England's Perfect Hero

by Suzanne Enoch

  “You didn’t expect me to agree,” he said.

  She caught Lord Geoffrey looking at the two of them. This was silly. Playing with Robert was only going to delay her plans for Geoffrey, and might very well put them in jeopardy. Still, somewhere deep inside, Robert Carroway intrigued her. “No, I didn’t.” With a breath, Lucinda called to mind her list of lessons. “All right. This is the first lesson, more or less: ‘When conversing with a lady, pay attention to her. Don’t act as though you’re just biding your time until someone more interesting comes along.’ ”

  Robert gazed at her. “That’s it?”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “It’s only the first lesson, and I think it’s important. Not just for me, but for any lady. And now you have to tell me something.”

  “What might that be?”

  She could hear the tension beneath his words, and immediately altered what she’d been about to ask. Her curiosity about what troubled him could wait. She had no intention of hurting him. “Since you have roses now,” she said, “where would I find the words ‘Now ’tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted/Suffer them now and they’ll o’ergrow the garden’?”

  Robert blinked. “Beg pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  For a long moment he gazed at her, while she wondered whether he would—or could—answer. It wasn’t the best-known phrase in most circles. Then a slow smile touched his mouth. “It’s from Henry VI, Part Two. By Shakespeare. But he wasn’t talking about plants.”

  “I know that, but it seemed appropriate.” Relieved, and oddly pleased both that she’d surprised him and that he’d known the origin of one of her favorite quotes, she returned his smile. “You do read more than Frankenstein.”

  “I read everyth—”

  “Luce? Lucinda, listen.” Evie motioned at her. “Lord Geoffrey is telling us about the night he crossed the Tormes River in Spain.”

  “Yes, listen to the fun,” Robert murmured, closing off again and lowering his head to his dinner.

  “That’s mean,” she returned in the same tone. “There’s nothing wrong with being a hero.”

  “Heroes don’t tell their own stories,” he breathed back. “But I’ll make certain he pays attention to you.”

  For a few moments she only half paid attention to Geoffrey’s tale. She’d selected him in part because the choice had seemed amiable and painless. The goal remained precisely that, but with Robert Carroway’s involvement, the hunt had become something else entirely. Lucinda took another swallow of Madeira, feeling the heat radiating off the tall, hard man beside her. One thing the lesson-giving had become was very, very interesting.

  Chapter 7

  Their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous.

  —The Monster, Frankenstein

  Outside the breakfast room, Robert stopped. He’d risen later than usual, both because the sound of the rain outside when he’d awakened had been soft and soothing, and because the nightmares, never far away, had come calling again until almost dawn.

  “—don’t know why you always think I’m up to something,” Georgiana’s voice came.

  “Because you always are,” Tristan replied. “I’m not completely blind, you know. You and your scheming friends have picked another victim for your lessons.”

  “I have no idea what—”

  “Come now. It did take me a while to figure out that Evie had targeted St. Aubyn, but since Lucinda’s the only one left now, it’s—”

  “Stop it, Tristan,” she interrupted, her tone more amused than angry. “You’re not supposed to know anything about the lessons, anyway.”

  “You three happen to be rather consistent in your strategies,” the viscount returned. “It’s difficult to miss, once you know what to look for. Besides, suddenly inviting Lord Geoffrey Newcombe to one of our dinners? I only hope for Lucinda’s sake that it wasn’t as obvious to Geoffrey as it was to me.”

  Georgiana chuckled. “My goodness, you have become enlightened. You’re actually sympathizing with Lucinda.”

  “I’m not sympathizing with anyone. Keep me out of it, if you please.” He was silent for a moment. “But what does all this have to do with Bit?”

  Robert leaned back against the wall. Whatever the common opinion about eavesdropping, he had a long time ago learned to appreciate its merits.

  “Bit’s not involved,” Georgiana answered. “I wouldn’t put him in the middle of something like this, and neither would Luce. You’re the one who suggested he start a hobby. Lucinda is an expert in roses, and she’s…not threatening.”

  Not threatening. If that meant the same thing as serene and insightful and compassionate, Georgie was correct. For three years he’d looked forward to seeing Lucinda, even from a distance. Close to her, interacting with her, she felt like daylight after a very long, very dark night. He couldn’t help stretching his wings a little, yet he still lingered in the shadows, afraid the sun would burn him to ashes. But he’d made her a bargain, and she remained as alluring as candlelight to a moth.

  He pushed away from the wall and strolled into the breakfast room. “Good morning.”

  Tristan and Georgiana looked up from their side-by-side seats at the table. “Good morning,” Georgie returned. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hungry.” He headed for the food spread along the sideboard, wondering how things that he could remember coming easily to him seemed so far out of his grasp now. Robert drew a breath. “Tristan, are you still having luncheon at the Society today?”

  He could almost hear the look that passed between Lord and Lady Dare. “I had planned to, yes.”

  “May I go with you?”

  Silence. “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  His appetite fled as he considered what he’d decided to put himself through, but he dumped a few slices of bread and fresh fruit on his plate anyway. Being hungry only made him feel worse, and he would need every advantage he could conjure.

  As Robert took a seat, Bradshaw strolled into the room, Edward slung over one shoulder. “I do weigh more than a bag of duffel,” the Runt was protesting.

  “You’re more wiggly than most luggage,” Bradshaw conceded, setting his brother on the floor. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Pfftthh.”

  Bradshaw chuckled. “Good morning, family. Tris, may I still drag Perkins with us to luncheon? He’s been trying to get a sponsorship to the Society for ages.”

  Dare cleared his throat, while Robert pretended not to notice his oldest brother’s hesitation. Luncheon in public with family would be nerve-racking enough; if strangers were joining the spectacle, he wasn’t certain he could do it.

  “Just us today, Shaw,” the viscount said. “You and Bit and I.”

  “B…Good idea, then. Don’t want someone else diluting our splendid Carroway-ness.”

  “Oh, good heavens,” Georgiana muttered, chuckling.

  “I want to go,” Edward said, plunking himself down beside Robert and pilfering half an orange from his brother’s plate. “I have Carroway-ness.”

  “You have to weigh more than a bag of duffel before you can go to the Society Club, Runt.”

  “I do weigh—”

  “You may join me for luncheon with Lucinda and Evie,” Georgie suggested.

  “With a bunch of females?”

  “At the museum,” the viscountess continued.

  “Can we—may we—go see the mummies?”

  “Certainly. And I believe Evie has arranged for several of her charges to join us.”

  “The orphans?” Edward asked, piling jam onto his bread until it overflowed the crust and oozed onto his plate.

  “A dozen of the youngest, yes.”

  “So I’ll be the oldest.”

  Georgiana smiled. “You will be the oldest.”

  “All right, then. I’ll go with you.”

  “Thank you, Edward.”

  With the aunties gone, Robert could have had Carroway
House virtually to himself all afternoon. That was how most days went, though, and truth be told, he was growing tired of the endless repetition. Whether he would feel the same way after luncheon, he had no idea. Hell, he wasn’t even certain he would survive luncheon.

  He already knew, though, that as a recluse he couldn’t possibly be of any assistance to Miss Barrett, or to himself. If Society thought he’d come back into its pretentious little fold, however, it would certainly notice to which lady he paid attention—and so would Lord Geoffrey Newcombe.

  Robert shoved in another mouthful of toast. He tried not to think too much about it, but if he succeeded today he might actually be able to step a little out of the shadows. If mottled sunlight didn’t burn too badly, who knew where his next step might lead him?

  “I need to sit down for a moment.” Georgiana found a bench just outside the Egyptian exhibit at the British Museum and sank onto the stone with a sigh.

  Lucinda sat beside her, watching as Evie, with Edward’s assistance, explained the theories of mummification. From the wrinkled noses and groans, the children thoroughly enjoyed it.

  “I am going to make Tristan rub my feet for an hour,” Georgie said, surreptitiously kicking out of one shoe.

  “You shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

  “Don’t you start, too. I only have another three weeks before he whisks me off to Dare Park for my confinement. Whoever thought of that word, anyway? ‘Confinement.’ It sounds like I’m going to prison.”

  “Only three more weeks?” Lucinda repeated.

  “I know. It’s poor timing all around. Here you are in the middle of delivering your lesson, Bradshaw’s about to get his own ship, and Robert’s actually going to luncheon at the Society Club. If he’s finally feeling well enough to…Well, if he needs Dare’s or my support, I’ll simply have to have my confinement here in London.”

  Lucinda blinked. Robert was deliberately going out in public? It had to have something to do with their agreement. Oh, dear. If he was somehow hurt, it would be her fault. She needed to call this off at once—except that in a small, wicked way, his attention made her life feel…larger than it was. Abruptly she scowled. Her life wasn’t small; it was orderly. Robert upset the order. That fact didn’t explain, though, why she wasn’t avoiding him, and why she seemed to think about him almost constantly.

  “Luce?”

  “Hm? I’m sorry. My mind must have been wandering.”

  “In any direction in particular?”

  She looked at Georgiana. Her friend’s expression had turned surprisingly serious. “Meaning?”

  “Robert.”

  No doubt Robert would not appreciate anything she might say, but Georgie was her dearest friend, and honestly concerned about her brother-in-law’s well-being. And so was she, she was beginning to realize. It was only because he was a friend, she decided. A new friend. An unexpected friend, when she seemed to have planned the rest of her life to the last detail. “This has to remain between us.”

  “Very well.”

  “I’m serious, Georgiana. Between us.”

  Georgiana looked down for a moment, obviously considering. “Between us,” she finally repeated, nodding.

  “I offered to help Robert with his rose garden,” Lucinda said slowly, “and he refused. I think he felt I was there out of…pity, or something. He suggested that we make a trade, instead.”

  “A trade?”

  “In return for my rose cuttings and advice, Robert proposed that he would assist me in getting Lord Geoffrey to comply with the items on my list.”

  Georgiana shot to her feet, no easy task for a woman as pregnant as she was. “You told him about our lessons?” she exclaimed, white-faced.

  “No! Of course not. He broached the subject to me. He knew all about the lessons, Georgie—and about Dare and St. Aubyn.”

  Slowly Georgiana resumed her seat. “Damnation. I should have realized. He always knows everything that’s going on.”

  “One of the benefits of being practically invisible.”

  “He’s not—Oh, bother. I don’t know why I’m arguing with you; you’re not the spy. That big sneak.”

  “I don’t think he meant any harm by it. He just seemed curious.” She tucked her arm around Georgie’s. “I tried to tell him that the roses were a gift, but he insisted that he was going to help me with Lord Geoffrey.”

  “So that’s what all of this activity of his has been about. And he knows about your interest in Geoffrey?”

  It was more a statement than a question, but Lucinda nodded anyway. “Oh, he knows. He was actually under the impression that we were each choosing a man in turn with the object of marrying him.”

  Georgiana scowled. “And he just came out and said all this to you.”

  “Y—”

  The viscountess pushed to her feet again as the children filed out of the Egypt room. “Bit and I are going to have a little chat this evening.”

  “No, you’re not. Not about anything I just told you. Whatever he thinks he can or can’t do to help, I won’t be responsible for…” She searched for the right words. “For making him feel ill again.”

  Young Edward emerged at the end of the parade of orphans. Lucinda wondered what it must be like for him, to have four formidable older brothers, and to have for the most part been raised by them. The boy obviously didn’t lack self-confidence—how could he, with that family around him?

  And then there was Robert. Whatever had happened to him, whatever he’d seen, it had profoundly changed him. And for some reason, he’d decided that they had something to offer to each other, he and she. Lucinda sighed. Whatever else she might tell herself, she wasn’t simply doing a good deed. Altruism or charity didn’t explain why she kept noticing that he had the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  “Miss Lucinda?”

  She started. “Yes, Edward?”

  “I almost forgot. I’m supposed to give this to you.” The ten-year-old dug a much-folded note out of his coat pocket and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” She unfolded it to reveal Robert’s hand, surprisingly neat, as though he’d thought out each word before he put pen to paper. It asked simply if she’d care to go riding in the morning. The missive was initialed only “R.C.”

  Lord Geoffrey would be calling for luncheon at noon, and she almost refused. At the same time, her appointment with Geoffrey gave her an excuse for a short outing with her purported co-conspirator—all for the cause, and she wouldn’t have to decide yet whether allowing his continued involvement was simply a charitable act or not.

  She pulled a pencil from her reticule and scribbled her answer across the bottom of the page before she folded the note again. “Please return this,” she said, handing it back to Edward.

  Georgiana looked at her expectantly, but she pretended not to notice. If Robert had wanted his family members involved, he would have included them.

  So two gentlemen would be calling tomorrow; one to aid her in netting the second, and the other with no idea he was being hunted. And she claimed to like things uncomplicated. Ha.

  When Robert came downstairs, Tristan and Bradshaw were already in the foyer pretending not to be edgy. They knew as well as he did that he hadn’t set foot in one of London’s gentlemen’s clubs in better than five years, since he’d left England to join his regiment in Spain.

  “I had the coach brought up,” Tristan said as Robert reached them. “Unless you’d rather ride.”

  It wasn’t an easy choice; sitting for fifteen minutes in a tiny, dark coach, or giving himself an easy opportunity to escape the entire venture aboard Tolley. “The coach is fine.”

  “Good. Ready?”

  No! Robert nodded even though every muscle was taut, urging him to retreat. His breath was already coming too fast, and he forced himself to slow down. He could do this. It was just an hour or two, and then he could look forward to a ride in the early morning—with Lucinda. Or without her, if she had any sense and refused his offe
r.

  Even the butler looked concerned as he pulled open the front door for them. Robert hung back as Bradshaw and Tristan climbed into the coach. He knew he could turn around now and that neither of them would ever say another word about it. And he remembered what Bradshaw had said, that he’d done nothing with his life.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped up into the coach. His brothers would see that he was reluctant and tense, but they wouldn’t see that he was terrified—not of the coach or of the club, but that he wouldn’t be able to hold the blackness at bay and that it would strike him when he was out in the open.

  “I had a thought,” Bradshaw said into the silence.

  “Amazing,” Tristan returned dryly.

  “Very amusing. I was just going to say that with St. Aubyn now part of our alliance, we could recruit him and the Duke of Wycliffe, and apply for re-admission to White’s.”

  Tristan lifted an eyebrow. “As I recall, I was the only one banned from White’s, and it was your fault.”

  “Which is why I’m planning to get you back in.”

  “Don’t bother, Shaw. I like being banned. It reminds Georgiana how much I love her.”

  Dark humor, and gratitude for the distraction, touched Robert. “It might also remind her how angry she was at you.”

  “And that is also my point,” Shaw added. “I have many.”

  “No, that was Bit’s point, but I’m still not interested. I’m going to be a father in a few short weeks, my lads, and oddly enough, that is more significant to me than just about anything else I can imagine.”

  Robert studied his brother’s fond, amused expression. Tristan was obviously excited and pleased about his impending fatherhood. It seemed almost strange to be able to look forward to something with anticipation. Robert had spent so long dreading every night—and doubting that the following dawn would ever arrive.

  The coach rolled to a halt, and a liveried Society footman pulled open the door and flipped down the step. Once again Robert hung back, then limped down to the ground. He could do this. He wanted to do this.