by Anne Gracie
Somehow, he’d stirred sensations in her—with just a look from those hypnotic eyes, like a winter lake, silver against the tan of his skin. Sensations she’d never felt before. Sensations she didn’t want to feel.
I don’t yet know what pleases you.
Yet. As if it were some kind of promise. No one had ever cared to discover what pleased her.
She turned over and punched her pillow.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? And how could a mere glance from those eyes feel like a . . . like a caress? It was . . . unsettling. Wrong.
She was too . . . too aware of him. His height, his strength, the faint fragrance of his shaving soap. The indefinable air of masculinity about him.
As if he were some kind of tall, well-made magnet and she some feeble creature made of iron filings.
She punched the pillow again. She was no feeble iron-filing creature. She refused to be.
Chapter Six
The morning after the party, Gerald’s manservant brought up a note with his morning coffee, a message from his mother requesting him to call on her urgently. The fact that it was just after nine o’clock and his mother was sending notes made him think it must indeed be urgent: Mama rarely rose before eleven.
On the other hand, it was Mama sending the note. Gerald finished his breakfast, washed, shaved and dressed, and set off shortly before ten.
His mother’s butler ushered him into her bedchamber, where she sat in bed, swathed in a sumptuous silk dressing gown, propped up with half a dozen pillows, with her writing desk over her knees and correspondence scattered around her.
She presented her cheek to be kissed. “About time, Gerald. I sent that note at quarter to nine.”
He obediently touched his lips to her already powdered and rouged cheek. “What’s this about, Mother?”
“You danced with that gel last night.”
“I danced with a dozen girls,” he said in a bored voice. “I understood that was the point.”
“Don’t be facetious, you know very well which gel I mean—Alice’s foundling.”
“Alice’s foundling?”
His mother made an impatient gesture. “She might as well be. Nobody has ever heard of her. She has no fortune, no looks to speak of and nothing to recommend her. I am told you even asked her for a second dance. Is that correct?”
“I intended to, but she’d already left.”
His mother sniffed. “I warned Alice I would not tolerate her throwing the wretched gel at you. I’m glad to see she listened, for a change.”
“Aunt Alice didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“She introduced you, after I’d specifically ordered her not to.”
Gerald stiffened. “You ordered her not to?”
“Of course. I don’t want you having anything to do with that gel. She is not the sort of gel I want my son to associate with. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, Mother,” he said crisply. He turned on his heel and, fuming, stalked from the room. How dare she think she could tell him who he could and could not see? Or dance with. Or anything.
He set out immediately to call on his aunt. And her so-called foundling.
Really, Mama was outrageous. He didn’t know much about Miss Bamber—and, it had to be admitted, the girl had given him no encouragement—but as for no looks to speak of, what utter rubbish. Miss Bamber was both lively and pretty. In fact, he found her disturbingly attractive. And intriguing.
* * *
* * *
Lucy was on her way downstairs when the front doorbell sounded. She paused on the landing and drew back out of sight, clutching her old carpetbag to her chest. Alice had warned her that after their attendance at her sister-in-law’s party the previous evening, there were likely to be morning calls and that Lucy should be prepared.
But morning calls were conducted in the early part of the afternoon, and yet here it was, not yet eleven o’clock, and someone was at the door.
She glanced down at herself. She was wearing one of her old dresses, worn and faded, too tight across the chest and short, showing her ankles. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone. It was a lovely morning and she planned to spend a few hours painting.
So far she hadn’t met a soul in the garden, only a gardener who’d nodded but otherwise ignored her, which pleased her greatly. Privacy and time to herself were a gift she’d had little of in recent years.
Tweed opened the door. “Good morning, Lord Thornton.”
Lucy drew back, listening.
“Is my aunt in?”
“She is, my lord, but I’m afraid she is not yet ready to receive visitors. However, if you would care to wait a few minutes, I’m sure she will want to see you.” Lucy watched as the butler ushered Lord Thornton into the front drawing room, then mounted the stairs in his usual stately manner.
Lucy crept down the stairs on tiptoe.
“Miss Bamber.”
Blast! Lord Thornton stood in the doorway of the drawing room. Lucy pretended not to hear and hurried on.
“Miss Bamber.” Louder now.
Cursing silently, she turned, clutching her bag to her chest, and gave him a blank, ‘Do I know you?’ kind of look.
“Lord Thornton,” he prompted after a moment. “Good morning, Miss Bamber.” His gaze ran over her, and though he gave no sign that he noticed her shabby old dress, the faint cleft between his brows told her he did. She tensed. It was too close to the clothing she’d worn at their encounter on the road.
What was he doing here, making a morning call at eleven o’clock like some kind of ignorant bumpkin? Lords were supposed to know these things.
He inclined his head. “I trust you enjoyed yourself last night.”
“Last night?” she echoed, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
His frown deepened. “At the party given by my mother.” And when she didn’t respond, he added, “Almeria, Lady Charlton.”
“Lady Charlton is upstairs,” she said helpfully. “I don’t know anyone called Almeria.”
“My aunt is the dowager Lady Charlton. Almeria, Lady Charlton, is my mother.” He sounded annoyed. Good.
Lucy smiled vaguely. “Really? How nice for you. Now, I must be going. Nice to meet you, Lord . . . er.”
The furrow between his brows deepened. “Thornton,” he grated. “We were introduced last night. You danced with me.”
“Of course,” she said in an unconvinced manner. “So we did.” Footsteps on the stairs above indicated his aunt was on her way. “Goodbye, Lord Thornfield. So nice to meet you.” Hiding a smile, Lucy hurried away.
Behind her, she heard Lord Thornton say, “Thornton.” Lucy grinned. She waited out of sight and listened as Alice greeted her nephew.
“That so-called goddaughter of yours, has she got rats in her attic?” Lord Thornton said bluntly. Lucy bristled at the “so-called.” The rest of the question made her smile.
Alice responded. “What on earth do you mean, Gerald?”
“I just saw her in the hall. She had no recollection of meeting me last night.”
“Oh, well, she probably forgot you. She came down with the headache, and we had to leave early.”
“Really?” He sounded quite skeptical.
“Yes. Also there were a great many people at the party. Many more than your mother had suggested to me beforehand. I expect poor Lucy was just overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed?” He snorted. “If that girl was overwhelmed, I’m a Dutchman.”
“She wasn’t? Oh, I’m so pleased. It’s quite difficult when you’re a young girl meeting so many people for the first time, having to be on your best behavior at your first ton party.”
“She danced with me,” Lord Thornton reminded her.
“Yes, I saw. Very prettily, too, I thought. I was worried she hadn�
�t been adequately instructed, but her performance was all that anyone could wish for.”
“Her conversation, on the other hand, left a great deal to be desired. Like getting blood out of a stone.”
“Really? And yet Sir Edward Platt told me my ward was charming, and Lord Anthony Pellew sent us each a posy this morning.” Listening from behind the stairs, Lucy was touched to realize that Alice was defending her. Again.
“I’m talking about the way she spoke to me.”
“Perhaps you intimidated her. You military fellows can be quite intimidating, you know. That tall friend of yours, for instance.”
“I did not intimidate her!” Lord Thornton snapped. “I doubt anyone could intimidate that chit.” Lucy smothered a giggle.
“You’re not suggesting she was rude to you, Gerald, are you?” Alice sounded shocked.
“No, not exactly rude, just . . . uncooperative.”
“I expect she was minding her steps,” Alice said in a soothing voice.
The grinding of Lord Thornton’s teeth was almost audible.
“Was there some reason you called this early?” Alice asked Gerald.
He gave her a blank stare, then re-collected himself. “I intended to invite you and Miss Bamber to drive out with me this afternoon.”
“I’m so sorry,” Alice said, “but we are both engaged this afternoon. But thank you for the thought.”
“Perhaps another time?”
“Perhaps,” she said vaguely. “Though if you’re just being polite, Gerald, and only showing hospitality toward Lucy because she is my goddaughter—and because I suppose your mother has warned you off her—there is no need to bother. Sir Edward Platt and Lord Anthony Pellew have both offered to show Lucy some of the sights of London.”
“Those old roués!” he exploded. “Each one is old enough to be her father—Sir Edward could even be her grandfather!”
“Which doesn’t mean they can’t be perfectly charming hosts,” Alice said in mild reproof. “It’s a tour of city sights we’re talking about, not marriage.”
Lord Thornton gave a cynical snort. “Anyway, she said she wasn’t interested in seeing the sights.”
“And yet she accepted both invitations,” Alice said gently.
Lucy could almost hear the brooding silence coming from the drawing room. Laughing softly, she took the big iron key and let herself out into the garden.
She found herself a quiet, sunny corner, opened her bag and set out her paints.
* * *
* * *
The following day, James, temporarily fed up with the demands of roofers, plasterers, painters, plumbers and chimney sweeps, headed out in the afternoon on horseback for some fresh air, exercise and peace. As he approached the park, he heard his name called. “Tarrant, I say. Colonel Tarrant!”
Turning his head, he saw Chichester, a young military gentleman of his acquaintance, also on horseback, approaching and waving as he threaded through pedestrians and carts and hawkers.
“Heading for the park?” Chichester asked, and suggested they proceed together. “Ride there most days. Devilish pleasant.”
James fell in with him, and as they talked and caught up on news and mutual acquaintances, he took little notice of their route. It had been an age since he’d ridden in London, and he assumed Chichester would know the best places.
The moment they entered the park, however, he realized that not only had he chosen his time poorly, he’d also chosen the wrong companion—and the wrong park entrance.
It was obviously the fashionable hour in Hyde Park. Throngs of fashionably dressed people jammed the pathways, strolling and talking. Smart carriages moved along Rotten Row at a crawl, as did plenty of riders on horseback.
“Splendid sight, what?” Chichester said, beaming. “All those pretty ladies.”
James nodded. Curse it, he’d forgotten Chichester’s penchant for flirtation. They wove slowly between barouches and phaetons, and men and ladies on horseback, and pedestrians impeding their progress. Carriages stopped without warning to take up or put down passengers or hail acquaintances on foot. Some people seemed to think nothing of holding up the traffic while they chatted to friends in other carriages, blocking the road entirely. James resigned himself to slow progress and silently plotted his escape route.
Then he noticed a particular pair of ladies strolling along, one tall and slender, dressed in a claret-colored pelisse and wearing a straw bonnet tied with a simple claret-colored ribbon. The other was younger and curvier and wore a green pelisse and a hat adorned with daisies.
“I’ll see you later, Chichester,” he said, directing his horse to the side. Throwing his leg over the saddle, he dropped lightly to the ground just as Lady Charlton and her goddaughter came level with him. As he greeted them, he heard a voice behind him saying, “Oh, I say. Fast work, Tarrant.”
Chichester, curse him, had followed and also dismounted. He stood there grinning expectantly at the ladies. James, having no choice, introduced him, but once he saw which lady Chichester was beaming at, he said, “It’s very crowded here. Lieutenant Chichester, why don’t you walk ahead with Miss Bamber, and I will escort Lady Charlton.”
Chichester and the girl happily agreed. Lady Charlton, however, hesitated. Her creamy complexion grew rosy under his gaze, her sea blue eyes were pools of doubt. Was she simply shy or was there something about him that disturbed her? She certainly disturbed him. Not since he was a young man had he been so instantly and powerfully drawn to a woman.
He presented his arm, and she gave his horse a nervous glance. “Don’t you need to mind your horse?”
James smiled to himself. Her apparent reluctance to further their acquaintance did not extend to snubbing him in public.
“He’s used to being led.” He nodded ahead to where Chichester and Miss Bamber were walking and chatting while Chichester’s mount ambled placidly along behind.
She glanced at his arm and with a sigh accepted it. They strolled along, his horse following behind. She glanced back several times.
“You’re not fond of horses?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I’ve never had much to do with them.” She glanced back again. “They’re very big, aren’t they?”
Yes,” he agreed solemnly. “Being rather tall, I need a taller horse. So you’ve never ridden?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised. Most ladies I know who were brought up in the country ride to some extent.”
“My father was a country vicar. Both he and my mother were brought up to ride and hunt, but Papa gave it up when he took orders—he didn’t approve of it anymore—and Mama never rode again after she got married. Besides, the only horse we could afford was the one that pulled Papa’s gig, and that was necessary for his parish visits. Papa took his vows very seriously, and every spare penny went to the poor of the parish. Or to ‘the unconverted.’ ”
“ ‘The unconverted’?”
“They were Papa’s passion in life—he believed their souls were endangered unless they converted to Christianity. He and Mama sailed for the Far East shortly after my wedding.”
“And are your parents still abroad?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said after a moment. “They died within months of arriving.”
“I’m sorry.” James hoped they weren’t eaten by headhunters or boiled in a pot or another of the grisly fates so often encountered by missionaries attempting to force their foreign ways on perfectly contented native peoples, but there was no way he could ask such a thing. Especially when he was trying to charm a most reluctant lady.
She glanced at him and seemed to read his mind. “A tropical fever carried them both off.”
“I see,” he said, slightly relieved. “That must have been very difficult for you.” Newly married, orphaned and with only her husband to sup
port her. He couldn’t imagine Thaddeus Paton supporting anyone except himself.
They strolled on in silence. Ahead of them, Chichester and Miss Bamber were chatting and laughing, clearly getting on well.
“Your Lieutenant Chichester,” she said. “What’s his background?”
“Not my Lieutenant Chichester,” he stressed lightly. “Merely a chance-met acquaintance from my army days. But to answer your question, he’s well-enough born, but a second son. He’ll inherit no money or land and is destined to be a career soldier, though between you and me, he’s not the kind of lad destined for greatness.” He glanced at her and added in a lowered voice, “Unless your goddaughter is an heiress, I wouldn’t encourage that connection. He’s a gazetted flirt. When Chichester weds, which I expect won’t be for a good few years, he’ll undoubtedly marry for money.”
She gave a slow nod, then turned to him with a smile that took his breath away. “Yes, that’s exactly what I needed to know. Thank you.”
He couldn’t think of a thing to say. All he could think of was how lovely she was when she smiled. And how he wanted to make her smile more often.
She added, “I don’t want Lucy to make the kind of mistake that—to make a mistake in her choice of husband.”
The kind of mistake that she had made, he wondered?
“It’s rather daunting,” she continued, “being responsible for a young girl’s future happiness.”
“I’m sure she’s in the best of all possible hands,” he said. It was a commonplace response, a mere polite nothing, but for some reason the light in her eyes died, and she looked away, as if troubled. What had he said?
A slight breeze sprang up, stirring the leaves and the ladies’ dresses. “We’d better go,” Lady Charlton said abruptly. “We have an engagement to prepare for this evening.” She called to Miss Bamber, bid James and Chichester goodbye and vanished into the fashionable throng, leaving James gazing after her.
“Are we in a hurry?” Lucy asked breathlessly as they wove swiftly through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances and calling out brief greetings but nothing more—which was quite uncivil. “Is there an appointment I’ve forgotten?”