by Anna Bradley
Ciaran didn’t move. “Old Bailey? Why should I want to go there?”
Vale rolled his eyes. “The better question, Ramsey, is why you should want to stay here. It’s as dull as a tomb.”
“I can’t go to Old Bailey. I’m going to Scotland.”
“Scotland?” Vale blinked. “What, right now? This very second?”
“Not now, but as soon as I’m ready to travel.” What Ciaran didn’t say was he’d had the entire afternoon to get ready. Long, empty hours had passed since he saw Lucy at Lady Ivey’s ball, but he’d hadn’t lifted a finger to prepare for his journey, or given a single servant a single order.
Vale waved away this excuse. “Well, as soon as you’re ready isn’t now, is it? Damn cold and rainy in Scotland this time of year, anyway. Can’t think why you’d want to go there, Ramsey.”
Ciaran rolled his eyes. “I’m Scottish, for one.”
“Well, what of it? My great-grandfather was from Cardiff, and you don’t see me running off to Wales, do you?” Vale frowned at the marble lion, poking experimentally at it with the tip of his walking stick. “Go to Scotland if you like, but we can’t have you moping about in this stupid manner while you remain in London. Can we, Markham?”
Lord Markham shrugged. “May as well come along, Ramsey. You’re not any use to anyone lazing about here.”
Ciaran doubted he’d be any use to anyone in Old Bailey, either, but he rose reluctantly from his chair. He hadn’t anything better to do. He wouldn’t leave London until he’d heard back from Isla. Until then, he was trapped here, with the long afternoons stretching out empty before him. “What do you two need to do in Old Bailey? Drop Vale off at Newgate?”
Vale laughed. “Ah, that’s much better, Ramsey. Do try and stay amusing today, won’t you? There’s a good fellow. Our business hasn’t a thing to do with Newgate, but with a certain trio of young ladies. My sister is at her dancing lesson with Lady Lucinda and Miss Jarvis. I promised I’d fetch her at Thomas Wilson’s Dancing Academy and escort her home.”
Ciaran snatched his coat off the back of his chair and shoved his arms into the tight sleeves. It was the perfect chance to speak to Lucy without her bloody uncle hovering over them, listening to every word.
“Vale, stop fussing with that paperweight. You’ll hurt yourself. Come on, then. If we’re going to Old Bailey, let’s go.”
* * * *
“What sort of a place is Wilson running here?”
They’d paused at the large window in front of Thomas Wilson’s Dancing Academy to take a peek at the ladies inside. Harmless enough, but all of a sudden Markham was clutching his walking stick as if he’d like to smash the window to pieces.
He’d seen something he didn’t like, and it had thrown him into a temper.
Ciaran peered through the window. He didn’t see anything amiss, but Markham wasn’t the sort to indulge in pointless tantrums.
Vale was staring at Markham. “What the devil’s the matter with you, Markham?”
“For God’s sakes, Vale, are you blind?” Markham’s voice was shaking. “Or do you simply not care if someone insults your sister?”
Vale glanced through the window, then turned a blank look on Markham. “Who’s insulting her?”
“Lord Nash, of course! He’s holding her in his arms!”
Vale pressed his nose to the glass for a longer look, then drew back again. “They’re waltzing, Markham. You’ve heard of waltzing, haven’t you? I daresay you’ve even done it yourself once or twice. It’s hardly a scandal. Wilson’s is, after all, a dancing academy.”
Markham stared at Vale without speaking, but after a few moments he seemed to recall himself, and his cheeks flushed a deep red. “Well, it’s nothing to me who Lady Felicia dances with, anyway.”
“Clearly not.” Vale’s voice was gleeful, but when Markham opened his mouth to argue, Vale gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Never mind, Markham. I daresay Felicia’s virtue is safe. Just look at Miss Jarvis, would you, Ramsey? I’ve a notion she’s a bit of a scold, but she’s a very pretty dancer.” Vale’s eyes followed Eloisa Jarvis as she drifted gracefully across the floor. “I may have to waltz with her at the next ball.”
Ciaran pressed closer to the window, frowning. “Where’s Lu—that is, where is Lady Lucinda?”
Vale and Markham crowded closer, and after a quick glance Markham pointed with his walking stick. “She’s there, at the back. Who’s that she’s dancing with? It looks like—”
“It’s the dancing master.” Ciaran shook his head, a grin curving his lips. God, poor Lucy. It was no wonder she despised dancing lessons. No lady wanted to be made to waltz with her instructor. “She looks miserable.”
“So does he, come to that. Shall we rescue them both?” Vale pushed the door open and went inside. Ciaran and Markham followed, and the three of them took seats in the entryway to wait. The music came to an end soon afterward. There was a shuffling of feet as the students filed out the door, but after ten minutes Lucy, Miss Jarvis, and Lady Felicia still hadn’t come out.
“What the devil’s happened to them?” Vale got to his feet with a long-suffering sigh. “Come on then, lads. We’ll have to drag them out.”
The room was nearly empty when they entered, the dancing master having made his escape through a door at the back. Lucy, Miss Jarvis, and Lady Felicia were alone, seated on a row of chairs against a wall, their heads close together.
“Well, would you look at that, Markham?” Vale drawled, as they made their way across the room. “Three ladies huddled together, whispering? Why, the three of you look like a trio of thieves.”
Lucy, Miss Jarvis, and Lady Felicia all jumped.
“Ah, just the reaction you’d expect from the guilty.” Vale strolled to Eloisa Jarvis’s side and leaned over her chair. “What are you ladies so deep in conversation about? Discussing your gowns for the next ball, or tittering over the latest sensational novel?”
Lady Felicia shot her brother an annoyed look. “Is that what you think, Sebastian? That ladies discuss nothing but fashions and scandalous books? How dismissive of you. It’s not surprising you’re not married.”
“I’m not married because I don’t wish to be, and you know it well, dear sister. However, you never know when a young lady might appear who will inspire me to mend my wicked ways. Perhaps it will even happen this season. What say you, Miss Jarvis?”
Eloisa Jarvis fixed Vale with a cool look. “I haven’t the slightest interest in your matrimonial prospects, my lord.”
“Pity.” Vale’s lips curved into a delighted grin as his gaze roamed over her face. “There must be another reason you look so flushed, then. Too much dancing, perhaps?”
“Far too much, from what I saw.” Markham shot Lady Felicia a disgruntled look. “What does Nash need with dancing lessons?”
Lady Felicia blinked innocently at him. “Oh, were you watching, Edmund? I can’t say I even noticed you.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but turned away to take Lucy’s arm with a toss of her head.
“We were watching from the window.” Vale hadn’t taken his eyes off Eloisa Jarvis, and now he swept her a mocking bow. “You dance like an angel, Miss Jarvis.”
Miss Jarvis’s cheeks went pink at Vale’s teasing, but she didn’t deign to reply. She took Lucy’s other arm. “Come, Lucy. We’re expected back home.”
“Not quite yet, I don’t think.” Lucy’s dark eyes fell on Ciaran. He gave her a slight nod, and she disentangled herself from the two irate ladies on either side of her and walked across the room to glance out the window. “Our uncle’s carriage hasn’t yet arrived. Mightn’t we take a brief stroll to St. Paul’s Cathedral? I haven’t had a proper look at it yet, and it’s just down the street.”
To Ciaran’s surprise, Markham stepped forward at once and offered Lady Felicia his arm. “If you’ll allow me, my lady.”
Lady Felicia’s eyebrows rose, but she took his arm. “Yes, all right.”
Ciaran drew Lucy’s arm through his, which left Miss Jarvis no choice but to let Vale escort her. She darted a glance at him, her eyes wide and her cheeks on fire. “It isn’t proper to walk with—”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Jarvis.” This time there wasn’t a hint of his usual mocking drawl in Vale’s voice. “I promise I’ll behave like a perfect gentleman.” He offered her a bow, elegant and proper, and held out his arm. “Won’t you walk with me?”
Eloisa glanced anxiously at Lucy, but Vale was at his most charming when he was being sincere, and Miss Jarvis wasn’t jaded enough to resist him. She took his arm without a word.
“I’m so pleased to see you, Ciaran. I thought perhaps you’d be halfway to Scotland by now,” Lucy began, as they made their way through the door and down the street in the direction of St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Her tone was teasing, but her words stung Ciaran to the quick. “You thought I’d leave without saying goodbye to you?”
If she had thought it, wouldn’t she be justified? He hadn’t proved to be a very loyal friend. Lucy had brought him back to life. If it weren’t for her, he never would have made the decision to return to Scotland at all. Now he was thanking her by leaving her at the mercy of Godfrey and her despicable uncle.
“No, of course not! I didn’t mean it that way, Ciaran.”
The hurt in her voice tore at his chest. He squeezed his eyes closed, and for one aching moment wished with everything inside him they were in Brighton still, sitting together on the beach with the sun rising over the water, the cool sand between his fingers and her soft laughter in his ears.
She’s the best friend I’ve ever had…
How could he leave her like this, turn his back on her when she needed him most?
The answer was simple. He couldn’t.
Lucy was staring up at him with wide dark eyes. Without thinking, Ciaran brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. As soon as he touched her, he realized he’d been wondering if her skin could possibly be as soft as it looked.
It was. It felt like warm silk under his fingertips.
Why are you touching her?
Ciaran jerked his hand away. “I know you didn’t mean anything, Lucy. I’m sorry. I wrote to my sister last night and asked her to write back at once, telling me everything she knows about Lord Godfrey. I won’t leave London until I hear back from her.”
He thought she’d be pleased, but her brows drew down in a frown. “I don’t want you to stay here for me, Ciaran. I don’t want to be the reason you’re made unhappy.”
“It’s a brief delay, Lucy, nothing more. You can’t think I’d leave you alone in London with no one to protect you.”
“I’m not alone. I have Eloisa, and Lady Felicia, and Lord Vale.”
Lord Vale? What did she mean, she had Lord Vale? “What’s Vale got to do with anything?” Ciaran demanded, then flushed at his outraged tone. For God’s sake, he sounded like a jealous suitor.
Lucy didn’t seem to notice. “Well, nothing yet, but I was thinking over my idea to stage a pretend courtship to hold off Lord Godfrey. It’ll be a bit tricky to pull it off, but I quite like it, otherwise. I think it might work.”
Ciaran froze. It almost sounded as if…
No. She couldn’t be suggesting what it sounded like she was suggesting.
Could she? “Once again, Lucy. What’s Vale got to do with it?” Ciaran’s voice had dropped to a low growl.
“I don’t know Lord Vale well, of course, but Lady Felicia was speaking of him, and I couldn’t help but think he sounds like just the sort of gentleman I need.”
Need? She needed Vale? Something dark and tangled rose in Ciaran’s chest and crowded into his throat until he was struggling to breathe past it.
“I know he’s a bit of a rake, but he’s warm-hearted, I think, and Lady Felicia says he loves mischief. He might think a pretend courtship was good fun.”
Ciaran’s hands clenched into fists. Oh, he’d find it good fun, all right. A pretend courtship with a beautiful lady was just the sort of fun Vale would appreciate.
He knew he wasn’t being fair to his friend. Vale might get up to some questionable behavior now and again, but he was no worse than Ciaran was. Lucy was right about him—Vale was a good fellow. He’d never hurt Lucy. Would never dream of taking advantage of her.
Ciaran knew that. At the moment, however, he didn’t give a bloody damn.
Courtships meant dances, stolen touches, longing glances. Courtships meant whispers, and secrets, and soft smiles. Anything could happen during a courtship, even a pretend one. Two people who had nothing in common could find themselves falling in love.
Lucy was still talking, unaware of the spark she’d lit, oblivious to the fact it was about to burst into a conflagration. “We’ll have to be careful. I won’t have every gossip in London whispering Lord Vale’s a scoundrel who jilted a young lady. It’s sufficient if my uncle and Lord Godfrey believe the courtship is real. The rest of London doesn’t need to hear of it.”
Heat burned up Ciaran’s neck, flooded his chest. Why was he so angry? Why—
“So, I thought I might…”
Don’t say it.
“Ask him if he…”
Don’t say it, Lucy.
“…would pretend to court me. It would be the easiest thing in the world, really, given my and Eloisa’s friendship with Lady Felicia. We’re sure to spend all our time with Lord Vale anyway, so you see it’s…”
“No.” Ciaran pushed the word through tight lips.
She didn’t appear to hear him. “It’s just the thing. I’ll speak to Lady Felicia about it first, of course, to make sure she approves. Eloisa won’t like it, but nor would she like to see me married to Lord Godfrey. I think I can bring her around.”
Ciaran came to a dead stop in the middle of the street. He turned Lucy toward him and raised her face to his with a firm finger under her chin.
“Ciaran?” She stared up at him, baffled. “What’s wrong? You look strange.”
“You are not,” he said, biting off each word through clenched teeth. “Asking Sebastian Wroth to pretend to court you.”
Her eyes went wide. “I’m not?”
“No.” He took a step closer, raising her chin higher so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Lucy. Vale isn’t going to be your pretend suitor. Not Vale, and not any other man.”
“Well, why not?” Two bright spots of color burned in Lucy’s cheeks. She was falling into a temper. Her dark eyes flashed, and her mouth turned down at the corners, exaggerating that stubborn lower lip. Ciaran’s gaze darted from her eyes to her lips, and for one wild moment he felt himself leaning closer, and tilting her mouth up to his.…
He didn’t get very far.
Lucy jerked her chin out of his grasp and planted her hands on her hips. “Well, Ciaran? Why shouldn’t Lord Vale be my pretend suitor?”
“Because I’m going to do it.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You!”
Lucy slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was already too late. Her shock had betrayed her into a much louder exclamation than any proper lady would dare to make while standing in the middle of a public street, a block away from St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Worse, as soon as she saw the expression on Ciaran’s face, she knew she’d said precisely the wrong thing, and in such incredulous tones, too. His jaw was clenched, his eyes a stormy dark blue with anger, and his entire body had gone rigid.
“Are you saying you’d rather have Vale than me?”
His voice was low and throbbing with anger. Lucy, startled by his vehemence, put an instinctive hand on his chest to calm him. “Of course not. I’d rather have you, but you can’t pretend to court me, Ciar
an. You’re leaving for Scotland, remember?”
Surprise flashed across his face, as if he hadn’t, in fact, remembered it at all. “I don’t need to leave right away. That is, of course I’m anxious to…I can wait until you’re safe, Lucy.”
Gratitude swept over her, but Lucy shook her head. “It’s four weeks yet until I turn twenty-one. You can’t mean to linger in London for as long as that. I can’t ask it of you.”
Her hand slid away from his chest. His own hand twitched, as if he were going to snatch if back, but then he stilled. “You’re my friend, lass. You can ask anything of a friend.”
“Perhaps I can, but I won’t. You’re my friend, too, and I can’t bear to be the reason you’re forced to stay when you’re so anxious to go.”
“No one’s forcing me to do anything, Lucy.”
Perhaps it didn’t feel like it now, but it would soon enough. Ciaran would end up resenting her for it, just as Lucy had ended up resenting her father. Even all the love she’d had for him hadn’t kept her from blaming him. “I still think it’s best if I ask Lord Vale—”
“Vale!” Ciaran’s voice echoed in the street. “The devil you will! Why should you ask him when I’ve just told you I’ll do it?”
Lucy’s eyes went wide. Dear God, he’d just cursed right in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral! They were sure to be struck down by a lightning bolt. Or, at the very least, by Eloisa.
“Hush, will you?” Lucy bit her lip and cast a nervous glance at their companions, but they were far enough ahead they hadn’t heard his blasphemy.
He drew in a deep breath, and it seemed to calm him down. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’m staying in London, Lucy. Unless you intend to avoid me for the next four weeks, you may as well reconcile yourself to having me as your suitor.”
Reconcile herself? Is that what he thought she was doing? Didn’t he know how badly she wanted him to stay with her? Lucy gazed up at him, her heart turning over in her chest. He was offering her weeks of his company. Day after day of his conversation, his smile, his laughter, his devoted attention. Day after day of gazing into those blue, blue eyes. She wanted that. She wanted him, for as long as she could have him. She wanted it so badly she was trembling with it, her entire body shaking.