As he’d only returned from his country house late the night before after an urgent request for his presence there to decide how best to repair a bridge, Harry had replied in the negative. It had been a relief to discover that his late papa and Eustace had been at Cambridge together and understood what was happening.
‘I’ve only just returned to town,’ Harry said slowly. ‘Why?’
‘Not to put too fine a point on it,’ Eustace said explosively. ‘Your bloody heir.’
‘Oh lord, what has he done now?’ Harry asked warily, and with a growing sense of disquiet. ‘I sometimes think the Indies is the only answer.’
‘It’s more like what hasn’t he done,’ Eustace said. ‘He is a devil incarnate.’
Half an hour later, after showing the Earl out, he swore profusely. If Lydia found out what her papa had told him, and what his response had been, she’d either cut his balls off with a rusty saw, or just kill him slowly.
Neither appealed.
If she heard what Jeremy had suggested she would be even more annoyed. His idiotic, irresponsible heir had had the gall to suggest that, unless the Earl wanted certain things – unspecified things – made public, a betrothal between Jeremy and Lydia might be in order. The Earl had pooh-poohed the suggestion, but was, he remarked, frankly worried about what Jeremy thought he had unearthed.
‘For I can neither see nor imagine anything with regards to me he might think could sway me in such a manner,’ Eustace said slowly. ‘Unless… no, that cannot be it.’
‘If you have any idea whatsoever, please tell me,’ Harry entreated the older man. ‘So we can be ready for any arrows he shoots in your direction. He is immature and irresponsible, but until now I did not think he had malevolence or malice in him.’
‘Well, my lord, I think now you must know different,’ Eustace said as he stood up to leave. ‘And for the sake of my family he must be stopped.’
‘And for mine.’ Harry opened the door and held his hand out. ‘Leave it with me, and I will put my man on to it.’
Eustace shook his hand and nodded. ‘Sometimes we do things in our youth we hide. But those things would not be easily discovered.’
‘If there is something you must tell me.’
‘I’ll need to think.’
So he did have something to hide?
Harry went upstairs in a sombre mood, to dress for the evening and ponder just what Eustace Field could have done, which was reprehensible, and that Jeremy could have got wind of.
Nothing sprang to mind. Pugh would have his work cut out.
Now, not only did he have a boring evening ahead of him; he more problems à la Jeremy to fathom.
It was almost enough to send him rusticating. Except he wanted Lydia Field in his bed.
****
To her surprise, her parents had attended the concert, together. As soon as the applause had stopped, her parents had stood and departed to promenade and hunt out friends. It was an unusual thing, to see them together and in accord, and she couldn’t deny her mama the pleasure. That lady practically glowed, and for once even her papa seemed satisfied with his circumstances. Lydia didn’t hold out the hope it would last, but for now, let her mama enjoy herself.
She tapped Harry on the arm. ‘If we have to endure this, can we please escape for a moment?’ He turned with two glasses of champagne on his hands and raised one eyebrow in query. That action was so ‘him’, she scowled. ‘Why is it all men of a certain status can do that so effectively?’ she asked. ‘I find it terribly annoying.’
Harry laughed. ‘It is inbuilt, perhaps. Here.’ He thrust one glass at her. ‘Have this in recompense. We will escape later.’
Lydia took it without thinking, studied the golden contents, and then looked up at Harry abruptly. ‘What are you playing at?’ she asked in the manner of someone who knew the person she spoke to incredibly well. ‘You never attend things like this.’
‘Esther begged me to come and, in her words, pinch you at regular intervals to keep you awake. I have always had a soft spot for Esther, you know that.’
Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes.
A gong sounded and her parents returned, seemingly in harmony. Her mama settled down to one side of her and beamed happily. ‘Such a glorious evening, and such superb music, don’t you agree, my lord?’
Harry inclined his head. ‘I do think perhaps you could call me Harry now,’ he said with the sort of smile that could charm birds out of a tree. ‘After all, my papa and your husband were great friends.’
Lydia watched as her mama coloured with pleasure and stammered her thanks. The man had altogether too much charm. She stiffened her resolve. It would be oh so easy to give in to him and do what he wished. He smiled at her, all innocence, and sat down slightly behind her.
‘Now for another hour of purgatory,’ Harry whispered in her ear as a rotund lady stood up and began to explain that she would now sing some arias from the operas.
Could the evening get any worse? She detested opera.
‘You should be nice to me for this, if nothing else,’ Harry said with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Your mama is in heaven.’
It was true; the expression on her mother’s face was one of bliss. Even so, Lydia had to bite back her chuckle. He was so right in everything he said, even to perhaps being nice to him. Perhaps. It was a mystery to her why people wanted to listen to someone singing in a language they didn’t understand and therefore have little idea what they heard or saw. She knew her mama thought very differently, and for that reason Lydia was pleased her mother appeared to obtain so much enjoyment out of the evening.
She said as much when at last the singers had taken their bows and left the stage and Harry’s party joined the general exodus. Most would go on to other entertainments; she hoped not to.
‘I could say I did it for her,’ Harry said as they stood hemmed in and waited for his carriage to arrive at the forefront of the queue. ‘But I’ll be honest and say I did it for us.’
‘Us? But we don’t like evenings such as this,’ Lydia said, somewhat confused. ‘We agreed it was not to our taste.’
‘Very true, but it gave us time to spend together openly under the cynical eyes of our peers, who know that, and who now see I’m a friend of the family.’
Or see your attendance as sycophantic.
Hmm, and if he believed anything but that, she was the next queen. Not a position she would ever covet. Lydia shot a furtive glance in his direction. He’d bent forward slightly to listen to something her mama said. The light from a nearby sconce shone down on his head and tiny golden highlights glinted in his hair. A gentle, warm breeze teased it and ruffled it just enough to take the edge off its perfection. He grinned, turned, and saw her staring ar him, and winked. ‘Your mama says I don’t appreciate the good things in life,’ he said. ‘Tell her she’s wrong.’
‘I don’t know you well enough to be… ouch…’ Someone behind in the crowd pushed her and she swayed on the step. Harry caught her before she stumbled and slipped, and for one brief moment she sagged against him. Heat rushed through her as his firm body pressed into her softness and she moved closer to be enveloped in his scent. Her fingers twitched as she realised it would be oh so easy to put her hand on his chest – or elsewhere – stroke him, hold him…
The wayward thought shocked her more than his sudden stillness. How forward and unladylike was she? Apart from that, the idea that she… he… they…
Oh dear. And that was an understatement if she had ever made one.
Harry turned to the miscreant, who stammered his apologies, and Lydia took the opportunity to ease back a little. What on earth was she thinking about? They were in a crush of people, for goodness’ sake. To even show she was affected by his nearness would be the next on-dit of the tabbies. She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
Harry looked down on her. ‘I won’t say it was my pleasure because I’d prefer to hold you for other reason,’ he said softly so only she could hear.
‘Now I’ll have hot, erotic dreams all night.’
That was all she needed. Lydia gasped and looked down at her feet as he laughed quietly. He was altogether too much of everything. His forward talk might intrigue her, but over and above that it scared her. Not that she thought he would do anything to upset her, but even though she was nowhere near as unworldly and biddable as many people thought, in the grand scheme of things she knew she was still an innocent. And until very recently had been content to be so. Now, although her feelings startled her, she couldn’t help but wonder just what could happen. Lydia sighed, deep enough to ruffle the hem of her gown.
‘Hell, isn’t it?’ Harry breathed the words close to her ear. ‘Especially when you won’t admit you want me as much as I want you.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Lydia said rapidly and looked around them desperately. Where was her mama to rescue her when she needed it? Sadly, her parents were now a few feet away, so she was on her own. ‘What I do wish to understand is all this talk about a betting book?’ They moved to the top of the steps, ready to walk down and get into his carriage. ‘Who do I need to kill?’
Chapter Eight
‘I beg your pardon?’ Harry sounded guarded, but at least she was reasonably sure she’d changed the direction of his thoughts. Even though she accepted he’d return to his original train of thought sooner or later, for now she had a breathing space.
‘Kill, as in stab or put a bullet through them,’ she explained. ‘Or arrange for strangulation or asphyxiation.’
‘I have no idea what you mean,’ Harry said unconvincingly.
As if he knows something I do not.
‘Ah, here we are, almost at the carriage.’ Now he sounded relieved.
At least it had taken his mind off bodies close together… she hoped. They reached the pavement and Esther, who she had been unable to talk to during the evening, approached to kiss Lydia affectionately. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow for tea?’ Lydia asked with a pointed look. ‘We can chat over this evening and plan our next outing together.’
Esther nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll look forward to all of it, you know that.’ She and Cranswick left in their coach, and Harry turned to the Countess to offer his hand to help her into his carriage. Lydia’s father followed and he turned to Lydia. ‘Now you, my dear.’
She took his hand and glared at him. His smile was so inscrutable, Lydia wanted to slap it off him. Was that what attraction did to you?
‘The betting book,’ she hissed as she put one foot on the step. Inside, her mama was settling her skirts and chatting animatedly to her husband about the soprano. Lydia mentally rolled her eyes. It would be a boring drive home. ‘What does that tell you?’
‘Pardon? The what?’ Harry asked as she bent her head to go through the door.
‘Do not come that with me; you know fine well what I mean,’ she said in a staccato undertone. ‘Tell me.’
‘Later.’ He got in after her and rapped on the roof. Her mama immediately began to thank Harry for the evening once more. Lydia let the conversation wash over her and looked out of the window as the coach rattled over the cobbles and towards her parents’ town house. Why had they all now transferred to his coach, when they had arrived in their own? Whatever the reason, she hoped he’d come in for a glass of something. And that she’d get a chance to talk to him. It wouldn’t be easy, she knew that. Her parents wouldn’t leave them alone together, and Harry was too much a gentleman to suggest it.
Nevertheless, her hopes were realised, and as her mama arranged for sandwiches to be served, and her papa poured brandy and wine, Lydia wandered towards a wide window seat and sat down. Harry put one arm on the wall next to it and looked down at her.
‘I must thank you for your charming company this evening,’ he said as he watched her smooth her silks out and present, she hoped, the perfect picture of a demure lady. Who, if not in the first blush of youth, was still very presentable. Good lord. She almost sniggered at her thoughts. Was it time to buy lacy caps and complain that all the debs did was twitter and giggle? Not when a man looked at you in the way Harry had until the shutters came down on his emotions. Lydia brought her thoughts firmly back to Harry and his conversation.
‘Must you? I was hard pressed not to fall asleep, and I swear someone snored.’
He grinned. ‘Not guilty… this time. I had you and your charms to keep me awake. All of me.’
Did he mean what she thought? She daren’t risk a closer look at his torso, in case he did, or didn’t mean that part of his anatomy, but she knew her glance dropped for a second. Damn it, why did she have to do that? In all of her twenty-five plus years, she’d been happily unaware of men other than as annoyances. Why now, when she had almost attained her goal of leaving the ton, did this man interest her?
Harry laughed. ‘I have controlled it for now.’
‘I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said primly, and lowered her lashes over her eyes, but not before she knew he’d seen the smile that played over her lips. ‘Let’s hope mama doesn’t ask me to play the pianoforte and you to sing.’
‘Minx, I best not do anything to draw attention to myself.’
Lydia discarded the stern talking to she had been about to give herself and decided just for once to flirt. After all, it wasn’t going to be for long, and at least then she would know what it was like. ‘Perhaps you should sit then.’
‘Too close. I can smell your perfume and it teases my senses too much.’
‘I don’t wear perfume,’ she said, puzzled.
‘It’s your scent, essence of Lydia. I crave it near me.’
How exciting to banter like this as her parents fussed over the refreshments at the other side of the room. ‘How nice,’ she said inanely. Was that really her trading innuendo with a man? A man who, if rumours were true, just needed to beckon and any number of ladies answered. What happened next, she was somewhat hazy about. Having a sneaky peek at pamphlets that circulated at school was, she knew, no substitute for the real thing. If she were honest with herself, surely they had to be a joke? No man could possibly be comfortable with a… a thing like it depicted. And as for it fitting into a woman? Not a chance. She squirmed uneasily, and gulped. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I,’ Harry said ruefully. ‘Doubly so as I thought I was entertaining enough for you to be scintillated. I’ll have to try better next time.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Please, no more violins or opera.’
‘No, not for a while anyway, not unless I need to get into your mama’s good book. What would you like me to do? I am at your service.’
‘It depends,’ she said sweetly.
‘It does?’
Lydia nodded.
‘On what? The weather. It’s supposed to stay fair, and I thought a ride in the park would be perfect.’
‘Not on the weather, although I grant you, a ride in the park could be lovely. No, on that blasted betting book you seem not to know about,’ she said firmly. ‘Which I want to know about.’
‘What about it?’ he asked warily.
Lydia checked her parents were still not in earshot. ‘I was going to suggest you put a bet on my behalf.’
He smiled as his eyes crinkled up. It was no wonder the debs thought of him as Handsome Harry, she thought. Like this he was every deb’s dream. Luckily, she was inured. A pang of something like regret hit her. She could easily be swayed and be what he wanted, but at what cost to herself and her intentions? Lydia knew she could pretend to be boring and fade into the wallpaper if it got her what she wanted. To actually be a biddable wife was out of her comprehension.
‘A bet for you? On who? I’m not even an outsider now, I believe.’
That thought, that she wasn’t considered woman enough for him, hurt. Why? She had carefully cultivated that persona, so how, now it was working, could she wish the opposite?
‘Oh no,’ she said limpidly. ‘On that I’d stay single.’
Harry s
hook his head. ‘No one would take it. That rumours start for a reason is the byword of the ton.’
Lydia stopped herself before she began to tap her foot. ‘Then neither wed or betrothed until the end of the season, or if not that, the start of the next season. Then I really will be considered an old maid on the shelf. I’ll be left alone, live permanently in the country, and keep chickens.’
****
She’d silenced him again, Harry thought, as, three mornings later, he walked up the steps of her parents’ town house and rapped the knocker on the heavy wooden panels. It was a situation he hadn’t experienced before, and it unnerved him somewhat. She’d started off as someone he thought he could – he was ashamed of it now – toy with until Jeremy had given up his pursuit of her, transformed into a person who intrigued him and made him wonder ‘what if’, and now was a thorn in his side. Why, when he was to all intents and purposes showing her how fulfilling her life could be, was she still so insistent she was not the one for him?
He remembered every second of the evening they’d spent together. He couldn’t have told anyone what the musicians played or how the soprano looked. Nor even how many encores they received. But he could recite chapter and verse on how the diamonds in her ears sparkled in the lamplight, and the cut of her elegant silk gown emphasised her beautiful curves and made his body ache.
The way she had flirted just a little and, as she relaxed with him, become less tense, more open. Her wide-eyed astonishment when she’d caught the drift of his speech, and her tentative responses.
There was definitely much more depth to Lady Lydia Field than she showed to people, and he wanted to know all of it. Harry spent a restless night, determined to move his suit forward, only to be scuppered by the weather.
Their plans to ride the following morning had to be postponed due to a sudden violent thunderstorm, which rumbled on for most of the daylight hours. The next day, Harry was promised to friends at Tattersalls who wanted his advice on some horses, and he’d deliberately not been to any of the balls he might find her at that night. He might be taking the wrong tack, but he was no glutton for punishment. To have to endure several hours of silly debs making sheep’s eyes at him, just to perhaps have one dance with Lydia, was not going to happen.
The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia Page 12