Secrets of Lady Lucy

by Rachel Ann Smith

  Blake met Harrington’s direct gaze.

  “Lord Devonton,” his lordship said in greeting. He immediately turned and made introductions, “Lady Grace, may I present the Earl of Devonton.”

  Blake snuck a glance at Lucy. Her sweet face now held a dangerous scowl, directed squarely at her brother. It was a look Blake never wanted to be a recipient of. Quite evidently, she was irate with Harrington, but why? Because he had ignored her?

  Giving his head a slight shake, he returned Lady Grace’s curtsy with a light kiss upon her outreached hand. “Lady Grace, it is my pleasure.”

  Growling, Harrington asked, “Devonton, do you miss the Continent yet?”

  Returning his gaze to Lucy, Blake merely answered, “No.”

  Her gaze locked with his, but she remained silent.

  Lady Grace interjected with, “The Continent! Lord Devonton, that must have been rather dangerous, given the war.”

  At the mention of war, he felt his face turn to stone. While Blake had not been on the front line, he had endured the rude reality of battle. He had been held captive on more than one occasion and interrogated by means no animal, let alone a human, should experience. Luckily, he had survived by repeatedly escaping his captors. The image that had assisted him in his darkest moments was now standing before him in flesh and blood.

  He tried to repress a smile as Lucy impatiently clasped and unclasped her hands. As if no longer willing to be a bystander, she elbowed her brother hard in the ribs. Harrington rubbed his side, obviously oblivious as to why he was subject to physical prodding. Lucy mouthed, Introduction.

  “Lucy, do you not remember Devonton? He stayed with us during the holidays my first year at Eton.” Blake did not care for Harrington’s scathing look nor the derisive tone he used with Lucy.

  Color flooded her cheeks. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and her gaze fell to the floor. “Lord Devonton, I am sorry I did not recall your stay at Halestone Hall.”

  Why was Harrington behaving in such a boorish manner? Of course Lucy didn’t remember him. Blake had been a lanky, bookish-looking lad of thirteen years. A mere boy compared to her intended, Lord Taylor, who was six years his senior, with the looks and body of a man.

  It was extremely out of character for Harrington to treat his sister in such a manner. In a multitude of letters over the years, he had always praised Lucy’s intelligence and her innate ability to assist in the management of the family estates while he was absent. So what had instigated the harsh remarks? Interestingly, Harrington’s demeanor had changed when Lady Grace shifted her attention to Blake. Could the charismatic and self-assured Lord Harrington be jealous of him? Impossible.

  Lucy’s gaze remained downcast as Harrington tried valiantly to recover. “It has been some time since.”

  At the first strains of the supper waltz, Blake decided to attempt to restore a smile to Lucy’s face. Bending slightly, he asked, “Lady Lucy, would you do me of the honor of this dance?” He winged out his arm and held his breath as he awaited her response.

  In a voice barely louder than a whisper, she answered, “It would be my pleasure.”

  Desire seared through Blake as the warmth of Lucy’s hand radiated up his left arm and straight to his heart. His spirits lifted as he guided them to the edge of the dance floor.

  Turning to face him, she finally granted him that elusive smile he had hoped for all evening, the one he had stored in his memory for years. The one he had recalled when he most needed strength during the war. He pulled Lucy into his embrace, placing his right hand gently but firmly on her waist while his left hand engulfed hers. Since she could not quite comfortably reach to place her hand on the top of his shoulder, her hand settled near it, on the upper part of his chest.

  Blake had to remind himself that while he had carried Lucy in his thoughts for years, she had only just now been reintroduced to him. Gliding about the dance floor with her felt all too natural, her soft, flowing movements in stark contrast to the stiff, mechanical steps performed by his previous partners. Was it he or his partners who had merely gone through the motions?

  Blake glanced around the room at all the dancing couples, twirling, smiling, and engaging in what looked to be flirtatious tête-à-tête. Wishing he could lay his eyes upon her features rather than the top of her head, he broke the silence. “I’m a little rusty with social etiquette, but aren’t you supposed to flutter your eyelashes at me or make some type of idle conversation?”

  Lucy blurted, “I’m performing mathematical calculations in my head.”

  Not enamored with my company then. An uncomfortable knot settled in his chest as he deduced the most probable question to cause her to perform sums.

  Could he impress her with his estimates?

  “I would calculate it to be approximately another fifteen minutes until the dance is over. It will be another forty-five minutes before you can escape, assuming you allow me to escort you to supper with your friend and brother, and another fifteen minutes before the carriage can be out front.”

  Looking down at a wide-eyed Lucy, he was pleased with his own mental calculations and ability to read people. “I suggest you relax and enjoy the next seventy-five minutes, to be exact, and let me take care of you.”

  He was acutely aware that her body had stiffened and was now replicating those wooden movements he was accustomed to. She was apparently not at all impressed with his reckonings, nor his intuitiveness.

  “While your calculations may be fairly accurate, I do not need to be cared for, and especially not by you.” Lucy’s response was filled with disdain.

  Total failure. All chances of an amicable reunion were dashed. His hopes of Lucy returning his regard were crushed—pulverized. Granted, he had met her when she was only a little older than a decade, but he had allowed his adolescent infatuation to continue to grow into something more over the years. Matthew had shared with him every letter Lucy had sent during their years at Eton. Her letters had revealed a curious, brilliant, witty girl that longed to attend university. While he was away carrying out his duty to the Crown on the Continent, he had received letters from Matthew that were filled with vivid accountings of her as she matured.

  Blake looked down at the woman dancing in his arms. She was not the lady he had fantasized about. But the compelling pull he had thought existed over a decade ago remained strong. He still felt it. Why didn’t Lucy? Her facial features indicated she was oblivious. She appeared to be totally indifferent to his looks and behavior. Both her physical and verbal responses had made it perfectly clear she was neither eager nor interested in being in his company. His faith in his ability to gauge and read people was sorely tested in this instance. A heavy weight descended upon his chest. For years Lucy had represented life in England and had provided him a reason to carry on. But Blake was firmly planted in reality—the woman he had created in his mind did not exist.

  Releasing a deep sigh, he loosened his hold. “Beg pardon, Lady Lucy. I’m sure you are correct—you are indeed quite capable of caring for yourself.”

  Lucy wasn’t sure how to handle the riot of emotions that coursed through her. Her waltz with Blake had begun like every other she had endured during the evening, in total silence. Only this time her partner seemed instinctively in tune with her movements. He was an exceptional dancer, in full control, but with a hint of recklessness that excited her. But when he had magically read her mind, Lucy had become wary of his intentions. Over the years, conducting investigations had taught her not to trust anyone.

  Her body seemed to want to be closer to his—it trusted him to propel her in the right direction. His clever calculations were impressive, and her mind wanted to spar with him. It was his overbearing comment that had her bristling. But then he straightened his arm and placed an extra inch between them. Instantly, she found herself longing to be closer and feeling a little lost at no longer experiencing his radiating heat.

  Blake’s features were masked and entirely devoid of th
e intensity and interest she had seen earlier. By the end of the dance, she was fatigued and in desperate need of a few hours alone with a novel. Anything to distract her from the feelings the man had aroused in her.

  He escorted her back to her brother and bowed in her direction. “Lady Lucy, I bid you a good night.”

  Blake ignored both Matthew and Grace and left her in their care. How extremely rude. Apparently, the man had no social graces to speak of. Yet, even though she had been the one to erect a wall of silence during their dance, she was disappointed at his leaving. Admittedly, she had behaved poorly in his company. How did he conjure in her such strong reactions?

  She followed Matthew and Grace to a table where she replayed her interactions with Blake in her head. She should not refer to him by his given name, even in her thoughts, especially after sharing only one dance with him. It had started during the waltz, when he held her in his arms and she felt safe and secure. Blake. The man was, in fact, a conundrum.

  She resolved to limit her interactions with him until she had thoroughly analyzed his effect on her.

  Lucy gazed into the distance. Pretending to be preoccupied with her own thoughts, she listened as Grace conspiratorially asked Matthew, “What do you think she said to him?”

  “I have no idea, but Devonton did not look pleased when he returned her to us. Let us leave right after supper.”

  Lucy lowered her gaze to her plate to avoid Grace’s attention as her friend muttered, “I, for one, am ready to leave now.”

  Grace’s declaration caught both Lucy’s and Matthew’s attention. Matthew was the one to speak first. “Are you feeling unwell?”

  Intrigued to see the concern on her brother’s face, Lucy waited for Grace’s response.

  “I’m well. I just… I’m eager to retire early this evening.”

  Assessing the pair, Lucy was unable to gauge the strength of the undercurrent of energy that always seemed to exist when they were in each other’s presence, but there was no doubt of its existence. It appeared to Lucy that Grace was having trouble keeping her mind on the current conversation. Did Matthew have a similar effect on Grace as Blake had on her, obscuring all reasonable thinking while heightening all bodily reactions?

  Matthew stood and announced that it was time for their departure. How long had Lucy been woolgathering? Glad she no longer had to convince Matthew to leave, she led the way as they returned Grace to her chaperone, who was dozing in the drawing room.

  Before leaving, Lucy asked, “Grace, shall I call on you tomorrow afternoon?”

  “That would be lovely. I’ll have Mrs. Simmons bake some of those scones you love.”

  Lucy turned to face Matthew. She searched his features for any indication that his relationship with Grace was more than friendship. As if in answer, he dismissively tipped his head in Grace’s direction as a form of goodbye and escorted Lucy to the foyer to await their carriage. Matthew never once glanced back, but Lucy was sure Grace’s gaze remained on him as they departed.

  The wheels had barely come to a stop before Lucy was jumping out of the carriage. Eager for the opportunity to finally review the missive tucked safely in her garter, she bounded up the stairs and turned to make her way to her chamber. Bursting through the door, she nearly ran right into her maid.

  Carrington squeaked as she sidestepped her mistress. “My lady, I was just getting the warming pan ready for the sheets.”

  Carrington was Lucy’s staunchest supporter of her irregular activities, and they had long ago dispensed with most of the customary formalities, with the exception that Carrington refused to address Lucy by her given name.

  “Not to worry. If you could just help me out of this gown.” Lucy reached down to gather up her skirts and raised them up past her garter. She retrieved the parchment and waved it in Carrington’s direction. “Tonight I received a note from you-know-who. As soon as I’m done dealing with the matter, I plan to wander down to the library to retrieve a book. I might even seek out Cook and ask for a nice warm glass of milk.”

  Carrington moved to assist Lucy with her buttons and stays. “Will you need my assistance tonight?”

  Free from her stays, Lucy stepped out of her dress. “No need, Carrington. I’m sure I’ll manage—Off to bed for you.”

  Lucy waited for the door to click closed before lighting a candle and placing it on top a stack of books she had by her bed. Settling on the bed closest to the light, she carefully unfolded the foolscap with smooth, efficient moves, ensuring she did not smudge any of the words. Groaning, she recognized the handwriting. It belonged to none other than her superior, Graham Drummond, the Earl of Archbroke, head of the Home Office. The man may act the dandy for polite society, but he was a genius, acknowledged by all. Despite his intellect, Archbroke’s arrogance and opinions regarding the female sex often prompted Lucy to provoke him into admitting she was by far the most effective decoder in the department.

  Lucy went to work on decoding the contents of the note. Since it was in the code she had devised for the Home Office, within minutes she was reading:

  Lady L,

  Apologies for the short notice.

  Meeting. Mr. Smyth. Lone Dove. Ten in the morn.

  Arrangements have been made.

  Anticipated return Tuesday.

  She refolded the correspondence and waved it about, causing the candle to flicker. As she padded over to the fireplace, she muttered, “He asks this of me now! How does he think I’m going to disappear at the height of the Season? Men!”

  Discarding the letter into the fire, she stared into the flames and began to work on formulating a plan for her departure. With the last remnants of the missive turning to ash, she ran and jumped into her bed, extinguishing the candle. Lucy laid her aching head upon her soft pillow and closed her eyes, her book and glass of milk long forgotten.

  Chapter Three

  Lucy had rolled about in bed throughout the evening. Images of a faint scar just under a man’s chin, the slight angle of a tooth that was set among straight ones, the freckle that was revealed under the cuff of his sleeve—all images belonging to Blake.

  Unwilling to ponder the effect the man had on her, Lucy rose before the sun and went to seek out Matthew. Her brother was an early riser irrespective of the time he returned in the evenings. She wanted to take advantage of his being most accommodating in the morning, prior to frustrations of managing the estate setting in.

  Predictably, she found Matthew in his study, and without preamble, she entered and said, “I received a letter from Theo. She has requested I visit her. She is in desperate need of companionship.”

  Matthew did not bother to look up from the estate accounts. Lucy continued, “I plan to go visit her. May I have the use of the traveling coach?”

  Matthew remained focused on the ledgers in front of him but replied, “Lucy, it is extremely early in the morn to be making demands. We agreed you would be fully engaged this Season. No more jaunts to the country and no more hiding.”

  Lucy retorted, “I’m not hiding, Matthew. My best friend of our childhood has just lost her papa. How can you say no?”

  Was she fleeing from the one man who had managed to evoke more than brotherly affection within her? Blake had somehow invaded her thoughts throughout the night. Perhaps it would be wise to avoid his company. Her mind refused to relinquish the memory of his penetrating emerald-green eyes.

  Lucy shook her head to clear her thoughts and waited patiently for Matthew to give her his undivided attention. He finally ceased writing and said, “I thought you were to pay a call on Grace this afternoon.”

  Perfect. He had played directly into her hand. “Matthew, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Grace—perhaps you could call on her in my stead? You could tell her I’ve left Town to visit a friend for a few days.” Lucy gave him a most sincere look, the one he could never deny.

  At the mention of Grace, a twinkle materialized in Matthew’s eyes, betraying his bored tone. “I’m rather busy this afternoon.�
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  Lucy continued to make her argument. “Theo is like family. She is still in mourning and has been left on her own. Please, just a short stay this time. I’ll only be away for six days. I won’t even be gone for a whole week. It’s not like I’ve attracted anyone’s singular attention; no one will miss me.”

  As soon as Lucy spoke the words, her mind brought up an image of Blake. Was the man who haunted her dreams interested in her? Was he on the hunt for a wife?

  Why was she even concerned? She had given her heart to James, and now he was dead. There would be no one who would understand her as James had.

  Perhaps some debutante would capture Blake’s attention while she was away. She wrapped her arms about her stomach as if it ached. She needed to cease thinking of the man.

  Matthew had refocused his attention back to the ledgers before him. She knew if she offered to attend a social gathering upon her return Matthew would relent and grant his permission. But the idea of attending another ball nearly brought about hives.

  But there was nothing else to barter. “I’ll be home in time to accompany you to the Emsworth ball. I understand you will need assistance in gaining the right ears to listen to your new bill.”

  One eyebrow arched. “Very well, you may use the traveling coach, but please make sure you have at least four outriders, two footmen, and your maid.”

  Happy, Lucy rushed over and hugged him. “Thank you, and I promise to be back in time for the blasted ball.” She released Matthew and made her way to the door.

  Before she crossed the threshold, he called out, “Lucy! I will miss you!”

  Once Lucy had Matthew’s permission, her loyal contingent, which consisted of Carrington and two footmen, John and Evan, gathered in the library. She never traveled without the trio. Lord Archbroke had assigned them for her first official journey on Home Office business. After years of working together, the trio was irreplaceable.