Dangerous to Love

by Rexanne Becnel

  Lucy's mother gasped, and again Hortense began to fan herself. To mention Lady Nullingham's very public fall from grace was not a subject for polite conversation, especially in mixed company. Lucy meant to shock Lady Westcott, or at least to gauge her reaction.

  She was not terribly surprised by the glint of humor in the old matron's eyes. "I've heard many a recounting of that tale, every one of them more than amusing. Yet still I regret not bearing witness to it myself." Abruptly she stood. "I would stroll in the garden a while, Miss Drysdale. Come, give an old woman the benefit of your vigor." So saying, she held out her arm.

  Though taken aback, Lucy hastened to accommodate her. When the others rose, however, Lady Westcott waved them back into their seats.

  "Do not bother yourselves to accompany us. I would have a little talk with Miss Drysdale. That is all. Gladys, send for fresh tea. I will want another cup—hotter this time—upon my return."

  Then without apology to anyone, the old woman turned and, with Lucy at her side, marched sturdily for the door.

  Lucy had hoped for a diversion and it seemed she'd gotten it. Where it might lead, she could not foresee, but for now she planned to enjoy every minute of it.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Antonia was getting desperate. She had to be to even contemplate such an outrageous proposal to Miss Lucy Drysdale. She'd only just met the girl!

  But she was not a girl; she was a woman. She was an attractive young woman possessed of a lively intellect as well as a sharp wit and a sharp tongue. Though that was not much to go on, Antonia nonetheless was convinced Ivan would like her. More than that, she was convinced that were he to meet her, he would pursue her.

  Not that he didn't appear to be pursuing every other young woman he met. But she knew Ivan would not be landed by some innocent schoolroom miss who melted every time he turned his brooding gaze upon her. These past two months he'd become the catch of the season. The mothers coveted his title, the fathers coveted his fortune, and the girls ... It seemed that the girls coveted everything about him. More tears had been shed and girlish friendships shattered over the so-called Gypsy earl than over any other bachelor since four years ago when Hal Driscoll, heir to the Earl of Lamonte, had finally been wed to that silly Meredith Cavanaugh.

  But for all her grandson's intense participation in the social rounds now that the season was in full swing, Antonia sensed that something was not right. He was not sincere in his attentions to the young women. He was not really looking among them for a wife; he was merely toying with them.

  Or rather, he was toying with her. She let out a muttered imprecation.

  "Are you all right?" her companion asked.

  Antonia forced her frown away. "Of course I'm all right. Find a bench where we may sit a while." While I reason out the best way to approach you with my proposal.

  Once they were settled on a weathered garden bench, Antonia fiddled with the crystal head of her cane. Miss Drysdale stared at her expectantly. Not surprisingly, it was the younger woman who spoke first.

  "Are you down to visit the Fordhams for very long?"

  "A short visit, I'm afraid. A week only," Antonia answered. "I'll be returning to town directly afterward. Are you ever in London?" she added, looking for a way to ease into her subject.

  Miss Drysdale sighed. "No, though it's not because I do not wish to be. I expect, however, that until it's time for Prudence's season I shall be confined to a rural existence."

  "You will chaperone her when the time comes?" Antonia asked, a germ of an idea beginning to take root.

  Miss Drysdale hesitated, as if weighing her words. Then with a half smile, she plunged in. "I am afraid that my dear sister-in-law is not quite up to the role. As a result, I am certain I shall chaperone Prudence. Perhaps I shall be forced to chaperone both daughter and mother. Please don't misinterpret my words," she added. "For I look forward to that day with utter delight. I can hardly wait for the time when I might return to London."

  "Perhaps that day is not so far away."

  As quickly as that, Miss Drysdale's open countenance became wary. "It would be best, Lady Westcott, if I were frank with you. While your implication is in many ways intriguing, I feel I must tell you that I am not in the market for a husband."

  Antonia was relieved that she had never been prone to blushing. Instead she wrinkled her brow and frowned at the girl. "Neither am I, and I spend most of my time in town. If you think I am searching out a wife for my grandson— and you do, confess it—well, you are quite wrong. He is not ready, I think, to marry. Perhaps someday, but not yet. No, I did not bring you out here to matchmake you with my troublesome heir. Rather, I would like to offer you a position in my household for the duration of the season."

  That was clearly not what Miss Drysdale had been expecting, and in the brief pause while the younger woman recovered her composure, Antonia studied her. Flawless complexion. Thick, shiny hair the color of mahogany. Vivid green eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Even as she stared into those eyes, Antonia could see the gears turning in the girl's mind.

  "A position in your household? What sort of position?"

  "I believe you would be an appropriate person to chaperone one of my late sister's granddaughters. Valerie is a lovely girl, but she will be a lamb among the wolves in town."

  "What of her mother?"

  "I'm afraid Lady Hareton will be of no more use in that regard than would your sister-in-law. She suffers from a nervous condition, as she tells it. As a result she is not up to the rigors of society." And blessed convenient that is, she said to herself.

  "There are no other relatives that the girl would prefer accompany her? No favorite aunt or older cousin?"

  "I am her older cousin and her godmother, and I assure you, she would much prefer a younger and more vigorous companion than myself. Come now, Miss Drysdale. You said yourself that you were anxious to return to London. If you are worried about leaving your family, rest assured, they will survive your absence. Besides," she added with a wave of her hand. "It will only be for a few months. After that you are free of any obligation to Valerie."

  Antonia could see the excited light in Miss Drysdale's eyes. She had her! To be absolutely certain, however, she leaned nearer and placed a hand on the girl's arm. "I shall consider it a great personal favor if you would agree to my request."

  Lucy could hardly contain her excitement. Here was the chance she'd been waiting for!

  When they'd come to visit today, she'd hoped to find an interesting woman who might prove to be a pleasant diversion for the few weeks she was visiting. Never in her wildest dreams had she dared hope for so glorious an opportunity as she'd just been offered. She had to restrain herself from leaping up and dancing a country jig around the iron-willed Lady Westcott.

  "I accept your offer," she answered, quite aware that her huge grin made a mockery of her perfectly sober words. But she didn't care. She was going to London again! She would be in the company of great wits and even greater minds.

  And she would be able to attend Sir Mawbey's lectures!

  If she'd ever doubted the power of prayer, she vowed never to do so again, for her every prayer had been answered in the form of Lady Antonia Thornton, Dowager Countess of Westcott!

  Lady Westcott rose to her feet. "Very good. Let us repair to the parlor and inform your family. I should like to depart for London day after tomorrow. Is that agreeable to you?"

  As it happened, Lucy's only disappointment was that it took four days, not two, before they finally departed. Two of those days Hortense spent in bed with a sick headache, devastated that "her darling Lucy" was leaving. Lucy had never realized how deep her sister-in-law's affection for her ran—though she suspected it was less affection and more neediness. Still, she knew the children ran roughshod over their mother without Lucy there to stop them.

  Fortunately, her own mother was almost as excited about Lucy's new position as was Lucy herself, although for entirely different rea
sons. Irene Drysdale had never completely resigned herself to her daughter's unmarried state. She bemoaned the lack of eligible gentlemen in the Somerset countryside—or rather, the lack of eligible gentlemen that Lucy could abide. London, however, was full of eligible gentlemen.

  Lucy had no intention of informing her mother that the only man she had a remote interest in was an intellectual who taught for a living and possessed only an honorary title. As to whether Sir James was a bachelor, she could not say. Just because he hadn't mentioned a wife in his correspondence did not mean there wasn't one. Still, she'd rather believe that there was not.

  Lady Westcott's carriage came for her just past dawn. London was a long day's journey and the dowager countess was determined to sleep in Westcott House that night, she told Lucy. Lady Valerie Stanwich would join them within a few days.

  That would give Lucy time to find out the particulars about Sir James's lecture series. She might be forced to bring Lady Valerie with her, she realized, but that was all right. As long as she was able to hear him in person, to bask in the light of his prodigious intellect, and try to soak up some portion of the essence of his knowledge she would be content. She heaved a happy sigh to even contemplate such possibilities.

  "I take it you are content to be leaving the country."

  Lucy smiled at her benefactress. "It's not so much that I wish to leave Somerset, as that I am thrilled to be return ing to town. I feel..." She paused, searching for the words that would make her feelings clear without casting her family in a bad light. "I am somewhat stifled in the country."

  In the close confines of the carriage Lucy felt keenly the weight of the dowager countess's regard. "You are bored to tears, you mean. I assure you, Miss Drysdale, that you will not be bored in London. In fact, I would hazard a guess that you will have your hands quite filled with Valerie."

  "Is she strong-willed?"

  Lady Westcott snorted. "Strong-willed? Hardly. Rather, she is quiet as a mouse and just as easily startled. She will do anything to please a person." She paused and sniffed. "Except, that is, to put herself forward."

  Lucy nodded. "She sounds like a middle child."

  "Actually, I believe she is. Yes. She's the fourth of a brood of seven. Seven children. No wonder her mother suffers from a nervous disposition."

  Lucy smiled, pleased that she'd been right. "I've noticed that a middle daughter is often the most complacent of children, trying always to please and, in the process, losing her own self."

  "Losing her own self?" Lady Westcott gave her a sharp look. "Whatever is that supposed to mean?"

  "It's part of a theory about children that I am developing," Lucy admitted, thrusting her chin out in an unwitting show of defiance.

  "A theory about children? What do you know about children? You haven't had any, have you?"

  "You needn't be a nursing mother to know about children," Lucy replied, more tartly than she ought. "I have been a child and helped raise many other children—not just my brother's considerable brood."

  "And you needn't take that sharp tone with me, girl. I am not questioning your intelligence. Far from it. If I did not think you of superior mental capabilities, I certainly would not have offered you this position."

  The old woman pursed her lips and stared at Lucy from across the narrow carriage space. "Since you obviously have a deep interest in children and why they behave as they do, it might be best if I go into more detail about your duties to Valerie. Because she is so malleable she could easily be led astray by one of those callous young men who pass for gentlemen these days. And unfortunately, they will flock to her in hordes. She is as pretty a girl as you could ever hope to lay eyes upon. Fair-haired and fragile-looking—and with a fortune which, though not immense, is nonetheless more than adequate. Your primary duty will be discouraging inappropriate suitors."

  She hesitated a moment and Lucy saw her bony hands tighten on the head of her cane. "And the most unsuitable of them is my own grandson."

  Lucy had been all set to question Lady Westcott further about young Valerie. But that last comment about the newly invested Earl of Westcott gave her considerable pause. An unattached earl unsuitable? Her fertile imagination began to spin. Lady Westcott had referred to him once before as her troublesome heir. Could he be one of those dissolute young men given to the baser forms of behavior? She remembered that sort from her own season. The wastrels. The pleasure-seekers. Men who were said to delve in all the vices and participate in the most degrading activities. Wise mamas kept their daughters strictly away from that sort, even if they were from good families.

  But an earl? And with the enormous fortune this particular earl was said to possess?

  She picked her words carefully. "What precisely is it about your grandson that makes him so unsuitable for a young lady like Valerie?"

  The old woman's face settled into a frown. "He is en tirely too insincere in his intentions. In the past several months he has engaged the hearts of many a young woman, only to abruptly turn his back on them."

  That hardly made him unsuitable, Lucy thought. Fickle, perhaps, but not entirely unsuitable. "Perhaps he fears that they are interested in his title and fortune more than himself. I have heard a little about his history," she admitted. Who hadn 't heard the gossip about the Gypsy earl, born a bastard, no less? "It may be that this is his way to strike back at a society that for so long held him in contempt— and which would, were he not now titled and exceedingly well off, still hold him in contempt."

  "I suggest you save your theories of childhood for a more receptive audience, Miss Drysdale. Ivan is a man, not a child. The fact is, his heritage is a given. Nothing of his birth and subsequent childhood can be altered now. Besides, from the age of seven he has been raised to be an earl. He had a decent enough education, far above the lowly expectations of his birth, I assure you. If he wishes to strike back at anyone, as you term it, neither I nor any of the young ladies of this season is an appropriate target. Nevertheless," she continued, taking a calming breath. "Nevertheless, he has chosen to be difficult. I fully expect him to pursue poor Valerie, and it will fall to you to keep her safe from him.

  "And one other thing," she added. "He is not without a certain appeal. You may theorize that this year's young misses flock to him because of his title and fortune. But he would attract young, susceptible females were he a nobody—were he merely a gypsy horse-handler, as he very nearly was."

  She gave Lucy a sharp look. "You are no longer young and foolish, else I would not have engaged you as a chaperone. I trust you are also no longer susceptible to the wiles of handsome young men of the ton."

  "If I were susceptible to that sort of gentleman, I would have long ago wed. Rest assured, Lady Westcott, your grandson's appeal will be wasted upon me. I plan to be more than diligent in the discharge of my duties toward Lady Valerie. If there is one thing I stand firm upon, it is my disdain of insincere, self-important, would-be rakes."

  Lady Westcott nodded her approval, then gave a faint smile. "I am glad to hear it. Very glad to hear it. Now, as we have a long and tiring day ahead of us, I believe I shall attempt to nap a while."

  So saying, Antonia closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushion she'd positioned by her head. But beneath her lowered lashes, she kept a close watch on Miss Lucy Drysdale.

  She'd set the trap and baited it. It remained now for someone to get caught. Whether it was Ivan and Valerie, or Ivan and Miss Drysdale, was immaterial to her, so long as the damnable boy was wed to someone, and soon. But she confessed to herself that she would rather it be the almost penniless young woman across from her, than her immature godchild.

  Ivan had given her fits these last ten years: disappearing without a word; not even responding when he'd been formally adopted and made his father's heir. He'd not come to his father's funeral in the fall. Then he'd waited until the last moment to notify her that he would participate in the investiture this past January. For him to end up with a malleable wife like Valerie would
be grossly unfair. He deserved a wife who would give him as much trouble as he would give her.

  Antonia felt sure that this Lucy Drysdale was just the woman to do it.

  Let him decide upon her, she prayed, though her prayers tended to come more in the form of commands than humble pleadings. Let him decide on Miss Lucy Drysdale, and let the girl run as fast and hard as she can in the opposite direction. But in the end, let her catch him.

  And let them have her great-grandchild promptly nine months later—if not sooner.

  No one had warned her that he wore an earring!

  That was the first thought that shot through Lucy's head.

  They'd arrived very late at the grand address on Berkeley Square. She'd thought the butler a trifle surprised and perhaps a little worried when he'd bowed them into the foyer. But she'd attributed that more to the fact that Lady Westcott had not sent word ahead that they were coming.

  She'd caught the scent of tobacco in the air as she followed Lady Westcott to her suite of rooms, and had suspected, from the lights she'd seen burning, that someone was at home. When the door to the dowager countess's sitting room crashed open and this unannounced male stalked in, however, she knew at once that something was amiss. And also that he must be the new earl.

  He was home all right, and he was not in the least happy to see his grandmother arrive.

  Still, of all the things she might have noticed about him—his dark, lean features; his glossy black hair; his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette—it was the earring that transfixed her. A gold, glinting hoop that winked back the oil-fed light, and defiantly proclaimed his Gypsy heritage.

  She was to protect Lady Valerie from him!

  Her knees went weak and her mouth went dry. How had his grandmother described him? He is not without a certain appeal? Though Lucy would freely admit that her experience with men had been limited in recent years, there was not a doubt in her mind that this man very likely possessed more physical appeal than half the men in London combined.