inches did not detract from her air of authority. She was impeccably elegant, her hair immaculately coiffed and her dress the epitome of understated good taste. Lucille immediately felt that her hasty preparations had been insufficient and was hideously aware of her own shabby state. She would not have been surprised to discover that she had done up all her buttons in the wrong holes.
Lady Seagrave raised one eyebrow. Her eyes were as dark as those of her sons, and just as inscrutable. They swept over Lucille appraisingly. Then the Countess gave an exclamation and hurried forward, enfolding Lucille in a warm and scented embrace.
‘Miss Kellaway! When Nicholas said that he had brought you here I was hoping—! Thank goodness I’ve found you at last!’
Chapter Seven
The Earl of Seagrave was seldom put out of countenance, but even he could feel his composure slipping in the face of this unexpected and totally inexplicable welcome. He shot Peter a quizzical glance, but his brother’s jaw had dropped so far that it was obvious he could not throw any light on the situation.
‘Mama,’ Seagrave began, ‘I did not have time to explain fully—’ He stopped and started again. ‘This is Miss Kellaway—’
The Countess let Lucille go. ‘Of course it is! I told you, I’ve been looking for her for several months!’
‘Miss Lucille Kellaway,’ Seagrave stressed, ‘not Susanna Kellaway—’
The Virtuous Cyprian Page 14