by Cara Elliott
As they passed Silliman’s Sporting Emporium, Lucas was distracted from further comment by the shop window. “Wait here while I run inside. I’ll just be a moment.”
His friend grumbled, but gave a curt wave. “Try to hurry. I’ve a date to meet De Quincy at the Wolf’s Lair.”
The purchases were concluded quickly, but when he came out, Jack was nowhere to be seen. “Damn,” swore Lucas under his breath. He, too, was pressed for time. Looking around, he finally spotted his friend in the adjoining arcade, perusing the wares of a print shop. He was about to call out when a lady emerged from the establishment next door.
Alessandra della Giamatti. Following right on her heels was a gentleman. They looked to be having a heated exchange of words.
Frowning, Lucas ducked through the archway, but before he could come to the lady’s defense, Jack intervened.
“You heard the marchesa, Ghiradelli,” said Jack in a tight voice. “She asked you to leave her alone. Whatever the manners are in Milano, here in London a gentleman is expected to honor such a request.”
“Mind your own business, stronzo,” snapped the other man.
Lucas hung back, hidden in the shadows, loath to interrupt. He vaguely recognized the fellow as a flashy young nobleman from the north of Italy, lately arrived in Town. Giovanni Marco Musto della Ghiradelli already had earned quite a reputation for his rakish ways with the ladies. However, Alessandra did not appear to be charmed by his attentions.
After darting the conte a dark look, she turned to Jack, her eyes sparking with ill-concealed ire. “Really, sir. You may save your heroics for some silly English chit who is in need of rescuing. I can handle this on my own.”
“Si,si, the lady is convinced that she can take care of herself,” drawled Ghiradelli. “If I were you, I wouldn’t get too close. She has a dangerous temper.”
Alessandra’s aristocratic face turned red, and then white.
Jack didn’t budge. “Sorry, code of honor compels me to see that this macaroni stops harassing you in public.”
“Men.” She clenched her teeth in exasperation. “You and your silly rules. Both of you may go to the devil.”
“The marchesa does not like rules,” snapped Ghiradelli.
“But I do,” countered Jack. “And Polite Society has strict ones about embarrassing a lady. So take your leave, before my boot quickens your step.”
“Careful, amico,” said Ghiradelli. “Another word and I will shove those pearly teeth of yours down to the bottom of your bowels.”
“I would like to see you try,” retorted Jack.
“No,” said the conte softly. “You would not.”
Lucas had heard enough. He stepped out of the shadows before things could turn ugly.
“Ah, there you are, Jack.” He tipped his hat po-
litely to Alessandra. “Good afternoon, Lady Giamatti. A lovely day for a stroll, is it not?” He inclined a nod to the conte. “Lord Ghiradelli? I believe we met at Lady Wilder’s soirée.”
“Si.” Ghiradelli narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but he backed off with an exaggerated bow. “Ciao, signora. I will leave you to your English admirers. But reminiscing about our homeland brings back such sentimental memories—I look forward to continuing our conversation very soon.”
Alessandra’s smile remained frozen in place, but Lucas saw a flush of color creep to her cheekbones. She remained silent until the conte disappeared around the corner and then let out her breath in a huff.
“Really, sir,” she said in a low voice, fixing Jack with a glare. “Next time you wish to play the knight in shining armor, rattle your sword for someone else.”
“You might say grazie,” muttered Jack.
She snapped something in Italian.
Lucas guessed it was not a word of thanks.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I have errands to finish,” added the marchesa. “As you see, my maid is waiting for me next door, so I have no need of an escort.”
“What was that all about?” he murmured as Alessandra stalked off.
“Don’t ask me,” growled Jack. “Talk about a haughty, hellfire female. I swear, she is worse than a bear with a thorn in his—or her—arse.”
“A lovely arse, though,” observed Lucas.
“God help any man who tries to pursue it.” His friend’s expression darkened as he watched the silky sway of her hips. “It’s not worth the aggravation.”
“Speaking of aggravation, Jack.” Lucas was once again serious. “I’m leaving at first light to take Lady Sheffield and the others to the country. So I need your help tracking down another clue on the ruffian who rode roughshod over me in the park…”
Ciara listened to the faint echo of the ocean washing up against the rocky cliffs. There was a certain comforting rhythm to the sound of the sea. Ebb and flow. An elemental reminder that life was constantly in motion.
Her hands gripped the window latch. If only her own life were not caught in such dangerous crosscurrents.
Here, at least, there seemed to be an air of tranquility. Cracking the casement, she lifted her cheeks to the soft caress of the salty breeze. From what she had seen so far, Sir Henry’s estate was indeed a sanctuary of splendid solitude. A safe harbor from the threatening storm. Dusk deepened the ridge behind the manor house to a haze of purpled shadows. Crickets chirped, and off in the distance a lone owl hooted.
All things considered, the trip from London had gone quite smoothly. Sir Henry had a special traveling coach, designed to accommodate his infirmity, and with the earl’s constant cosseting at every stop along the way, Ciara did not doubt that the elderly baron had passed the hours in comfort. As for her own party, between Peregrine’s lively chatter and Ariel’s calming company, the journey had been a pleasant one.
Once they had turned off the main road near the coast, it quickly became clear that there were few inhabitants in the area. Indeed, over the last few miles of the journey, she hadn’t seen another dwelling, and the entrance to the manor’s winding drive was guarded by a large stone gatehouse.
Henry had made a point of informing her that it was inhabited by a gamekeeper and his family of four sturdy sons.
It was hard to imagine that Sheffield’s family would dare to try and make trouble for her here. They would watch and wait.
But Ciara was tired of cowering, of waiting for their next move. It was time to confront their slanderous lies. The question was how.
Despite the rigors of the road, Ciara was too restless for sleep. A simple supper had been served on their arrival, though Henry and Ariel had chosen to take refreshment in their own rooms and retire for the night. The meal had passed pleasantly enough, despite having only Hadley and her son for company. There was still a frisson of tension between her and the earl, but Peregrine’s peppering of questions about country life had kept the mood light. Alessandra and Isabella were due to arrive the day after the morrow, which would provide a welcome distraction from his company.
The more, the merrier, she thought wryly.
A shout from the lawns below drew her gaze. Streaks of pink and gold light still lingered in the sky, casting a mellow glow over her cavorting son. A large, hairy hound was chasing after a stick, much to Peregrine’s delight. Hadley was laughing, too, his dark hair curling in boyish disarray around his collar as he wiped his hands on his trousers.
No doubt his valet would have a fit of apoplexy, seeing the sticky streak of mud and dog saliva now marring the superfine wool.
Looking up at that moment, he waved to her.
Ciara turned away quickly from the mullioned glass, pretending she hadn’t seen the gesture. But much as she wished to be angry with him, she found it hard to remain resentful over the manner in which he had taken charge of her affairs.
Manhandled. A part of her chafed at his tactics, for she had been bullied enough in her life. And yet, a part of her was weak enough to welcome his assuming control. Ciara watched as the reflection of the setting sun cast quicksilver patterns of
light and dark across her bed. Her own emotions were equally ill-defined. The edges blurred, the shapes shifted in the blink of an eye.
“Mama!”
Sighing, Ciara returned to the window.
“Isn’t Mephisto magnificent?” Peregrine wrestled free of the dog’s slobbering tongue. “Hadley says he has sired a litter of puppies and that I may have one—that is, if you agree.”
“We shall see,” she called. “But for now, you must come up and finish your bathing in your bedchamber.”
“But Mama! I’m not tired.”
“Your mama is right.” Lucas took hold of the animal’s collar. “It’s nearly dark, and we’ve all had a long day.”
“But—”
“Perry.”
The single word of warning from Lucas silenced any further protest. “Yes, sir.”
A cuff to his backside sent her son scampering for the terrace doors.
“Sorry.” Lucas looked up with an apologetic shrug. “I did not actually make any promises, I merely said perhaps.”
“Boys that age do not always grasp the nuances of language,” she replied carefully.
“Ah.” He flung the stick into the murky twilight and watched as the dog bounded off in pursuit. “Nor, would it seem, do grown men. Somehow, despite my best intentions, I have offended you.” His tone was equally reserved. “Allow me to apologize again.”
“I don’t wish for you to think me ungrateful, sir.” Yet even to her own ears, she sounded distant. Detached. “However, my life is very… complicated at the moment,” she continued. “Please don’t make it any more difficult.”
“Oh, I am a very simple fellow,” he answered with a shade of cynicism. “I tend to concentrate on the basics, madam. It makes things easier all around.” Whistling for the dog, he strolled off into the lengthening shadows.
She sighed. Was he being deliberately obtuse?
However, the arrival of her son left her little time for stewing. Masking her misgivings, Ciara listened with a smile to his chattering about the stables and the kennels. Whatever her own feelings, she must not cast a cloud over Peregrine’s enjoyment of their stay in the country.
It had taken some persuading for her to agree that Peregrine could occupy the earl’s old childhood rooms, high in the manor’s central tower. She and Ariel were quartered in the east wing, while the baronet and his nephew shared the west wing. But Hadley had assured her that Perry was perfectly safe. The main staircase was the only way up and down, and the entrance hall would be guarded by a footman throughout the night. As an added precaution, he had assigned a maid to sleep in the adjoining schoolroom.
Seeing as her son was taking the country sojourn as a grand adventure, Ciara hadn’t had the heart to say no.
“Hadley says when his groom arrives with his horses, he will teach me and Isa how to do a somersault in the saddle,” said Peregrine with a sleepy smile. “Just like the acrobats at Astley’s.”
“How nice.” She helped him on with his nightshirt. “Do you wish for me to stay and read you a story for a bit?”
He rolled his eyes. “Have you seen the troop of lead soldiers atop the bookcases? Hadley says I may play with them whenever I wish to. There’s a regiment of mounted Hussars and a battery of brass artillery.”
“Well, I see that a book can’t hold a candle to such excitement.” Ciara pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You may have half an hour to command your army, and then Alice has orders to extinguish your lights.”
Peregrine scrunched his face.
“Good night, lambkin. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Mama.”
Ciara shut the door before expelling a sigh. In addition to polishing their skills at cricket, Hadley had volunteered to teach her son and Isabella how to ride? The man really was marvelous with children. He ought to set up a nursery of his own…
The thought of dark-haired little imps with his devilish smile sent a stab of longing through her core.
No, don’t think of Hadley’s babies. Her insides clenched. Or what it would take to make them.
Past regrets had no place in the present or the future. She had long ago accepted the fact that Peregrine would be her only child.
Ciara hurried down the last few steps and turned to latch the door. Her only thought now was to keep him safe, whatever the cost.
The dog gave a whoof and then a whine.
“Sorry.” Lucas stepped over the stick at his feet. “I know it’s fun to cavort all night long, but it’s time to return to the kennel.”
The golden eyes fixed him with a baleful stare.
“Don’t look at me that way. I am probably feeling far more frustrated than you are.”
Mephisto pricked up his ears and wagged his tail, clearly hoping the words were a signal that the game was not over.
“Come along.” Crossing the front lawn, Lucas headed for the stables. “You, at least, can gnaw on a bone for distraction.”
After locking the pen and checking that the barn doors were bolted shut, he made a last inspection of the estate drive before doubling back for the manor house. The familiar scent of pine, fresh-cut grass, and sea salt wafted through the breeze, stirring up memories of his childhood. Despite the isolation, he had enjoyed his visits here. There was much for a small boy to explore. He must remember to show Peregrine the badger’s burrow, and the smuggler’s cave beneath the sea cliffs.
He realized with a jolt just how fond he had become of the lad. As for the lady herself…
Lucas stopped and looked up at the sky. The twilight clouds had blown over, allowing a clear view of the myriad stars and a full moon. No wonder he felt like howling at its shimmering, silvery circle of light. There was, he knew, a scientific explanation for its powerful effect on the natural world. Spin, rotation, gravity—perhaps that was what had his emotions ebbing and flowing like the ocean tides.
He hadn’t meant to take Ciara seriously. For Mad, Bad Had-ley, life was best lived for naught but rakish pleasures. Yet somehow he had been caught in a strange current, a vortex that pulled him far from familiar waters. He had come to care deeply about her and her son.
Was he a fool to imagine there could be any future between a scholar and a scoundrel? She had suffered enough selfish men in her life. He didn’t want to cause her pain. Already she was angry with him for ordering her out of London. His concern had been interpreted as bullying. So much for speaking the same language. He might as well have been mumbling in Mandarin when he tried to explain himself.
There were unspoken tensions, as well. Lucas was well aware that women did not consider sexual dalliances quite as dispassionately as men. She had implied that he had meant to use their afternoon interlude as a means of manipulating her. His jaw hardened. Hell, nothing could be further from the truth, but she had refused to listen.
A part of him said he should steer clear of any emotional involvement with Ciara.
And a part of him wanted to buck the tide of conventional wisdom and risk venturing into uncharted waters.
Throw caution to the wind. That certainly sounded like Mad, Bad Had-ley speaking.
Turning his gaze seaward, Lucas listened for a moment to the distant rumble of the surf washing up against the cliffs.
Or dare he hope that the better half of his nature was finally finding its voice?
He stood there a little longer, undecided on whether to seek his bed or make one more round of the grounds. Walking finally won out over tossing and turning between the sheets. Either way, he wasn’t likely to get much sleep.
Chapter Twenty
Ciara sat up suddenly in bed, roused from a fitful sleep by…
By God knows what, she admitted. Perhaps Sir Henry’s country home was plagued by a ghost. Some specter seemed intent on haunting her dreams.
Looking around, she saw a twinkling of light dance across the ancient oak dresser. It was coming in through the leaded windows, and as she watched, a gust rattled the glass and the draperies twitched.
; She threw off the covers, feeling a curl of apprehension inside her chest. It was just her nerves stretched taut, she chided herself. As Hadley had said, she must learn to relax. Cracking the casement, Ciara inhaled deeply, letting the calming scent of cedar and salt fill her lungs. It was silly to imagine that trouble was stalking close by. A peek outside showed only the leafy silhouettes of the garden plantings and the copse of oaks at the far end of the lawns…
Was there a movement stirring the shadows?
Ignoring her wrapper, Ciara unlatched the side door and stepped out to the terrace.
The rough slate tiles were cold against her bare feet. Another survey of the surroundings showed no cause for alarm. Feeling a little foolish, she was about to turn around when Lucas emerged from behind the hedge.
She held her breath as he crossed the stones. “Is something amiss?” she asked softly.
He shook his head, the dark fringe of his lashes shadowing his eyes. “Just making the rounds to check that all is in order. I’ve taken the precaution of having several men with dogs patrol the property. Have no fear, Lady Sheffield, I may be a bumbling bully, but I won’t allow any harm to come to you or your son.”
Her name sounded so formal.
She shivered, suddenly aware there was nothing between her and the night air but a thin scrim of silk.
“You are cold.” Lucas moved to shield her from the night breeze. “Go back inside.”
She meant to move, but the play of moonlight on his hair was like quicksilver, dancing and darting over the dark, curling strands.
“Ciara.”
Oh, no—God help her if he touched her body.
The devil must have sensed her weakness. Her wanting.
His arms came around her. “You look breathtakingly beautiful with your golden hair spilling over your shoulders.” A breeze spun the night mists in a soft, shimmering circle around their bodies. “Like some mystical, magical sea sprite in a fairy tale.”
“This is no storybook fantasy,” she replied, feeling the thud of his heart through his coat. “This is real life—”