Authors: Rexanne Becnel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Regency
Dangerous to Love (6 page)
Whether she would ever get it was highly debatable, and quite beyond Lucy’s sphere of influence. All she could do was make sure that Lady Westcott got what she said she wanted: Lady Valerie Stanwich safely wed to an acceptable gentleman. And safely out of Ivan Thornton’s clutches. Beyond that she would not concern herself with the Gypsy earl’s personal affairs.
Later, however, once Lucy was settled in her bed, in a very pretty room across the hall from the countess’s suite, she found her mind wrestling with the most inappropriate thoughts.
He really was a Gypsy, with his coal-black hair waving over his collar and that hedonistic earring. But he was an earl too, and Lucy understood fully the magnetic pull he would have on any young woman’s senses. To even think of those enigmatic eyes gazing into hers, of those strong tanned hands touching her—
She let out a decidedly unladylike oath and turned angrily to her other side. She would not think of such things. She could not allow herself to do so. Her role was simple and easily defined: keep Lady Valerie out of Ivan Thornton’s clutches.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering what female would ultimately fall
into
his clutches. And whether her lot would be awful or wonderful.
into
his clutches. And whether her lot would be awful or wonderful.
L
ucy awoke some time before dawn to the sound of horse’ hooves ringing upon pavement, and noisy, though muffled, laughter. Where was she?
ucy awoke some time before dawn to the sound of horse’ hooves ringing upon pavement, and noisy, though muffled, laughter. Where was she?
The answer came to her immediately, but not before her heart had clutched in unreasoning panic. She was in London, she reminded herself. At Westcott House. Where the notorious Gypsy earl held sway.
That started her heart thumping all over again, but not in panic—though perhaps, if she were wiser, she would be panicked.
Exasperated by her perverse reaction to Ivan Thornton, Lord Westcott, Lucy threw back the butter-soft coverlet and arose. Behind the heavy damask curtains, dawn was just beginning to flirt with the night, silhouetting the rooflines of good English slate and the rows of fanciful chimney pots that adorned the other houses fronting Berkeley Square. But dawn in the city was not the focus of Lucy’s interest, not this morning anyway. Instead she squinted at the carriage pulled up to the front of the house. Four horses stamped impatiently in their traces.
Who on earth would be arriving at such an unheard-of hour? she wondered, peering into the gloom. Even with her cheek against the windowpane, however, she could not quite see if anyone had stepped down from the smart vehicle. That only increased her curiosity. Though she knew it was unseemly, she unlatched the window, then carefully inched the sash up.
Much better, she thought, though she shivered at the rush of cool night air. She leaned out, just far enough to see someone approach the carriage. A woman, with a man escorting her.
Ivan Thornton! She would recognize his wide shoulders and lean build anywhere!
Why that should be true she refused to ponder. But it was he, no mistaking it. And right there, in broad view of anyone who cared to look, he took the woman in his arms and kissed her!
Kissed her? No, when the “kiss” went on and on, until Lucy felt her own cheeks flush, she knew the word “kiss” was wholly inadequate. He was ravishing the woman right there, two stories down and a little to her left. He was ravishing a woman on his own front steps!
Finally he released the woman and helped her up into the dark carriage amidst several more ardent kisses and indecipherable murmuring. Lucy could not drag her eyes away from the scene being played out before her. What sort of woman stayed the whole night at a man’s house?
“Idiot!” she rebuked herself. Everyone—even rustics from the countryside—knew the answer to that. Fallen women. Scarlet women. Ladies of the night.
Still, she’d never actually
seen
such a woman.
seen
such a woman.
She peered all the harder, trying to pierce the gray predawn gloom. Just as she leaned out, however, the woman drew back into the carriage, the driver’s whip snapped, and the vehicle was off. Disappointed not to have the identity of the woman to link with the devilish Lord Westcott, Lucy pulled back and proceeded to crack her head on the bottom windowpane. She must have let out a cry of pain, for to her horror, the earl’s face turned up toward her.
At once she drew back into the room, like a turtle scuttling back into its shell. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear! Had he seen her? Did he know who it was? Would he confront her and accuse her of spying on him?
Abruptly she pulled herself together. What did it matter if he
had
seen her? She’d done nothing wrong. She’d but heard a noise and arisen to investigate it. It was he who should be ashamed of his behavior, not she.
had
seen her? She’d done nothing wrong. She’d but heard a noise and arisen to investigate it. It was he who should be ashamed of his behavior, not she.
She gave an inelegant snort at that foolish idea. She could predict already that he would not be in the least ashamed. No, not him.
Rubbing the back of her head, she crossed the room and climbed up into the high bed, then sat there cross-legged, contemplating her reluctant host, and trying to root out the source of his considerable discontent.
He’d probably been a terribly lonely child. From what she’d heard and pieced together, it seemed he’d been removed from his mother’s care, ignored by his father, and hidden away for years at Burford Hall. For all intents and purposes, he’d been abandoned by every adult he’d ever known.
Was it any wonder he hated his grandmother? She’d never shown him any love. One of Lucy’s several theories was that a child deprived of love became an adult who either craved love incessantly, or turned away from it entirely. In which direction had Ivan Thornton’s unhappy childhood led him?
Though she told herself it was none of her concern, she nonetheless could not prevent herself from wondering. How had a dark-haired Gypsy child fit into the rigorously structured life of a northern boarding school? What had he done in the years after leaving the school?
The
Times
had said he’d traveled abroad prior to his investiture. But was that the complete truth, or merely a way to gloss over a number of years unaccounted for?
Times
had said he’d traveled abroad prior to his investiture. But was that the complete truth, or merely a way to gloss over a number of years unaccounted for?
A soft knock at her chamber door sent all her speculations suddenly spinning. She stared aghast across the darkened room at the eight-paneled painted door. A knock, and at this hour. Who could it be?
But of course she knew, and as quickly as that her throat went completely dry.
The knock came again.
She fought a battle between diving under the covers and feigning sleep, and leaping up and bolting the door against him.
One more time the knock sounded.
He was not going away!
So get up, you fool! Don’t give him the pleasure of thinking he has intimidated you.
So get up, you fool! Don’t give him the pleasure of thinking he has intimidated you.
Even though he did. Even though he scared the wits out of her, with his brooding eyes and intense manner—
She bolted from the bed. He would not get the best of her. No indeed. She stopped an arm’s length from the door. “Who is it?”
“You know very well who it is, Miss Drysdale. You need not pretend otherwise.”
It occurred absurdly to Lucy that she needed to light a lamp—several lamps—for Ivan Thornton’s voice was far too silky and seductive to be allowed free rein in the dark.
She stepped nearer the door. “Go away. I am not about to come out there in my wrapper. Nor am I likely to let you in,” she said, clutching her hands and pressing them to her bosom.
“What if I let myself in?”
She gasped. “You would not!”
“You have not known me long enough to know what I will or will not do, Miss Drysdale. Lucy,” he added after a brief pause.
“I haven’t given you leave to address me so familiarly,” she stated, though not nearly so forcefully as she would have liked. “Go away from here before I … before I call out to your grandmother.”
He laughed, low and husky, and Lucy could picture most disturbingly his face: eyes glittering, teeth flashing, lips curved in a way far too elemental for her comfort.
“Surely you are aware that she is no threat whatsoever to me.”
“And surely you know I will not come out nor let you in. So why are you at my door?” she demanded in exasperation.
She heard a movement, as if he’d shifted and now leaned upon the door. “You seemed so interested in my activities outside. I thought I’d answer any questions you might have.”
Questions indeed
. Oh, but the man had no shame whatsoever! She sternly overlooked the fact that she was fair to bursting with questions.
. Oh, but the man had no shame whatsoever! She sternly overlooked the fact that she was fair to bursting with questions.
“I awakened to a strange noise in a strange house. If I interrupted your … your … whatever it was you were doing, I apologize. Now will you please go away?”
For long seconds there was no response. Lucy took the final step to the door and laid her ear cautiously against the crack between door and frame.
“Good night, Lucy,” he whispered, right in her ear it seemed. Like a terrified hare, her heart began a maddened thumping, as if his warm breath had caressed her ear and his lips had moved within her hair.
She did not dare respond. Instead she stumbled backward until her calves came up against a slipper chair and she sat down hard upon it.
Good night, Lucy.
He was gone. She knew it though she’d not heard a sound of his departure. She felt it, she decided, in that secret part of her heart that was still a girl’s.
In that secret part of her heart that was still silly and foolish and terribly, terribly naïve, she amended.
She remained there, in the gold and cream striped chair, for a long while. The sun broke the hold of darkness and slowly brightened the heavy drapes. The pretty room came into a sharper focus—the mahogany bedroom suite, the gilt-framed floral paintings. But still she sat there, contemplating the weeks and months to come.
Perhaps she should speak to Lady Westcott about taking another house for the duration of their stay in town. For one thing, she did not think she could survive living under the same roof as the violently attractive and unpredictable Lord Westcott. In addition, placing young Lady Valerie in constant proximity to the very man she was most expressly not to become linked with, was not very wise.
Unless what the dowager countess wanted and what she said she wanted were two different things entirely.
Was the old woman wily enough to believe that her wayward grandson would seriously pursue only that which he was denied—or rather she whom he was denied?
Lucy sat in the chair a while longer contemplating that thought until she heard an upstairs maid moving about in the hall, and a street sweeper whistling somewhere in the street below her window. She stood up then, feeling more exhausted than she had when she’d first laid herself down. For now she would simply observe her employer and her young charge. Perhaps she’d be better able to deduce the countess’s true purpose.
She would also keep a watch on Ivan, Lord Westcott. In the space of less than twelve hours she’d already had two dismaying confrontations with the man. She’d slapped him last night for his impertinence, and should have slapped him again this morning for so boldly rapping at her door.
But it was not those two incidents which most unsettled her. The sad fact was, the man had too much appeal by half. What’s more, he’d practiced these many years just how to frustrate and stymie his grandmother. At the least Lucy owed herself time to observe him and figure out how best to deal with him.
But as she poured water from an exquisite porcelain pitcher into its matching bowl to begin her morning ablutions, she knew dealing with him would not be easy. He was smart and clearly bent on making his grandmother’s life miserable. And because of her association with the old woman, he seemed set on making her own life miserable too.
Just think of him as an overgrown version of Derek or Stanley, she told herself. Or Derek and Stanley, all rolled into one. Don’t try to thwart him; merely steer him in a slightly different direction. Funnel all that ferocious energy someplace else.
But what was she to do about her completely inappropriate attraction to him?
Ignore it, was the only answer she could find. Ignore it. Bury it. Think about Sir James Mawbey instead.
Yes, Sir James. She seized on the thought of her idol with relief. Ivan Thornton might exude the powerful animal magnetism that any normal, healthy woman would respond to. But he was no Sir James Mawbey, possessed of such deep insights and intellectual gifts. She would ignore Ivan Thornton and think only of Sir James. His first lecture was less than a week away. Surely between now and then she could put a damper on her silly, girlish emotions.
Or so she prayed.
She did not see the earl again that day . . Nor the next. Nor the next.
Lady Valerie arrived on Wednesday and they all spent that evening at home, getting the easily startled Valerie settled in. She’d traveled with her maid, a young girl so awed by London and Westcott House and the presence of a real countess that Lucy wanted to groan. Two complete babies, they were. She would have no help whatsoever from the maid Tilly.
A day and a half later the maid’s attitude was not much improved. “You will not be required to attend tomorrow’s dance, Tilly,” Lucy told her. “Lady Westcott and I shall accompany Lady Valerie.”
Relief flooded the girl’s mousy face. Valerie’s exquisite features, however, clouded over. “But … but I need her. Tilly has been with me since first I was given a maid of my own. Oh, please. Do not make me go there without her—”
“Don’t behave so ridiculously,” Lady Westcott interrupted, giving Valerie a sharp look. “A maid in the ballroom? Would you have her hold your hand and prop you up?”
Lucy had determined from the first that Valerie was petrified of the dowager countess. As it turned out, it was a blessing, for the girl clung instinctively to Lucy for comfort. Now Lucy put a reassuring arm around the petite young woman.
“You will have me, Valerie. I will be at your side every minute save when you are dancing.” She could feel the girl tremble, and she knew what her next words would be.
“Must I dance?”
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