by Anna Bradley
Lucy watched, her breath held as Eloisa fitted the key into the lock of the larger drawer. It slid right in like it was made for the lock, which, of course, it was. The drawer on Lucy’s side of the desk didn’t budge, but Eloisa’s slid smoothly open.
“Eloisa, you’re brilliant!”
She threw hers arms around her cousin and squeezed until Eloisa let out a wheezy chuckle. “You’re breaking my ribs, Lucy.”
“Yes, of course. I beg your pardon.” Lucy released Eloisa and peered inside the open drawer. “There’s not much here.” An inkstand, dry of ink, and underneath it a slim wooden box that contained stationery, a stick of red wax and a seal.
“There’s something underneath the box.” Eloisa stuck her hand into the drawer and fumbled around before drawing out a book with a soft leather cover.
“It’s an accounting book.” Lucy stared at it, her stomach turning over with a combination of excitement and dread.
There was something in that book. She was certain of it.
She held out her hand. Eloisa gave her the book, and they stood shoulder to shoulder as Lucy opened it with shaking fingers. There, right on the first page in black ink, they found what they were looking for.
Neither of them said a word, but they both watched as Lucy ran a finger down the long column of figures. They were insignificant enough at first—a few pounds here, a half-dozen guineas there—but they multiplied with every entry. One-hundred pounds. Three hundred. Five. A thousand…
Eloisa let out a small cry when Lucy’s finger stopped at the bottom of the column, where Uncle Jarvis had tallied the figures and written the total.
Five thousand, three hundred and six pounds.
Uncle Jarvis had underlined the figure, and next to it he’d made a small notation.
Godfrey.
Uncle Jarvis owed Lord Godfrey in excess of five thousand pounds.
Lucy swayed where she stood, and Eloisa grasped her by the shoulders to steady her. “Let me see it.”
Lucy handed her cousin the book, then slumped against the edge of the desk, her heart racing as Eloisa read through the column of numbers again. When Eloisa looked up from the book, her face was white. “This doesn’t mean…you don’t think this means…”
Eloisa’s voice trailed off, and she fell silent.
Lucy drew a shaky breath. They both knew what it meant. Refusing to say it aloud didn’t make it any less true. “It means my uncle intends to sell me to Lord Godfrey in exchange for paying his debt.” They’d known it already, of course, but there was something shocking about seeing one’s worth reduced to a handful of numbers in an accounting book.
Eloisa’s gaze moved from Lucy’s face to the open book in her hands. She stared down at it for a moment, then turned and placed it carefully back in the drawer and arranged the inkstand and stationery box on top of it. When she’d closed and locked the drawer, her gaze met Lucy’s again, and Lucy saw her eyes were full of tears.
“Oh, Eloisa. It’s not as bad as all—”
“It is as bad. It’s worse. I always knew my father was…well, he’s not a good man, but I never imagined he’d do something like this.” Eloisa dragged the back of her hand across her cheek. “All these bills he can’t pay, and gaming debts besides, and if that weren’t wicked enough, he intends to…to s-sell my cousin to a horrible old lord who’s so wicked himself he’d actually agree to forgive a debt in exchange for a bride!”
Well, when Eloisa put it that way, it did sound rather bad.
Lucy gripped the edge of the desk behind her until her knuckles went white. She felt as if a weight were pressing down on her chest, and her throat started to close with panic. She gulped in a breath—once, again—until she managed a shuddering gasp, and the panic began to recede.
She had to think, that was all. There had to be a way out of this mess.
“You must leave London at once, Lucy.”
Lucy met Eloisa’s solemn gaze. She started to shake her head, but before she could say a word, Eloisa interrupted her. “Yes, Lucy. Don’t you see? You don’t have a choice! If you remain in London, my father will find a way to force you to marry Lord Godfrey. You don’t know what he’s like. You don’t understand how far he’ll go.”
For a brief moment Lucy considered heeding Eloisa’s advice. A few weeks was all she needed. If she could find a way to disappear until her birthday, she would be free from Uncle Jarvis’s power altogether.…
But if she did flee, what would happen to Eloisa and Aunt Jarvis? Her uncle would guess Eloisa had helped her. He’d be furious, and there was no telling what he might do. Two weeks was an eternity. Anything could happen in that time.
“No, Eloisa. I won’t leave you and my aunt alone with him. There’s got to be another way.” Lucy pressed her fingers to her temples, but she couldn’t think. Finally, she looked up to meet Eloisa’s anxious gaze. “Tomorrow night is Lord and Lady Weatherby’s ball. Mr. Ramsey will be there. He’ll help us decide what’s best to do.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Father’s watching us.”
At Eloisa’s whisper, Lucy glanced toward the archway that led into the card room. Of course, it was just as her cousin said. Uncle Jarvis was watching them.
He was always watching them.
He’d gone straight toward the card room as soon as they entered the Weatherbys’ ballroom. Lucy had breathed a sigh of relief, imagining he’d stay there for the rest of the evening, but he hadn’t gone inside. Instead he lingered by the doorway, as if he were waiting for someone.
Lucy could hardly be at a loss to imagine who.
“He doesn’t look pleased, does he?” Lucy muttered, for Eloisa’s ears only.
“No, but he never looks pleased, except when he’s—” Eloisa broke off on a soft gasp, and gripped Lucy’s arm. “Oh no, Lucy. Lord Godfrey is here.”
Lucy ventured another quick glance behind her and a chill rushed over her skin. Lord Godfrey was indeed here. He’d just joined her uncle in front of the card room. Even from this distance she could feel those cold gray eyes crawling over her skin, making every hair on her arms rise in alarm.
Lucy sucked in a quick breath to steady herself, then jerked around in her chair and gave Lord Godfrey her back. She fixed her gaze on the couples twirling gingerly around the dance floor, their elbows tucked into their sides to keep from jabbing their neighbors.
It was a dreadful crush. It looked as if Lord and Lady Weatherby had invited every person in London to their ball this evening. It would explain why they’d received an invitation. The Weatherbys were quite fashionable, and Lucy and the Jarvises…weren’t. Perhaps the ton had discovered she was an heiress and had decided to forgive her for having a mad father.
Then again, perhaps they hadn’t. Not a single gentleman had spared her a glance so far this evening, and no one had asked her to dance. Under any other circumstances, Lucy might have been relieved at that, her dancing skills still not being quite what they should be, despite Monsieur Guilland’s frenzied instruction.
But a dance was her only chance to escape her tormentors. Even a humiliating half-hour at the quadrille was preferable to enduring a public encounter with Lord Godfrey.
“I’m going to the ladies’ retiring room.”
Lucy half-rose from her seat, preparing to flee, but Eloisa grabbed a fold of her skirt to stop her. “Wait, Lucy. Lord Vale is here, and Lady Felicia and Mr. Ramsey with him. They’re coming this way.”
Lucy followed Eloisa’s gaze and saw Ciaran, his dark head towering over the crowd. She sagged back against her chair, nearly dizzy with relief. He’d promised he’d be here tonight, yet it was remarkable, wasn’t it, the way he always appeared just when she needed him most?
“I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.” Lucy turned to Eloisa and saw a flood of color was now staining her cousin’s cheeks, just as it alwa
ys did whenever Lord Vale appeared. “Oh, Eloisa—”
“No, Lucy. You needn’t look at me like that. I haven’t the slightest interest in Lord Vale’s arrival. I certainly won’t dance with him, if that’s what you’re thinking, no matter how much he teases.”
Lucy said nothing, but she thought, not for the first time, that Eloisa’s blush gave her away.
* * * *
Ciaran had hardly taken a step inside the Weatherby ballroom before he was looking for the tell-tale glint of copper hidden among the sea of fair- and dark-haired ladies.
Ah, just there. Flashing dark eyes, red lips, a stubborn chin, and a headful of shining red hair framing a perfect face. Each time he saw Lucy, he thought her more beautiful than he had the time before.
He stood rooted to the spot, a faint smile on his lips as he waited for her to notice him.
It didn’t take long. It never did.
Wherever they happened to be—at a prizefight, on a beach in Brighton, at an overcrowded ball in a London ballroom—somehow, they always seemed to find each other. It was as if some irresistible force was determined to pull them together.
Fate, or coincidence? Destiny, or luck? Ciaran no longer cared. He cared only when he wanted or needed her, she was always there.
Was it the same for her?
As if in answer, Lucy’s head turned toward them, as though she’d sensed his presence as soon as he entered the room. A smile lit her face when her gaze landed on him. As always, that smile pulled him toward her as surely as if she had him dangling on a string.
Lady Felicia had seen them, too. She let out a little cry of joy and tugged at her brother’s arm. “Lady Lucinda and Miss Jarvis are here already, just over there.”
“I see them.” Vale was hurrying across the room, his gaze locked on Eloisa Jarvis.
Ciaran followed along behind them, his own gaze lingering on Lucy.
Lady Lucinda. He was always momentarily startled when anyone referred to her by her title. He never thought of her as anything but Lucy. Maybe it was because of the unconventional way they’d met. It was hard for a man to think of any female who’d kicked him in the face as Lady anything.
Or maybe it was just because her title didn’t suit her. It didn’t fit. She didn’t fit—not inside this ballroom, or among this company. She looked like some sort of exotic butterfly caught in a net, or a succulent piece of ripe fruit in an otherwise barren orchard.
The taste of her, tart and sweet on his tongue…
Ciaran’s mouth flooded with moisture, but he forced himself to swallow it down and gather his wits. Another man might allow himself to be dazzled by those velvety dark eyes, but Ciaran didn’t have that luxury.
She was a friend only. Of course, that was all she was. They’d agreed on it. He’d hadn’t known Lucy for longer than a week before they’d decided that. It had been a promise—a pact, of sorts—and she’d never asked for anything more from him than friendship. Never given him any reason to think she wanted anything other than that. Revealing his attraction for her would only end in confusion and recriminations.
He couldn’t give in to his desire for Lucy, no matter how tempting she was. No matter if he couldn’t stop thinking of her lips—
No, damn it.
No lips. No soft, creamy skin. No wavy tendrils of red hair brushing the secret, sensitive place behind her ear…
But it was no use. Ciaran had had this same argument with himself dozens of times since he’d arrived in London, but somehow, he still couldn’t get Lucy into the proper place in his thoughts. He couldn’t recall ever being so preoccupied with a woman in his life—not even his betrothed.
Isobel Campbell, the lady he was leaving London for. Leaving Lucy for—
“Lady Lucinda looks fetching tonight, eh, Ramsey?” Vale nudged him in the ribs. “You’d better hurry and ask her to dance before her card is filled for the evening.”
She did look fetching tonight. She looked fetching every night. Every day, too.
Ciaran took a deep breath to steady himself. Lucy was lovely—there was no denying that. Her beauty hadn’t escaped his notice, and neither had his reaction to it. He was a man, after all, and he wasn’t blind.
But he was leaving London in the next week or so, with plans to court another lady. He wasn’t the sort of man to indulge in fantasies about one lady when he had unfinished business with another. He was a gentleman, not an animal who couldn’t control himself.
Still, perhaps it would be better if he didn’t dance with Lucy tonight—
“She is fetching, and it irks me no end she’s slighted by every gentleman other than those in our party, just because her father was the Earl of Bellamy.” Lady Felicia’s voice was heavy with disgust, and she was plying her fan with far more energy than necessary. “Both of you must dance with her. You promised her a quadrille at Lady Ivey’s ball, Sebastian. You haven’t forgotten?”
“No. I’d be delighted to dance a quadrille with Lady Lucinda, but not just yet. Right now, I have different quarry in mind.”
“For pity’s sake.” Lady Felicia tugged her brother to a halt in the middle of the ballroom. “I’ll have your word right here and now you won’t torment Miss Jarvis this evening.”
“But it’s so delightful to tease her. She becomes adorably flustered, and then there’s that pretty blush—”
“Sebastian!”
“Very well. May I at least dance with her?”
Lady Felicia smiled, took her brother’s arm, and resumed her trek across the ballroom. “Of course, but be a gentleman about it, if you please.”
Vale laughed. “I’ll do my best.”
When they reached the other side of the ballroom, Vale bowed before the three ladies, his blue eyes gleaming as his gaze fell on Eloisa. “Lady Lucinda. Mrs. Jarvis, and Miss Jarvis. Allow me to say, Miss Jarvis, you look exquisite this evening. Will you dance?”
Eloisa Jarvis had watched Vale’s approach with her chin high and her lips pulled into a prim little frown, but as soon as he offered his hand, her disapproval seemed to desert her. “I, ah—”
“Go on, Eloisa.” Lucy tapped her cousin’s arm gently with her fan. “Mr. Ramsey and Lady Felicia will keep your mother and me company.”
“Yes, do go and dance, my dear.” Mrs. Jarvis gave Vale a distracted smile, then turned back to the lady on her opposite side, who was listening, enthralled, as Mrs. Jarvis regaled her with a description of the wonderful effects of something called Dr. Digby’s Calming Tonic.
“Miss Jarvis?” Vale was standing patiently before Eloisa, his hand still held out to her, his blue eyes soft on her face. Eloisa flushed again, but she accepted his hand and let him escort her to the dancers.
“There’s something happening there,” Lady Felicia said, taking the seat beside Lucy. “Sebastian likes to act as if it’s all in fun, but I’ve never seen that expression on his face before.”
Ciaran studied Vale as he and Eloisa took their places in the set. Vale’s expression was certainly telling. “He looks pleased, befuddled, and nervous all at once.”
Lucy was watching them as well, an anxious little frown between her eyes. “They look divine together. Is your brother free to, ah…bestow his affections according to his inclination? He’s an earl, after all.”
Lucy didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need to. Lady Felicia knew well enough earls didn’t generally marry untitled, penniless ladies like Eloisa Jarvis. Ciaran knew Lucy was fond of Vale, but he also knew she wouldn’t stand by while Vale trifled with her cousin, or broke her heart.
“Perfectly free,” Lady Felicia murmured. “He needn’t marry a fortune, or to please anyone other than himself, so—”
“Good evening. How d’ye do, Ramsey?”
Lord Nash had appeared beside Lady Felicia’s chair. He offered an affable nod to the rest of the party, then held out h
is hand to her. “May I claim this dance?”
Lady Felicia blushed and took his hand. “Certainly.”
Lord Nash bowed to Lucy and Mrs. Jarvis, then led Lady Felicia to the floor, looking for all the world as if he were bearing off a prize.
Markham appeared a moment later, following so closely in Nash’s wake Ciaran suspected he’d chased Nash across the ballroom to get to Lady Felicia first. Unfortunately, he arrived just in time to watch Nash take Lady Felicia away.
Ciaran slapped him on the back. “Bad luck, Markham. You’ll have to move faster than that next time if you want to dance with Lady Felicia.”
Markham scowled. “Every time I turn around, Nash is fawning over her like a spoiled child with a new toy.”
Lucy shot Ciaran an amused glance. “Fawning? I believe they’re simply dancing, my lord.”
Lord Markham grunted, but didn’t reply.
“Lady Felicia enjoys his company,” Lucy went on. “He’s very fashionable, but a lovely, gentlemanly sort, in spite of it, and so attentive.”
Markham’s gaze shifted from the dancers to Lucy’s face. “Attentive?”
She gave him a sunny smile. “Oh, yes. Why, just look at his face!”
Markham looked, and his own face fell.
“Better yet, look at Lady Felicia’s face,” Lucy added. “A lady likes to be fawned over every now and then, Lord Markham.”
Ciaran chuckled at Markham’s perplexed expression. “The lady enjoys dancing, Markham. Something to keep in mind.”
Markham watched Lady Felicia in silence. He looked nearly as befuddled and anxious as Vale did when he looked at Eloisa Jarvis. Ciaran almost felt sorry for him—love was a devil of a business—but just as he opened his mouth to offer some encouragement, Markham stalked off without another word.
“Oh, dear.” Lucy turned to Ciaran, a low laugh escaping her lips. “He doesn’t look at all pleased, does he? I feel rather bad for him, but I daresay it’ll do him good to have a rival. A man needs a gentle push every now and then.”
“Or a not so gentle one.” Ciaran hadn’t taken the seat Lady Felicia had vacated. Instead he stood gazing down at Lucy, admiring the way the candlelight played on her hair. She was wearing a green gown again tonight, with a matching green ribbon woven throughout her copper curls. He’d seen her wear the color many times. It was a similar shade to the green lining of the cloak she’d been wearing the first time he saw her on the beach in Brighton.