‘About two months ago. He writes on a regular basis.’
‘And he gave no hint of what he had in mind?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Did you by any chance read the letter he wrote to the academy?’
‘Why—I—no, I did not. It was addressed to Miss Brody. Why do you ask?’
He shook his head. ‘No reason. Have you met this man he has chosen for you?’
‘Yes, last night, and I don’t like him.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with him? Is he old, ugly, fat?’
‘No—at least at nearly forty he’s old to me—old enough to be my father.’
‘Your father is still in Louisiana, I take it.’
‘Yes. He sent my stepmother to take care of the proceedings. Being taken early out of the academy has ruined what should be a happy time for me. I find I have been thrown into the middle of an unpleasant situation.’
‘Do you think you are worrying too much about all this? You might be wrong. There might be a logical answer to all these things.’
‘I don’t know. It’s just this feeling I have that things are not quite right. I have to be prepared in case I am right.’
‘So you think running away is the solution. And you want to go to Paris. That’s a bit extreme, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘No, not at all, and I imagine you think with the impetuosity of youth and all that I am quite mad, but I’m not. My godmother was expecting me to go to her when I finished at the academy. She loves Paris and was simply dying to show it to me. She was unaware that my stepmother was coming to London—as I was.’
‘Has it not occurred to you that a scandal might ensue should you run away from your stepmother?’
‘Scandal! Why, no. Why should it? No one knows me or my stepmother—although I think she will make her presence known and will soon be invited to every soirée and ball on offer. I cannot imagine it will matter to you if I am gossiped about.’
‘It happens to matter a great deal to me. For reasons of my own the last thing I want at this time is to have scandal attached to my name. Have you explained to your stepmother your aversion to marrying the man your father has chosen for you?’
‘Yes, but my objections fell on deaf ears. She is determined that we will be married before she turns round and heads back to Louisiana. Why, Sofia has even suggested shopping for my wedding gown.’
Christopher was quiet for a moment, studying her, then he said, ‘So you are asking me to aid and abet you in your escape.’
‘If you put it like that then, yes, I am.’ Her eyes looked beseechingly into his. ‘The fact is that there is no one else I can ask. Please take me with you.’
‘How do you know I’m not a madman or a seducer?’
He spoke quietly, raising an eyebrow in question. She glanced at him. He was standing perfectly still, watching her. A muscle moved spasmodically in his throat as he waited for her answer. Something in his expression made her catch her breath, for the effect of that warmly intimate look in his eyes was vibrantly, alarmingly alive, and the full impact of the risk she was taking by being here and asking him to take her to France made her realise the recklessness of her actions. She did not know this man at all—she’d only met him briefly the day before, yet her instinct told her she could trust him implicitly.
‘I might be young and inexperienced in the ways of the world at large, but I do trust my judgement and believe you would not do me harm. You might be no prize, sir, but you are certainly preferable to the man who poses as my betrothed. I will sell my soul to the devil before I marry him. Will you take me to Paris?’ She waited through a long moment of awful suspense.
Christopher looked at her in taut silence. Finally he spoke and his voice was rough with emotion, as if the words were being gouged out of him. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘But—why?’
‘Because it’s a mad idea, that’s why.’
‘No, it isn’t. You told me you had to go there.’
‘Not any more. The person I was going to see is here in London.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Disappointment swamped her.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Walsh, but I’m afraid I’m not free to take you to Paris. I have a duty I am obliged to fulfil here in England.’
His tone suggested such finality that Lucy turned away, tears welling in her eyes. But while her heart began to beat in helpless misery she was determined not to let them to break free, for if she allowed them to do so she would be utterly demolished. She felt crushed by the full weight of her stupidity, her gullibility, and all that those two traits had brought down on her. She was afraid her knees were going to give way. Thankfully they didn’t.
She was still under the influence of his sensual magnetism and felt her heart begin to break. His refusal shouldn’t hurt so much, but she had done her best to persuade him. She couldn’t force him to take her to France. What she was going to do now she didn’t know and that alarmed her. There remained only for her to extricate herself from this awkward situation as gracefully as possible.
‘Of course you do,’ she murmured, stepping away from him. ‘I understand perfectly.’ Her voice seemed to belong to someone else, a flat, hollow, defeated voice that came from a great distance.
‘My advice is that you return to your stepmother and try to reason with her. Perhaps you are making too much of it when she might very well have your best interests at heart. Maybe she will be willing to delay your nuptials until you are back in Louisiana.’
Lucy stared at him, offended that he had not believed a word she had said. His sweeping, masculine assumption made her eyes sparkle dangerously and she was unable to bite back the retort that sprang to her lips. ‘Please do not belittle me. What I told you was the truth and I have good reason to be concerned about the plans being put in place for my future without consideration for my feelings.’
‘Miss Walsh—I beg your pardon. I did not mean to belittle you.’
‘Yes, you did, Captain Wilding. You intended to do just that, to make me see that I am no more than a green girl and that I am making a mountain out of a molehill. It was the sort of remark I would expect from a typical arrogant male who thinks women would be better off doing what they are told by their male superior who think they are brainless and helpless. I am neither of those things, sir.’
Taking a deep breath, she clenched her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt, her chin tilted as a thin, determined smile curved those tempting lips. ‘I’m sorry. I should not have bothered you with my troubles. I must go. Thank you for your time.’
She walked away, devastated by her sense of loss and amazed by his obvious indifference. Before she could reach the door, Christopher closed the distance between them and grasped her arm. When she turned to look at him, Lucy could see the silver lights in his grey eyes and the crinkled web of laugh lines at the corners. Yet he wasn’t anywhere near to laughing now. He searched her face for a long moment, then reached up to gently touch her trembling chin with a long forefinger.
‘Lucy, if I were free... I really would be tempted to take you to your godmother in Paris. But I cannot.’
She forced a smile at his gallantry and had to struggle to answer. She was grateful when he released her arm and escorted her into the hall.
‘I must go.’
‘No—wait.’
‘No, really. It was most kind of you to listen to me, but...’ She mouthed the polite words which she had been taught from the nursery upwards and Captain Wilding continued to look at her without expression. There was about him a certain air of boredom and no doubt he was impatient for her to be gone. She should not have come. She should have given his wretched satchel to one of the servants to deliver for her, for his attitude seemed to tell her that she was no more than a silly young girl and her usual exuberant confidence drained from her.
‘How did y
ou travel here?’
‘In a hackney cab.’
‘You really should not have come alone. A young woman taking a hackney in London, no matter how brave, has much to fear.’
‘I am sure you’re right, but I had to see you and I didn’t want my stepmother to see me leave. She would have stopped me.’
‘I’ll arrange to have the carriage brought round.’
‘No,’ she was quick to say. ‘Thank you for your offer, but I would rather go back the way I came.’
She turned abruptly and headed for the door, bewildered at the strength of her own feelings and not at all sure what she was going to do about them, only aware at this precise moment that she needed quite desperately to get away from the overwhelming hurt that had attacked her.
On her return journey anger took over, anger at her own gullibility, her innocence and inexperience in this new world into which she had been thrust. Did she not have enough spirit to refuse a suitor she despised and did not love—could never love?
Chapter Three
When the hackney had disappeared, Christopher raked his fingers through his hair in consternation, thinking of the reasons he wasn’t free: his grandfather, his inheritance and a sister, injured in mind and body who needed him at this time. He shook his head in frustration. He couldn’t take Lucy Walsh to Paris if he wanted to. Besides, he had received notice that the man who was interested in purchasing his vessel was in London so there was no need for him go to Paris.
Christopher couldn’t deny that he was fascinated by Lucy Walsh. When he had walked into the room and seen her sitting there, waiting for him, looking so heartbreakingly young and lovely, he had welcomed the sight of her. When she had left, he felt that he had let her down and knew there would be no peace from the throbbing emptiness that was gnawing away at him that was to increase unbearably as the days passed. He felt a sudden longing, a bittersweet mixture of desire and regret for sending her away. It was a sensation so unexpected and so unwanted that the force of it astonished him.
Instead of meekly doing her father’s bidding, she had, instead, set upon a course to save herself from an unwanted marriage and appealed to him for help. He recalled how she had looked at him with her soft brown eyes. She needed him. It was the kind of look that was imploring and proud, the kind of look that could stir a man’s conscience. He couldn’t do what she asked, it was impossible, and on that thought he had put up his defence.
But it had been damned hard, he thought with a defeated sigh, to refuse her, but he must retain his self-control or he would be lost. She was a distraction he did not need. He was here to sort out his future, not to become entangled with the delectable Miss Walsh in a fascinating web of intrigue. It was a hare-brained scheme she had concocted anyway. If he were to do as she asked, when her father found out he had abetted her in her wild escapade, he would be well within his rights to call him out. He was determined not to let her impossible request interfere with what he had to do.
He did ask himself why the inheritance should matter to him, but it did matter. Very much, in fact. The Wildings were an old and respected family and he would not have the name sullied by scandal. He could not allow himself to be distracted once he had decided on a course of action.
Suddenly irritated with her for needing his help and angry with himself for feeling guilty about refusing to give it, he snatched up the satchel and took it into the office, undid the straps and took out the papers.
‘Oh, hell,’ he muttered, wondering how Lucy Walsh had managed to get under his skin and make him feel like such a cad for refusing her, but he realised there must be more to her need to escape London than a mere feminine whim. He thought of her facing her troubles alone, without anyone there to protect her, and he knew that if her godmother didn’t return soon the pressure would only increase.
* * *
Perhaps it was her eventful meeting with Captain Wilding earlier that day that made Lucy unable to sleep that night, for when she retired to her room, sleep evaded her. An inexplicable heaviness weighed on her heart. It didn’t help that her thoughts kept returning to that devastating meeting with Captain Wilding. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. When she had been with him at the fair his rugged strength and the attention he had given her had made her feel so very feminine, his earthy sensuousness so very desirable. If his treatment of her earlier had been anything to go by, then he probably hadn’t been as affected by their meeting as she had been. No doubt he was the kind of seafaring adventurer with a woman in every port. After their acrimonious parting earlier, he would have forgotten about her entirely.
Yet she could not forget. She kept remembering the intensity of her feelings when he had snatched her out of the path of the rampaging horse, his tall strong body and his arms crushing her against him, and she remembered the sensations that had exploded inside her like tiny petals unfurling. She remembered the musky scent of his flesh and a warm, potent and unmistakable sense of longing deep inside her. She wondered what it would have felt like to be kissed by him. Abruptly she shook her head. Such fantasies were not acceptable for an unmarried young woman. She sighed. She couldn’t imagine why she was thinking this way. She would do far better to try to sleep.
Drawing a robe over her white nightdress, she slipped downstairs to warm herself some milk, hoping it would help settle her. A full moon shone brightly through the windows, lighting her way as she went back up the stairs. The house was large with several bedrooms on the first floor. Reaching the landing, she was about to turn to go to her bedroom when she heard muffled voices coming from further down the landing, dragging her from her melancholy thoughts. Puzzled, she went to investigate, her bare feet making no sound on the thickly carpeted floor.
On reaching Sofia’s door she paused to listen, hearing Sofia’s muffled laughter and a man’s voice within. He seemed to be urging her in subdued tones to be silent. Recognising the voice as belonging to Mr Barrington, for a moment she was transfixed with horror, for finding the two of them together in Sofia’s bedroom could mean only one thing. Moving closer to the door, she strained her ears better to hear what was being said, shocked by what she heard next.
‘I hope this is worth it, Mark,’ she heard Sofia say, ‘marrying a chaste little virgin. She won’t give you what I can.’
Mr Barrington chuckled low in his throat. ‘Of course she won’t, but I have to go through the motions. Not only is she more annoyingly intelligent than I gave her credit for, she is perceptive as well—and suspicious. She is quite prepared to speak her mind.’
‘Is it your intention to take her out in society?’
‘To alleviate suspicion and secure our betrothal, yes—but we will keep it limited. When does her godmother return to London?’
‘I really don’t know. Hopefully not for some time—and not until our business is concluded.’
Lucy’s mind reeled as she sought some explanation that might excuse their conduct, telling herself that things weren’t always as they appeared, but there wasn’t one. Feeling physically sick, she backed away from the door. How could they? How could they do this? How could Mr Barrington, with his insufferable arrogance, behave so disgustingly? As she experienced the full impact of their treachery, anger leaped in her.
She returned to her room as silently as she had come. Leaning on the closed door, she waited a moment for her limbs to stop shaking and her rage to lessen. She never wanted to look upon either of their faces again. It made her realise how little she knew of them. Mr Barrington was a bad individual and her stepmother a hard-hearted, selfish and greedy woman.
‘I think I hate them both,’ she whispered.
Getting into bed, she lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. Only gradually did she come to accept that bringing the incident out into the open would resolve nothing. Having listened to their conversation, now she had managed to get over the impact of what she had heard, she realised that her fears we
re not unfounded after all. Her whole life was in the hands of these two people. But what did they intend for her? What did it mean? That was when she began to fear for her father. What were they up to? Was she a pawn in some game they were playing? That was the moment she cursed her own ineptitude and her inability to control her own life.
Gradually she calmed down, but she was left feeling drained and utterly exhausted. For the time being she must swallow her own feelings of outrage and keep what she had seen and heard to herself, but she could not pretend it had never happened—nor could she forget and she would never forgive. Her natural pride and honesty urged her to a confrontation and a final settling of accounts with them, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She must bide her time until she heard from her godmother—or her father.
* * *
Much to Lucy’s relief there was no sign of Mr Barrington the next morning. Over the days that followed she minimised the time she spent with him and Sofia. She remained constantly alert and focused, bearing in mind everything that was happening. As a result she began to notice their small, silent exchanges.
Sofia seemed determined to create an easy atmosphere. She was always bright and encouraged Lucy to look favourably on her marriage to Mr Barrington. She took Lucy on shopping expeditions, where she was fitted for a number of gowns that Sofia insisted were necessary for the future Mrs Barrington. There were morning gowns in muslin, silks, satins and tulle, all trimmed with delicate lace. There were walking gowns with matching spencers, hats and bonnets, boots for walking and slippers for soirées in fashionable drawing rooms and, Sofia told her, no wardrobe could be complete without a ball gown. Never had Lucy seen, let alone possessed, such a fine selection of clothes. Sofia soon inveigled her way into society and was invited to soirées and even a ball at Lord and Lady Skeffington’s house in Mayfair.
After attending a couple of soirées with Sofia and Mr Barrington, which left her feeling unimpressed and even more reticent towards her would-be betrothed, the day of the ball arrived. Mr Barrington intended to use the occasion to present her as his betrothed, no matter how often she reminded him that she would not marry him. He always looked at her with disdain and told her it was what her father wanted.
A Viscount to Save Her Reputation Page 5