by Claudia Dain
She pressed her punch glass into Chloe’s hands and started for the door herself.
“Lucy!” Chloe called. “What are you doing?”
Lucy turned back to her friend and whispered, “Going after your Scot for you. But if anyone asks, I tore a flounce and I’m headed to the retiring room. Understand?”
Chloe’s green eyes lit with joy. “You are the dearest friend.”
“Yes, yes,” Lucy said, brushing the undeserving compliment away. “But he’s getting away.” And then she rushed toward the main door, hoping to catch the departing pair before they vanished completely.
“Your mother is going to have your head.” Drew laughed as he and Ian navigated the Staveley corridors.
“Nay, she’ll have yours. I plan to blame this whole escape on ye, Brookfield.”
“Cowardly Scot,” he returned, just as he spotted the Staveley’s front door.
“Wait!” a feminine voice called from behind them. “Please, wait!”
Drew recognized that voice as it had danced around in his mind most of the previous night. His stopped in his tracks, and Ian lumbered into him, nearly knocking him to the ground.
“Eejit!” Ian grumbled, straightening his coat. “We’d almost made it.”
Drew turned on his heel to find Lucy scampering toward them, her brown curls bouncing about her shoulders. Even though Drew knew very well that he should put the pretty girl far from his mind, he couldn’t help but smile at her. “Well, if it isn’t the most willful girl in existence.”
Lucy’s step faltered, and Drew ignored the look of surprise Ian cast him. She winced a bit and said, “You heard that too?”
Damn, he shouldn’t have said that. Drew shook his head and stepped closer to the girl. “Your sister-in-law was rather loud yesterday,” he offered in way of apology. His gaze lingered down her lithe form, stopping longer than he should have on her tempting décolletage. Evening gowns were much more attractive than ordinary daydresses. At least they displayed a girl’s charms better.
“I know we haven’t been properly introduced.” Lucy thrust her hand toward him. “I’m Lucy. Lucinda Potts.”
Drew took her proffered hand in his, and desire shot straight to his loins. “Brookfield.” At her immediate frown, he continued quickly, “Andrew Yeats.”
“Brookfield?” she asked, sliding her hand from his grasp.
There it was again, that expression no one could help from making when they heard his name. Seeing it on her face, however, hurt more than it usually did. “Should I take it you knew my uncle?”
Lucy shook her head and clasped her hands together. “I didn’t have that pleasure.”
Drew couldn’t keep the growl from his voice when he said, “No one who knew him found it a pleasure, Miss Potts. Me included.”
Ian chuckled. “And this Brookfield’s never tried to kill anyone, as far as I ken.”
Drew shot his friend a glare that said better than words could have done to kindly close his Scottish mouth. Ian’s response was a wide grin and a sparkle in his dark eyes.
The Scot turned his attention to Lucy and said, “Since we’re all bein’ highly improper and introducin’ ourselves, Miss Potts, I’m Ericht.”
What was this? Why the devil was Ian trying to charm the girl? Drew would have scowled at his friend, but the man’s full notice was on Lucy. Damn him.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Ericht.” Lucy smiled warmly. “I’m acquainted with one of your sisters, actually.”
Ha! There was the opening Drew needed. “Speaking of your sister, didn’t you promise Lady Elspeth you’d stay for the whole ball this evening, Ericht?” he asked, sounding as innocent as he was able.
Ian cast Drew a sidelong glance, but then he nodded. “Aye, I did. Best go find her, I suppose. Thank ye for the reminder, Drew.” Then he dipped his head in farewell. “It was so nice meetin’ ye, Miss Potts.”
“I know there’ll be several young ladies who’ll be happy that you’re staying, my lord.”
Ian snorted. “Plottin’ my downfall, are they?”
A blush stained Lucy’s cheeks. “I’m not at all certain what you mean.”
Ian shook his head. “And I’m fairly certain ye ken exactly what I mean.” Then he winked at her. “But if ye’re one of the ladies happy I’ll be stayin’, I’ll count myself lucky.”
“Ian,” Drew grumbled.
His friend heaved a sigh. “When ye’re ready to make yer escape, doona ye dare leave without me.” Then he started back toward the ballroom.
Before Drew could respond, Lucy grasped his hand once more. “I need you, Lord Brookfield.” She tugged him toward an open doorway.
Desire shot straight to Drew’s core, and in that moment he needed her too. “I’ve never been one to disappoint a lady, Miss Potts.” Had such an innocent touch ever driven him so wild? He let her pull him into a parlor, which was luckily uninhabited by anyone other than the two of them, then he tugged her into his embrace.
Lucy blinked up into Lord Brookfield’s light blue eyes. Good heavens, he looked as though he was going to kiss her… And then he did just that. His soft, warm lips covered hers, and it was all Lucy could do not to close her eyes and simply enjoy his heat, the tingles racing along her spine, and release the moan that so wanted to escape her. But that was madness, a madness she could not indulge in.
Well…perhaps a few moments of madness wouldn’t do any real harm, would they? Lord Brookfield’s arms tightened around Lucy, and her hands fingers settled against the stone plane of his chest. Strong. He was very strong.
Lord Brookfield groaned slightly against Lucy’s mouth, the guttural sound breaking her from the spell of him.
She pushed against his chest until Lord Brookfield lifted his head, a devil-may-care smirk settled on his lips. “Yes, Miss Potts?”
That smirk was the last straw. “Let me go!” she demanded.
A look of incredulity replaced his smug expression, but he did release her, leaving Lucy much colder than she’d been mere moments before. “I thought you wanted this.”
Why in the world would he think such a thing? “You thought I wanted to be ravished in Lady Staveley’s white parlor?”
“Ravished?” Lord Brookfield tipped back his head and laughed. Then he folded his arms across his broad chest. “Miss Potts, that was just a kiss. Trust me, if I ever ravish you, you’ll know the difference.”
She was certain her face was aflame, though a very small part of her – a part she would not acknowledge to anyone, ever – was curious how it would feel to be ravished by the adventurous viscount. He did after all, have very nice lips and his arms had felt rather nice wrapped around her. But Lucy didn’t have time for such thoughts. They’d only muddle her mind and stand in the way of her ultimate goal: freedom.
Lucy assumed Brookfield’s stance by folding her arms across her chest, and she leveled the man with her sternest look. “I am not the sort of lady who wants gentlemen to kiss her in secluded parlors.”
“No?” His dark golden brow lifted in amusement. “Just the sort who follows gentlemen into corridors and tells them she needs them, is that it?”
Oh good heavens! She hadn’t meant anything untoward. Well, not unless one considered asking for advice on escaping London as untoward, which some might. But that was beside the point.
“I’ve never really spent much time in polite society,” he continued, mirth drenching his words. “So perhaps I’m wrong on that score. Am I, Miss Potts?”
He was slightly infuriating, wasn’t he? Blast the handsome devil, just standing there with a wicked glint in his eyes. Why ever had she thought to engage his assistance? But that was it, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been thinking. Not at all. She didn’t know the first thing about Lord Brookfield. She knew of his predecessor’s reputation, of course. An opium-eating, blackmailing, attempted murderer. That connection hardly recommended the viscount.
In truth, she never expected to see him again, but when she had… Well, her mind had simply ceased
working. His words the day before had so inspired her to change her situation, she thought she’d found an ally for her cause. But she’d been foolish to seek him out, and even more foolish to remain in this room with him.
“I had wanted to ask for your help, my lord.” Her arms dropped to her sides and she started for the threshold.
“Help?” he asked, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. He tilted his head to one side as though to study her better. “What sort of help?”
As though he cared about her plight now? Lucy let her gaze travel the length of him and ignored the jolt of awareness that coursed through her. He was dangerous, she could see that now. And though his suggestion the day before had inspired her new course, he wasn’t at all trustworthy. She’d have to get her help somewhere else, from someone else, or even figure it all out on her own. “Never mind, I’ve reconsidered,” she said, stepping around him as she stared back in the direction of Lady Staveley’s ballroom.
“Are you in some sort of trouble?” he called after her.
Lucy managed to keep from looking over her shoulder, from responding at all. Only a fool would involve herself with Lord Brookfield.
As soon as she stepped into the ballroom, Lucy’s sister-in-law appeared at her side. “Where have you been?” the baroness hissed.
Lucy looked up at her brother’s wife and shrugged as innocently as she was able. “Retiring room. I had a torn flounce.”
Her sister-in-law shook her head dismissively. “You and your clumsy feet.”
Lucy bit back a retort, re-injuring her sore tongue once more. Each encounter with the baroness only solidified Lucy’s resolve to find a way out of London. She would not, after all, like to end up on the gallows with a stretched neck.
Drew cursed himself for a fool as he strode back toward the Staveley ballroom. Why the devil should he care if Lucy Potts was in some sort of trouble? She clearly didn’t want his help, not now after she’d rebuffed his advances, anyway. But she had wanted it – his help that was. She might have even wanted the kiss.
After all, Drew couldn’t have been the only one affected by that kiss, could he? He didn’t think so. It wasn’t feasible that such an innocent kiss could temporarily erase the dark thoughts that plagued him, that such a brief kiss could make his heart a bit lighter or give a slight bounce to his step. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t been the only one affected by that kiss.
As Drew stepped inside the ballroom, he was struck, once again, by the sheer number of people inside the lavish room. In fact, the place seemed even more crowded than it had when he’d first arrived. How would he ever locate Lucy among this throng? And who was to say the chit had even returned to the ballroom? She might have gone anywhere, hoping to find someone else who might help her with her troubles. That particular thought made his stomach twist a bit. He should have heard her out. He shouldn’t have just pulled her into his arms and scared her away.
Drew scanned the crowd and spotted Ian near one of the corners of the ballroom, a bemused expression on his face as he met Drew’s gaze. A half-second later, the Scot gestured to the middle of the room where couples were dancing a minuet. Drew glanced toward the dancers and there, beside that overly serious Lord Carraway, was Lucy Potts!
Relief at locating her only lasted a second. Why the devil was she dancing with that stuffed up prig? Did she think Carraway would help her? She’d be wrong about that. Like most politicians, Carraway was only concerned about himself. Besides, if anyone was going to help Lucy, it was going to be Drew. Though it would be much easier to help her if he knew what it was she needed, but that thought wouldn’t hinder him. If Lucy needed help, Drew was going to give it to her. One way or another.
Drew folded his arms across his chest and waited for the set to end. As soon as the music stopped, Carraway bowed before Lucy and then escorted her to the far end of the room to where Drew immediately recognized the formidable Lady Elmstead.
Lucy’s sister-in-law looked as uninviting as she had in the library the day before. Her dark hair was pulled back tight from her face, making her features look harsh. She seemed to be crammed so tightly into her dress that one false move might make the entire thing burst at the seams, which probably explained the lack of smile on the woman’s face. Still, the scowl did not help her appearance. So Chamber Potts had married that unattractive harridan, had he? The fellow’s luck didn’t seem as though it had improved any since Drew last saw him.
Not that Drew cared one whit about Chamber…er…Lord Elmstead one way or the other. But he was more than curious about the fellow’s sister and her mysterious predicament. And he would, if given the chance and if she seemed amenable to the idea, like to kiss Lucy at least once more. With that thought in mind, he started across the ballroom toward the lovely Miss Potts, the priggish Lord Carraway, and the grossly unappealing Lady Elmstead.
However, Drew was forced to halt the instant Ian stepped into his path. The Scot shook his head slightly, still wearing the bemused expression from before. “What are you up to with Miss Potts?”
Drew frowned at his friend. What did it matter to Ian? “She was just dancing with Carraway, not me, if you don’t recall.”
“Aye. But she rushed back in here with flushed cheeks not too long ago, and she’d been with ye then.”
Flushed cheeks. Was that a good thing or a bad one? Was that the evidence Drew had hoped for that she’d been just as affected by their kiss as he had, or was it simply her ire on display? “What are you getting at, Ian?”
The Scot shrugged. “She just seems like a nice lass. Not yer sort at all.”
“And who are you? Sir Galahad all of a sudden? Aren’t you the one who told me all the girls at these affairs are devious creatures, just lying in wait to ruin your life?”
Ian nodded. “Aye, but she seems sweet. Besides, she doesna have her sights set on me.”
“So you can afford to be chivalrous in that case, is that it?”
Ian chuckled. “Ye’re not accustomed to dealin’ with proper lasses, Drew. And I’d wager she’s not accustomed to dealin’ with men like ye either.”
That was most certainly true. The look of surprise on her face after Drew kissed her had been priceless. Still, he wasn’t about to concede the point to the burly Scot. “I would have thought by now, you’d realize it’s never wise to wager against me.”
Ian chuckled. “Ye do have me there, my friend. But when dealin’ with proper lasses, I’ve had years more experience than ye have, trust me. And if ye cross the room with such a determined stride, like ye were just doin’, it’ll be noticed and by more than just Miss Potts.”
Well, if Carraway noticed it, perhaps the stuffed-up prig would take a step or two away from Miss Potts then. “I don’t see the downside in that.”
Ian’s brow shot upwards. “Ye doona see the downside? Have ye bumped yer head, Drew?”
“Bumped my head?” he echoed. Things would be much simpler to understand if Ian was just more clear in his ramblings.
“Do ye really want to connect yer name to that lass’? Ye donna have the most stellar reputation or the most pristine bloodline to recommend ye, ye ken.”
“So every other man here can dance with her, but not me. Is that what you’re saying?” Drew gritted out.
“As long as dancin’ is all ye have in mind, doona let me stop ye. Just doona look so determined about it.”
“Fine.” Drew pushed past his friend. “I’ll try to look more aimless.”
“…Well, do tell Elmstead I’ll look forward to speaking with him soon,” Lord Carraway said as he nodded a farewell to Lucy and her sister-in-law.
“Of course, my lord,” Lady Elmstead replied, reaching out a hand to keep the man from escaping. He was, after all, the sort her sister-in-law thought Lucy should set her cap for. And while the man was perfectly nice, he was also perfectly boring. Lucy couldn’t imagine spending a day with Lord Carraway, let alone a lifetime. “It was kind of you to dance with our Lucinda,” Lady Elmstead con
tinued.
Lucy winced. Did the woman have to make her sound like a charity case? She had never had a difficult time finding dance partners, for heaven’s sake.
“It was my pleasure.” Carraway smiled warmly in Lucy’s direction. He was a kind man, even if he was only trying to garner Rupert’s vote on some appropriations act having to do with the Treasury.
Before she could thank the man and send him on his way, Carraway’s brow furrowed, his gaze focused on something over Lucy’s shoulder, and then a strong hand grabbed her elbow.
“Dance with me, Miss Potts,” came Lord Brookfield’s voice from behind her.
Lucy’s heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. The memory of his kiss washed through her, and her knees went a little weak. But that was not something she should allow and not something she would admit to him or anyone else. He was dangerous, she should keep that in the forefront of her mind. After all, only a fool would involve herself with Lord Brookfield.
“Lord Brookfield,” she said, turning slightly to meet his light blue gaze and ignoring her sister-in-law’s gasp at hearing the viscount’s name. Heavens, he was handsome, but she couldn’t let that distract her. “It’s so kind of you to ask. However, I’ve already promised this waltz to Lord Richard.” And thankfully the gentleman in question was headed her direction.
Lord Brookfield glanced toward the quickly approaching Lord Richard Shelley, offered his arm to Lucy, and said, “Fortunately, Shelley is accustomed to disappointment.” He nodded toward the gentleman. “You don’t mind if I steal Miss Potts away from you, do you, Dick?”
The color drained from Lord Richard’s face. The man cast Lucy an apologetic expression, then turned his attention to Lord Brookfield and shrugged. “If the lady is amendable to the idea.”
Lord Brookfield glanced down at Lucy. He had the look of a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer, but she wasn’t about to let him run roughshod over her, even if the cowardly Lord Richard had capitulated so easily.
But before she could give the viscount a proper set down, Lady Elmstead’s waspish voice hit Lucy’s ears. “I should say not! A man of your reputation. I can’t even believe you were allowed admittance.”