Pride & Passion (10 page)

“The seat is perfectly fine. Thank you.”

His brow furled, and he pulled away. Lucy kept her
gaze focused straight ahead, wondering when the music would begin. She wanted to get lost in the mindless minutes that would follow. She wanted not to think of Sussex and his paramour, but of her lover. Thomas. Who she had seen that afternoon. Who she intended to make plans to meet.

How had she almost forgotten the event? How, when the last eight months had been consumed with finding a way to be with him once more.

“You look lovely in this shade of crème,” Sussex whispered. “Champagne silk and pale pink,” he murmured, and to Lucy’s horror she saw how he discreetly rubbed his fingers along the nap of fabric. “Exquisite. Your modiste is very gifted. She’s designed the most beautiful dress here tonight.”

More lovely than the blonde’s blue dress? she wondered sourly. It wasn’t like her to be petty, but suddenly the emotion took hold of her. In reality she should thank him, and glow at the compliment, for she was the modiste who had designed her gown. But something irked her about that brazen woman saddling up to the duke. She had always found it quite easy to ignore him, but lately…lately she had found her thoughts were more and more drawn to him, and that gloomy morning in the parlor when he had returned the handkerchief to her. They had become enemies that morning, but it was a strange sort of opposition, one that seemed to be drawing them closer to one another, not pulling them apart.

Perhaps that was his plan, like a spider drawing its prey into its web. Perhaps it was the method of the Brethren Guardians to keep those they distrusted the most within arm’s reach. Whatever it was, this new…
acquaintance that had unwittingly been forged between them had to stop.

Lucy was aware of the way Sussex’s gaze stayed focused on her, aware the moment his gaze lowered, lingered over the tiny rise of her bosom, and the decadent Irish lace she had used for a flounce along the neckline. He would be sadly disappointed if he were looking for the same sort of voluptuousness his blonde goddess possessed.
Greatly
disappointed, she reminded herself, for Lucy had been shortchanged in that department, by being given two small, firm apples for breasts.

“You really do loathe me, don’t you?”

He’d murmured that, and she wondered if she was meant to have heard it. Turning her head, she studied the man seated beside her. Normally his gray eyes possessed a chilly tone, but now…they were downright glacial. Something compelled her to honesty—perhaps it was the flicker of pain she saw in those cold depths. “Loathe is a very strong word, your grace.”

“As strong as your dislike of me?”

Cocking her head, she tried to understand this perplexing exchange and her response to it. “Is this a continuation of our discussion this afternoon? If so, I have no desire to finish it. I thought we said everything that needed to be aired out between us.”

“Everything? Hardly,” he rasped. “All that was said was that you will not countenance the idea of a marriage between us because you despise me.”

“I never claimed to despise you, your grace. That’s a rather strong feeling.”

“Then, may I ask what it is you feel? If it is not contempt, or loathing, or ambivalence? What is it?” His
fingers rubbed against her skirts while his gaze stayed pinned on her face. “What have I done or said that makes me so abhorrent?”

She flushed, glanced nervously about her. But the guests were all talking amongst themselves, and it was impossible that they would have heard him. “Can this not wait until another time?”

“No, I don’t believe it can. You see, it has been the most frequently asked question in my mind, ever since that night I escorted you to that séance. Do you recall?”

Inwardly Lucy groaned. He would have to bring up that night.

“I made it very clear that I desired you, and when I kissed you, you slapped my face. What have I done to make you feel this way?”

Biting her lip, Lucy flicked open her lace and pearl fan and began beating the air vigorously. Using the fan as a decoy, she whispered fiercely, “You most certainly did
not
inform me of your desire, your grace. In fact, you alluded not at all to any of the higher, more romantic sentiments. You informed me,
sir,
that when we were married you would curtail my interests, keep me at home, under your thumb, and then you importuned me with a kiss that possessed all the finesse of a dead fish!”

Abruptly Sussex pulled back and glared at her. “A dead fish? Is that what you compare me to?”

“Yes.”

“And this is your opinion of me, that I am a prig? A boring, staid duke who lacks the warmth and skill to properly incite a woman’s passion? Well?” he growled when she refused to answer.

“Lower your voice. People will hear.”

“Then answer the question, Lady Lucy. Is that your opinion of me?”

“Yes, your grace. That is precisely what I think. You are a dead bore, and the last man in the world to tempt me into marriage.”

Immediately she bit her lip, sought to apologize, or at least find a way to make her assessment softer.

“I see.”

Oh, she could not bear to look in his eyes, to see their flinty depths. There was hurt there, pain… It reminded her of another day long ago, when another pair of eyes had looked at her with such suffering, and it caused her to feel remorse for her words. “I…I…”

“No, say nothing more. I fully comprehend now.”

Why now did she feel pain? Because she had admitted the truth, she found him dreadfully dull and uninspired? That was the truth. It had always been her assessment of Sussex. He was the shining archangel, and she was most certainly not attracted to bright and glittering—dark was her lure. And Sussex was certainly no dangerous fallen angel.

As if by divine intervention, their hostess for the night quieted the crowd and introduced their entertainment for the night—a Mr. Dubuque, who was currently all the rage in the most fashionable salons in Paris. As the gathered guests clapped their approval, and Dubuque took to the stool, Sussex leaned over. Those around them continued their applause.

“You have not given me sufficient opportunities to be anything but proper, Lucy. And I’ll have you know
that I will not consider this matter between us over until you do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That I have just drawn a new line in the sand, and I will not hesitate to bring you across to my side.”

“O
H, THAT WAS
most enjoyable,” Lizzy said happily as Sussex escorted them over to the punch bowl. “Don’t you agree? Dubuque has such a way with interpretation.”

The duke’s response was little more than a grunt, leaving Lucy to pick up her end of the conversation. “Delightful! It has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself so much. And thankfully there was no screeching soprano to join him. The last musicale the Sumners hosted had a most dreadful singer.”

“Oh, yes. I remember a musical I attended at Lady Branwell’s years ago. Her daughter sounded quite like a cat being skinned, and the others who joined her were not much better!”

They laughed as the duke steered them in the direction of the refreshment table.

“You are unusually quiet, Sussex,” Lizzy announced.

“Merely taking it all in,” he muttered.

“No doubt he’s wishing he had abandoned his plans to escort us, and is now fondly thinking of his lodge meeting,” Lucy teased.

“No, thinking of other things, I’m afraid. And formulating a plan.” When he gave her a pointed look, Lucy darted her gaze away.

“Sounds diabolical,” Lizzy said dryly.

“Oh, it is.”

“What did you think of the music, brother?”

“Adequate.”

“What a scintillating conversationalist you are!”

Sussex frowned as Lucy and Lizzy both grinned.

“He’s scowling, isn’t he?” Lizzy asked. “I can almost see it, his glare boring into my person!”

“Indeed he is,” Lucy answered, “most fiercely.”

Which made Sussex’s scowl deepen. “I am not frowning or scowling—or anything of the kind. Perhaps you two—”

“Your grace, what a wonderful surprise to see you here, tonight.”

Half turning, Sussex stuck out his hand in greeting. “Ah, Lord Sheldon, how are you?”

“Very well, your grace. And you?”

“As well as can be expected after enduring forty-five minutes of Mozart.”

The newcomer laughed and rocked on his heels. “Decidedly so.”

“And here I thought I was the only one in the room bored to tears.”

“No, misery loves company, I’m afraid, but it
is
rather selfish of you to claim boredom when you have been seated between two of the loveliest women in the room.”

Lucy felt a gentle tug on her hand, pulling her back, away from the gentlemen. “Who is this?” Lizzy whispered discreetly. “He has a voice as thick and smooth as honey.”

“I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never met him before.”

Lord Sheldon and the duke continued to converse,
oblivious to the fact Lucy and Lizzy had discreetly taken another few steps back and were now hurriedly whispering back and forth. “Lizzy,
honey?
Really!”

Lizzy gave up a beautiful smile. “Do describe him, Lucy.”

Lucy glanced at the man. “He is tall.”

“Yes?”

“And excellently dressed.”

“Yes?” Lizzy asked, sounding breathless.

“And he seems very polite, and amiable.”

“Oh, do get on with it, Lucy!”

“Get on with what, Lizzy?”

“Is he handsome or no!”

Lucy smiled, and reached for both Lizzy’s hands giving them a big squeeze. “Very. And he keeps stealing peeks at you while Sussex is droning on about something or other.”

“Oh dear, my brother droning on? He’ll have the poor man running away in horror.” Lizzy’s face suddenly lit up like the dawn. “Oh, how do I look?”

“Stunning and ethereal, as always.”

Lizzy pulled a face then seemed to recover. “What color is his hair?”

“Sandy-blond, with streaks of… Is that honey, I detect?”

Lizzy’s scowl was quite reminiscent of the one she had seen only moments ago on the duke’s face. “Make fun of me if you will, Lucy. I will bear it, if only you’ll go into greater detail. You’re capable of it, you know.
Make me see him!
”

Heart softening, she took a surreptitious glance at
the man, and saw how his gaze lingered over Lizzy. “Tall, lithe, but not skinny—his shoulders are quite broad. He looks quite stunning in his dress clothes, very gentlemanly with a hint of wildness. He’s tanned, in fact.”

“Tanned?” Lizzy asked with a frown. “Is he English? No Englishman possesses a tan in the middle of November.”

Lucy let her gaze slip once more to the handsome gentleman. “Definitely tanned, Lizzy. His hair is, I think dark brown, but with honeylike streaks running through it—” she could not suppress the smile at her taunt “—which I’m certain are sun-streaked strands. His hair is given to wave, I think, but he’s brushed it back and tamed it for the night. His eyes…hmm, I cannot see them well, but I think them dark, and they are framed with a very lush amount of dark lashes. His lips…well, I think they must be perfect.”

A masculine cough interrupted her, and she looked up to see the duke arching his brow in annoyance. “Ladies, may I introduce the Earl of Sheldon? Sheldon, this is Lady Lucy, the Marquis of Stonebrook’s daughter.”

“Delighted, Lady Lucy.”

“And this…” Sussex delicately took Lizzy’s hand in his and brought her carefully forward. “This is my sister, Lady Elizabeth.”

Lucy watched the way the duke elegantly placed Lizzy’s hand in Sheldon’s gloved one. She also noted the way the earl’s gaze roved over Lizzy as she dropped into a perfect curtsey.
Smitten
. That was exactly what the earl was.

“Lady Elizabeth, an honor.”

“Why thank you, Lord Sheldon.”

“Your brother has spoken very highly of you, and none of it has been exaggerated, I assure you.”

Lizzy’s smile was one of beauty, and Lucy had to hold back the impulse to clap her hands together with glee.

“Would it be permissible, your grace, if I escorted Lady Elizabeth around the room?”

“Not at all, as long as my sister has no objections?”

“None at all.”

Sheldon placed Lizzy’s fingertips on his arm, and carefully led her away from the refreshment table. Sussex watched them like a hawk circling a mouse for a very long time before he spoke. “What do you think of him?”

Lucy was startled by the question. “I beg your pardon, your grace?”

“Sheldon. What is your opinion of him? He is new to his title, spent the majority of his life abroad in the Middle East, but he’s been back now for months. He’s been hinting for almost that long about desiring an introduction to my sister.”

Lucy watched the pair as they strolled the perimeter of the room. They stopped before a painting, and it was clear that the earl was taking his time to describe it to Lizzy. And by the expression on her friend’s face, she was in raptures over the earl and their conversation.

“He seems very caring, and not at all surprised at her infirmity.”

“I made it clear,” Sussex said before taking a sip of his champagne. “He’s known all along. And still he has
made his wishes known. He’s rich—I checked. No bad habits, or any sordid secrets—I checked that, as well. There was a hint of trouble, though, back in the East that I haven’t been able to ferret out yet. But there is a story there, somewhere, and most likely a scandal. I can sense it. No one in our world is clean and free of secrets.”

The duke’s gaze darkened at the last, that Lucy could not help but goad him. “Gossip, your grace? How unlike you to indulge in the pastime.”

He grunted, but his cool gaze stayed focused on the pair. “Where there is smoke, there is fire. Something happened and has been swiftly, and quite safely, brushed beneath the carpet. I intend to discover what it was.”

Lucy couldn’t help but look at him. He wasn’t paying her any mind; his full attention was focused on Lizzy. There was a very great love there, she thought wistfully, wondering what it might be like to have a sibling care for her. It was very apparent in the way Sussex watched Lizzy, protecting her from anything or anyone who might wish to harm her. No man, Lucy realized, would be free of Sussex if he wished to court Elizabeth. In fact, Lucy was beginning to fear that no man was good enough.

“You cannot keep her tucked in the house all the time, your grace.”

He glanced down then swiftly found Lizzy. Once more, there were ghosts in his eyes when he spoke. “You don’t know what it was like growing up as we did. She had no one—I had no one. We are all the other has, and I would do anything to see her safe and happy. My
father…” He swallowed. “He had no use for anything he perceived as weak and ineffective. He all but abandoned her when she began to lose her sight. I
won’t
do the same.” His vow warmed her despite the fact she was trying to stay cool and indifferent. How could she? “I think, your grace, that you have done everything in your power to ascertain that Elizabeth will be quite safe with this man. Now it is up to fate.”

“Fate?” He looked down, studied her face. “I never leave anything to chance, Lucy. You should know that.”

“And why do I need to know such a thing?”

“For the future. I won’t leave my future, or yours, up to some whimsical fit of fate, or chance, or any other esoteric nonsense.”

The way he looked at her gave her pause, made her study him, before she shook her head. There was something there, when he looked at her just so…but she could not place it. She tried to pull away, but he reached for her, held her by the wrist. When she looked up, the strange familiarity was gone, replaced by eyes that were warm, heated with the effects of the champagne, and perhaps something else? Passion? No, his grace did not succumb to such things. Passion was a foreign word to him—a forbidden concept.

“Your grace,” she whispered, her voice chastising. “It is not done to touch me so forwardly. You’ll cause a stir.”

“Did you think our conversation from before finished?”

“Emphatically.”

“Well, it is not. Quite the contrary. I have had forty-five minutes to think of the things I want to say to you.”

“I hate to disappoint you, your grace, but I am not in the frame of mind to indulge any priggish sermons you have mentally dictated. I have had my fill of sermons and lectures to last me a lifetime and into the next. My father, you see, is quite fond of them, my mother was as well. I don’t need you,” she spat, “plaguing me with them, either. Let us be enemies, as we had mutually agreed upon a fortnight ago. This, whatever this is—” she waved her free hand between them, indicating the way he was holding her wrist, and how close they stood together “—is far too complicated. Being enemies is much easier, and simpler.”

“For you, perhaps. For me? It’s utter agony.”

He held her tighter, leaned closer, and she could smell that woman’s perfume on his clothes, and it sent her emotions scattering like the petals of a rose in a gale. Surely she could control these frightening emotions that seemed to flare so violently inside her whenever she recalled the duke with that woman.

“You would make a spectacle of us, sir, please, release my hand and step away.”

“Now who is the prig, concerned only with rules and etiquette?”

The glare she shot him could not be misunderstood. She wanted to do serious damage to his grace.

“You should never underestimate me, Lucy—especially when I want something.”

“One would hate to deny a duke anything, it would be social suicide. But I don’t care.”

He smiled, showing his teeth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as if he were enjoying himself immensely. “I will have you, Lucy. Make no mistake
about it, and it won’t be by clandestine fate, or chance. I assure you.”

As they stood toe to toe, the duke’s fingers wrapped around her wrists, their gazes locked, the Sumners’ majordomo announced in a ringing voice, “The Marquis of Alynwick, and Laird of the Clan Sinclair.”

Appearing in all his Highland regalia, complete with kilt and sword, Lucy watched the marquis stroll into the room. His gaze roved over the guests, jumping from person to person, searching for someone.

With a groan, Sussex reluctantly released her hand.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping on the tips of her slippers, in an attempt to see over Sussex’s shoulder.

“An inconvenience we don’t need.”

“Who doesn’t need?” she asked.

“The Brethren Guardians,” he growled as he glanced at her. “Damn it,” he muttered, swinging his gaze back to the marquis, “there is going to be more than one duel tonight. I’m going to blow his head off for this stunt.”

“I beg your pardon? A duel? Your grace—” She could hardly breathe, her corset squeezing her lungs so tight she felt light-headed.
Thomas?
Was the duke going to drag him to some lonely, fog-shrouded field and murder him in cold blood?

Sussex glanced at her, looked deeply into her eyes for the briefest of seconds and discerned her worries. “Not
him
. Not tonight.”

Her relief was audible, and it sent a muscle in his jaw clenching.

“Truce, Lucy, for the next few minutes?”

It was against her better judgment to grant such a
thing, but she found herself nodding despite herself. “Very well.”

Holding out his arm, he offered it to her. “Stroll with me.”

She did, and allowed Sussex to maneuver her effortlessly through the throng of guests who were busily chatting away, and watching the marquis with marked interest.

As they promenaded closer to where the marquis stood surveying the gathered crowd, Lucy was aware the instant Alynwick sighted what he was looking for. When the marquis’s gaze fell to Sheldon, who was holding on to Elizabeth’s hand, Alynwick’s expression turned violent.

“Sussex,” Lucy hissed, “look.”

But it was too late. In one swift move the marquis had parted the couple and had the earl pressed against the wall, his arm lodged against Sheldon’s throat. With a thrust, he slammed the earl back hard. Words were shared, and Lucy feared for her as Alynwick reached for Lizzy’s hand and proceeded to all but drag her out of the room. The crowd went silent; nothing could be heard except the fall of shocked, slackened jaws.

“There is keeping our presence a secret,” Sussex growled. “Goddamned, hotheaded Highland brute!”

“What now?” she asked, fearing for Lizzy. What would that beast Alynwick do to her?

“Damage control, I’m afraid. Get Lizzy for me, and I will take care of Alynwick. Then be ready to depart immediately.”