by Ivory Lei
As the lad lifted the pistol, he added, “Slow and steady, Colin. I don’t want you accidentally blowing your head off.” He watched Colin adjust his aim. Lucas had been tutoring Penelope’s brother in the library for most of the three days since he moved into Highfield Manor. Today, however, the lad seemed as frustrated as Lucas was of being indoors, so he decided to take Colin outside for some target practice.
“It’s really kind of you to teach me how to shoot. When the boys in the village find out, maybe they’ll let me join their hunting parties.”
He glanced at the boy. “It was nothing. You’re the man of the house while your father is at work, so you have to know how to protect your women.”
“I would much rather spend time outside the house,” Colin muttered. “Polly and Sarah are good fun, but all my friends are at school.” He shrugged. “Someday, I’ll be able to go back.”
Lucas had been only a year older than Colin when Father had killed himself and he’d had to stop going to school to take over the estate. It had taken a few years before he was able to go to university. He realized Colin must be as lonely as Lucas had been at that age, with tons of responsibility and no one to talk to. Colin needed to learn to be a man, and no one was there to show him how.
In the beginning, Lucas thought of tutoring the boy as merely a way to pass the time while he rusticated in the country, but it had soon become clear his future brother-in-law had a sharp mind.
It was a shame Colin had to quit school, Lucas thought as he began reloading his pistol.
Once he and Penelope were married, he’d make certain the boy got the proper education he deserved. He told himself it was only practical to make sure his future wife’s family was educated decently. They were to be associated with his family, after all. It was, therefore, imperative they have a status of living that was beyond reproach. But it was impossible to remain unmoved when every day Lucas saw how the family pulled together to make ends meet.
He’d never seen such a united group, and they welcomed him into their fold as if it were his due. It had been a long time since he had belonged to any sort of group — he’d felt comfortable and safe in his solitary ways.
But the eccentric Walkers would have none of his self-imposed isolation. They knocked on his door. They asked him for advice. They politely ordered him about. They made him feel accepted, as though he had nothing to prove to them.
If only he could feel accepted by his fiancée.
He scowled. He’d been the perfect gentleman for the last few days, trying to convince Penelope to trust him, and he’d never been more frustrated in his entire life. He’d dared to do nothing more than hold her hand in public, and she’d avoided him in private. As a result, he had developed an unhealthy fixation with those hands of hers.
He obsessed about how perfectly they fit in his and the softness of her creamy skin. He’d seen the gentle way those hands healed her clients’ ungrateful cattle, and he’d grown hot and hard as a rock each time he saw those hands stroking her patients. She had such pretty hands.
Lucas wanted those hands on him.
He dreamed about having his mouth on those elegant fingers, licking and sucking them until she moaned. He ached to kiss that adorable little scar on the back of her left hand, the one she got when a neighbor’s nervous cat scratched her. To have her delicate little fist wrapped around his —
He groaned and looked out over the sleepy rolling hills of Highfield Manor and the bordering woodlands beyond. The woman was driving him mad! Just like the goddess Circe, whom she resembled, his fiancée had turned him into a beast. If he didn’t take caution, she’d have him begging for her touch like her slobbering, besotted border collie.
Another shot rang out, interrupting his thoughts.
“I missed!” Colin groaned.
Lucas shifted his gaze to the target. “That’s common for beginners. Here, try again.” He handed over his pistol.
Colin looked at him curiously before taking it. “Can I ask you something, Ravenstone?”
“As long as the question doesn’t involve where babies come from,” he replied, half-serious.
“What will you do if Polly decides not to marry you?”
Damn. He thought Colin wanted to ask him something about shooting. “She will marry me.”
“But what if she — ”
“She’ll marry me,” he repeated in a firmer tone. Then he gave Colin an amused look. “You don’t seem to hold a lot of faith in my abilities.”
“It’s not that. Well, you must have noticed Polly’s not like most women,” Colin remarked, checking his pistol. Then he looked straight at Lucas. “Why do you want to marry her?”
Wasn’t the answer obvious? “She’s my fiancée.”
“Yes, but you didn’t ask for her. Surely there are other women you can marry. Prettier ones. Ones who are not so bossy. Or eccentric. Or poor.” The last bit was said in a low voice that, nevertheless, hinted of wounded dignity.
“Or have insolent little brothers,” he added to the list. “I’ve made my decision to marry your sister. So it doesn’t matter what other women are like, does it?”
“I s’pose,” Colin shrugged, finally turning to face the target.
He let out a breath, glad the questioning was over. He could hardly say he was marrying Penelope because he needed a wife to retain his estates and fulfill Father’s need for vengeance as stated by the terms of his will. And the thought of her marrying someone other than him twisted Lucas’s stomach into knots.
He had to change tactics. Perhaps he should stop playing the gentleman and just compromise her. Slake his thirst. She would have no choice but to marry him then. That would end his stupid obsession with her. He wouldn’t be spending endless nights pacing outside her bedchamber, torturing himself with images of her in bed, sleeping. He would finally be able to go back to his orderly life.
But the nymph would be his. Permanently. He smiled at the thought. It would serve the scheming little chit right.
Perhaps, once they were married, Penelope would learn to care for him with the same devotion she showed her family and the animals she cared for. The thought of her worriedly nursing him back to health with kisses and caresses made his blood sing.
A shout from somewhere in the direction of the manor made both him and Colin whirl toward the sound. And there, standing in the middle of the open field with the sunlight caressing her lovely, indignant features, was the object of his obsession.
“What is going on out here?” Penelope demanded as she strode toward them.
Colin backed up, tripping on the picnic basket Cook had insisted they bring with them. “Ravenstone was teaching me how to shoot, so I can protect you while Papa’s away on his rounds with patients,” he answered when she reached them.
She bristled. “You never needed to shoot before, and you don’t need to now!” She snatched the pistol from her brother’s hand, ignoring Colin’s protests.
Lucas was suddenly paralyzed with fear. Penelope was holding a loaded pistol, clearly with no idea how to handle it. He’d seen young men injured, and worse, from such a stupid act.
“Polly,” Colin cajoled, holding his hands up. “I can assure you Ravenstone is knowledgeable with firearms — ”
She whirled on Lucas like an enraged woodland fairy, her faded ivory and sage gown swirling around her. “You should have known better than to give my brother a dangerous weapon!” She brandished the pistol in his direction.
Good God, she looked amazing when riled. Her hazel eyes shone bright in the midday sun, and her cheeks were flushed pink. Her pretty breasts heaved with each angry breath that passed through her parted lips. Would she be as fiery in his bed? He was certain she would be.
“I can’t believe you’d do this, Colin!” Penelope choked out, hysterical. “When I think of how I felt he
aring those shots, and then seeing you with a pistol — ” She waved the weapon again.
Another shot rang through the valley. This time it was accompanied by an astonished howl of pain. His.
“Oh my God,” Penelope whispered.
“You shot him!” Colin cried.
“Oh my God … ” Penelope repeated.
Lucas held his left arm, aware that he was more shocked than hurt. The little idiot had shot him!
Penelope laid the pistol carefully on the ground then slowly approached as he continued to clutch his arm, his bewilderment slowly giving in to simmering rage.
She swallowed. “Lucas? Let me look at your arm.” She reached for him but stopped when he let her see his thunderous expression.
“If you are wise, Penelope,” he warned, “you will run as fast as you can and avoid me for the next fifty years.”
She seemed to register the threat in his voice. “Don’t be silly, Lucas. Let me have a look at your arm.” She walked toward him again.
“Ummm, Polly … maybe you should heed his lordship’s advice,” Colin croaked.
“Lucas will never hurt me.”
She seemed so certain of her opinion, and only she knew why. In the mood he was in, he was likely to throttle her if she came any nearer.
“You shot me,” he said quietly.
“Yes, but I didn’t mean to. I swear it. I’m sorry, Lucas.” She gave him a helpless look. “I wanted to talk to you about something, and I shouldn’t have got all riled up. Please stop glaring at me.”
“You shot me!” he roared.
“I know. I’m really sorry,” she said in a soothing tone.
Oddly enough, her gentle voice started to work on him like a balm. Then the absurdity of the situation hit him.
“You’re sorry?” he sputtered. “You don’t apologize after you’ve shot someone.” He advanced on her. “People apologize after they’ve spilled someone’s drink, or stepped on someone’s toes.” He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. It didn’t work. “You don’t apologize after you’ve shot someone!”
He felt the blood seep through his sleeve and fingers. His wound clearly needed attention.
Penelope was apparently of the same opinion. “Let me have a look at your arm, Lucas. Please, darling.”
He shot his gaze to Colin, who stood there frozen. “Go and take the pistols back to the house, lad. Your sister and I have some matters to discuss.”
The boy nodded and seized on the excuse to get out of there.
When Colin had disappeared, his fiancée approached him carefully. “You have to take your coat off. I need to see how badly you’re hurt.”
He couldn’t resist growling at her, but he obliged.
She let out an anguished cry. He looked down and saw his white shirtsleeve soaked with blood.
“It’s only a flesh wound. The bullet barely grazed me. Don’t swoon,” he warned darkly.
She grew indignant. “I never swoon. I’ve seen bloodier wounds, believe me.” She reached into her reticule for her medicines then added, “You have to take off your waistcoat and shirt.”
“You’ll have to help me,” he replied, pulling on his cravat.
There was a picnic basket and a folded blanket on the ground. Penelope spread the blanket out, asked him to sit on it, and took a healing salve from her reticule before turning back to face him.
Lucas stared back at her expectantly, his hand still gripping his arm to staunch the blood.
“We’ll need a tourniquet for that wound,” she announced, looking around her for something that would be appropriate to use, and grimaced.
She would have to use her petticoat. It was the only thing clean and absorbent enough to do the job, and they both knew it. He watched her closely, waiting to see what she would do.
She didn’t hesitate about her actions; she just turned her back on him and lifted her skirts, tearing strips off her petticoat.
He could hardly believe this was happening. The nymph was out in the woods with him, nursing him back to health. His well-being seemed to be the only thing she was focused on. All thoughts of whatever had brought her out here in the first place had been forgotten.
How many hours had he fantasized about this? To have those beautiful, healing hands on him? Lucas would gladly shoot his other arm himself. And she’d called him darling. Did she even realize that?
Penelope unbuttoned his waistcoat, and he groaned.
“Is it aching?”
Oh, yes, it’s aching. Only “it” wasn’t his wound. He squirmed, trying to hide his erection. She would surely kill him before this was finished.
“It’s fine,” he said tightly.
She tossed his waistcoat on the ground and started working on his shirt. Lucas gritted his teeth and clutched his wound tighter to keep from reaching for her.
She finished unbuttoning his shirt. “You have to let go of your arm so I can take the shirt off.”
He obeyed with surprising speed; he even managed to grin. Getting shot was his greatest move yet. He should have known blood was the way to Penelope’s heart.
• • •
Penelope couldn’t believe he was acquiescing to her ministrations so readily. What was he up to now? She shoved his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it on the ground by his waistcoat. And she very nearly swooned at the sight of his bare chest. She’d never seen such a splendidly male torso. It was an expanse of hard muscle smattered with soft, springy hairs. She licked her suddenly dry lips. She had to keep her mind on her task.
She examined the wound on his upper left arm. It wasn’t deep, but it needed to be cleaned and dressed. When she touched his wound, the muscles in his arm leapt and he let out a low hiss.
She stopped immediately. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” he rasped. “Go on and tend to me, Penelope.”
Something in the way he spoke made her look at him sharply. What she saw took her breath away.
His eyes were blazing, and there was a dark hunger in his features that made him look like a starving beast, ready to devour her whole.
She cleared her throat and returned to cleaning his wound. Why did he have to have this effect on her? It wasn’t fair. She was on the verge of losing her home, and all he had to do was give her one of his hot gazes and she came running.
It was this obsession with him that got her into this mess in the first place.
When she was satisfied that his wound was clean, she gently rubbed her healing salve on it, then she wrapped a strip of her torn petticoat around it.
“How’s that?” she asked.
He looked at his arm and flexed it. “Excellent. You did a wonderful job.”
She couldn’t suppress a nervous chuckle. “Well, I can hardly leave you to bleed to death after I stupidly shot you.” She met his midnight gaze, letting him see her sincerity. “I really am sorry for that. I don’t know what came over me. One minute I was desperate to talk to you, but when I saw Colin holding that pistol, all I could think of was to get it away from him.”
“I will never let anything hurt your little brother,” he said quietly.
“I know. But we heal people, Lucas. It’s what we do. I suppose that’s why I overreacted to seeing my brother with a weapon that can hurt someone. I’m sorry.”
She began apologizing again, but he put his index finger on her lips, silencing her.
He slid his finger from her lips and softly traced her cheek then cupped her chin, forcing her to keep her gaze on his.
“I’ll forgive you,” he murmured, “on one condition.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip.
The touch made her shudder with anticipation. “What condition?” she whispered.
His eyes gleamed wickedly. “I’ll forgive you only if you’ll
have lunch with me.”
She stared at her fiancé, took in the invitation in his eyes and considered the basket of food on the ground. With the failure of her little creditor scheme, she might not have another chance to be with him again.
She nodded in agreement.
Chapter Seven
She sat on the blanket beside Lucas, sipping some wine while her mind reeled from the shock of the day’s events. She put the wineglass down and buried her face in her hands to stop the world from spinning. She’d always tried to do the right thing by people, and now she seemed to be making mistakes left and right. Her family could lose their home because of her ruse. And she had very nearly killed an earl.
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
The question shook her out of her daze. Lucas appeared so calm sitting beside her, casually eating bread and cheese. Who would have thought he would look even more powerful when bared from the waist up?
She watched his mouth as he chewed, fascinated by how masculine he was, how he would be in control of any situation thrust upon him. It was evident even with the way he ate — there was purpose in his every bite, no action was wasted.
“We lost, Lucas,” she finally made herself say. “Mr. Henson visited today and demanded his money. He’ll be back in a few days to take over Highfield Manor.”
“I thought you said our engagement would convince him to give your family an extension.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “I thought so, too. It didn’t work.” She let out an anguished moan. “I don’t know why I thought I could convince him. I failed, like I failed at convincing my uncle to let us stay at Maitland Hall when Father died.”
“Calm yourself. You’re getting overwrought.”
“Overwrought?” she burst out. “I am more than overwrought, my lord. I’m one second away from losing my breakfast!”
He reached out and his large hand took hold of hers. His strength had a comforting effect. “Tell me what happened at the meeting with Henson.”
She told him everything. He appeared calm until she got to the part about Henson’s suggestion of using Sarah as a bargaining tool.