England's Perfect Hero

by Suzanne Enoch

  The door was pulled open. “Good evening,” Evie said, smiling as she kissed Lucinda on the cheek and tugged the two of them into the room. “You’re our first arrivals.”

  St. Aubyn appeared at his wife’s shoulder to slide a hand possessively down her spine. “And you have fortuitous timing, too. I was just about to win an argument.”

  Evelyn blushed. “No, you weren’t.”

  “We’ll have to continue later, then,” he drawled, green eyes assessing his bride. “General Barrett, allow me to challenge you to a game of billiards. I believe the ladies wish to chat.”

  The general lifted an eyebrow. “Considering the relationship of Lucinda and Evelyn, I believe you should call me Augustus.”

  The marquis nodded. “I do seem to have joined a larger family than I expected. This way then, Augustus. If I win, you may call me ‘Saint.’ In the unlikely circumstance that I lose, I will insist on being referred to as ‘Your Most Beneficent Lordship, the Marquis of St. Aubyn.’ ”

  Augustus chuckled. “Don’t think that’ll sway me, young man.”

  The two men vanished down the hall, and Lucinda watched after them for a moment. “I still can’t quite grasp it.”

  “Grasp what?” Evie asked, taking a seat on the couch.

  “His most beneficent lordship,” Lucinda returned with a smile. “Michael Halboro. I mean, I know what lengths he went to in order to win you, but…my goodness, you married the Marquis of St. Aubyn.”

  “My mother refuses to believe it,” Evelyn said with a small grimace, “and my brother still barely speaks to either of us.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, I’m not. Michael thinks it bothers me, too, but it really doesn’t. I leave it to them to accept that I’m brave and independent and that I love Saint as much as he loves me. Because I’m not about to change now. Arriving here took far too much effort.”

  Effort. “Do you think I’m cheating?” Lucinda asked abruptly. “And please, please tell me the truth.”

  Evie grasped her hands to pull her down onto the couch. “Truthfully,” her friend said, gazing at her closely, “I don’t see how making a decision and then taking steps to realize your goal could be cheating.”

  “I meant about the lessons.”

  “Luce, you’re not cheating. Whatever we thought we were talking about that day, I think we were actually expressing a certain…dissatisfaction with our own lives.”

  “I don’t need a husband in order to be happy,” Lucinda retorted.

  “That’s not what I mean.” Evie sighed. “I am much happier now, with Saint. But I’m also happier because my family’s not controlling my life.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me,” Lucinda said quietly. “I don’t feel a driving ambition to do anything but see that the general is cared for, and to keep as much chaos from my life as possible.”

  Evie chuckled. “It’s just as well you didn’t fall in love with Dare, then.”

  A fleeting vision of Dare’s troubled younger brother made her frown, but she shook it off before Evie could notice. For someone attempting to avoid trouble, though, she seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time contemplating a certain pair of cobalt blue eyes. “Or with your Saint, for that matter, as much as I’m coming to like him.”

  Evelyn sat back. “Just because you require something different than Georgiana or I did, doesn’t mean you’re cheating.”

  For a long moment Lucinda sat and looked at her friend. “I have to apologize to you, Evie,” she finally said.

  “For what?”

  “I always knew what a good, true, and generous friend you were,” she continued, “but I didn’t realize how very wise you have become.”

  “Oh, what did I miss now?” Georgiana said from the doorway. “It’s Tristan’s fault; he insisted on—”

  “Darling, please,” the viscount interrupted, leaning in behind her. “No need to go into that. Just ask them where the other gentlemen are.”

  “Tristan!” Georgiana flushed bright red.

  Evelyn, though, laughed. “In the billiards room.”

  “Hurray!” Edward’s voice came from deeper in the hallway. “Saint’s going to teach me how to cheat!”

  “Oh, good heavens,” Georgiana muttered, vanishing again amid the clomping of boots. “Edward, you are not—”

  “I definitely don’t envy Georgie, sometimes,” Evie stated, still chuckling.

  “And with Andrew due back in London, she’ll have five Carroway males to contend with.” Lucinda smiled. She found herself wondering whether one particular Carroway had joined the group tonight or not, but she resolutely shook the thought away. She had other things to concentrate on—like allaying any suspicions Lord Geoffrey might have about why he’d been invited to the gathering.

  If he planned on attending, that was. “Evie, are you expecting anyone else?” she murmured.

  Gray eyes danced. “Yes. Any moment now.”

  With perfect timing a tall, dark form filled the drawing-room doorway. Lucinda looked up, expecting to see Lord Geoffrey, but the deep blue gazing at her could only belong to one man. “Mister Carroway,” she said, surprised by her fast intake of breath. Well, she hadn’t expected to see him there, for heaven’s sake.

  “Lady St. Aubyn,” he said in his low voice, “Miss Barrett.”

  Evie looked at least as startled. “Mister Carroway. I’m so pleased you decided to come. Won’t you join us?”

  He glanced at Evie, then settled his gaze again on Lucinda. “Might I have a word with you first, Miss Barrett?”

  “Of course.”

  Avoiding Evie’s curious look, she rose and followed Robert back into the relative quiet of the hallway. He’d dressed all in gray but for the white of his simply tied cravat. The color and the dim light darkened his eyes to twilight, and again she felt the unsettling sensation that he could read her thoughts.

  “I planted the cuttings,” he said abruptly. “And the fish.”

  “You did? Good.”

  “And I made you a bargain.”

  Oh, my. “Mister Carroway, you don’t need—”

  “Robert,” he interrupted.

  “Robert, then. I appreciate your offer, but it’s really—”

  Slowly he reached out a hand and touched her cheek, fingers drifting against her skin as though he expected her to evaporate. “I said I would help,” he murmured, “and I will.”

  A tremor ran down her spine. Whether he had accepted the roses or not, she hadn’t expected him ever to mention their agreement again. And she hadn’t expected to feel…excited by his touch. Lucinda gazed up into his serious blue eyes. “Rob—”

  “Good evening, Lucinda,” the smooth voice of Lord Geoffrey drawled as he topped the stairs. “And Carroway. Surprised to see you here.”

  Robert lowered his hand. Lucinda realized both that Geoffrey had seen the gesture, and that Robert had intended for him to do so. With a glance from her to Geoffrey, Robert turned on his heel and vanished in the direction of the billiards room.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Geoffrey said, taking her hand and bowing over it.

  “Yes.” Lucinda resisted the urge to clear her throat. “He’s a…friend of mine.”

  “So I saw. Will you assist me in locating our host and hostess?”

  “Certainly. This way.”

  As she started off, Lord Geoffrey offered his arm. Wrapping her fingers around his sleeve, she guided him to the drawing room. How strange this evening had become. Five minutes ago she would have wagered both that Robert Carroway would never put in an appearance at Halboro House, and that despite his assurance whatever help he offered would be both useless and unwelcome. It seemed, though, that she would have been wrong—on both counts.

  Surreptitiously she reached up to touch her cheek where he’d caressed her. Her skin felt warm. How very strange indeed.

  With a slow breath Robert pushed open the billiards-room door and stepped inside. The rumble of mal
e voices hit him first; it sounded as though everyone was talking at once. Then he made out Georgiana’s higher, sweeter tones, aimed as usual at trying to dispel some of the chaos. He focused on her, mostly to give himself another moment before he faced the man in the back of the room. As he’d been telling himself all day, he’d entered into an agreement with Miss Barrett, and he couldn’t fulfill his part of it from behind the walls of Carroway House—no matter who he might have to encounter along the way.

  “I have your word then, Saint,” Georgie was saying.

  “You have my word. I will only pass on such skills of mine as may be deemed socially acceptable.”

  “Georgie, you’re going to ruin me,” Edward complained.

  “No, I’m trying very hard to see that that doesn’t happen,” she returned, and with a swift kiss to Tristan’s cheek, she backed toward the door.

  Robert sidestepped so she wouldn’t crash into him. “Georgiana,” he said, pulling the door open for her.

  She touched him on the shoulder before she slipped from the room. Georgiana knew a little of what had happened to him, because he’d told her. She’d told Tristan, but he knew it hadn’t gone any further than their immediate family. After all, what family would want it to be known that their brave soldier hadn’t been wounded at Waterloo, but had missed the battle entirely? That he’d been kept in a prison for seven months, and had had no part in either of Bonaparte’s two surrenders? What excuse would he then have for anything?

  He pulled in a breath. And what would even his own family think if they knew everything about those seven months? Robert shuddered, deliberately lifting his gaze to the man who, for a time, anyway, he’d wanted to kill.

  “Don’t you worry, lad,” General Augustus Barrett said to Edward, “I didn’t promise anything. You stay close to me, and you’ll learn a thing or two.”

  At that moment Lord Geoffrey entered the room, and Robert edged farther away from the growing crowd. He wasn’t surprised when the general stepped up to be the first to greet Newcombe.

  “Geoffrey, you know everyone, don’t you?” Barrett asked, shaking the hand of the Duke of Fenley’s fourth son. “Our host, Lord St. Aubyn, and—”

  “Saint,” the marquis interrupted with a slight, dark smile.

  “Yes, of course,” Geoffrey replied. “Thank you for having me. The invitation was appreciated, if unexpected.”

  “I like surprises,” Saint returned.

  The general stepped in again. “All the rest are Carroways. Tristan, Lord Dare, and his brothers Lieutenant Bradshaw, unfortunately of His Majesty’s Navy, Edward, and—”

  “Call me Runt,” Edward said proudly. “I’m the youngest.”

  “Runt,” Geoffrey said, solemnly shaking Edward’s proffered hand.

  “And the other one there’s Robert,” General Barrett finished, barely sparing him a glance.

  Geoffrey faced him. “Yes. We’ve met.”

  Robert inclined his head, his attention still on the general. So that’s who he was to Barrett—“the other one.” At least the contempt was mutual.

  “Thank you,” a low, deep voice came from close beside him. Saint leaned on his billiards cue, his gaze on the game.

  “For what?” Bit muttered back.

  “Being a new addition to the group, I’d begun to think it was me you were avoiding at our various gatherings,” the marquis continued, keeping his voice quiet. “But it’s not me, is it? It’s Barrett.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Saint nodded. “Fair enough. All the same, I wouldn’t mind eventually hearing why. I generally trust my first impressions of people, and both of you seem to have ended up on my very small good side. I’d like to know if I’ve erred.”

  “You have,” Robert returned. “With both of us.”

  “How interesting. You don’t mind if I continue observing, then.”

  Robert wanted to tell him to bugger off, but he knew enough about the marquis not to want him as an enemy. “Suit yourself,” he said instead.

  “I always do.” Saint signaled one of the footmen stationed around the room. “And in the meantime I think I’ll make a change in the dinner seating arrangements. I believe Evie put you next to Augustus.”

  Bloody hell. He’d managed to make it there by concentrating on how he could assist Lucinda; dinner seating hadn’t occurred to him. For Christ’s sake, he almost never stayed anywhere long enough for dinner. “Thank you, then.”

  “You served on the Dreadnought?” Lord Geoffrey asked Bradshaw.

  “I did,” Shaw returned. “We saw more than a dozen engagements during the war.”

  “Ha.” General Barrett looked up from instructing Edward. “A dozen engagements? How many of those were against French scows trying to run a blockade?”

  Shaw only grinned. “A few.”

  “Enough for Shaw to be made captain,” Edward said loyally.

  “Congratulations, Carroway,” Lord Geoffrey put in. “Perhaps I should have considered making my fortune in the Navy.”

  “Nonsense, lad. Much more opportunity for advancement in the Army.”

  “Bit met Wellington once,” Edward offered, as he concentrated on lining up his next shot.

  Gray eyes turned in Robert’s direction. “I’m certain he did,” the general conceded. “His Grace always made a point of calling on his wounded officers.”

  “It was before that. They shared a bottle of whiskey.”

  Geoffrey lifted an eyebrow. “Do tell. Why not regale us with the tale, Carroway?”

  Robert returned his gaze levelly. “No.”

  Tristan and Bradshaw stepped forward at the same time. “It’s your shot again, Runt,” the viscount said, moving casually between Robert and Lord Geoffrey.

  “I’d like to point out that I’ve been losing intentionally,” Saint put in, shifting, whether by coincidence or not, to block Robert’s view of General Barrett, “which makes me quite the generous host, does it not?”

  The Halboro butler marched into the room. After giving a slight nod to St. Aubyn, he threw back the door. “Dinner is served.”

  As the relocation to the drawing room to join the ladies began, Edward found Robert. “Who am I supposed to escort?” he whispered.

  Robert did a quick calculation. With three females present, Newcombe would be the last man to escort a guest of the opposite gender—and that would be Lucinda Barrett. “You may escort me,” he said in a low voice.

  “Good,” the boy returned. “I’m glad you came, or I’d have to escort myself.”

  Well, at least one of them was happy he was there. As they joined Shaw in back of the pairs strolling into the dining room, though, he had to modify that thought. Georgie made a point of smiling at him, while Tristan and Bradshaw both gave him a look while pretending not to do so.

  All right, so all the Carroways were happy he’d managed to last till dinner. And maybe he owed it to them to last through the evening. He sent a glance at Lucinda, who was studying Lord Geoffrey’s profile. If he’d been Geoffrey, he wouldn’t have wasted time in the billiards room. Any thought of comparing himself with Fenley’s son vanished, however, as he realized where St. Aubyn had decided to seat him.

  “Miss Barrett,” he said, taking the chair beside her.

  She looked so elegant, and at the same time perfectly at ease. It was an emotion he could remember, if never hope to duplicate. He wondered if, despite her willingness to exchange words with him, she wished she hadn’t run across him that afternoon in the spare bedchamber. At the same time, her breathing had stilled when he touched her cheek. He knew that, because it had felt as though his heart had stopped beating. Was it a sign, then, that he wasn’t completely dead and decayed inside? Or did it mean he was simply becoming obsessed with Lucinda Barrett?

  Who was he helping, then: her, or himself? Whoever it was, he needed to elevate himself from mute shadow to rival. He’d begun the process, but one touch, soft and breathless though it had been, was no
t enough.

  “It occurred to me,” he said quietly, waiting until boisterous conversation had begun around them, “that I might be of more assistance if I knew what appeared on your list.”

  “My…No!” she hissed nearly soundlessly.

  You can do this, he shouted at himself, then forced a small smile. “If you don’t want to tell me, I could guess.”

  Lucinda took a rather large gulp of Madeira. “Mister Carroway—Robert—I appreciate your offer, but I really do not need your help. The rose cuttings were a gift, nothing more.”

  He must sound as desperate as he felt. “What if I told you,” he murmured, “that Geoffrey considers himself a hero, and that it is his opinion that has convinced everyone else?”

  She looked sideways at him, then slid her gaze toward Geoffrey, who was deep in conversation with the general beside him. Ah, ha. No wonder Evelyn was sending infuriated looks at her husband. She’d meant for Geoffrey to sit beside Lucinda, and Saint had made new arrangements, putting the mute beside Miss Barrett. Robert apparently owed Saint a favor, then.

  “Lord Geoffrey is assisting my father in re-creating missing portions of his field journals,” she said. “So you see, I thank you again, but I have things quite well in hand.”

  “Very well. Tell me one item on your list, and I’ll stop pestering you.”

  “I will not—” She closed her soft lips. At least he imagined they would be soft. “One item.”

  “Just one.”

  “Very well.” Lucinda settled her napkin in her lap. “I will tell you one thing if you will tell me one thing.”

  Cold clenched into his chest. What if she asked something that he couldn’t answer? What if he locked down into silence again, where he couldn’t speak at all? It had taken him a year to crawl out of that hole—and he wasn’t going back, not for anything, not for anyone.

  “Do we have a deal, or not?” she prompted.

  Stop it, he said to himself. His favorite mantra. She’d made a very simple challenge, one she expected him either to accept or to refuse. One she might make of any normal human. “Deal,” he managed, his low voice hoarse.

  “D…Really?”

  For a moment, his expression softened into a fleeting smile. Lucinda could see it deepening into his eyes. In response, for the barest of beats, her breath caught. Good heavens. If he wasn’t such a wreck, he would be irresistible.