Dangerous to Love (17 page)

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Authors: Rexanne Becnel

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Regency

BOOK: Dangerous to Love
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If Valerie appeared crestfallen, Sir James seemed doubly so. “Perhaps on Thursday, then. You will be at my Thursday lecture, won’t you, Lady Valerie?”
“I’ll see to it personally,” Ivan answered for her. “Meanwhile, we’d best be on our way.”
Without warning he tucked Lucy’s hand under his arm. “I’ll see the ladies home, Mawbey. See you on Thursday.”
“Very good, Lord Westcott. Ladies.” He bowed to Lucy first, then to Valerie. When Valerie extended her hand, an infatuated expression on her young face, Sir James took it and pressed a fervent kiss to her fingers.
Lucy could only stare at the scene being played out before her, her emotions in a shambles. He was supposed to be captivated by
her,
not by Valerie. He was supposed to be impressed by
her
knowledge of his work, by
her
empathy with his ideas. He was supposed to invite her to dinner so they could continue their conversation.
He was most certainly
not
supposed to become infatuated by a girl fresh from the schoolroom, one without an original thought in her head.
“Don’t they make a lovely couple?” Ivan whispered.
Lucy would have roundly denied it except that his breath tickled her ear, and her heart made another lurch.
No, no, no! She was not supposed to respond this way to Ivan Thornton. It was Sir James she was interested in.
But it appeared Sir James was not interested in a spinsterish bluestocking. Like every other living man in England, he was interested in a fresh-faced innocent with a title and an inheritance to go with it.
Stifling a very unladylike oath, she disengaged her hand from Ivan’s hold, then took firm grasp of Valerie’s arm. “Good evening, Sir James.” Then without allowing Valerie room to protest, she practically hauled her out of the lecture hall.
As they exited into the gaslit street, Valerie was silent, caught up in her thoughts. Ivan, however, was not.
“How fortunate I am to happen upon you two lovely ladies tonight.”
“Happen upon?” Lucy snapped. Though she knew he was not the source of her anger and disappointment, he was an awfully convenient focus for it. Besides, he’d followed them. Her, that is. She felt a silly thrill run though her but brutally suppressed it. Her emotions were too raw right now to be trusted. “If you wanted to accompany us, you could simply have asked to do so.”
“And you would happily have agreed, right, Lucy?”
“Don’t call me that!” she hissed. When Valerie looked up at her short tone, Lucy had to force herself to calm down. “If you wish to make yourself useful, my lord, you will hail our carriage.”
“By all means,” he said, giving her a wink. A wink, blast the man!
But at least he did as she asked. In the few moments she and Valerie waited on the front landing of the lecture hall, Lucy contemplated how best to deal with Valerie’s new infatuation. She wanted to tell the girl in no uncertain terms to stay away from Sir James. That he was not the right man for her and that, furthermore, her family would never allow her to marry a poor scholar.
But that would probably only serve to entrench Valerie’s fledgling feelings more firmly. No, Lucy decided. It would be better to treat Valerie’s quick infatuation for the intense young scholar as exactly that: an infatuation. A passing fancy. Men had them all the time. There was no reason why a woman couldn’t.
Just to be sure, though, Lucy would have to keep the girl far away from Fatuielle Hall on Thursday, and every other night of Sir James’s lecture series.
As if she divined the direction of Lucy’s thoughts, Valerie sighed. “I can hardly wait until Thursday night.”
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to attend every one of the lectures,” Lucy cautioned, adopting a calmer tone. “We’ll have to see what Lady Westcott has planned for you.”
“Oh, but you must convince her,” Valerie pleaded.
Whatever else she said Lucy did not hear, for the carriage pulled up, and to her vast dismay, Ivan had hitched his handsome steed to the back. Did he mean to ride home with them?
Despite the evening cool, Lucy felt a bead of perspiration trickle down between her breasts.
She could not deal with him tonight. She simply could not! Her feelings were too unsettled. First her disappointment over Sir James. Then her worry about Valerie’s attachment to the man. Added to that was the perverse reaction she had to Ivan’s presence. She detested him and yet he managed to arouse the most primitive feelings inside her.
And now he seemed set on promoting Valerie and Sir James as the ideal couple. Like a homing pigeon Ivan Thornton had the uncanny ability to pinpoint the areas of her greatest vulnerability. Without a doubt the possibility of Valerie capturing Sir James’s affections was precisely that.
But whether or not Lucy could deal with Ivan, it was clear that Ivan meant to share the carriage with them.
He helped Valerie in first and the girl gave him a rather absent smile. She was no longer intimidated by him, it seemed. That was because he’d turned the force of his iron will away from her and onto Lucy instead. But why? Did he think to thwart his grandmother by paying more attention to the chaperone than to his pretty young cousin?
Oh, but she was so weary of both the grandmother’s and the grandson’s endless plotting!
Lucy was already frowning when she approached the carriage doors; the frown turned into a downright scowl when Ivan caught her lightly around the wrist.
“You look displeased with this evening’s turn of events. I hope you did not find Sir James’s lecture disappointing.”
“Quite the opposite,” she stated, raising her chin to a belligerent angle. “I was fascinated by his denigration of our national preoccupation with class differences.”
“You are a part of the very system he vilifies.”
“As are you.”
“Only by default.”
“That can be said of anyone who inherits a title, or estate, or even a decent amount of money. Everyone who inherits does so only because no one else has as strong a claim.”
“Yes. But you refer to people who fight and claw to claim what they see as their rightful inheritance. My situation could not be more different.”
“But the outcome is the same, isn’t it? I must say, my lord, that you wear the mantle of your office as well as anyone I’ve ever seen.”
He raised his brows at that. “What is this? A compliment? I can scarcely believe my ears.”
“It’s only a compliment if you consider arrogance a virtue,” she replied, hiding her confused feelings for him behind a mask of irritation. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Westcott?” She turned to mount the carriage step.
But he would not release her wrist, and when she tried to yank it free, his fingers manacled her all the tighter. “It’s Ivan,” he reminded her in a low, husky tone.
He bent to kiss her hand before allowing her to enter the vehicle. Only it was not her gloved knuckles he kissed. Somehow he found the exposed skin of her wrist, where her sleeve and the stylishly short glove did not quite overlap. He kissed the tender skin where her pulse raced so alarmingly. He kissed her with both lips and tongue—as he’d kissed her mouth in the McClendons’ library.
At once bubbles of effervescent emotion surged through Lucy, zinging out from that tiny location on her wrist to every other portion of her body. She nearly swooned from the impact of it.
Any thoughts of Sir James flew right out of her head, usurped by a total awareness of Ivan. Only Ivan. The feel of his lips; the warmth of his touch. The scent of soap and tobacco and some other unidentifiable something that was uniquely him.
She was falling under his spell, even though she knew all the reasons why she should not. He was all good looks and insincere charm. Yet even knowing that, she was succumbing to him like some green country miss newly introduced in town.
“Please. Don’t,” she whispered, unaware she’d spoken.
When he raised his head and stared at her, she knew her feelings were transparent. Unwisely so. But she could no more tear her eyes away from his than she could remove her hand from his grasp.
It took Valerie to break the unbearable moment. “Miss Drysdale? Aren’t we returning home?”
This time when Lucy pulled away he let her go. Furious with herself, she climbed into the carriage, avoiding his proffered hand. She perched stiffly beside Valerie.
Blast it all. Why did she always have this perverse reaction to him?
Ivan came in right behind her, pulled the door closed, and settled himself opposite the two women. With a sharp rap on the front panel he signaled the driver to start up and at once the carriage lurched forward. Then Ivan stretched his arm across the seat back and studied both women through the inky darkness of the carriage interior.
The small lantern had not been lit, and Lucy thanked her lucky stars. She did not want him reading anything further into her expression, neither the anger nor the creeping terror. She’d forgotten, however, the effect of his low, silky voice in the dark.
“I take it you both enjoyed the lecture.”
“Oh, very much so!” Valerie exclaimed. “Wasn’t Sir James simply marvelous? He was ever so enlightening. I’d never before considered why my brother Claude has always criticized Harry so. But Sir James made it perfectly clear. Wasn’t he simply marvelous?” she repeated.
Ivan chuckled. Lucy heard the amusement in his voice. “And what of you, Miss Drysdale? Did you also find him marvelous?”
. “I did,” she answered in a cool tone. “And you?”
“Quite interesting. More so than I expected. I believe I understand now why you were so adamant about attending his lecture.” He paused, just long enough to make Lucy question the meaning in his words.
“What I cannot understand,” he continued, “is why you brought Lady Valerie along. Sir James’s incendiary ideas will not help her make a good match.”
“Making a good match is not everything,” Lucy retorted. But inside her heart was sinking. He knew. He’d deduced her interest in Sir James and witnessed her awful jealousy of naive Valerie. She wanted to die!
But she could not allow him to get the upper hand. So she went on. “Making a match is not everything. I, myself, am far more content in my solitary state than I would be were I trapped in an unhappy marriage.”
“As am I,” he said. “Take heed, Lady Valerie. Marriage is not an admirable goal.”
“That’s not what I said,” Lucy snapped. She clutched the window post as the carriage made a left turn. “For some people marriage is the right choice, for others it is not. In any event, you are hardly the one to be advising her on such matters.”
“Nor are you, it would seem. Not if you are as content in your current state as you profess to be.”
Ivan knew he was irritating Lucy. She had a sharp tongue and a ready temper that took little enough goading. Why he should take such pleasure in goading that temper was a mystery to him. But take pleasure in it he did.
“Be honest, Miss Drysdale. Sir James was not at all what you expected, was he?”
He heard the sharp intake of her breath and it confirmed what he already knew. She had deeper feelings for the gaunt Sir James than she let on. The man’s immediate interest in Lady Valerie had caught his hot-blooded little bluestocking entirely by surprise, and she was having a hard time dealing with her jealousy.
Ivan had to stifle a laugh. Any man who would select a silly twit, no matter how lovely, over a woman as smart and stimulating as Lucy Drysdale had dust for brains.
“Sir James was every bit as enlightening as I anticipated,” Lucy vowed in a voice he could only describe as pinched.
Was he now? Ivan turned to Valerie, who had been silent the whole time. Probably thinking of Sir James. “He certainly seemed smitten with you, Lady Valerie.”
The girl started to giggle, then abruptly stopped when Lucy laid a stern hand on her arm.
“I’ll thank you not to tease her,” Lucy said in the censorious tones of a chaperone hard at work. “Sir James was polite, but I’m certain he knows, as does Valerie, that she and he move in vastly different circles.”
“So they do. So they do,” Ivan agreed. But not for long, he decided. Sir James Mawbey was sadly in need of a little excitement in his life, and Ivan was just the man to provide it.
 
L
ucy did not sleep well. She kept waking, thinking she heard a knock at the door.
Ivan?
But no one was there, and as she struggled with sleep, restless despite the comfort of the luxurious bed, her stubborn thoughts refused to focus on anything but him.
He was not at her door—and she was mighty glad of it, she told herself. But was she? In the quiet of the night her mind wrestled with a new sort of demon. A part of her had been thrilled when Ivan whispered to her through the door—right into her ear, it had seemed at the time. She’d become dizzy and filled with violent and frightening emotions when he’d kissed her at the McClendons’ party.
Now even his lips upon her wrist made her faint with the most improper sort of desire.
What on earth was she going to do? Nothing was working out as she’d intended. Even Sir James, whom she’d so longed to meet, was a disappointment. Though she’d enjoyed his lecture well enough, his unexpected attention to Valerie had taken Lucy aback. And he was too pompous by half.
In all honesty, however, she knew that her disappointment over Sir James was not the primary source of her discontent. Ivan Thornton held solitary claim to that honor.
Feeling too warm for comfort, she kicked the covers down then rolled over, punching her pillow, trying to find a position that would allow her to relax.
The fact that her first meeting with Sir James hadn’t gone precisely as she’d imagined, didn’t mean anything. They hadn’t really had the chance to get to know one another. But once they did … Once they did, he would come to appreciate her much more than Valerie. And before long he would drive all thoughts of Ivan Thornton right out of her head.
The problem was, she was dwelling on Ivan too much. But not any more. She would make herself think of Sir James instead of Ivan. She would imagine him kissing her wrist, instead of Ivan. She would imagine him dancing with her and sweeping her away into an empty library, then kissing her like a starving man.
His hold would be possessive. His lips would be firm, but tender, and incredibly exciting.
Lucy sighed and gave her imagination free rein. She could almost feel his hands hauling her up against him, then circling her body and pressing her even closer. She pictured his mouth on hers, and the exquisite slide of his tongue.
What if she let him go further? What if his hands slid other places—places that only a husband’s hands were free to touch?
Of their own volition one of her hands pressed against her heart, the other against her belly. She knew about husbands and wives, about what went on between men and women. She’d always thought it sounded extremely awkward and more than a little unpleasant: But now to imagine herself and Ivan like that raised the most wonderful wicked feelings—
No! She let out a groan. Not Ivan. She hadn’t meant Ivan at all!
With a guilty start she snatched her hands away then pushed herself upright on the big bed. She was not going to think such thoughts! She simply refused to.
If her feelings for Sir James—and his for her—were not what she had hoped, then so be it. But she was not about to let herself be seduced by a handsome scoundrel, who was as little concerned for the hearts he broke as he might be for a pair of boots he had ruined. He cast the former off as easily as he did the latter.
If only he were sincere.
But that was wishful thinking and Lucy ruthlessly squelched it. Though it was not yet dawn, she abandoned her bed and instead set about preparing for the day. A hundred strokes of the brush through her hair and a chilly wash, to be followed by an hour in the library.
No, she did not dare venture out into the still sleeping house lest she come upon Ivan again.
She let the hairbrush fall idle as she racked her mind. She would write a letter home. She had paper and pen, and soon enough it would be dawn. The house would come alive and then it would be safe for her to leave the sanctuary of her chamber. At least she hoped so.
Two hours later Lucy started down to breakfast. As it happened, Lady Westcott was departing her chamber at the same time.
“This is convenient, Miss Drysdale. I had hoped to quiz you this morning about the lecture you and Valerie attended. Was it a worthwhile use of your time and hers?”
Lucy fell into step beside the aristocratic old woman. “I enjoyed it very well,” she began. Then an idea occurred to her, a rather devious idea. “I enjoyed it, but I’m afraid Valerie enjoyed it perhaps too well.”
“Too well?” Lady Westcott paused at the head of the grand stairs. “Pray tell, what do you mean by ‘too well’?”
Valerie would be furious with her, but Lucy consoled herself that what she was doing was in the girl’s best interest. “I’m concerned that Valerie may have formed an unwise attachment to the lecturer.”
“An unwise attachment? Precisely what do you mean by ‘an unwise attachment’? She was only in his presence for an hour or two. And who is this person, anyway?”
“He is Sir James Mawbey, and Valerie was very favorably impressed by him, both by his intellect and his person. He was equally impressed by her,” Lucy added, feeling like the worst sort of sneak.
“If I am to interpret your concern rightly, he must not be the right sort of person for her. He is not already married, is he?”
“Oh, no. No, not married. But he is not favorably disposed toward the British system of primogeniture.”
Lady Westcott let out a short laugh, then started down the steps. “No doubt a younger son. If you find him unacceptable, then discourage her from seeing him. You are, after all, her chaperone.”
“I plan to do just that. However, I myself would still like to attend his lectures, as we agreed I might on the day I consented to become Valerie’s chaperone.”
They had reached the bottom of the stairs and once again Lady Westcott paused. She turned to study Lucy. This time she was frowning. “Why would you wish to do that? He sounds unhinged to me. Could it be you are interested in this man for yourself?”
Lucy vehemently shook her head. “No. Of course not. It’s just that I have read his articles and wish to attend his lecture. They’re not all about inheritance. Mostly they’re concerned with children and the effects of upbringing.”
“His lectures. Harrumph. I hope I have not introduced a radical into my own household.”
“I suspect your grandson is far more radical than I am,” Lucy answered with some asperity.
That brought a faint smile to the older woman’s face. “Well said, Miss Drysdale. But tell me, what is it you wish me to do concerning this matter with Valerie?”
“If you would make plans for Valerie on Thursday afternoon that do not require my presence, I believe we shall all be content.”
“All of us except Valerie,” Lady Westcott pointed out.
“I do not believe she shall long mourn him,” Lucy said. “They spoke but a few words. She will forget him.”
Lady Westcott considered that, all the while still studying Lucy. “Your diligence in the discharge of your duties is to be commended. First you would protect her from an earl, her own cousin whom you perceive as a poor choice for her. Now you guard her from some radical lecturer, penniless, no doubt. You certainly cannot be faulted in your sincerity, Miss Drysdale. I must say, I look forward with great anticipation to meeting the paragon you think worthy of our dear Valerie.”
Put that way, Lucy supposed she did seem an exceedingly conscientious chaperone. But as the two of them made their way to the dining room, Lucy feared it was less diligence and more selfishness that motivated her. For of Valerie’s two so-called suitors, the one she desired for his intellect; the other … the other she simply desired.
She had filled the plate at the sideboard. Now she sat down at the table, staring at the eggs and ham and scones on her plate. In the face of this new self-knowledge, she had lost her appetite.
Could a woman be in love with two men? One man’s mind and the other man’s physical person?
A knot of self-disgust formed in her stomach. She should never have come to London. She should have stayed in Somerset and tried harder to find contentment in her life there. How many times had her brother exhorted her to be satisfied with her situation, to be less particular of the men who courted her, to find satisfaction as other women found satisfaction; in a pleasant husband, a household to manage, and a nursery full of children?
But no, she’d always been too high-minded for that. And look where it had gotten her: reduced to lust and petty jealousy.
Then a footstep sounded in the hall and her self-disgust trebled. It was Ivan. She recognized his step, though why that should be so, she did not understand.
She wanted to run and hide. But of course, she could not do that. So she awaited his entrance in terrible anticipation, eager and dreading and more confused than she’d been in her entire life.
“Good morning.” Ivan addressed them both, but his gaze lingered on Lucy.
Lady Westcott had already settled herself at one end of the table with Lucy beside her. After filling his plate, Ivan took a seat opposite Lucy. “Isn’t this cozy,” he remarked as a servant poured coffee for him.
“My, but you’re in a jovial mood this morning,” Lady Westcott said.
“So I am.”
“Dare I hope it is on account of a woman?”
Ivan’s gaze locked with Lucy’s a moment before he turned to his grandmother. “You would be overjoyed if I answer yes. So I’ll say instead that I had an enjoyable evening, a good night’s sleep, and the most interesting dreams. Now I am awakened to what I hope will be a pleasant day. Unless, of course, you decide to make it unpleasant.”
Lady Westcott’s mouth pursed in a tight circle of lines. “Up to now it has taken no more than my presence to make your day unpleasant—or so you have led me to believe. Could it be we are making progress, you and I?”
Ivan gave the old woman a cool look. “Your presence here, or more rightly, the presence of your entourage, specifically Valerie and Miss Drysdale, has provided a greater distraction than I anticipated.” His gaze returned to Lucy.
A distraction. How kind of him to remind her. Here she’d been berating herself for being too interested in the man—in love with his physical person, she’d even termed it. But she was only a distraction to him. How had she allowed herself to forget? It was, after all, that very insincerity of his which made him unacceptable for Valerie as well as for any other good and sensible young woman. Including herself.
As quickly as that her self-remorse was obliterated by a righteous anger. “I’m sure I speak for Lady Valerie as well as myself when I say we both live for a chance to be a distraction to a man of such discriminating tastes as yourself, my lord.”
He grinned at her and his gaze fell to her lips before rising again to her eyes. “Dare I hope this sarcasm of yours reveals a wish to be more than simply a distraction?”
Lucy shoved her chair back from the table and lurched to her feet. “Don’t hold your breath,” she snapped. “If you’ll excuse me?” she said to Lady Westcott. Then not waiting for a response she stormed out of the room.
In Lucy’s wake a resounding silence fell. Ivan was so caught up in visions of that magnificent anger released in another, more passionate fashion, that he did not consider his grandmother’s reaction to this little scene.
“Is something going on here that I have not been informed of?”
When he only stared at her, she continued. “Are you trifling with the hired help, Ivan?”
His good humor soured. “Would it matter to you if I was? I’d only be following the example of may esteemed father.”
“Miss Drysdale is a lady and deserving of your respect.”
“Whereas my mother was a Gypsy and deserving of nothing. Right?”
She patted her mouth then laid the monogrammed napkin aside. “Do not put words in my mouth. I never said that.”
“But you believe it. You believed it when you found out your son had impregnated a Gypsy. You believed it when you learned she’d borne you your first grandson. You believed it when you resigned yourself to the fact that I would be your
only
grandson. Your
only
heir. You stole me from my mother—”
“She
sold
you to me!”
She’d made that accusation before. Then, as now, it caused Ivan to see red. “What in hell choice did she have! She probably believed I’d have a better life as the son of an earl. Little did she know.” He jerked to his feet, sending his chair toppling backward. “You tried so hard to keep your precious Westcott name from being tainted by Gypsy blood. But you failed. I am half Gypsy, and when I take a wife, it’ll be a Gypsy wife. They’re a damn sight more appealing than any cold-blooded English bitch!”
He left while she was still in shock, slamming out of the dining room then out of the house. He stormed out to the stables, called for a horse, and impatiently saddled it himself. Then he was off, flying out the service gate and down the alley to Berkeley Street. Unmindful of traffic or pedestrians, he urged the horse down Picadilly, giving the animal its head as they approached the park. But he stayed away from Rotten Row and any other place where he would encounter other riders.

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