"Harrumph." The old woman gave an inelegant snort. Her sharp bird's gaze flitted from Lucy to Ivan, then back. "Where's Valerie? Why are you down here without her?"
Grateful for a reason to leave, Lucy picked up her skirts and made a hasty return to the upper story.
Downstairs Ivan Watched her disappear into the brightly lit upper hall before turning to face his grandmother. She was watching him closely.
"If you would seduce the hired help, I recommend you confine yourself to those of lower birth."
Ivan didn't smile. "Be content that I am here, madam. Do not presume to tell me what to do or how to behave."
The old woman's mouth pursed in outrage. "Miss Drysdale is under my care, and if you had an ounce of honor in you, you would respect that. I will send her home before I'll allow you to ruin her."
"You throw Valerie at me, and yet would protect Miss Drysdale from my dishonorable intentions. It would seem that you are rather disorganized in your thinking. Regardless, I intend to make my own decisions without regard to your wishes. Or your threats."
But that was not entirely true, he admitted as Lucy and Valerie made their appearance together. He had resolved neither to pursue or abandon any woman because of his grandmother's wishes or interferences. That didn't alter the fact, however, that her efforts to control him invariably left him in a vile mood. Though he meant to diminish her negative effect on him, it would not always be easy. Like now.
He turned to the two young women. Valerie was a vision in a white gown trimmed with pale blue rosettes and streaming ribbons. With her blond hair in a soft style of upswept curls, here and there cascading loosely down, she was the picture of ethereal beauty. An angel come down to earth to charm a hapless male populace.
By contrast Lucy was darkly garbed with her rich hair restrained—much as her emotions were restrained.
But those emotions were as primed for release as was her glorious hair, and Ivan felt the profoundest need to be the one to release both her hair and her emotions. To let those dark locks down and tangle his fingers in the silky thickness. To kiss her until her defenses crumbled and her natural passions flared out of control. And his with them.
He stifled an oath as his own passions began to rouse. Damned if the woman wasn't turning him into a randy young lad, newly introduced to the tortures of the heart.
No. Not of the heart. This emotion was rooted much lower in his anatomy.
Knowing that, unfortunately, didn't lessen the power of it.
"Good evening, Lord Westcott," Lady Valerie said, giving him a shy smile.
"Lady Valerie." He bowed. "You're looking more beautiful than ever. I fear you shall start a riot among the male guests tonight."
She rewarded him with a grateful smile as dazzling as it was unaffecting. Ever since he'd come to her aid in the matter of Sir James, she'd cast him in the role of beneficent older brother—an odd role for him, but not entirely unpleasant. Besides, it confounded his grandmother, judging by her watchfulness.
He shifted his gaze to Lucy. "Your charge does, you credit, Miss Drysdale. Might I add that you look particularly fetching in that shade of green. It lends a sparkle to your eyes."
He let the rest of what he wanted to say trail off. That he'd like to peel that green fabric away. That he'd like to put a different sort of sparkle in her eyes—
The heavy door knocker put a merciful end to his inappropriate reverie. Lucy murmured a brief acknowledgment of his compliment. Then they formed their receiving line, him at the beginning, to greet the first of their guests.
It came as no real surprise to Ivan that the first to arrive was Sir James.
"Lord Westcott. Lady Westcott." He made a creditable bow when he was introduced to the dowager countess. "I am honored to be a guest in your home."
"You are quite welcome," the old woman said. "I believe you have previously met my godchild, Lady Valerie Stanwich."
Ivan was not in the least interested in Sir James's besotted greeting to Valerie. But Lucy's reaction to it—that concerned him. As he watched, her expression went from pleasant, to determinedly pleasant, to grimly pleasant.
Like a temperature rising, he felt the hot burn of resentment, something akin to the sick jealousy he'd felt when other boys' parents had sent for them to come home from Burford Hall.
Damnation! How could she prefer this bumbling scholar over him!
For her part, Lucy watched and worried as Sir James greeted Valerie. He had eyes only for the blushing young girl, and she eyes only for him. What a disaster! This would only lead to heartbreak, she feared. How could Ivan use his blameless cousin so cruelly?
She shifted her gaze past the still conversing couple to Ivan. To her dismay, he was watching her with that dark shuttered gaze of his. He was not smiling.
Only when Sir James finally turned to her was she able to break the hold of Ivan's eyes.
"Miss Drysdale. How nice to see you again."
"It's my pleasure, Sir James. I'm sorry I was not able to attend your last lecture. How is the series going?"
Fortunately she did not have to suffer his lengthy answer for long. Lord Dunleith arrived next, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Hartford Bass and the elder Mr. Bass, Ivan's two men of business. Soon after them came Sir Francis Riddingham, his wife, Maryanne, and their daughter Miss Violet Riddingham, then Viscountess Latner with her two eldest daughters, Ernestine and Edna.
The foyer was filled with people and the butler had begun to usher some of them into the drawing room when the final guests arrived. Ivan's friends came together and Lucy had to admit they made quite an entrance. Three men, each of them handsome in his own striking way. And each of them both attractive and dangerous to every young woman there. Money and the potential for a royal connection weighed in against their lack of normal family connections.
It was enough to make a poor girl's heart flutter. Unfortunately, it was none of them who affected Lucy's heart. That role was reserved for Ivan who, though equally dangerous, came with society's belated approval.
Mr. Blackburn greeted her first. "You are looking very well, Miss Drysdale. I hope you do not intend to hold my association with Ivan against me," he drawled, giving her a friendly grin.
"I would never do that, Mr. Blackburn. But you will forgive me, I hope, if I worry for you for that same reason. Lord Westcott will lead you into trouble if you are not careful," she added in a teasing voice.
"I'll keep him safe," Giles Dameron put in. ""Hello. Miss Drysdale. It's nice to see you again."
"Indeed," she answered. "It's a pleasure to see you here. And you too, Mr. Pierce."
"The pleasure is all mine," Elliot Pierce replied. As he was the last of their guests, Lady Westcott and Valerie joined the others moving toward the drawing room. Lucy would have gone too, but Mr. Pierce did not release her hand.
When she looked at him questioningly, he gave her a mocking smile. "You do know you are playing with fire," he murmured in a tone reserved for her ears only.
"Fire?" But Lucy knew exactly what he meant. She pulled her hand from his. "You're his friend. Why would you want to warn me away from him? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"
He gave an idle shrug, but his black eyes did not waver from hers. "Let's just say that I don't believe his plans for you will make him very happy."
"His plans for me? He has no right to make any plans for me," she exclaimed. Then she frowned. "Exactly what are his plans for me? And why should he be discussing me with you and his other friends?"
He smiled, but Lucy could no longer tell if he was mocking or sincere. "Ivan keeps his own counsel. But I've known him a very long time. I know what he needs—and what he doesn't need."
For some absurd reason his words hurt. She drew her wounded pride around her like a shield. "Contrary to what you seem to think, Mr. Pierce, I have no designs on your friend Lord Westcott. Most certainly I have not set my cap for him. I'm not pursuing him," she reiterated. "Now, if you don't mind?"
She turned
and headed for the drawing room, fuming all the way. The nerve of the man to imply that she was the wrong woman for Ivan Thornton. She'd never once indicated that she thought she was the right one.
Of course, she'd danced with him at the McClendons' party. And she'd kissed him too. Had he revealed that to his friends? Or that she'd never returned the shawl he'd left in her room?
By the time she joined Valerie in the drawing room, she was in quite a state. When she should have been directing her young charge to mingle more, she instead just stood alongside while Valerie and Sir James conversed about brothers and sisters and the role of parents.
Ivan watched her; she felt the weight of his stare. But she refused to look anywhere even close to him.
So there, Elliot Pierce. See how wrong you are?
But although she kept her gaze away from Ivan, she nonetheless managed at any given moment to know precisely where he was and with whom he conversed. By the time Simms the butler rang the small silver dinner bell, Lucy was ready to slap Miss Violet Riddingham, and scratch the eyes out of the younger Miss Latner.
Dinner was no improvement either, for she was partnered with Sir James on one side and Viscount Latner on the other. Ivan, meanwhile, was paired with Valerie and the elder Miss Latner.
There were several courses. By the time Lucy had mutilated the stuffed game hen, stabbed disinterestedly at the baked oysters, and had her third glass of wine—on the heels of two glasses of champagne—she was sick to death of Sir James's theories on child rearing and bored to tears by Lord Latner's opinion about the king's position regarding the American colonies.
"They're no longer colonies," she reminded him with barely restrained impatience. "They haven't been in over fifty years."
"And we've the king's father to blame for that," Lord Latner pointed out. "I say he was already mad, even in the seventies."
Lady Westcott rose to her feet before Lucy could say anything truly insulting to the witless fellow. "Ladies, let us adjourn to the parlor, shall we?"
As the ladies rose, so did the gentlemen. Sir James followed Valerie. Lucy felt as if all the others' eyes—at least Ivan's and his friends'—rested heavily on her.
One and all they disapproved of his interest in her, that was clear. Why they should care, she did not know. She was not looking for a husband, and he most certainly did not appear to be in the market for a wife. So what did they fear, that she would corrupt him somehow?
"We'll have coffee now, Simms. Would any of you ladies like to freshen up?" Lady Westcott asked once they had gained the parlor.
It was Lucy's chance to escape. While the other ladies alternated visits to the necessary in the back hall, Lucy excused herself and made her way up the stairs. She desperately needed a few minutes to compose herself, otherwise she would not survive this ghastly evening.
Once in her bedchamber, however, Lucy was confronted by the unwelcome truth. Only one solution to this perverse dilemma existed. Returning home to Somerset would take her out of harm's way once and for all. It would remove her from the temptation of Ivan Thornton. At the same time it would relieve his friends who worried unnecessarily over his temporary interest in her.
Lucy felt the sting of tears but fiercely beat them back. She was not the weepy sort. She never had been. Why she should want to succumb to them now she couldn't begin to fathom. Just because she ought to leave London? The fact was, she no longer had any reason to stay in town. The peace and tranquillity of the countryside were beginning to seem very appealing. Besides, any fascination she'd felt for Sir James had disappeared once she'd met him.
Or had it begun to fade only when she'd met Ivan?
"Blast!" She poured a little water into her wash bowl, bent down to refresh her face, then rinsed her mouth. Her head began to spin, however, and she quickly straightened up.
She'd drunk too much at dinner. Another reason to return to Houghton Manor. She'd been behaving like a silly girl of late, drinking too much, dancing until all hours. Mooning over a man who didn't have it in him to return a woman's honest affections.
It simply would not do, she told the pale reflection that peered back from her dressing mirror.
Telling herself that, however, would not do a jot of good. No, she must get away from here. From Ivan.
She patted her face dry, and avoiding her reflection, she took a deep breath. She would go downstairs now, but first thing in the morning she would request an interview with Lady Westcott. Then as soon as possible she would take the Exeter coach home.
But all the resolve in the world was not adequate defense when Lucy left her room. The door clicked closed, she turned toward the stairs, and Ivan was there.
She stopped, then made herself start forward again. "My lord." She nodded politely as she approached him. If he thought she had any intention of lingering abovestairs with him, just the two of them alone, then he must have had far more to drink than she.
He stopped when he saw her. Now he sidestepped, forcing her to halt as well. Given Mr. Pierce's oblique warning, the Riddingham girl's ill-disguised interest in Ivan, and his notorious insincerity, this arrogant display pushed Lucy's control past its limits.
"What do you think you're doing?"
He smiled, but she could tell he was far from happy. "I might ask the same of.you."
She drew herself up and belligerently thrust out her chin. "If you must know, I needed to refresh myself. And you?"
He locked his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels. "Just making sure nothing untoward is going on in my house."
Lucy's jaw dropped open. "I hope you are not implying that I might engage in such behavior."
"You've done it before."
"Me! Me?" Lucy was so incensed she sputtered. "If you're referring to what I think you're referring to "You kissed me more than willingly. It makes a man wonder who else you've been kissing."
Lucy glared at him. "Just what are you implying? That I'm meeting someone up here? You must be blind if you think that. Sir James is so besotted with Valerie—"
"What of Elliot Pierce?"
That brought her up short. "Elliot Pierce? You can't be serious!" It was too ludicrous to believe. Ludicrous or not, however, Lucy was not amused. She planted her fists on her hips. "I have no assignation with any man, my lord. I suspect it's your own guilt which gives you such shabby ideas. Who did you come up here to meet? The elder Miss Latner or the younger? Or could it be Miss Riddingham—"
"You."
Lucy broke off in mid-sentence. In the middle of her accusation. In the middle of her anger. She stared at him dumbfounded, silenced by that one word.
"Me?"
"You."
He reached out and brushed his thumb over her lower lip, a light, sensuous caress that made mincemeat of her resolve.
"You ... You are toying with me. You shouldn't..."
"No? Then turn the tables on me. You toy with me, Lucy."
Her lips tingled from his touch. They burned. Then his knuckles stroked her cheek, tracing its shape right down to her neck.
When his palm opened against the side of her neck she began to shake.
He was so good at this, the one functioning bit of her mind made note. So very good. It was as if he turned on some power, unleashed some force, and like a willing victim, she succumbed.
Someone please help me, for I cannot help myself!
"Toy with me, Lucy. I want you to."
One of her hands came up to grab his wrist. But instead of pushing him away, she only gripped him tighter. "Why are you doing this?"
"It seems I cannot help myself."
"But... But you must. You must stop this ... this very bad habit of seducing hapless young women."
"Then help me," he murmured. "Make me stop."
"How?" she whispered as his face bent nearer to hers. "How?"
"Kiss me."
It was a request. It was a command. It was as inevitable as the tides and the seasons. As life and death themselves.
Ivan
's mouth descended on hers and she was lost. Like the strike of lightning igniting a tree and setting an entire forest to flame, so did the hot press of his lips start a conflagration that set all of her afire. Her logic burned to cinders, her caution turned to ash. Propriety should have doused the flame, but it was no match for the fuel of her emotions.
Oh, how she wanted this man!
And how Ivan wanted her.
He'd endured too many restless nights and too many frustrating days of late. This evening had been the worst. She'd been seated beside Sir James, and though he'd known the man was infatuated with Valerie, it hadn't helped. Lucy harbored a not-so-secret admiration for the man, and the very idea drove Ivan mad.
On top of that, Elliot displayed more interest in Lucy than any other woman of his dubious acquaintance, inquiring on several occasions about her. When Elliot had held her back in the foyer for private conversation, Ivan had naturally become suspicious. When Elliot had excused him self from the gentlemen's company after dinner, Ivan had been overcome by an insane fit of jealousy. Elliot Pierce was a rakehell of the worst sort.
But Elliot Pierce was not up here kissing Lucy; he was. And he meant to burn the thought of any other man right out of her mind.
So he kissed her without restraint, letting her feel every bit of his desire for her. If he frightened her he didn't care. He would take her past fear to the exquisite pleasures of the flesh.
To his immense satisfaction, she did not act as if she were afraid. She arched up to him, opening to the hungry assault of his lips and tongue. When he slanted his mouth over hers, searching for the deepest, the closest, the most intimate connection possible between them, she welcomed him completely. His tongue took possession of her mouth, thrusting and claiming. And she let him.
She was sweet and delicious, and he wanted to devour every piece of her. He drew her harshly to him, pressing her hard against his arousal. God, but he needed her! He had to have her!
The kiss ended and they broke apart, both of them gasping for breath. That was not the end, however, but only the beginning. Ivan ran one hand down her back, roaming past her slender waist to the enticing curve of her derriere. When he heard her involuntary groan, he pressed his advantage.
Dangerous to Love Page 18
