England's Perfect Hero

by Suzanne Enoch

  “They know that Lord Geoffrey is meeting you and the General today for luncheon. You will come up in the conversation, and then so will the fact that you spent your morning with another man. We’ll also manage to return you home slightly late, so he’ll see you arrive at the front door with me.”

  “So we’re making him jealous? It’s a little premature for that tactic, don’t you think?”

  “We’re not working toward jealousy. We’re making certain that in his eyes you’re not just your father’s note-taker. You’re a lady with admirers.”

  Admirers. Did Robert include himself in that category? Or was this truly just a repayment for rose cuttings? Lucinda focused her gaze on Isis’s ears. It didn’t matter what his motives might be. They were making a trade. The end.

  “What if I’d decided we should go to Hyde Park?” she asked.

  “I knew you wouldn’t.”

  Lucinda lifted an eyebrow. “That’s a bit presumptive. How could you know that for certain?”

  “You’re kind and considerate, and you knew I’d hate going to Hyde Park in the middle of the morning.” His fleeting smile appeared again. “Just on the off chance you’d opted for the Park, however, Lord Geoffrey’s sister-in-law, the Marchioness of Easton, leads an entourage through there every Tuesday and Thursday. She was only a contingency plan, though, because she won’t see Geoffrey and the rest of the Newcombe family until evening after next.”

  “You are so devious,” she exclaimed. “But just for your information, I dislike Hyde Park myself.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  No doubt he would. She shook her head at him, trying to pretend that his quiet tone didn’t have an intimate edge that made her throat dry and her heartbeat quicken. “So is there anyone else we need to impress this morning?” she asked lightly.

  “No, I don’t think so. We can be as unpleasant as we like.”

  “That’s reassuring, though I’ve found that it’s easier to be pleasant when there’s less need to be so.”

  As they left buildings behind and entered an area of glades and meadows, Robert slowed, his gaze again on her face. “Talking is that way for me,” he said slowly. “I…got out of the habit of it, I think, and now I spend so much time thinking about it that the chance to speak sometimes passes me by.”

  “You talk to me.”

  “You’re easy to talk to.”

  Her cheeks warmed. For goodness’ sake, she hadn’t been fishing for compliments. Before she could think of something to say in return, Robert kneed the gelding. He and Tolley set off across the meadow at a canter. Relieved herself that she didn’t need to talk this time, she set off after him.

  Lucinda was a fair rider. She’d obviously spent more time on sedate walks than gallops, but she had enough skill to know her limitations. After a few moments of watching, Robert felt reasonably sure that she wouldn’t fall off her horse and break her neck.

  For him and Tolley the day was a nice change as well. In daylight the sense of disconnection with the world wasn’t as strong, but the fresh, warm air and sunshine were a fair compensation.

  They spent two hours racing and riding, and as a bonus, not doing much talking. It was the most freeing experience of the last three years, and the smile on his face as he dug for his pocket watch felt easy and natural.

  He flipped open the watch’s cover, then shoved it back into his pocket. He sent Tolley in a tight circle around Lucinda and her mare, Isis. “We need to start back.”

  Her dark hair with its highlights of red and gold had come loose beneath her riding hat, and a long, tangled strand caressed her cheek as she grinned at him. “Time for the second part of our plan?”

  He nodded, leading the way back to the road. Don’t look at her like that, he told himself. She was a friend, a rarity for him these days. And besides, she’d made it painfully clear both that she thought him toothless, and that she’d already chosen someone else.

  She didn’t even try to coax him into conversation on the way back to Barrett House. If his theory was correct, though, Geoffrey Newcombe would be watching for them when they turned up the drive. So, taking another breath and wishing they could have spent the entire day out of the city, he drew closer to her.

  “You were going to tell me what lesson number two entails.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” she retorted, chuckling. “You haven’t proven anything to me about your supposed success with lesson number one, yet.”

  “But I need to prepare a strategy for the next step. Surely you understand what a complex prospect all of this is. Plotting, planning, machinations, everything.”

  A blush crept up her cheeks. “It’s actually rather silly, now that I think about it. And this one really isn’t precisely for me—it’s for all ladies.”

  “Tell me,” he coaxed, noting that they were nearly at her house.

  She blew out her breath. “Fine. It just says that when a gentleman bothers to attend a dance, he should dance. Especially when there are always more ladies than men present. It’s embarrassing to be the lone female not dancing while men stand about chatting.”

  “Geoffrey’s already danced with you.”

  “Yes, but…he dances at his whim. Every young lady should be asked to dance at least once. I’m sure most handsome, popular men never even glance at who’s sitting against the wall or trying to look busy at the refreshment table.”

  “But you notice,” he countered. It made sense; she’d noticed him, as well. Dancing—that was one lesson where Lord Geoffrey definitely had the advantage. He’d said he was going to help, though, and he would find a way to do so. “I’ll look into a plan,” he said, gesturing her to precede him up the drive, and abruptly wishing that he didn’t have to return her to anyone.

  To his surprise, though, she stopped, luckily between two large shrubs and out of sight of the house. She put a hand on his arm. “Robert, the lesson is not a slight to you,” she said, her face solemn.

  Before he could convince himself of the idiocy of his impulse or think where their chaperone might be, he leaned over and touched his mouth to hers. For a second, for a heartbeat, time stopped. And then he made himself straighten, before she could pull away. “I know,” he returned quietly, when he could breathe again. “You weren’t thinking of me when you made the list.”

  She looked as stunned as he felt. Robert slapped Isis on the flank, and the mare jumped forward. He followed up the drive, noting that the curtains stirred in an overlooking upstairs room. Ah, their audience.

  He swung down from Tolley and limped forward to take her hand. “Apologies again,” he said, forcing a smile as he helped her to the ground. “Let me know how lesson number one proceeds.”

  Before she could answer, he returned to Tolley and climbed back into the saddle. For a moment, Lucinda watched him down the drive. “I’ll let you know if you’ve offended me,” she murmured, running her fingers along her lips.

  Robert took the long way home. He hadn’t meant to kiss Lucinda, hadn’t intended to do any such thing. There he’d been, claiming to be her friend, claiming to have no ulterior motive, and then the need to touch her had simply overwhelmed him. Of course he could blame it on the fact that he hadn’t touched anyone in a very long time, but that didn’t excuse anything.

  “Idiot,” he muttered, and Tolley’s ears flicked at him.

  He’d probably ended whatever bargain they had; she’d be a fool to allow him to continue associating with her after that, and Lucinda Barrett was no fool. Had it been worth it, then, to trade his best chance to return to Society for a kiss? For a soft, sweet, hesitant, momentary escape from hell?

  Yes.

  John, the head groom, emerged from the stable to take charge of Tolley as he dismounted. Robert pulled a last carrot from his pocket and fed it to the gelding. All in all, it had been a very good morning.

  By this time of day his family would have scattered to their various meetings, luncheons, and social outings. Even the Runt and his tutor, M
r. Trost, had opted to spend the afternoon at the London Zoo.

  “Master Robert,” Dawkins said as he pulled open the front door. “Shall I have Mrs. Haller prepare something for luncheon?”

  “Just a sandwich,” he said. “I’ll be in the library.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Between the foyer and the library, though, lay Tristan’s office. Robert hesitated in the doorway and then slipped inside. All of the party invitations accepted by the family lay on one corner of the viscount’s desk. Whether he’d ruined his friendship with Lucinda or not, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see her again. At the least he probably deserved a slap on the face. And besides, her second lesson had involved dancing. One had to attend an event in order to dance.

  Dance. Aside from the constant ache of his left knee, he wasn’t certain he even remembered the steps to the simplest jig. That would be a sight, Robert Carroway stumbling across the dance floor with the charitable Miss Barrett, then falling flat on his face. He grimaced. At least it might encourage all of the other males present to claim partners, if only to protect them from him.

  He went through the short stack of invitations twice anyway. It couldn’t hurt to know what was going on. Since Tristan and Georgiana would be attending them, Lucinda probably would be, as well. Thankfully, two or three looked to be fairly small and less formal, though he would have preferred knowing how disgusted Lucinda was with him before he talked himself into attending any of them.

  The front door opened. Robert swiftly restacked the cards and strode for the hall door, but stopped at the sound of something heavy hitting the foyer floor.

  “Master Andrew!” Dawkins exclaimed. “We didn’t expect you until this evening.”

  “I managed a ride with a friend. Who’s here?”

  “Only Master Robert, at the moment. You will find him in the library.”

  “My thanks, Dawkins. And if Mrs. Haller could manage luncheon, I won’t be forced to eat any furniture.”

  The butler chuckled. “Luncheon it is, Master Andrew.”

  Robert scowled as Andrew headed down the hallway. Not even he could manage to get from the office to the library without being seen, so naturally Andrew would think he’d been skulking. He seemed to skulk quite a bit, even when he didn’t intend to. Smoothing his expression, he stepped into the hall.

  “Bit!” Eighteen-year-old Andrew practically skidded to a halt. His arms lifted to deliver a hug, and then dropped again, as if he’d abruptly realized which brother he faced.

  “You’re taller,” Robert said, offering a hand.

  Surprise flashing in his light blue eyes, Andrew shook his proffered hand. “Nearly two inches. I think I’ve passed Shaw.” His eyes angled past Robert to Tristan’s office and then back again.

  He had nothing to hide, Robert reminded himself. “I was looking at party invitations,” he said. “Come to the library and tell me about your term.”

  “You want…? All right.” With a happy grin, Andrew headed down the hallway again. “What’s that patch of weeds somebody’s cleared out by the stables?”

  “It’s my rose garden.” That reminded him; he needed to water the cuttings again. Lucinda had instructed him to do so daily for the first month.

  “Your…” Andrew slowed, then faced him again. “You’ve been out riding,” he said, gesturing at Robert’s jacket.

  Robert nodded. “I went with a friend.” Though whether she was still a friend or not remained to be seen.

  “With…Sweet Lucifer.” Andrew lunged forward and threw his arms around Robert in a tight hug.

  Robert’s first instinct was to flinch backward, away from the restraint. Be calm, he shouted at himself, forcing a deep breath. It’s just Andrew. He even managed a brief pat on his brother’s back.

  “Sorry,” Andrew said, releasing him. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded tightly. “You surprised me.”

  “And you surprised me.” His brother looked at him closely, brief concern touching his blue-gray gaze again. “But I’ll warn you next time.”

  They settled into the library, and for nearly an hour Andrew regaled him with a nonstop chronicle of the highlights of his second term at Cambridge. After a morning spent in the company of Lucinda and the subsequent idiocy of his actions, what Robert desperately wanted was just a few minutes of solitary silence. Andrew had been so obviously delighted at his “improvement,” though, as he’d heard Tristan refer to it, that he couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing him.

  Even so, the strain of continuous sociability, of listening to tales of a happy, boisterous life so different from his own, began to make his hands shake. He grabbed a book and opened it, clenching his hands in his lap to hide the weakness from his brother. Shortly after that, though, the room began to close in, and his skin tighten across his muscles. Damnation. If he stayed any longer, he wouldn’t be able to stop the blackness.

  He lurched to his feet, surprising Andrew into silence. “I need to go,” he grunted, already striding for the door.

  “Do you need anything?” Andrew asked from behind him.

  “No. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Robert made it into his bedchamber and slammed the door. “Breathe,” he ordered himself. “Just breathe.”

  For several minutes he did just that, forcing himself to stroll back and forth to the window rather than stride, and keeping his breaths slow and even. To his surprise, the pace became easier, and finally he stopped to look out the window.

  Late afternoon stretched across the stable yard, and his gaze fell on his small garden. He still needed to water, he remembered. Leaving the room, though, would mean facing servants and whichever family members had arrived home, and conversation, and politeness, and…

  “Stop it.”

  This was ridiculous. All he needed to do was water a few small plants. Resolutely he went to the door. It will be simple, he told himself, and pulled it open. Down the stairs, down the hall. Keeping his gaze on his next goal, he did it. Out the front door, around the house. Dawkins pulled the door open for him, apparently reading the moment well enough that he did it without inquiry.

  Get a bucket, go to the well, and fill it. Once he made it out-of-doors, the motions became easier, and he let his mind move beyond each moment. He filled the bucket at the well behind the stable and carefully watered each cutting. After that it became necessary to pull out the weeds that had managed to sprout in three days, and then to rake the soil where he’d left boot prints and compacted the ground.

  “Bit?”

  He jumped, turning to see Tristan a few feet beyond the garden border. “What is it?”

  “Are you going to join us for dinner?”

  Blinking, Robert looked skyward. Not even a glimmer of sunset remained in the western sky. If not for a nearly full moon, he would have been gardening in complete darkness.

  But that kind of darkness, he didn’t mind. He’d done it. For the second time in a row, he’d beaten the blackness. “Andrew’s home,” he said, leaning the rake against the stable wall.

  “I know. He’s been announcing that the only Carroway brother shorter than Shaw is Edward.”

  Robert grinned. “I’d wager that Shaw’s not too happy about that.”

  “No, but I’m enjoying it, and that’s what’s important.” The viscount hesitated. “You were in my office.”

  “Yes.” He started for the door, Tristan falling in beside him.

  “Don’t be angry at Andrew; it only came out when he was telling us how he arrived home.”

  “I was looking at invitations.”

  “He said that, too. Which is why I thought I’d mention that the family will be attending the Montrose ball tomorrow night, if you’d care to join us.”

  “What about Edward?” He wasn’t going to abandon the one person who seemed to rely on him.

  “He’ll be fine for a few hours. I’ll have Mr. Trost stay late with him. He can stand to practice his mathematics a bit more, anyway.�
�

  “As long as Trost stays. The Runt doesn’t like to be left alone.”

  “So you’ll go?”

  “Everyone’s going?”

  The viscount looked at him for a moment. “Everybody else in the house, Evie and Saint, and Lucinda and the general, plus Wycliffe and Emma.”

  If even the Duke of Wycliffe and his wife were attending, then the event wouldn’t be the small one he’d looked for. At the same time, the sooner he discovered how angry he’d made Lucinda, the better. “I’ll go.”

  Chapter 9

  A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquility.

  —Victor Frankenstein, Frankenstein

  Her hand aching, Lucinda gratefully set aside her pen and blew on the top page of notes to dry the ink. Lord Geoffrey and the general sipped brandy, their conversation devolving into a discussion of the merits or lack thereof of various British officers with whom they’d served.

  “Major Scoggins?” Geoffrey said, chuckling. “Isn’t he the one who had to be tied into his saddle every morning?”

  “Yes, that’s him. I was never certain whether those measures were necessary because of his poor horsemanship or because of his tendency toward drink.” The general glanced at the small clock on his desk. “Damnation. Will you stay for dinner, Geoffrey?”

  “I would love to, but unfortunately I have a prior engagement.” He set aside his snifter. “In fact, I must take my leave.”

  Augustus Barrett rose to shake the younger man’s hand. “Thank you again for your help.”

  “No need, Augustus. Any opportunity for me to boast about my heroics is welcome.” He gaze slid once again to Lucinda. “And the audience is most definitely appreciated.”

  “And appreciative. I’ll see you out, my lord.”

  “Geoffrey, please.”

  He motioned for her to precede him, and she led the way down the hall to the foyer. All afternoon he’d seemed to make a point of including her in the conversation. Twice he’d even risen to stand at her shoulder and watch her take notes.