Guilty Series (93 page)

H
e wasn't at all what she had pictured. On her way downstairs, Lucia had imagined Ian Moore to be some oily, weasel-faced little fellow, oozing charm, who would couch his words in soothing, syrupy phrases that meant nothing. But when Lucia saw the British diplomat standing by the bookcase, his looks were so unlike the image in her mind that she came to an abrupt halt in the doorway.

He wasn't oily, and he certainly wasn't little. Lucia was taller than many men, but not this one. His wide shoulders and chest enhanced the impeccable fit of his striped waistcoat and buff-colored jacket. Dark blue trousers of an exact fit sheathed his lean hips and long legs. His linen
shirt and silk neckcloth were snowy white. Looking at him, Lucia had an almost irresistible urge to muss his perfectly combed dark hair and untie his perfectly knotted cravat.

He probably wouldn't like that,
she thought as she entered the room. This man had a hard line to his jaw and chin, showing resolution and discipline. He'd have no patience with that sort of teasing, which made the impulse to do so all the more tempting. Still, she had to concede that he was quite handsome for an Englishman, and her passionate Italian heart could only approve of such splendid masculinity, but when she looked into his eyes, her momentary feminine appreciation evaporated at once.

Though his lashes were thick and long, his eyes themselves were a tragedy. Cool, impersonal gray eyes that spoke of a frigid nature, eyes that studied her with such impassivity, she was almost insulted. What was she, a specimen under a microscope? A great pity that such a man as this should have eyes without a spark of passion in them.

“Sir Ian Moore,” he said in well-bred accents. “How do you do, Miss Valenti?”

The mention of her name—the name her father had finally been forced to give her—was a forcible reminder of this man's purpose, and when he bowed, she responded with a curtsy that was little more than a dip of her knees. She moved to a settee of blue and ivory toile, sat down, and indicated for him to take the chair
opposite her. “You came to see my mother, I understand, but she is unable to receive you at the moment. You will have to make do with me.”

“I would not describe your company as making do,” he said, oh-so-politely. “Though I regret your mother is unable to receive me. I had been given to understand she was expecting my arrival.”

“She forgot about you,” Lucia was delighted to inform him. “She is upstairs with her modiste being fitted for a new riding habit, and any thought of you went right out of her head.”

“Perfectly understandable when a woman is with her modiste,” he said with a charming smile that did not reach those cool eyes. “May we expect her to join us?”

“Hmm.” Lucia tilted her head, pretending to think it over. “I could not say. The modiste is sewing the pieces of her riding habit onto her person. That is the only way to make it fit tightly enough to cause a sensation, you comprehend.”

One corner of his mouth curved downward just a bit, the barest hint of his opinion on that. “I see.”

That censure of her mamma, however slight it was, gave Lucia even more desire to needle him. “Dear me, I believe the gentleman disapproves,” she murmured, affecting a British accent. She turned her head to the side as if speaking to a third party and went on, “Most improper for a woman to wear such a garment in public. She's the figure for it, I grant you, and that makes it
even more indecent. D'you suppose she's any underclothes on?”

Turning the other way, she went on as if in answer, “Not possible. Naked as the day she was born underneath, I'll wager. What chemise and petticoat would fit under there?”

When Sir Ian did not respond to this raillery, she chose to forgo her imaginary companion and returned her attention to him. “Why did you wish to see my mother? The usual reason men visit her, I suppose?”

“I came to see both of you.”

“Both of us? At once?” She gave him her most provoking smile. “No man has ever wanted
that
before. What a wicked man you are, Sir Ian, to make such an interesting suggestion.”

He stiffened, a barely perceptible flex of his broad shoulders. “I hope you will find my suggestion interesting, once you stop making assumptions and learn what it is.”

Lucia made a face. “Judging by your countenance, I doubt I want to. Tell me, are you always so haughty?”

“Are you always so impudent?”

“I'm afraid so,” she said without apology. “Particularly to men who are haughty. Since you are not going to tell me why you came, I shall have to guess.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out his card. “Sir Ian Moore,” she read. “G.C.M.G. Ambassador of—” She stopped and looked at him. “What do the letters mean?”

“His Majesty the King was gracious enough to
convey upon me a knighthood, the Knights Grand Cross, of the Most Distinguished Order of St. Michael and St. George.”

“That sounds very grand. To warrant such a visitor, I must be more important to my father than I thought.” She lifted the card again, and continued, “Ambassador of His Britannic Majesty, King William IV. Arranger of marital alliances that are none of his business, destroyer of the happiness of princesses, and person who solves the inconvenient problems of princes.”

She gave him a wink and a mischievous smile. “I have no doubt,” she continued as she tucked his card into the crevice between her breasts, “that I am Prince Cesare's most inconvenient problem. At least, I hope so.” Leaving the tiniest corner of the card showing, she leaned back against the settee, watching for his reaction.

There was none. The impassive countenance of the diplomat did not change, but his disapproval of her pert manner toward him was plain enough. Ian Moore, she decided, had no sense of humor.

“From the fictional titles you have accorded to me,” he said, “I can only conclude that you know my purpose in coming here is not to see your mother for the ‘usual reason.'” Before she could answer, he went on, “Though you are correct that I have come at the request of your father, Prince Cesare. And also at the command of my government.”

Now they were getting to the heart of the
matter. It was time to be serious. “Ah, the English meddle in this affair, too.”

“Your father has decreed that you marry and has asked my government to assist him in finding a British husband for you. It is my assigned task to do so, and to negotiate the terms of your marriage settlement.”

Lucia thought of all the times she'd been shuttled from one place to another. “
Si,
” she said with a nod. “Now that I can no longer be hidden away in some school or convent or palace, I must be married off.”

“I regret that you see it in such an unfavorable light.”

“But how else should I see it?” Before he could answer, she went on, “It is incomprehensible, I know, but I see no need to marry simply to save my father from embarrassment.”

“Most young women are eager to marry.”

“True,” she agreed, “and most of us have the strange idea that we should choose our own spouses, not have them selected for us by diplomats.”

“You are the daughter of a prince. Illegitimate, and therefore without title, but of the blood royal, nonetheless. Your father has publicly acknowledged you as his daughter—”

“Only because giving me his name makes him able to use me as a pawn in international politics. I am important enough now, it seems, to warrant my very own matchmaker.”

“And that acknowledgment,” he continued as
if she had not spoken, “places upon you certain duties. One of those duties is to marry well and appropriately.”

Lucia bristled at that. “What of my father's duty to me? Cesare hid me away like a sordid secret, finally putting me in a convent. The nuns beat me. My room had no windows.” She shuddered. “There were rats.”

“Your father deeply regrets that action.”

“I'll wager he does. Now that I am out of his reach.”

Something stirred in those cool eyes, impatience perhaps. “Young woman, you are never out of his reach. The fact that I am here proves that. If Cesare asked my government to hand you over to him, we would do so at once, and men of the Scots Guard would be here to escort you to the nearest ship. But your father has decided that arranging a marriage for you is the best course and for the sake of alliance, he prefers a British gentleman.”

“And if I do not share that preference?”

“I regret that my orders to find you a husband do not include a consideration of your preferences, Miss Valenti, although you may be reassured he will be a Catholic.”

His religion wasn't what worried her. If her father and this diplomat thought she was going to marry a man of their choice and not her own, they were very much mistaken. She was not Elena, and she would not be bullied. “What a relief to know a man is in charge of my future,” she
murmured, pressing a hand to her forehead. “The pressure of choosing my own marriage partner might have proved too great a strain for my poor, muddled, feminine mind. Who is the fortunate bridegroom?”

“I do not have any specific one in mind as yet, but he will be a peer, a gentleman of breeding, with an impeccable background and connections. In addition—”

“What about love?”

He did not even blink. “It is my sincere hope you will develop a fondness for whichever gentleman is chosen for you.”

It was such an absurd answer, she felt the desire to laugh, but the grave demeanor of the man opposite her made it clear that this was no laughing matter. “I did not ask about fondness,” she said. “I asked about love.”

“Real love takes time to develop, and we do not have that luxury. It is mid-June, and your father will be arriving in London for a state visit in August. My orders are to have a final marriage partner for you by the time of his arrival, based on his suitability for you and his desire to marry you.”

Shocked, Lucia could only stare at him. “Six weeks? I am to meet a man and become betrothed to him in the next six weeks?”

“Given your situation, time is of the essence. Your father's wishes are clear. In addition, I have duties elsewhere, and you—”

“I am to be rushed into matrimony so that my father's schedule and your duties do not suffer?”

He met her gaze with eyes as cold and hard as steel. “No, you are being rushed into matrimony because of your own indiscreet behavior, which could have ruined not only you, but also your half sister.”

That stung, mainly because she could not deny it. Lucia pressed her lips together and said nothing.

“The news of your exploit with Princess Elena has already appeared in an Italian scandal sheet,” he went on. “It is inevitable that news will eventually reach here. It is hoped that your other past indiscretions, including your attachment to a French blacksmith, will not come to light.”

Useless to explain to this man that she had loved Armand. He would not understand. She'd wager he had never been in love in his entire life. “And your point?”

“Rumors have an unfortunate tendency to grow and feed upon themselves until any shred of the truth is lost. The only way that will not matter is if you marry as soon as possible and marry well. Your father is offering an enormous dowry and annual income for you and your children, which helps. In addition, it is still the London season, so many suitable gentlemen will have the opportunity to meet you.”

With each dispassionate word he spoke, Lucia could feel her ire rising. “I am to be paraded before an audience of men, and you are to choose one desperate enough and greedy enough to take me off my father's hands for the price of a dowry
and income! I—” She broke off, anger and humiliation choking her. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, but it was impossible. “I am not to be sold, nor even given away. No, a man must be
paid
to take me. No wonder you require only six weeks.”

Not a muscle moved in the man's face. Lucia decided he wasn't quite human. Marble, perhaps, but definitely not human.

“I perceive your resentment,” he said, “and it is understandable. However, you will not be paraded anywhere. Before consenting to an alliance, any man is going to want to spend some time with you and become acquainted. It is not uncommon for a young woman to bring a dowry and income to marriage. And as for the time frame, we have already discussed that. Your father's requirements are clear—”

“Cesare has never cared about me. I have seen my father half a dozen times in the whole of my life. Who is he to say I must marry? And who are you to be his minister of alliance? What gives either of you the right to dictate to me or control my life?”

Sir Ian looked at her with the patient expression of an adult tolerating the tantrum of a petulant child, which only enraged her more.

“While you are becoming acquainted with suitable gentlemen,” he said with infuriating calm, “I will do what I can to contain the damage and prevent your reputation from becoming soiled here in Britain. However, I am no Hercules,
and I have no desire to clean the Augean stables. From now on, you must be impeccable in your behavior. Given your illegitimacy, your mother, and your past, if you do anything further to damage your reputation, even I may not be able to save it.”

“What a tragedy that would be.”

Once again, a hint of impatience marred the diplomat's smooth, polished countenance. “Young woman, do you not understand the seriousness of your circumstances? Your reputation is teetering on the verge of collapse, casting shame upon yourself, your father's house, and your country. I advise you to behave yourself. Is that clear?”

Mother of God, here was one more person to order her, control her, mold her, restrict her. Could she not simply live her own life? “How could it not be clear?” she said with a mocking smile. “You explain it all so diplomatically.”