by Dayna Quince
“You’re a dog.”
“Yes.” He pulled away with relief. He stepped back and stooped to pick up the blanket. He handed it to her. Her eyes spit fire at him. “Though a dog might have a tad more loyalty than I do.”
She threw the blanket around her shoulders and pulled it tightly about her. Dean was feeling better by the moment. The more she closed herself off from him, the better he could temper his own desire. He gathered another blanket from the shelving and covered himself. He heard her leave the tack room without uttering another word. He collapsed onto a bale of straw and put his head in his hands. If she had pushed him any further, this would have been the death of him.
Chapter 10
Lucy sat in her bath with her fist curled tightly. She could still feel him in her hand, and though she ought to be disgusted with that entire scene in the tack room, she wasn’t. She was beginning to think something was wrong with her. Yes, his words stung. The bitter feeling they evoked had not waned, but at the same time, she was still yearning for the things he had said, for the way her body had felt when she touched him and he had touched her.
After seeing to Thea, who was recuperating with a cup of tea and poultice in her room, Lucy had gone to her own for a hot bath and session of sulking. She stared at the rain falling on her window and willed herself to cry, to feel ashamed of her behavior. The most she accomplished was a bit of mistiness and not an ounce of shame.
There must be something wrong with her. She was a shameless wanton. This explained why she couldn’t behave like a proper young lady, why the worst sort of men always sought her out. Lucy closed her eyes and sank lower in the water. It was no longer hot enough to soothe her. She climbed out of the tub and toweled herself off. She put on her dressing gown and stood before her mirror. She looked at her reflection and tried to reason with the woman who looked back at her.
“Who are you, and what have you done with the charmed life I had before?” Things were so easy before Winchester arrived. So boring. Did she really want that? She hadn’t been unhappy, but she had been aware that something was missing. She had been so sure that it was Lord Winchester.
The moment she saw him, sans beard, she’d felt it. Her internal world had shifted to make room for him. Now that room was empty, an open wound she didn’t know how to heal. She focused on her reflection and tilted her head to the side. She pulled the ties of her robe loose and separated the halves slowly. She looked at her body in a way she never had before. She looked at herself as a woman, the type of woman Lord Winchester would take to bed.
He’d touched her breasts. She imagined him doing so now, but without clothing, without the filthy tack room around them. She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his hands. She recalled the hot press of his lips on her neck and imagined them moving down to her breasts. She’d never known that could be pleasurable. Twice now he’d touched them and now she wanted him to do it more.
There was a knock at her door.
Lucy swiftly tied her robe. “Come in.”
She could feel her cheeks burning as she sat at her vanity and brushed her hair. Marigold had the tub removed and set out another dress for her. Normally, they talked, but this time, Lucy remained quiet. Marigold departed after helping her dress, and Lucy didn’t feel the urge to leave her room just yet. She was growing hungry, but she didn’t want to see Lord Winchester. She felt raw still, and she didn’t know how to behave around him after this morning. She needed time to come to a resolution over her muddled feelings.
Lucy set her feelings aside when she went to see her mother and found that she was indeed ill. It was nothing to be concerned about, her father assured her, just a cold. After seeing her mother had all that she needed, smiling at how her father remained by her mother’s side, Lucy went to see to Thea.
Thea was still in her room, nursing her swollen hand.
“Does it still hurt?” Lucy asked.
“It throbs and aches but not as painfully as before.” Thea sat on her bed and paged through an old newspaper.
“Did you get terribly wet walking back?” Thea asked.
Lucy bit her cheek. Thea had said she didn’t want to know about things between her and Winchester so she swallowed the urge to tell all. “A tad. We ended up riding back together after Penny got spooked again and knocked me down.”
“On the same horse?” Thea looked up.
Lucy kept her features composed and nodded.
Thea blinked. “That’s all?”
Lucy panicked. “What do you mean, that’s all? What did you hear?”
Thea leaned forward. “Is there something worth hearing?” she whispered.
Lucy folded her arms. “You said you didn’t want to know.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d be able to resist informing me.” Thea looked back to her paper with a teasing smile.
“If you must know, he again tried to persuade me to abandon any sentiments I may or may not have toward him.”
Thea looked up and frowned. “May not have? Have you had a change of heart?”
Lucy shrugged.
Thea set the paper aside. “Really?”
“I’m beginning to think I have poor judgment or perhaps I’m broken.”
“Broken?” Thea said in alarm. “What on earth did he say to you?”
“I’m not going to repeat it. It was very distasteful.”
“He hurt you.”
“He certainly tried.”
Thea crossed her arms. “I won’t stand for that.”
“He is only being honest about who he is. Most men we’ve crossed paths with in London would not be so forthcoming.” Lucy smiled at Thea’s militant frown.
“I won’t tolerate someone calling you broken.” She curled her lip.
“He didn’t say I was broken. Upon reflection of the whole scene, I came upon that conclusion myself.”
It surprised Lucy when Thea leaned forward and covered her hand with her own. “You are not broken. You are a wild and colorful bird. It isn’t fair how we are sorted into boxes of what is beautiful and what is proper behavior. You are many things—courageous, lovely, stubborn, but never broken.”
At that, Lucy did cry. She’d always felt like she was Thea’s protector, but it was apparent that Thea was hers, as well. She mopped up her tears with her sleeve and gave Thea a swift hug.
“Thank you.”
Thea sniffed and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her dressing gown. “This weather is dismal, but I bet we can find a way to entertain ourselves in the house.
“We can have a special dinner in the conservatory and listen to the rain?”
“And Marigold can teach us more dancing here in my room!” Thea added.
“That is a splendid idea—but what shall we do until then?”
Thea shrugged. “Marigold said moving my hand will help dissipate the swelling, but it’s not pleasant.”
Lucy thought about what would keep Thea’s hands moving without causing too much discomfort. “Let’s see what fun can be had in the music room.”
* * *
After spending a lovely afternoon playing music, Lucy was excited to have a special dinner with just her and Thea. She could relax and be herself when it was only her and Thea. She didn’t want to admit that she was avoiding Lord Winchester, but she was. She wasn’t sure how to handle him after the incident in the morning, and she wasn’t yet ready to try.
She met Thea at the stairs, and they made their way to the conservatory in companionable silence. When they entered, Lucy halted in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she said. She wasn’t sure to whom she meant it as her brother and Lord Winchester both stood from the table.
“Dying of starvation waiting for you,” Jonathan returned. Her eyes left her brothers and settled on Lord Winchester. He was a shock to her senses. Her heart thudded painfully, and Thea had to tug her into motion.
Lucy’s eyes were glued to his, the vibrant green so intense and lovely she felt pulled
to him by some unnamable kinetic force. She hadn’t realized she’d grabbed Thea’s hand until Thea patted hers in reassurance. Lucy mentally shook herself. Whatever he made her feel with his callous words, she longed for him still. She wanted to be near him, to collide with him over and over like the waves on the bluff as long as it meant she was still near him.
She was being ridiculous, she knew. All the things he’d said were painfully true, but that wouldn’t stop her. She couldn’t stop what her heart wanted so badly. She yanked her eyes from his, not bothering to greet him or her brother and took her seat. The table was small and intimate.
“I didn’t realize this was a private engagement. I was only alerted when the dining room was devoid of food and a footman directed us here.”
“It’s nothing, just something out of the ordinary to do since Mother and Father are not dining with us.”
“I checked on her before I came down. She will be back to full health in no time at all.”
Lucy nodded. She remained quiet as her glass was filled with wine and a bowl of soup set before her.
“Is your hand much improved, Miss Manton?”
Lord Winchester’s deep voice made her look up. Lucy watched him more carefully now that he wasn’t looking directly at her.
“Yes, thank you,” Thea answered. “I hope the return walk was not horribly uncomfortable.”
“Not at all.”
He lies so easily, Lucy thought. Though what did she expect him to say? The truth? She returned her attention to her food. She didn’t feel hungry anymore, but she ate anyway. They all ate silently. The tapping of the rain on the conservatory glass was exactly as Lucy had hoped. Candelabras had been placed to provide adequate light while the sun made its final farewell. As they finished eating, full darkness had settled and their reflections shined back at them.
Jonathan set his fork down and looked at his sister. She didn’t have her usual sparkle tonight. Did she catch a chill from being trapped in the rain? He wondered if perhaps she was worried about their mother. Jonathan had visited again, and she had a light cough but her spirits were high. She looked to be enjoying their father’s devoted attention. But it was odd she fell sick in the first place. Jonathan couldn’t remember ever seeing her under the weather, even when Lucy was born.
“Lucy, would you stroll with me?”
She turned to him and blinked. “Stroll?”
“Around the conservatory,” Jonathan said.
“If you insist.” She looked at him sideways and moved to stand. Jonathan stood and offered his arm. She took it, still looking at him as if he’d grown another eye.
He waited until they moved far enough from the table to talk privately.
“She’ll be fine,” he said.
“Who?” Lucy still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that her brother had asked her to stroll with him. The only reason he would do such a thing was to speak to her privately, and she hesitated to guess why. Did he know? Had Winchester spoken to him about her?
“Mother.”
“Of course.” Lucy relaxed.
They moved along a wall of panes and Lucy watched their reflection.
“You are quiet tonight. I thought perhaps you were worried.”
Lucy thought about that. Shamefully, she hadn’t given her mother very much thought at all. She checked in periodically, but deep down, she was certain her mother would be well again. As certain as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow. It was thoughts of Winchester that plagued her. She’d revisited his words and the whole awful scenario over and over, reliving his touches, loathing the words that stole the pleasure from the moment. Seeing him so soon was salt in the wound but also proved something. These feelings she was having, they were unshakable. What did that mean? She’d told Thea she was in love, but she was only being dramatic. Was this what love felt like? She swallowed back a sigh of defeat. Jonathan was speaking to her, but she hadn’t heard a word.
“I have faith,” he finished.
“Yes,” Lucy said absently. She had no idea what he’d been talking about. “Mother will be better in no time at all.”
“Lucy.” He turned to face her and grabbed her shoulders. He gave her a little shake. She blinked up at him in annoyance.
“What the devil is wrong with you? Are you ill?”
“No! Take your hands off me before I blacken your eye.”
He did, but he rolled his eyes as he did so. He folded his arms across his chest and tried to appear intimidating.
Lucy sighed and looked away. He hated when she ignored him. She saw the reflection of Thea and Lord Winchester at the table. Their heads were bent together. The reflection was too distorted to determine anything else. She turned to look and her brother stepped into her line of sight.
“Why are you acting so strange?”
“I can’t have an off evening? What do you expect of me? Perhaps I’m entering my feminine time?” She enjoyed his immediate look of disgust. Women’s issues always frightened him away.
“I’m sorry I asked or even entertained the slightest fragment of care for your emotional well-being. I stupidly thought you were worried over Mother and sought to comfort you.”
Lucy was taken aback. “You did?” She felt a swell of affection. “Thank you, but I’m entirely capable of managing my emotional state.”
“Very well.” He took her hand and set it on his arm.
Lucy looked past him as they turned to finish their circuit of the room and found Thea and Lord Winchester still bent together. Thea was speaking vigorously, but so quietly Lucy couldn’t hear a word. Lord Winchester was frowning. His gaze lifted and caught hers. Lucy snapped her head forward. By the time she and Jonathan returned to the table, Thea and Lord Winchester were sitting in relative silence.
“Billiards?” Winchester suggested to Jonathan.
“Excellent idea. Will you join us, ladies?”
Lucy shook her head. She wanted to interrogate Thea first. “I’d like to read. Thea?”
“I as well. I may retire early. The rain makes me sleepy.”
The men bid them goodnight and departed. Lucy watched them leave and then turned to Thea with raised brows. “Well?”
“Well?” Thea shrugged innocently.
“I saw you speaking to him.”
“Yes. It was the polite thing to do.”
“Not the way you were speaking. You were berating him.”
“It was rightly deserved.” Thea folded her arms.
“Please, tell me what you said.”
Thea sighed. “If you insist.”
Chapter 11
Dean held the match to his cheroot and took a long draw. He shook out the match and tossed it in the ashtray. Miss Manton had…astonished him. As soon as Rigsby and Lucy stepped out of earshot, she turned to him like a tiger and ripped into him.
“I’d like to have a word with you, my lord.”
“Certainly, Miss Manton.” Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked Lucy’s progress around the room.
Miss Manton had leaned closer, so he did as well.
“You hurt her,” she’d said.
He stared back at Miss Manton and contemplated pretending to not have a clue who her was.
“Her? You mean Lady Lucy?”
Miss Manton stared at him with narrowed eyes. “I won’t pretend to know precisely what is happening between the two of you, I don’t want to. Lucy is and always will be too exotic for the role she must play in society, but I trust her—that is until today. She said something that broke my heart to hear.”
“My apologies. I don’t want to hurt her.” Dean didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure how much Lucy had confided to her friend or how detailed she’d been. He kept his expression impassive.
Miss Manton leaned forward further. “I believe you, but I don’t think you truly understand her.”
“What was it she said that you found so alarming?” Dean inquired.
“She said she felt broken.” She pressed her lips t
ogether in a firm white line.
“Broken? Because of me?” Dean felt a shudder of loathing move through him. “I’m trying to save her from herself, not break her.”
“You didn’t. She feels she is broken because of what she feels for you.”
Dean slumped back in his chair.
“Whatever it is you said, find another way to say it that doesn’t destroy who she is or… I will be inclined to kill you.”
Dean had snorted at that, but a small part of him believed her. It was then their conversation ended as Rigsby and Lucy returned. Dean thanked the heavens the ladies chose not to join them. He needed to think. There was so much at stake here. He didn’t want to hurt Lady Lucy and he didn’t want to damage his friendship with Rigsby. It was her fault really. The moment he arrived, she’d targeted him and—broken? She felt broken because of her misguided infatuation for him? He felt like a scoundrel—and not the romanticized sort—like the real thing. It made him angry. She was forcing his hand, and the last time someone had done that, it ripped two families apart.
He was silent as they began their game. Rigsby didn’t seem to mind. The played a few rounds and then retired. Rigsby wished him goodnight and Dean headed for his room. He climbed the stairs behind Rigsby and parted ways toward the guest wing. The hall was dark, a lone candle stood guard over the hall from a side table. He stared at it dubiously and blew it out. It was irresponsible to leave a lone candle burning. He entered his room, closed the door and began to unbutton his jacket.
“Don’t,” a feminine voice said. Her voice.
He turned toward the hearth. She was sitting in the chair, her brown wool dress disguising her into the brown fabric.
“Are you out of your mind?” he growled.
She nodded. “I’m starting to think so.”
“What are you doing in my room? Is it your aim to be caught with me? Is Miss Manton leading your parents this way this very moment?” He was furious, but he kept his voice low. He wanted to roar in anger.