Dangerous to Love (18 page)
Authors: Rexanne Becnel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Regency
As he raced the eager steed flat-out over the uncut meadows and through the dappled shade, he and the horse were like one—just as his Gypsy forebears were said to be. He whispered to the gallant animal, urging him on. The horse’s ear flicked back to listen, and as if it understood, its efforts increased.
Over a hedge. Through a creek. Then up a rise into the deep shade of a pollarded stand of hornbeams.
Only then did he slow the animal. Only then did he allow himself to think past his anger and pain.
Though he’d used the words as a weapon, the idea of a Gypsy wife held a certain appeal. He’d long thought it more than appropriate. But he’d been with enough Gypsies during the years he’d been gone to know that was not the answer. He didn’t fit in with them any longer. He was no more at ease in the company of Gypsies than he was in the company of the ton. He was neither fish nor fowl, but a man caught between two families. Two cultures. He’d been at war with himself as long as he could remember. But now, when he was poised at last to wreak vengeance on the woman and the society that had made his life an unending hell, he found that the one thing he most craved was peace.
It was the one thing that most eluded him. Worse, he had the sinking suspicion that nothing he did to shock or humiliate his grandmother would bring him that peace.
For a moment he thought of Lucy, of how earnestly she fought his attentions, first toward Valerie and now toward herself. Was it his Gypsy blood she objected to, or was it the person he’d become, the disenchanted, insincere rake who cared for nothing and no one but his own selfish pleasure?
Weary and covered with sweat, he flung himself off the blowing horse and began to walk it beneath the canopy of interlaced branches.
Maybe Lucy was right. He did behave like her young nephew, like a spoiled, resentful child. But only when it came to his grandmother. His feelings regarding Lucy were those of a man for a woman. And though she fought them, her feelings for him were those of a woman for a man.
Except that she thought she wanted Sir James.
He patted the horse’s damp neck and continued to walk. The branches of the ancient hornbeams formed a dense roof above him, alive with the chatter of sparrows, jays, and scolding squirrels. Thick trunks surrounded him like a living wall. He could almost believe he wasn’t in London, in the midst of over a million people, each beset by his own troubles.
How he would like to get away from town, from the ton, the marriage mart, and most of all, his grandmother. And how he’d like to have Miss Lucy Drysdale accompany him.
He halted and considered that idea. If her purpose for being in London were removed, she would be left at loose ends. First he needed to rid her of any hopes regarding a certain scholar. It galled him to even think of her attachment to the man. He would also have to end her association with Valerie, and therefore his grandmother.
Then he grinned, for the solution was obvious. An added bonus was that it would enrage the dowager countess.
With his good humor restored, Ivan mounted the rested animal and turned it back toward town. Precisely what his long-term intentions were for Lucy he could not yet say. For now it was enough that he had a plan of action. The rest he would deal with as necessary.
“A dinner party? Why was I not informed?” Lady Westcott demanded to know.
“I … I am informing you, my lady. That’s exactly what I’m doing right now—” The housekeeper fell silent under Lady Westcott’s withering glance. She buried her hands in her skirt.
In the ensuing silence Lucy looked up. The dowager countess met her gaze.
“Well. Did you hear that, Miss Drysdale? After all that unpleasantness yesterday at breakfast, it appears that my grandson has decided to host a dinner party. What do you make of such a turn of events?”
“I’m sure I cannot fathom what goes on in Lord Westcott’s head,” Lucy answered. In truth, the man was a total enigma to her—as were her convoluted reactions to him. She hadn’t seen him after breakfast yesterday. Nor had he been around at all today. She should be glad, she told herself. But the truth was, she was annoyed and unhappy and exceedingly confused.
She threaded a hat pin through her bonnet, catching a knot in her hair and securing the pin well. As she pulled on her gloves she turned to face Lady Westcott. “Thank you for providing the carriage to take me to the lecture.”
Lady Westcott waved off her thanks. “Where is Valerie?”
Lucy grimaced. “Taken to bed with a sick headache. I’m sorry your plans with the Pintners are ruined.”
“Hettie Pintner is a blowhard. Even more so than her husband. A quiet evening may be just the ticket.” She paused and for a long moment just gazed at Lucy. “Enjoy the lecture, Miss Drysdale. At least one of us is benefitting from our time in town.”
Benefitting? As Lucy made the solitary drive to Fatuielle Hall she didn’t feel like she was benefitting at all from being in town. London was not turning out as she’d hoped. She was not supposed to be infatuated with an amoral rogue, but with a high-minded scholar. As for the scholar, he was supposed to become interested in her, not a pretty heiress fresh from the schoolroom.
No, London was not turning out at all as she’d hoped.
She was in as grim a mood as she’d ever known by the time she arrived at the lecture hall. Once inside she recognized several of the same people in attendance from the previous night. She chose a seat in the back, not certain whether or not she should approach Sir James this time. If he were to look disappointed at Valerie’s absence, Lucy didn’t think she would be able to bear it.
The house lights went dim when the lamps at the podium were lit. Just before Sir James took the stage, however, a group of latecomers made their noisy entrance.
Lucy hoped the group would not sit in front of her, for she wanted an unobstructed view of Sir James. She meant to convince herself that he was just as attractive to her senses as was another man—a man she refused to think about. But sit in front of her they did. Three men and one woman, judging from their silhouettes.
Then a fifth member of their party took a seat right beside her and she looked over, irritated by his boldness. “If you don’t mind, sir.”
“Is this seat reserved?” asked a familiar voice.
Lucy’s heart flipped over. Ivan! Blast the man for torturing her so unmercifully.
“You’re following me again!” she accused, struggling mightily to hide her emotional reaction to him.
“As a matter of fact, I am. Bad enough that I spirited your innocent charge out of the house without anyone the wiser. But her reputation would be ruined beyond even my ability to repair it were she to be seen alone in the company of not one, but four notorious rakes.”
Lucy gaped at him, unable to believe what he’d just told her. The woman one row up and three seats over was Valerie?
“The only chance of salvaging her reputation,” he continued, “was to find you, her erstwhile chaperone.”
Lucy continued to stare at him, still unable to speak. In the next row Valerie turned a fearful gaze toward her. But there was no apology in the girl’s expression, Lucy noted. None at all.
So much for the malleable child Lady Westcott thought her to be. When it came to what the girl truly wanted—Sir James, it seemed—Valerie obviously possessed a will of iron.
Embarrassment, disappointment, and absolute fury hit Lucy all at one time. She glared at Ivan, the author of this latest outrage. “You are truly despicable,” she hissed. “Even worse than I imagined. You care for nothing at all, only the amusement you might have at the expense of others.”
She jerked to her feet, set on leaving and taking Valerie with her. But with a grip like steel he caught her arm and forced her down into her seat. “We’re staying for the lecture. All of us,” he stated in no uncertain terms.
“Cheer up, Miss Drysdale,” said Alexander Blackburn, turning to face her from the seat directly in front of hers. “We’ll do our very best to be entertaining company.”
“It’s not your company I object to, Mr. Blackburn. It’s his,” she said, glaring again at Ivan. “No doubt he duped you into this hateful scheme just as he has duped Valerie.”
She tried to pull her arm free of Ivan’s hold, but to no avail. Indeed, it only caused him to lean nearer her.
“Are you angry because I am here, or because Valerie is?”
“That’s an idiotic question.”
“I don’t think so. It’s a question that cuts right to the heart of the matter. The fact is, you don’t want Valerie here because you have your own designs on the good scholar.” He gestured toward the stage just as a polite applause rippled through the audience. Sir James crossed the stage and took his place behind the podium. He was the same gaunt young man he’d been two days before when she’d first laid eyes on him. But the impact on Lucy wasn’t the same this time.
From Sir James, Lucy’s gaze shot over to Valerie. Even in profile the girl’s fascination for Sir James was evident. Lucy’s spirits sank even further. Still, she was not about to admit anything to Ivan Thornton. With jaw set she stared straight ahead at Sir James, though not a word he said registered with her.
“Would you please let go of my arm,” she muttered from the corner of her mouth.
“Promise you won’t bolt?” he whispered, very near her ear. Too near. She felt his warm breath upon her neck and swallowed hard.
“I came here to listen to Sir James. I have no intention of leaving on your account.”
When she glanced at him she saw he was smiling. That wicked, satisfied, one-sided smile of his. What little light there was in the lecture hall seemed to glitter in his eyes. He released her wrist then, and she looked away. But though he gave her no further cause for distraction during the balance of Sir James’s lecture, not a word of the earnest scholar’s pronouncements registered in her head.
In the row in front of her Alexander Blackburn fell asleep. Giles Dameron stared about, up at the water-stained ceiling, and around at the peeling walls. Elliot Pierce was not even that polite. After only ten minutes or so, he stood up, made his excuses, and left for the lobby.
Valerie’s attention, however, remained riveted to the man on the stage. By the time the ushers relit the wall lanterns, Lucy was ready to accept the fact that the girl was serious about her affection for the man. It was totally illogical, of course, but there it was. And when Sir James anxiously scanned the room, then broke into a foolish grin when he spied Valerie sitting in the rear, Lucy unhappily resigned herself to the inevitable.
One adoring look from an ingenuous young woman had carried far more weight with Sir James Mawbey than had months of correspondence from someone who admired his mind and shared all his interests. When Valerie hurried up the aisle to greet Sir James, Lucy rolled her eyes in disgust.
“True love. Revolting, isn’t it?”
Lucy glared at Ivan. “You’re encouraging her when you know it is sure to lead to heartbreak.”
“Heartbreak for her, or heartbreak for you?”
Lucy gritted her teeth and stood. She refused to be drawn into this cat and mouse game of his. “You know Lady Westcott will not approve, nor will her family. But then, that’s precisely why you’re doing it. You wish to wreak havoc on everyone’s life, especially your grandmother’s. It doesn’t matter at all to you if you crush a few innocent people along the way. So long as you make your grandmother miserable.”
His face remained remarkably calm. “Jealous, are we?”
“I am not!” Lucy was too angry to be rational. She shoved past him and stormed down the aisle to Valerie, who stood in a knot of admirers gathered around Sir James.
“ … and I am a middle child,” Valerie was saying.
“As am I,” Sir James replied. They smiled at one another.
An elderly matron tittered and nudged her companion. Lucy glared at the woman, then turned her attention back to her young charge.
“Excuse me, Valerie. But we must be going.”
At Sir James’s crestfallen look she felt a twinge of guilt. But resolutely she pressed on. “Lady Westcott will be worried. After all, you have been ill.” She gave Valerie a pointed look.
Valerie had the good grace to look guilty. Before she could respond, however, Ivan spoke. “I assure you, Miss Drysdale, that my cousin is in safe hands with me.”
“Nonetheless, Lady Westcott will not be content until she is returned home.”
He studied her with an impassive gaze. He no longer looked amused; neither did he seem angry. But by that very dearth of emotions he seemed especially threatening. Behind him his gallery of rogues was gathered, and Lucy’s heart sank.
How had she become embroiled in this terrible mess? She’d but wanted to come to London to hear Sir James and meet him. She’d never wanted to become the hapless mediator in a war between Ivan Thornton and his grandmother. No. More like Ivan Thornton and the world. And now she’d lost her hopes for Sir James as well.
Valerie turned an imploring expression on Ivan and an alarm bell sounded in Lucy’s head. What was going on here? Since when had Ivan become Valerie’s source of support?
Other books
The Lost Heir by Tui T. Sutherland
The Outsider by Rosalyn West
The Turning Tide by Brooke Magnanti
Napoleon Must Die by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett
Guardians of Ga'Hoole: To Be A King by Kathryn Lasky
Ashes - Book 2 (New Adult Romantic Suspense) by Johnson, Leslie
The Night Before by Rice, Luanne
The Shape of a Pocket by John Berger
Devil's Kiss by William W. Johnstone
Slag Attack by Prunty, Andersen