The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  He shifted and tried to tamp down his excitement at his newfound knowledge. Sebastian had been right, seeking her out to talk to her and make things right had been a good idea. They just might be able to be friends. Which would be good for when she married Simon.

  He frowned at the dull ache that built in his chest at the thought and tried to shift to get more comfortable again.

  “Sorry,” Lucy murmured.

  His eyes shot to her direction. It was too dark to see her though. “Pardon?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to keep moving. I just can’t seem to fall asleep.”

  “You weren’t bothering me.” He hadn’t even noticed she’d been moving.

  She sighed and moved in her seat in a way that brushed her hip along his thigh. He certainly felt that.

  “Sorry, I can’t seem to get comfortable.”

  Instinctively, he reached for her and pulled her against his body with her right cheek resting on his left shoulder. She didn’t argue and wiggled a little against him, presumably to make herself more comfortable. Unfortunately, that did nothing for his comfort because whether she realized it or not, it drew his attention to where the soft parts of her chest were now touching his.

  He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his lip. Pulling her against him might have been a mistake. He moved his right arm to settle across his lap so it’d better conceal his reaction to her nearness. Surely she couldn’t see his trousers in the dark, but he couldn’t be too careful.

  Giles leaned his head against the squabs and tried to dredge up what notes made up the musical scale for C major. He hated music. Detested it. Well, listening wasn’t so bad, but playing it was awful. Almost as bad as being made to dance. He couldn’t dance in the carriage and moving his feet might bother Lucy. But he could think of notes and piano keys in his head. Hopefully it’d put a swift end to his current state like it had when this used to happen when he was younger and had gone to Paris for the first time. He’d never seen a woman without a habit on before then and couldn’t help but stare at them all. Fortunately, he’d learned to control himself by thinking of music and hadn’t embarrassed himself in years. He just hoped it’d work just as well this time.

  In his mind, he went through all the scales he could remember: C, G, F, and A. There were more, but he couldn’t remember them and it might not matter since his pulse was still racing and there was still a tight, hot coil in his stomach.

  Just then, something damp touched his shoulder. He blinked and brought his hand to Lucy’s face. “Lucy?”

  She didn’t say anything, but her body trembled. Surely he hadn’t betrayed her trust because of his reaction to her. Panic built in his chest, but he couldn’t think of the right words to make it better. Although, if one were interested in the positive of the situation, his body had cooled completely the moment he felt her tears and everything had settled back to how it should be in the presence of a lady who wasn’t one’s wife.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hitching on a small sob. “I just can’t get the images of those men out of my mind and when I close my eyes—they’re there.”

  Wordlessly, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped her in his arms. “Cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated with her face pressed into his chest. Less than a minute later her tears had soaked through the front of his shirt.

  He glided his open palm up and down her back. “It’s all right,” he said against her hair. “We all have to cry sometimes.”

  TWELVE

  Lucy was pulled from her dreamless state by the low rumble in Lord Norcourt’s chest.

  “If you’ll wait outside the carriage, I’ll show you where to go.”

  “Yes, my lord.” She recognized that as Seth’s voice. Why was he awake?

  She tried to move and make sense of everything, but her head and body hurt too much.

  “It’s all right.” Lord Norcourt’s soft voice was right by her ear. “We’re at my house. I’ll carry you inside.”

  Lucy knew she should argue, but she couldn’t. She was too weary to move a muscle on her own.

  “Go on inside, Seth.” Lord Norcourt carried her up the front steps, the bottoms of his boots scraping against the stone with each step he took, but never once did it feel like she was slipping in his grip. “At the top of the staircase, go left. You can use the first room on the right.”

  “And my mama?”

  “She’ll be one room over.”

  What felt like seconds later, Lucy was being lowered against a feather mattress, then felt a heavy blanket come over her.

  The sun was already high in the sky and flooding in through the break in the curtains by the time Lucy awoke. She sat up and rubbed the stiff skin of her face with her hands. She hadn’t slept so soundly in years. If ever. Dropping her hands, she looked around. There wasn’t a lot of furniture in the room, but what was there was beautifully carved, pristine, and decidedly expensive. She idly ran her fingers over the delicate design etched into the bedpost nearest her. It was lovely and regal.

  Once I’m a viscount we’ll have a house full of the finest things money can afford, Sam promised. You deserve no less. She could still see the way the sun glinted off Sam’s light hair as he leaned against the big oak and smiled at her.

  She twisted her lips. Sam had made so many broken promises to her that she couldn’t recount them all. Nor did she wish to. She yanked her hand away as if the bedpost had burned her skin then stood. Spotting her chest across the room, she scurried over and changed out of the now crushed gown she’d traveled in and into her final gown. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the purple one, just a plain tan and black dress. It’d be the perfect thing to wear to search for a new post. Which is exactly what she needed to do as soon as Seth returned. Lord Norcourt had been most kind to her and she’d forever be grateful for his generosity, but she needed to leave before his kindness would forever be tainted by memories of the one who’d done her so wrong.

  Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she quickly repinned her hair and adjusted her bodice. Satisfied that she looked somewhat presentable, she made her way to the hall in search of her son.

  There were only two other rooms upstairs. She knocked, waited a moment, then slowly let herself inside. This room was twice the size of the room she’d been in, but had the same amount of furniture, making it look even emptier. “Seth?”

  “No, ma’am,” said a maid who was changing the sheets on the bed. “He and his lordship went out to the bakery to get something special for breakfast.”

  Lucy ground her teeth. What more could she say to Seth to make him realize that he couldn’t just go off with anyone? She wanted to groan. Apparently last night hadn’t deterred him from trying to find himself a new father. She’d have to speak to him again. “Could his cook not have made some tarts?” She hadn’t even realized she’d said that aloud until the maid responded.

  “No, ma’am. Danes is so blind he can hardly tell the sugar from the salt.” She grimaced. “’Tis better this way, ma’am.”

  “How long have they been gone?”

  “About three minutes.” The maid fluffed up the sheet then smoothed it down. “You can wait for them in the drawing room, if you’d like.”

  If the downstairs were anything like the upstairs had been, she’d need no help finding the drawing room. Just as she’d suspected, she was correct. At the bottom of the stairs was a little room with only a mahogany desk, three chairs, a settee and two floor-to-ceiling bookcases devoid of any books. The room across the hall had a long dining table with five chairs going down each side and one on either end. No decorations were mounted on the wall nor runners on the table. Evidently, he preferred simplicity. She couldn’t argue with that. The next room was locked.

  “He always keeps that one locked,” a female voice said behind her, startling her.

  “I’m sorry. I was looking for the drawing room,” she murmured, turning around to face the other woman. She immediat
ely froze. The woman who’d spoken to her stood two inches taller than Lucy with her auburn hair piled atop her head with a few wisps of curls framing her smiling face. Her curious blue eyes held no condescension, only questions.

  “The drawing room is just over here.” She gestured to the open door behind her. “Won’t you come join me?”

  Did Lucy really have a choice? Swallowing her unease, Lucy followed the fancy woman, who could only be Lady Norcourt, across the hall and toward the drawing room.

  “Have a seat anywhere you’d like,” Lady Norcourt invited as she stepped into the room.

  Lucy walked in behind her and came to a halt. There was only one settee. One short, squat, blue with gold edging settee in the center of the entire room. A small burble of uncontrollable laughter bubbled up inside of Lucy. She fought to hold it back, but couldn’t and a small giggle escaped. He was a baron for goodness’ sake, wasn’t he supposed to have a house bursting with elaborate nonsense?

  Lady Norcourt turned to Lucy and lifted a brow, her lips twitching. “Well, which side would you prefer, the left or the right?”

  At that, Lucy could hold her mirth no longer and let out peals of giggles until her cheeks and stomach hurt and tears were streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” she said as she tried to compose herself, but it was of no use because Lady Norcourt was also laughing in the same young, carefree manner. Lucy straightened and tried to put a tight rein on her laughter before one of the servants thought they were cracked. “I’ll take the left.”

  “Very well, and I’ll squeeze in on the right.”

  Lucy scooted as far to the side as she dared without risking falling off to make enough room for the voluminous skirts of Lady Norcourt’s morning dress.

  Lady Norcourt gathered up as much of her skirts as she could hold and tried to put them in her lap. “There, that should afford you another inch or so.”

  Lucy didn’t move closer as suddenly the comfort she’d felt in Lady Norcourt’s presence but a moment ago evaporated. What must Lady Norcourt think of her? Did she think she was her son’s mistress, or worse yet, just a woman he’d found only the night before? That seemed more logical since it had been Lady Norcourt who’d had to help her find the drawing room.

  Uneasy tension squeezed her throat. Why did Seth have to insist on leaving? Were he here, they could have already been on their way, but now she was stuck—

  “I’m venturing a guess that your name is Lucy Whitaker.”

  Lucy jerked her gaze to Lady Norcourt. “How did you know?”

  “My son told me.”

  Lucy’s heart picked up pace. “Which one?”

  An amused smile touched Lady Norcourt’s lips. “Actually, both of them.” She adjusted her lacy glove. “Simon mentioned that a young, albeit stubborn, lady had cared for him, but it was Giles who gave me your name.”

  Giles? That must be Lord Norcourt’s Christian name. “I take it he came to ask you for employment on my behalf.”

  “Giles?” She knit her brows. “No. He’d never do that. He doesn’t ask things of me—” a shadow crossed her face and a sad look filled her eyes— “and for good reason, I suppose.” She shook her head. “No, he came to the lending library yesterday to speak to you about something and I told him you weren’t there.”

  “That’s why he came to Shrewsbury,” she whispered to herself, making sense of everything. Of course, he’d probably told her that last night, but she’d been so overwrought she couldn’t remember everything he’d said.

  “Yes, he seemed very intent to speak to you.”

  Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know why. I know he didn’t intend—” She broke off with a blush.

  “Didn’t intend?” Lady Norcourt prompted.

  Lucy flushed again and gave Lady Norcourt an abbreviated account of how she’d lost her post because she’d helped Simon and that the two were quite adamant that they’d each find her employment and how Simon had misunderstood what Giles had meant with his vague offer. “I knew he hadn’t meant to insult me that way, but it would seem it weighed heavily on his conscience,” she concluded with a shrug.

  “Yes, it would have,” Lady Norcourt agreed. She shifted and bit her lip. “He has a hard time articulating things, but I’m sure you already realized that.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Lady Norcourt cringed. “Yes, ma’am, is sufficient.” She tucked a curly tendril of her hair behind her ear. “I’m one of the few who gave up use of my title when I married Mr. Appleton, so there is no need to ‘my lady’ me.”

  “Yes, my—ma’am.”

  Lady Norcourt, or Mrs. Appleton, rather, flashed her a smile and a wink. “I’ll let that pass, but be warned, if you slip again, you’ll be in my debt.”

  Lucy grinned at her teasing tone. Mrs. Appleton seemed vastly different than either of her sons.

  “Nonetheless,” Mrs. Appleton started. “Both of my sons are nothing if not genuine and I’d be most appreciative if you’d consider helping me at the lending library.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Mrs. Appleton gave her a sidelong glance and Lucy prayed the older woman wouldn’t see through her. “Has one of them done something to make you feel uncomfortable?”

  “Not at all,” she rushed to say. “They were both perfect gentlemen. You did very well on that score.”

  A sad, shuttered look came over Mrs. Appleton’s face. “I’m afraid I cannot claim the credit where Giles is concerned.” The hurt that laced her words pierced Lucy’s heart as a vague memory from last night came to mind. He’d mentioned something to Seth about an orphanage and a nun. Her curiosity was heightened, but it wasn’t her place to ask anything.

  “I’m sure you did the best you could, my lady,” Lucy said, offering her what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Mrs. Appleton returned Lucy’s smile with a watery, wobbly one of her own. “Thank you, but I do believe you are now in my debt.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. Surely Mrs. Appleton hadn’t been sincere in demanding Lucy pay her recompense.

  “I should mention that while both of my sons are very genuine and sincere, so am I,” Mrs. Appleton said as if she could read Lucy’s mind. “As it would be, I truly do need some help over at the lending library and think it’d help you remember my name better to spend some time with me there.”

  “Thank you, but I—”

  “Am in my debt,” Mrs. Appleton reminded her, a sparkle in her blue eyes. She winked. “I can be just as stubborn.”

  Lucy released a breath and mindlessly twisted her skirt between her fingers. “I don’t know if either of your sons told you this, but I have a son of my own, ma’am, and I can’t stay in London. He’s eleven and prone to trouble.”

  Mrs. Appleton chuckled. “I remember those days.” She waved her hand through the air. “Just bring him with you. We have plenty of books he might enjoy.”

  Lucy stared at the woman, dumbfounded. Clearly she didn’t understand Lucy’s situation. “I don’t want to drive your patronage away.” There, that was tactful, wasn’t it?

  “Madam, I shan’t drive you to tedium by recounting for you all of the ways I’ve scandalized the ton over the years.” She gave Lucy a pointed look. “I’ll only say, the patronage I have left are the ones who care far less about who they’re borrowing the book from just as long as the book itself is more exciting than their own story. Your presence won’t hinder them any more than we could get a third person on this settee.”

  Despite herself, Lucy laughed. “All right. I relent. I shall start working off my debt post haste.”

  Mrs. Appleton opened her mouth to say something, but whatever it was, died on her lips when the deep, gravelly voice of Lord Norcourt filled the room, “What debt?”

  THIRTEEN

  Giles didn’t think it’d be possible to be more surprised and dare he admit excited than he was when he opened the door to his townhouse and heard girlish laughter. But all of his good humor f
led when he reached the drawing room to see Lucy sitting next to Lady Norcourt. Not that Lucy sitting and laughing with her had ruined his good humor; it had been her mention of a debt that made bile burn the back of his throat.

  Every muscle in his body tensed as he demanded to know what trap his mother had ensnared Lucy into.

  “Miss Whitaker has agreed to help me at the library,” Lady Norcourt explained.

  Giles searched Lucy’s face but didn’t know what he was looking for. “Do you want to?”

  She nodded once. “Yes. Unless you don’t want me there.”

  He shrugged. Why would he not want her there? It was his mother he didn’t trust, not her. “In the hall, please?”

  Lucy and his mother exchanged a look.

  “I’m assuming you’d like to talk to me privately?” Lady Norcourt asked, standing.

  Giles nodded and handed the box of tarts and other bakery goods to Seth.

  The wide-eyed boy took the food and walked over to his mama while Giles’ mother excused herself from the room and followed Giles into the hall.

  Giles clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to know what her game was. Why she was manipulating Lucy this way. It was one thing to manipulate him, but Lucy didn’t deserve to be used. “Why?”