The Return of Lord Conistone

by Lucy Ashford

  His strokes deepened, lengthened, intensified in their strength. She was crying out his name, raking his back with her fingers, as she spiralled into the exquisite sensations that were taking her to unknown heights and, incredibly, keeping her there. His virile manhood stroked her, fulfilled her, while his lips roved her throat, her breasts. And he urged her beyond pleasure to a place where she had never been. Never dreamed existed. Her world exploded into splinters of shattering delight.

  Then he was joining her. Thrusting harder yet, lifting her, crushing her to him. ‘Verena’. At last he was spending himself within her, convulsing again and again, while she gloried in, was sated in, the pleasure of possessing. Of being possessed.

  Afterwards he drew her close in his arms, and cradled her until she slept.

  * * *

  She woke with a start, in the grey light of dawn. And, in broken fragments, it all started coming back to her. Dear God. She closed her eyes against the remembered images tumbling through her mind. She’d been wanton, primitive, abandoned. And had adored every minute of it.

  A slight sound had her eyes flying wide open again, and she sat up, holding the shawl against her naked breasts as Lucas came in through the door, carrying wood for the fire, which still glowed softly. In the cold light of dawn, he looked even more handsome. He stopped and smiled at her; she almost swooned with desire. He was dressed in his breeches and boots, with a soft grey kersey waistcoat over his white shirt that emphasised his broad shoulders and narrow hips. His thick black hair curled to the nape of his neck. His lean cheeks and jaw were stubbled with the beginnings of a beard. His eyes, despite that smile, were hooded. Questioning.

  Everything I’ve done, I do for you. He’d spoken words of love. Yet he looked everything that was powerful, male, dangerous.

  Her father—he must have been wrong! He must have been mistaken, because Lucas had asked her, again, to marry him.

  Lucas went to put down the firewood. She held herself tense, waiting.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ His enquiry was full of tenderness.

  Sleep well? Yes, she had, and that was the worst of it. She had slept in his arms all night. She had willingly surrendered to him—everything.

  And she would do again, she realised. If he took her in his arms now, and kissed her, she would do the same again.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said. His voice was still soft, but it was a command none the less.

  Lowering his formidable frame to her side, he reached for her and drew her into his arms. He was all muscle and sinew, and broad-shouldered grace; she remembered—too well—how it felt to have his arms enfolding her, the touch of his lips on her mouth, on her. everywhere.

  He said, ‘Verena. I rather think that rescue is on the way’.

  ‘Oh, no’. She jumped to her feet.

  ‘There’s time enough, querida’. He pulled her down again and kissed her, cupping her face and stroking it with his fingers before easing his grasp a little and gazing down into her eyes.

  ‘That’s better. Panic will get us nowhere’. He soothed her tousled hair back from her temples, his eyes still dark and unreadable.

  ‘Lucas. About last night,’ she whispered. ‘You must not feel any obligation’. Struggling free, she started to pull on her clothes.

  His eyes blackened further. He, too, stood up, towering over her. ‘Nevertheless, it happened and we must deal with it’.

  ‘But it should not have happened! It was a mistake!’

  His face tightened. ‘On whose part?’

  ‘Mine! Both of ours!’ She was buttoning up her gown. ‘Who is coming? Is it Bentinck?’

  Lucas was padding over to the window. ‘Indeed. Bentinck’s brought the flat-bottomed boat they use for moving timber from the islands. And I’m afraid it looks as if he’s brought half the servants’ quarters’.

  Verena hurried swiftly to his side, her trembling fingers smoothing down her bodice. Out there, indeed, she saw a boat, rowed by two burly menservants and steered by Bentinck. At his side was Rickmanby’s gaunt form.

  She whirled back to Lucas. ‘We can tell them the truth. That I was stranded here after following your grandfather. That you came simply to rescue me. We can appeal to their discretion’.

  He shook his head, his strong jaw tightening. ‘Discretion? I’m not sure that’s a word that exists in a servant’s vocabulary. And is that really what you want? Oh, Verena. Are you so determined to have nothing to do with me, even though you practically begged me to make love to you last night?’

  Her cheeks blazed with colour at that. It was true. Even now, he could have taken her like a street slut. She still wanted him so badly that her whole body throbbed with anguish. ‘You will not humiliate me!’ she breathed. ‘You will not!’

  They were coming closer now—Bentinck, Rickmanby, the two other men. Bentinck was leading the way, scowling as usual.

  Lucas went out to meet him. She pulled her shawl tighter as she heard Bentinck saying, in his rough way, ‘Sorry, milord. I’d have come by myself if I could, but the old Earl’s been rambling to everyone about the girl being stuck on the island…’

  Lucas commanded, ‘Wait here, Bentinck, will you?’

  ‘Aye, milord’.

  And Lucas came back in to where Verena waited, shivering with tension. ‘Well?’ he said quietly. ‘There’s only one thing for it, Verena. I know I’ve asked before, and you’ve refused. But now I think even you have to agree that there’s no other option. Marry me’.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three hours later she was back at Wycherley Hall. Pippa and David were there, looking anxious.

  ‘Turley told us you went to Stancliffe Manor and were caught in the storm!’ Pippa exclaimed. ‘But, Verena, why—?’

  Verena drew a deep breath. ‘Pippa, Lord Conistone has asked me to marry him’.

  Pippa’s mouth was opening in exclamation; David took his wife’s hand warningly. Verena went on, ‘But he has to go away again, on business, and we will not make an official announcement until we can tell Mama, in London, together. So please say nothing to anyone as yet…’

  Pippa considered this quietly for a few moments before saying, ‘Are you quite sure, my dear?’

  Verena looked at her favourite sister steadily. She could not confide her terrible doubts even to Pippa. ‘I want to be sure. So very much’.

  David Parker, smiling broadly, urged his wife, ‘Wish her joy, Pippa!’ He gave Verena a quick hug. ‘I always said there was something between the two of you! Something good! I always said Conistone was a sound man, beneath that idle veneer! Come, Pippa, let’s celebrate—sherry at the least, even though it is scarcely noon!’

  And Pippa, too, was cheering up. ‘Izzy will be over the moon at having a viscount for a brother-in-law,’ she observed, ‘and oh, my, Mama will faint with joy. Deb will be jealous to death—but don’t let any of them spoil this for you, sister mine!’

  David had already gone to fetch glasses for a toast; Pippa hugged her close. ‘I really am very happy for you,’ Pippa whispered. ‘And truth to tell, just a tiny bit jealous myself, for he truly is every woman’s dream!’

  Verena joined them in their elation, for she could not tell even David and Pippa all her doubts, her fears. True, they had been caught in a compromising situation. But Lucas could have bought or charmed his way out of it. He was no fool, to be trapped into a lifetime’s commitment by a moment’s indiscretion.

  It was she, Verena, who’d been the fool. More than a fool, she’d been a slut. Dear God, she’d been powerless to prevent what happened. And, much worse, she had not even wanted to prevent what happened… She shut her eyes. Just the memory of his lean, hard-muscled body making slow love to her was enough to set her pulse racing again, her breasts tingling anew.

  Shameless. Utterly shameless. Oh, Lucas.

  She longed to believe in him. She longed for her father to be wrong.

  * * *

  ‘No need for desperate measures, Lucas,’ she had managed to
say calmly earlier as he’d arranged to send her back to Wycherley in his grandfather’s gig. ‘No need for haste. I’ll explain to them all that you came to rescue me, that’s all!’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he’d drawled, ‘there’s every need for haste’. His grey eyes were steel-hard as they assessed her. ‘Servants talk. You have your family and your sisters to consider. All right, so perhaps you, with your good name sullied—as it will be if you don’t marry me—might crawl away and live in the country. They certainly will not wish to do so. You must agree to a betrothal, and soon, or the Sheldon family’s reputation will be ruined’.

  If she were sure of this man and of his love, then marriage to him would be the most wonderful thing in the world. But how could she be sure?

  Oh, Father. If only I could talk to you one last time.

  ‘Yesterday,’ Lucas went on, ‘I saw my attorney. He has a letter for you, to be opened if I don’t return’.

  She felt her breath catch in her throat. ‘If you don’t return? From where?’

  ‘I have to go away again soon. In fact, I have to leave tonight. I have urgent business. And I want to make quite, quite sure you’re provided for’.

  At first she was speechless. Then she whispered, ‘You are always leaving me. Behaving—inexplicably. Yet you plead with me to trust you. Sometimes, I feel as if my life and my future are merely your playthings…’

  His eyes were dark. Hooded. ‘Some day,’ he said quietly, ‘some day very soon I will be able to explain. Some day soon I will want your answer’.

  She nodded, her throat aching. ‘You—you will wish to speak to my mother before the engagement is announced’.

  ‘Of course’. He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Mean-while—I need your trust, Verena. I need your love’.

  * * *

  The gig had brought her from Stancliffe back to Wycherley, and already she yearned to hear his husky soft drawl. To see his lazy smile, his dancing grey eyes. The longing for him was almost a physical pain. But so many of her questions were unanswered.

  It was a relief to get away from Pippa and David and their congratulations and reach the sanctuary of her own room. To have the chance to address, at last, one of the issues that troubled her so.

  Back on the island, when Lucas had gone out to speak to the newly arrived Bentinck, she’d quickly retrieved her father’s diary in its slim case from its hiding place in the pavilion and concealed it beneath her cloak. Surely, surely, this would contain the answers to at least some of her questions!

  Now she eased the leather case open, uneasily aware of something she’d scarcely acknowledged at the time. It felt—too light.

  And there was a reason for that.

  The diary was not there.

  * * *

  She had to keep going. Even though her world was shattered into tiny pieces around her, she had to keep going. Pippa and David had left, and she was alone in the house except for the servants, until she had a visitor later that day. Captain Martin Bryant.

  She did not want to see Captain Bryant. But unfortunately Turley had already told him that she was here.

  ‘Please show him to the parlour then, Turley,’ she said tightly. ‘I will be there in a moment’.

  Martin Bryant was pacing up and down the room when she entered. ‘Captain,’ she said, ‘what brings you here?’ She was praying he hadn’t heard some rumour about her night with Lucas. She’d told Pippa and David to say nothing, but servants’ gossip flew like the wind.

  His fists were clenched. ‘I heard you’ve seen Lucas Conistone again, Miss Sheldon! At Stancliffe!’

  Oh, no. What else had he heard? Her chin jerked upwards. ‘That is hardly your business, Captain Bryant!’

  His pale blue eyes betrayed agitation. ‘I’m afraid it’s my official business, Miss Sheldon! I’ve asked you this before—but has Conistone been asking you about a diary of your father’s, some kind of record of his travels in the Peninsula?’

  The diary again. The room rocked around her. Her hand flew to her mouth, then dropped again.

  ‘I knew it!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘He has, hasn’t he? You denied it earlier, but I was certain that brute Conistone would be worming his way in here to a purpose, using you. Verena, your father’s diary is vitally important! ‘

  Certainly it was important to Lucas. He had seduced her for it. Suddenly, full of unspeakable dread, she remembered what the old Earl had said. They killed your father for what he knew.

  She whispered, ‘What is in my father’s diary? Please, Martin, I must know’.

  He’d been striding to and fro in agitation. Now he stopped and faced her. ‘You must have heard, Verena, that Lord Wellington is marching towards Lisbon across the Portuguese mountains’.

  She nodded, clasping her hands together. ‘I have read in the newspaper that possession of Lisbon is vital, yes’.

  ‘The French are in pursuit. They have twice Wellington’s men, twice his armaments! Wellington is relying,’ went on Martin harshly, ‘on moving faster than the French across the difficult terrain. He needs maps. And no one has ever explored and charted those mountains as your father did!’

  She sat down, her heart thudding sickeningly. ‘So people really are after his papers’.

  ‘His diary of the year before last, to be precise,’ cut in Martin. ‘And I’ll ask you again—has Conistone pestered you for this diary? I warn you, Conistone will sacrifice anyone, and anything, to get it! You must tell me where that diary is; it is bringing you into incredible danger!’

  She jumped to her feet again. ‘If I was in danger because of that diary, then so was Lucas! He tried to protect me! He was shot at, twice!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Martin silkily, ‘they were trying to silence him. He’s not making a very good job of things, after all’.

  ‘They?’

  ‘His French comrades’.

  The room was spinning around her. Martin had hinted at this weeks ago; she had taken no heed. ‘Captain Bryant, you’re not saying—that Lucas is working for the French?’

  ‘Who else would he work for, after he left the army in such disgrace?’

  Her hand went to her throat. ‘But—why?’

  ‘Not for money, certainly,’ said Martin bitterly. ‘He has no need of that. But—he won’t have forgotten the insults that flew around after he left the army. He’s a coward, Verena. And this betrayal of an entire campaign is the horribly twisted revenge of an extremely clever man whose life has gone utterly wrong. You’d have thought Lucas Conistone had everything, wouldn’t you? Money, looks, title. But beneath it all he’s bitter as hell and full of hatred. I guess that he’s promised to take your father’s diary to the French in Portugal—indeed, I’ve been told he’s on his way there now. Thank God he hasn’t found it’.

  But he had. The nausea rose in her throat till she could barely stand. ‘You say—he’s on his way to Portugal? ‘

  ‘He’s set off for Portsmouth, yes’.

  With the diary.

  She said tightly, ‘If you really believe that he is a traitor, why not report it?’

  He shrugged. ‘He has powerful friends, so I need proof, Verena, extremely good proof. And if I challenged him alone I’d be a dead man. But—perhaps I should not be telling you all this!’ He walked over to the window, then swung round to face her again, his face quite desperate. ‘After all—you’ve as good as sold yourself to him, haven’t you?’

  Had he heard about the secret betrothal? Her night with him on the island? The colour burned in her cheeks. ‘Martin, I’ve sold myself to no one! That is an abominable lie!’

  ‘Is it? Is it?’ He spread out his hands, palms upwards. ‘Everyone knows that he’s lavishing money on your family—why? Verena, I love you! I can’t offer you what Lucas can. But I can offer you a loyal and a brave heart!’

  Suddenly he whirled round to face the door, hearing what Verena did. The sound of heavy footsteps outside, and the familiar whistling of ‘The British Grenadiers’.


  She hurried to the door. ‘Bentinck! What are you doing in this part of the house?’

  Bentinck had stayed, on Lucas’s precise instructions. She had known better than to argue. ‘Looking for you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Some parcels ‘ave just arrived by carrier; fabric for curtains and other such fancy things, I b’lieve. Will you come and sign for them? The carrier’s out in the yard’.

  ‘Yes. I’ll make my own way there’. Still he didn’t move. She said sharply, ‘Well? What are you waiting here for?’

  ‘To make sure everything’s all right, ma’am. That’s all’.

  He was Lucas’s spy. And she’d had enough of him. ‘I can manage perfectly well without you, Bentinck, I assure you!’

  For a moment Bentinck looked inclined to stand his ground. ‘Lord Conistone, he said—’

  She ushered him out into the hallway, shutting the door on Captain Bryant. ‘Bentinck,’ she announced, ‘I’m leaving Wycherley later today, to join my mother and sisters in London. You will leave also. And definitely—most definitely—not in my company! You’ve no need at all to fear for my safety—I’ll be far better chaperoned in London than I am here, I assure you!’

  ‘Even so—’

  ‘If I don’t see you leaving this house within the hour, Bentinck, I will have you arrested for trespass. Is that clear?’

  He bowed his head. ‘Quite clear, ma’am’. His face was wooden. ‘Would you put that in writing, ma’am, for his lordship?’

  Pale with fury, she hurried to the study, scribbled a note and thrust it at him.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, obliged, I’m sure!’ And he walked slowly away.

  Drawing her hand wearily across her eyes, Verena went back to Martin Bryant.

  ‘You must go,’ she said icily. She held the door open and he picked up his hat, still hesitating.

  ‘Conistone is more than a coward, Verena. He’s a damned traitor! I’ll carry on doing what I can, to find proof of it. But for God’s sake have nothing more to do with him, and if you do find this diary of your father’s, let me know, will you? Believe me, I’ll make very sure that Lord Wellington gets it!’