Dangerous to Love (32 page)
Authors: Rexanne Becnel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Regency
“It will be a good while before we know that,” Ivan said—dismissively, she thought. “Meanwhile, your family awaits.” His voice lowered to a husky, mocking whisper. “You don’t want your sister-in-law imagining us doing anything sexual—and during the daytime, no less.”
The very idea of Hortense censuring such behavior made Lucy laugh. She was immediately mortified to be amused by such things. When Ivan grinned in response, however, her embarrassment eased. He smiled so rarely.
He still had hold of her arm and Lucy decided to take advantage of his good humor. Laying her palm against his cheek, she reached up on tiptoe and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.
The kiss caught him unawares, which pleased her. He needed to be surprised now and again, she decided. He was always so controlled, so fixed in his opinions and goals. It would do him good to occasionally be shaken up a bit.
When he pulled her closer, as if to prolong the kiss, she resisted. “Not now. They’re waiting for us,” she reminded him.
She tried to pull out of his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her. “Then why did you kiss me? Are you trying to tease me?”
“That was not a teasing kiss.”
One of his brows lifted. “What kind of kiss was it?”
Lucy tried to think clearly, but it was hard with Ivan holding her this close. His hands were so warm on her. His dark eyes so alive with desire. She fairly vibrated from the power of his aura.
She took a slow breath. “That was my way of saying thank you.”
“Thank you? For what?”
“For worrying that I’d hurt myself—or our child—when I tipped over.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Do you think so poorly of me that such a response on my part comes as a surprise to you?”
Lucy smiled up at him. He was so easily wounded. That unfeeling façade he’d perfected hid such a fragile heart. “I didn’t say I was surprised. I was just pleased at your thoughtfulness. Now, shall we go in?”
Lucy took it as proof of his sensitive nature that he did not argue further. She’d taken him aback when she’d noticed his show of concern. He’d probably not been aware how much of himself he’d revealed to her. But she was aware and she meant to build on it.
So they went arm in arm into the dining room. With her mother beaming at them, Hortense fussing over them, Graham catering to them, and the children noisy, but generally well behaved, it turned out to be one of the pleasantest meals Lucy had ever eaten at Houghton Manor.
Ivan also found the evening a far more enjoyable experience than he would have expected, and that fact made him uneasy.
He’d spent the entire day fishing with his new brother-in-law and nephews, and had come away with a better of understanding of Lucy as a result. She was definitely the more intelligent sibling, and he could see why she’d felt so stifled in this household. That she’d wanted to return here still did not sit well with him. But for all Graham’s bluster and Hortense’s nervousness, there was a warmth of feeling in their family that was unmistakable.
What had Lucy once said? That she’d grown up in the bosom of a loving family. He could see that now, and he could see why she wanted the same for their child.
Their child! Every time he thought of her carrying his baby, he began to sweat. He didn’t want a child; he never had.
But he would not shirk his responsibilities to it—to her or him, he amended. Whether or not he could love the child, as Lucy wanted him to, he could not say. But he would care for the child just as he cared for his wife.
He stared at Lucy from across the table. Her chestnut hair gleamed in the lamplight. Her eyes sparkled like green glass. Like emeralds. Even her skin, so soft and pink, seemed to glow with vitality, as if the tiny life growing within her had filled her with renewed vigor.
God, she was exquisite! He’d always thought her beautiful, but her pregnancy seemed to make her even more so. More feminine. Softer. Warmer.
She laughed at something young Derek said, then insisted her mother have another portion of vegetables. “It’s good for your digestion—as is a walk after the meal is done,” she told her mother. “We’ll go together.” She turned to Ivan. “Will you accompany us on a stroll around the garden?”
With her mother there? An intense wave of emotion assaulted Ivan. Possessiveness? Jealousy? He tried to repress it but was not entirely successful. He wanted to walk with her in the garden, but not with her mother accompanying them. He wanted Lucy all to himself, without anyone else to make demands on her attention.
“Perhaps another time,” he answered, forcing himself to sound offhanded and unconcerned. When she just stared at him as if trying to probe the darker recesses of his mind, he deliberately looked away. “I’ll have more wine.” He signaled the servant standing next to the door.
But he could feel her eyes on him and he had the sinking feeling that she knew his every thought. She knew how she affected him and she knew the power she held over him. He hadn’t meant it to happen—nor, once it did, for her to find out. But it had happened, and she did know, and if he wasn’t careful, she would figure out how to use it against him. He’d vowed long ago never to let anyone wield that sort of power over him again—especially a woman.
He stood up abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me?” he said. He took the bottle of wine from the servant. “I’ve business to tend to, something urgent that I just recalled.”
He heard their querulous voices as he strode from the room.
“What on earth?”
“What could possibly be that urgent?”
“Lucy? Really, but this is—”
“Ivan!”
That last was Lucy. But Ivan kept going. A team of draft animals could not have dragged him back into that scene of familial harmony. Though he knew his reaction was not rational, he could not stop himself. He strode for the back door and out into the late-summer evening, sweating all the way.
Young Derek caught up with him in the stables.
“Are you going riding?”
Ivan stared around the small but well-maintained stable. Anywhere but at the nine-year-old boy. “I haven’t decided.”
“Oh. Well, if you do, may I go with you?”
“I’m not going riding,” Ivan snapped.
“Oh.”
That small, subdued response made Ivan feel like an ogre. Cursing himself for his perverse reaction to Lucy and her entire family, he turned to face the boy. “I’m not going riding,” he repeated, but in a more reasonable tone this time. “What are you doing out here?”
The boy shrugged. “I dunno.” He ran a hand restlessly along the gate to one of the stalls. “Just wanted to see what you were doing.”
Ivan wanted to send the boy back to the house. The last thing he needed was some brat trailing him like a lost puppy. But when he looked down at Derek, that’s exactly what he saw: a lost puppy looking for attention from anyone who would give it.
For a moment Ivan recalled what Sir James Mawbey had said about Britain’s feudal system of primogeniture, about the relationships between fathers and sons, and between brothers. Derek was the quintessential younger son, and while his lot was considerably better than Ivan’s had been, he was still a lonely little boy, stumbling along trying to figure out his place in the world. His father’s preference for the older Stanley had been obvious on their fishing expedition today. From tying a fly to applauding a catch, Graham Drysdale had shown considerably more interest in his heir. As a result Derek had gravitated toward Ivan. He was still doing so.
Though Ivan did not want to get involved, he found now that he couldn’t just send the boy away. After all, he’d been a lonely little boy once.
Ivan cleared his throat. “Actually, I was wondering about the horses you keep. Do you know anything of their breeding?”
He was rewarded by a brilliant, gap-toothed smile. The boy’s eyes were green, like Lucy’s, he noticed as Derek began with the pony in stall number four.
“This one here is my favorite …”
I
van had been gone ten days. He’d left with little-enough explanation, saying only that he had business awaiting him in town.
van had been gone ten days. He’d left with little-enough explanation, saying only that he had business awaiting him in town.
At first Lucy had been crushed. She’d thought they were making such good headway. After rushing off after that last dinner, he’d returned to their room, and instead of sleeping on the chaise longue as he had before, he’d come to bed. They’d made love, sweetly, silently, with neither anger nor desperation between them. She’d gone to sleep in his arms and awakened in his arms, an experience she’d sincerely hoped would become a habit with them.
But she’d been careful not to profess her love to him. Such emotional displays and declarations always seemed to send him fleeing.
But he’d fled anyway, or so it seemed to her. He’d said good-bye to the entire family and even given her a farewell kiss. But the result was the same. He was gone and she was miserable. At least his posts were more informative, and more frequent. She didn’t feel quite so abandoned by him as she had before. But she missed him all the same.
Oddly enough, Derek had become her most constant companion. “There’s a post for you,” the boy called out now. He trotted across the lawn, waving a thin missive in one hand. “It’s from Dorset this time,” he announced, thrusting it at her. “Is it from Lord Ivan?”
Lucy threw down her knitting and snatched the letter. Her hand shook as she tried to break the seal without ripping the thin parchment to shreds.
“It’s from Lady Westcott,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment.
“Drat.” Derek plopped down cross-legged in the grass beside her chair. Then he brightened. “Does she say anything about Lord Ivan?”
Lucy scanned the letter, then shook her head. There was no news of Ivan, only Antonia’s congratulations about the coming baby, and later, her indirect hint that Lucy should repair to the Westcott estate in Dorset.
… my own health is not as good as I would like. The ague or its twin has taken hold of me and I am unable to leave my chambers.
The ague! The elderly did not easily survive a bout with such an illness.
“Is he coming back soon?” Derek asked, distracting her momentarily from her concern for the aged countess.
Lucy focused on the boy’s hopeful face. Some bond had formed between Derek and Ivan. She wasn’t sure when or how. She hated to disappoint the child now.
“He’s not been to Dorset so I cannot say.” Derek’s crestfallen expression mirrored Lucy’s own feelings. She folded the letter, frowning. Ivan gone and his grandmother ailing. Perhaps there was something she could do regarding both situations. She stood abruptly and extended a hand to Derek.
“I believe I shall write to my husband at his city residence and inform him that I am departing for the Dorset countryside right away.”
“You’re leaving too?”
“Yes. Would you like to come with me?”
Graham was more disappointed that Lucy was leaving than he was that Derek would accompany her. Lucy knew it was because she was the Countess of Westcott now, whereas Derek was still merely a second son.
If Derek noticed his family’s casual attitude about his departure, it was well disguised by his excitement over the trip. “How long will the journey take?”
“A good day, if the roads are dry.”
“How long shall we stay?”
“That’s hard to say, Derek. I suppose we shall have to see how things go.”
“Will Lord Ivan come there too? When his business in town is done?”
Lucy gnawed on her lower lip. “Eventually,” she answered. Soon, she suspected.
Ivan would be furious at her for going to attend his grandmother, for he did not want the dowager countess to derive any joy from this pregnancy. But Lucy had explained everything in her post to him. Just because he could not understand that family members looked out for one another was no reason for her to abandon the ailing woman to the care of her servants. If Ivan expected ever to be happy with his wife, he would have to learn those lessons he’d had no chance to learn in his childhood, the ones about love and family and responsibility. She was more than willing to help him with those lessons, but he would have to meet her halfway.
They left at dawn and arrived well after dark. For the duration of that endless day Lucy suffered unceasing nausea. Derek was happy to ride up top in the driver’s box, much to Lucy’s relief. By the time they arrived, she was as limp as a dishrag and wanted only to fall into bed.
Unfortunately, she’d had to send word ahead that she was en route. She was not surprised, therefore, that Antonia was awake and waiting for her.
“You should be abed, else you’ll fall ill again,” Lucy scolded.
“Nonsense,” the old woman said in a hoarse voice. “Your news was the best medicine I could have received. And now you’re here.” She held Lucy by the shoulders and her aged face creased in a smile, the sort which Lucy had never before seen on her. Then the smile turned to a frown. “You look dreadful. Haggard. Come. To bed with you. Fenton. Fenton! Help her to her room.”
Yes. To her room. Then Lucy spied Derek standing small and forgotten beside the carriage.
“Lady Westcott. You have not greeted our guest. Derek?” Lucy signaled for him to approach.
Though it was apparent that Lady Antonia was not much interested in a nine-year-old great-nephew by marriage, Derek was very correct in his greeting to his hostess. Lucy smiled at him and gave him a proud hug.
“I’ll come to your room to say goodnight,” she told him. “Make sure his room is near mine,” she added to Fenton. Then she turned herself over to Ivan’s grandmother and, moving just as slowly as the old woman, trudged wearily up the stairs.
To her credit, the dowager countess waited until Lucy’s trunks were delivered to her room, her nightclothes laid out, and warm water brought in for her wash. Then with an imperious gesture she dismissed the two servants and fixed her expectant gaze on Lucy.
“So tell me. You are well? No ailments or problems?”
Lucy had collapsed into a slipper chair. One of the maids had unlaced her boots and now she kicked them off and flexed her stockinged toes. There was no avoiding this inquisition. Better simply to get it over with.
“I have no complaints at all save for the nausea.”
Antonia nodded. “In the morning only or in the afternoon as well?”
“Always in the morning. Sometimes in the afternoon.”
“A boy. That indicates a boy,” the old woman stated with a gleam in her eye.
“If it’s a boy he must not like carriages very well,” Lucy muttered.
“The traveling made you ill?”
“All day,” Lucy admitted. “That’s why I’m so exhausted.”
Again the old woman nodded. “You must get into bed right away, then. I’ll call for a maid. But one more question.”
She paused, but Lucy knew what the question was and answered before the countess could continue. “He was shocked at first. But I believe he has recovered.”
“You mean he was furious,” the dowager countess corrected her. “You needn’t pretend otherwise, at least not with me. He was furious that you are pregnant with his heir because this child will also be my heir, one that he knows I have anticipated a very long while.” She sighed, and where before there had been excitement and joy in her face, Lucy now saw only a resigned sort of sadness. She decided to be blunt.
“Can you honestly blame him for feeling that way?”
The other woman’s chin jerked up and for a moment a fierce blue light glittered in her aged eyes. But then it went out, and that fast Lucy watched as the dowager countess wilted.
“No,” the old woman answered. “I do not blame him. But I wish …” She trailed off, shaking her head. Then she rallied. “It does not matter what I wish or whether he is angry or not. The fact remains that you carry the next Earl of Westcott.”
“But it does matter,” Lucy countered, forcing herself to a more erect position in the chair. “He is no longer angry over the child, but he will be furious when he learns I am here.”
Again the woman sighed. She gripped the head of her cane tighter. “I am aware that he does not want me to have anything to do with this child, and I know all his reasons why. He thinks I neglected him by providing him with a superior education. He thinks I was wrong to make him heir to a fortune. He thinks—”
“You neglected him when you tore him from his mother’s arms and gave him no one to love in her place. And no one to love him back.”
“She was a whore,” Antonia muttered. “A filthy Gypsy whore who tried to blackmail my son.”
“But that was never Ivan’s fault!” Lucy cried. “It was not his fault, and yet he is the one who has most suffered. You were two grown women who should have looked out for his well-being, but neither of you did. Nor did his father.”
“He was well fed, well clothed, and well educated!”
“None of that will ever make up for not being loved. Even now—” She broke off, then reconsidered. She swallowed hard and continued in a more subdued voice. “Even now he will not let me love him. Physically, yes. But not emotionally. I think he is terrified that he might have to love me back.
Terrified
. And that he will love this baby we’ve made.”
Terrified
. And that he will love this baby we’ve made.”
Her hand moved to cover her stomach, to caress the place where their child lay, quietly growing inside her. “Would it have been so hard for you to have loved a frightened little boy? Of all the things he needed from you, that was by far the most important,” she finished, her voice trembling.
In the silence that followed, Lady Westcott sat stone-faced, as if impervious to Lucy’s words. Lucy’s heart ached for her almost as much as it did for Ivan. They were two proud, stubborn people—and two of the loneliest people she’d ever known.
Lucy pushed to her feet. “I believe I’d like to retire to my bed now. Could you send in a maid to assist me?”
Lady Westcott rose slowly. Lucy could read nothing in her face; she could see nothing in its fixed expression. How alike they were, Ivan and his grandmother. Just as he’d inherited her ice-blue eyes, so had he inherited her iron will, her arrogance, and her inability to love those who most needed it from her.
Tears stung her eyes and she turned away from the dowager countess, not wanting her to see. She heard the woman leave. She heard a maid enter and with a minimum of discussion Lucy cooperated with her. But once she was tucked into the high bed—the one she’d shared so briefly with Ivan—she could no longer hold back her emotions.
She rolled onto her stomach, buried her face in the soft linen-encased pillow, and cried as she’d never cried before. Hard tears. Bitter tears. Sad tears that were wrenched from the deepest part of her heart. She cried for Ivan and his grandmother, and the love they were unable either to give or receive. She cried for herself, for her loneliness and unrequited love.
But most of all she cried for her unborn child, her unborn child whom she already loved but whom she feared would always suffer for the lack of his father’s love and attention.
Lucy felt wretched in the morning, even more so than usual. As on the previous day, her nausea would not relent, and she spent most of the morning in her room, trying desperately to relax so that the dizzying waves would recede.
When that did not help, she resolved to go outside, to sit on the terrace and read. But that made it even worse. Her stomach was in such a tenuous and unsettled state she feared she could not control it, and that she would embarrass herself in front of everyone: Antonia, though sympathetic, understood the trials of impending motherhood. Young Derek, however, could not hide his worry.
“Can I bring you a pillow?” he asked, his face screwed up in concern. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Thank you, dear, but no. I’m surprised you are not down at the stables,” Lucy added. She bit her cheek as a particularly cruel spasm left her dizzy and wanting to retch.
Derek’s expression turned to alarm. He whirled toward Lady Antonia, who sat in a chair in the afternoon sun, just beginning to doze off. “Lady Westcott! Help her. Please, help her!”
“God in heaven! Help who?” the old woman cried, startled awake. “Oh. Lucy. Do you need help, girl?”
A chill ran through Lucy and she shuddered. “Perhaps … Perhaps I should return to my room. If I lie down a while …”
By dusk Lucy began to fear the worst. The nausea had ended, to be replaced abruptly by severe stomach cramps. Lady Antonia sent for her doctor, as well as the village midwife. Derek was banished from the sickroom, but Antonia never left Lucy’s side.
Lucy was more grateful for the older woman’s presence than she could properly express. Whether for the right reason or wrong, here was one person who cared just as much as she for the tiny baby inside her. Here was one person who would grieve just as deeply as she should something happen …
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