An Encounter at the Museum
Page 22
Rupert snorted and stepped in front of Lucy, pushing her back towards the piano as though to shield her from Lord Brookfield’s gaze. “Do you think I want you to stay away from my sister because you ridiculed me at school?”
Ridiculed? Lord Brookfield had ridiculed Rupert? Was that the cause of all this animosity?
“I want you to stay away from my sister because of who you are, Andrew Yeats,” Rupert continued. “Because of who your family is, and because she deserves better. The merest suggestion of an association with you could ruin her.”
The merest suggestion of an association? Rupert clearly didn’t know about last night’s waltz. It was a wonder her sister-in-law hadn’t already told him. Strange she had not.
“And what if Lucy marries me?” Lord Brookfield asked. “Would she be ruined then?”
Did he just suggest that she should marry him? Dizziness swamped Lucy. She couldn’t quite catch her breath and was fairly certain a squeak escaped her before the whole world turned black, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“Elmstead! Catch her!” Panic surged through Drew as Lucy collapsed.
That oaf Chamber Potts turned on his spot, but he wasn’t quick enough to catch Lucy. The poor girl fell to the floor, banging her head against the corner of the piano bench in the process.
“Good God!” Drew rushed into the music room and pushed the portly baron from his path. He dropped to the floor beside Lucy and gently touched her face. A welt was forming on the side of her head. “Get smelling salts!” he called to the butler, who hastened to do Drew’s bidding. Then he turned his glare on Elmstead. “What the devil is wrong with you?”
Elmstead’s round face was as red as a basket of chilies in a Bombay market. “What did you do to her?”
“What did I do? You’re the oaf who didn’t catch her. She was right next to you. I see you’re just as quick as you ever were.”
The baron’s eyes narrowed to dark slits and his lips flattened to two white lines. “Is she with child?”
With child? How the devil was Drew supposed to know that? He’d only met the girl two days ago. Though the thought of her being with any man made his stomach churn.
“Did you take her virtue?” Elmstead demanded.
Did Drew…? Ah, it all made sense now. The talk of marriage, the fainting. The dim-witted fool. Drew shook his head and looked at the baron as though he was the biggest dolt in the world, which he might very well be. “Your sister’s virtue is not in question, Elmstead.”
The butler rushed inside the music room with a little gold bottle, which he quickly handed to Drew. After removing the top, Drew placed the bottle right beneath Lucy’s nose, which scrunched up almost instantly. Then her eyes blinked open.
“You gave us quite the scare, Lucy,” Drew said with a smile. He handed the bottle back to the butler.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice sounding small, her innocent hazel eyes staring up at Drew, nearly making him forget his own name.
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know,” Elmstead grumbled.
Lucy started to sit up, but Drew placed his hand on her shoulder, keeping her still. “You hit your head. Let me carry you to over to the settee.”
“You’re not carrying her anywhere!” Elmstead barked.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not absconding with her, and you’re the same room.” Drew slid one arm beneath Lucy’s knees and one behind her back, then rose to his feet. Lucy’s arm settled around his neck and Drew couldn’t help but smile at the bundle in his arms. After an entire night of deliberating about what to do with the girl, he was more certain than ever that his plan to marry her was the correct course.
He crossed the room in only a few strides and then gently placed her on a settee against the far wall. “I’ve worked out the perfect escape plan for you,” he said softly enough only she could hear him.
Escape plan? Lucy blinked up at Lord Brookfield, standing his tallest beside the settee she was lounged across. Her head throbbed painfully, where she’d obviously hit it on her fall to the floor. Had he said something about marriage? That vague memory swirled around her brain, as though trying to find purchase. He couldn’t have said marriage. Why would he have mentioned marriage? He most definitely had said escape plan, however. What did he have in mind?
“All right,” Rupert huffed. “You’ve been the knight-errant. Now, what is going on here?”
Lord Brookfield shrugged. “Nothing to get worked up about, Elmstead. I simply wanted to take your sister for a ride in the park.”
“Well, she’s not going anywhere with you.”
“I should hope not with that knot on her head. You really should send for Doctor Watts, just to be certain she’s all right.”
Rupert’s face turned a bit red. “I don’t need you to tell me how to care for my sister, Yeats.”
“It’s Brookfield, now,” the viscount returned smoothly, completely unruffled. “I’ll grant you, the title isn’t as pristine as I’d like, but it’s mine just the same.”
Rupert heaved a huge breath, as though he was trying his hardest to maintain his temper. “You are not to have anything to do with my sister, Brookfield,” he stressed the name with a sneer. “Am I perfectly clear?”
Lord Brookfield scratched his jaw. “That will be very difficult to achieve, Elmstead. Since she’ll be my wife and all.”
Lucy’s head pulsed with pain once more. He had said marriage. What in the world was he thinking? She must have squeaked because both men’s gazes shot to her, but she only had eyes for Lord Brookfield. Did he really mean to marry her? The memory of his kiss washed over her anew, and gooseflesh rippled across her skin. She hadn’t anticipated he’d want to marry her. She hadn’t even dared dream such a thing. But what if…
“Rupert,” she said, not looking away from the viscount. “Will you give us a few moments alone?”
“Alone!” her brother roared. “Absolutely not! I cannot believe you would even suggest something so improper. Or have you already been alone with him? Has he already taken your virtue, Lucy? Is that what this is about?”
Her virtue? Heat warmed Lucy’s cheeks, and she turned her attention to her brother. How in the world could he think something so awful about her? “I had no idea your opinion of me was so low.”
Both of Rupert’s hands were balled into tight fists, and his face was nearly the same hue as a new regimental jacket. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Lucy scoffed. “I beg to differ. It’s my virtue we’re discussing, Rupert. My virtue that you’ve questioned. Do you really think me so common?”
Rupert’s features softened just a bit, and he heaved a giant sigh. “Of course not, Luc. But he…”
“He,” she interrupted, “has said he’d like to marry me. And I would like a few moments alone to discuss the situation with him.”
“If he hasn’t compromised you, then you’re not marrying him,” her brother replied petulantly.
Lucy heaved a sigh of her own. Rupert had always possessed a stubborn streak. Once he’d made his mind up about something, it was nearly impossible to get him to see another side. In that way he was quite immature, and it had been always been a point of contention between him and their late father. “Please, Rupert,” she begged. “All I want is a few moments alone with Lord Brookfield. You can stand sentry at the door, if you want; but I think I should be allowed this.”
Her brother’s gaze flashed to Lord Brookfield. “You’re not marrying her. I will never give my consent.” Then he turned his dark gaze back to Lucy. “I’ll be in the doorway.” He waved Booth into the corridor and then followed the butler from the room. Rupert took the word sentry to heart as he folded his arms across his chest and glared inside the music room from the threshold.
“I think that’s as good as it’ll get.” Lord Brookfield knelt beside Lucy’s settee so they were at least eye-to-eye.
He was so dangerously handsome, his rakish smile firmly in place. Lucy couldn’t help but smile
right back. “You mean to marry me?”
Lord Brookfield nodded. “I stayed up half the night, and when that solution popped into my head, I knew it was the right one.”
“Solution?”
“You need out of this house,” he said too softly for Rupert to hear. “And someday I’ll need a wife, an heir. I’ve never met a proper girl who stirs my blood like you do. I think we’ll rub along well.”
He wanted her for a brood mare? That hardly sounded romantic. It hardly spoke of the passion she’d felt in his arms. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” he echoed. “What more is there?”
Lucy felt as though a knife had been plunged into her heart, which was foolish. She hardly knew the viscount, after all. “I wasn’t looking for marriage, my lord.” And she hadn’t been. Her hand had been asked for before, but having witnessed her parents’ unhappy union as a child and seeing Rupert’s situation on a daily basis, she was in no hurry to marry the wrong man. Marriage was forever. It would be a lifetime of bliss or misery, and she’d really rather not experience the latter.
“I know. But it’s the answer to your problem, don’t you see?”
She frowned in response. “How is marriage the answer to my problem?”
“You won’t find any harpies inhabiting Brookfield House. In fact, I’m rarely there as it is.”
He was rarely at his home and thought that would appeal to her? An absentee husband? “Are you saying you’re a harpy, you’re just not around very often?”
His roguish smile took on a more charming glint. “I’ve been called many things in my day, but never that. No, what I meant is you can run the place as you see fit. Heaven knows my staff could use someone to guide them.”
Honestly, he made less sense the more the talked. “So you want to marry me because your staff needs someone to guide them, and someday you’ll need an heir?”
He nodded quickly. “It’s perfect, is it not?”
It was utterly ridiculous. “No, it’s not. “ She shook her head. “I barely know you, Lord Brookfield…”
“Andrew,” he interrupted. “Or Drew, if you’d rather. My friends call me Drew. Only my mother and… Well, my mother and my uncle called me Andrew, but if you like that better…”
How had she ever thought him staid? “Lord Brookfield!” She frowned at him. “I am not marrying you.”
The viscount’s mouth fell slightly open, and he blinked at her as though he couldn’t find his tongue.
Lucy took pity on him and said, “My lord, every girl, no matter her station in life, has dreamt of a handsome prince sweeping her off her feet. She’s dreamt that said handsome prince will fall madly in love with her, and that the two of them will live happily ever after.”
“I am only a lowly viscount, not a prince.” His lips did quirk a bit at her tale, which wasn’t terribly gentlemanly of him as Lucy was taking pity on him. “Or is it that you don’t think I’m handsome? Is that it?”
He knew very well he was handsome. He did, after all, have to own a mirror. Probably, he owned more than one. Lucy shook her head. “While I find your rescue attempt rather charming, I am not in a hurry to seal my life’s fate just yet. I wasn’t after a marriage proposal. I only wanted a bit of an adventure.”
“A bit of an adventure?” His smile was once again, firmly back in place. “Lucy, you fainted not five minutes ago. A girl who faints at the merest suggestion of marriage would not do well facing down tigers in India.”
That was hardly the same thing. Besides, she refused to acknowledge that he might have a point. “I shall strive to avoid the tigers then, my lord. But I’m not giving up my plan for an adventure.”
London seemed to pass Drew by in a daze as he ambled from Elmstead House toward his own. Had she truly rejected his offer of marriage? Or had it been some strange dream that had simply ended badly? He might have believed the latter, if Elmstead hadn’t given him a fairly violent shove as he departed the man’s house with a dire warning to stay away from Lucy in the future.
Really, had the threat been necessary? Lucy had already rejected him, after all. It was the why that didn’t truly make sense to him. She’d felt the same draw to him that he’d felt to her. Of that he was certain. He’d seen the look of longing in her eyes that afternoon. There was no mistaking it, which only made her answer more difficult to comprehend.
Drew had stayed up nearly the entire night thinking about Lucy, and when the idea of marriage popped into his head, he’d known it was the right course for both of them. He’d bared his soul to her. Told her all the reasons their match was a good one. Desire aside, she could escape her brother’s house without putting herself in danger. And he would need an heir at some point. All gentlemen did. There was no reason for her to look at him as though it was the first time she’d heard such a thing. A union between the two of them truly was the best course for both of them. How could she not see that?
Adventure had been her answer. He snorted his response to that word. If she thought to leave England on her own, she’d get more adventure than she bargained for. Foolish, naïve girl.
Drew looked up and found himself standing before Brookfield House, and his stomach plummeted. Blast and damn! He certainly didn’t want to walk through those doors. Awful memories and loneliness notwithstanding, the answers to his problems could most definitely not be found inside those less than hallowed halls.
He heaved a sigh and checked his pocket fob. This time of day, Ian would be sitting at one gaming table at Brooks’ or another. There may not be answers at his club either, but at least loneliness didn’t permeate the air, waiting to suffocate him.
Drew spotted a hack and gestured to the driver. “St. James, please,” he said to the man as he climbed inside the conveyance and shut the door behind him. He leaned back against the worn-out squabs and closed his eyes, but he opened them a half second later when all that greeted him was a vision of Lucy dancing in his arms the night before played about his mind.
Lucy. Lucy. Lucy. There had to be a way to put her out of his thoughts. He’d tried to rescue her. He tried to do the gentlemanly thing, but she hadn’t wanted him. Only a fool would pursue her. Only a fool would try to convince her to reconsider. Only a fool would pine after her. Drew sincerely hoped he wasn’t a fool, though he was afraid he was just that.
Once the coach came to a stop, Drew opened the door, paid the driver his fare, and walked the short distance to Brooks’ club. Laughter spilled onto the street and he took a steadying sigh. It was, indeed, much better to be here rather than face the deathly silence of Brookfield House, he reminded himself.
Drew climbed the stairs and was promptly greeted by a footman. He handed his beaver hat to the servant and asked, “Is Lord Ericht in the subscription room?”
“Yes, milord.” The footman nodded.
The Scot was like clockwork. Drew thanked the man and made a direct path to the subscription room, slowing only marginally to acknowledge the Marquess of Haversham, who crossed his path. Once he stepped over the threshold of the large room filled with men at gambling tables, Drew couldn’t help but wince. The expression on Ian’s face could only mean one thing. The hazard table was not being kind to the earl. Damned unlucky bastard.
Ian noticed Drew’s arrival and seemed to force a smile to his face. He must have lost more than a tidy sum. The Scot pushed away from the table and started towards Drew. “Ye’re never here this early in the day.”
Drew had never been rejected by the fairer sex either. “Decided I needed a change of scenery today.”
Ian draped a large arm around Drew’s shoulders and started back towards the hazard table. “In that case, I would have thought ye might call upon the lovely Miss Potts.”
Drew couldn’t help the snort that escaped him.
“Ah.” Ian’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Already saw the lass, did ye?”
How in the world could Ian tell that just from looking at him? “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The last thing Drew wanted to do was tell Ian all about it. He wanted to forget all about it and as quickly as possible, damn it all.
“Now, doona look at me like that,” Ian chuckled. Then he signaled a footman as they entered the drawing room. “Two whiskys.”
“Of course, milord.” Then man hastened to do Ian’s bidding.
“All right.” They stopped at a pair of overstuffed leather chairs. “Sit and tell me what happened. Did ye get to see the lass, or did Elmstead throw ye out on yer arse?”
“A bit of both.” Drew dropped into the chair and pinched the bridge above his nose in a vain attempt to stave off a headache. “But I’d really rather not discuss it, Ian.” And damn it all, where were those whiskys?
“I’m afraid ye’ll have to discuss it, Drew.” Ian took his own seat. “I’ve never kent ye to call on a proper girl before, and I saw the way ye couldna keep yer eyes off her last night. They’re devious creatures, are they no’? Doona say I dinna warn ye.”
Drew scoffed. “She isn’t a devious creature, you dullard.” Foolish, stubborn, and naïve, but not devious. In fact, there was a sweet nature about her, a warmth in her eyes that he couldn’t quite shake.
“I’m sure that’s what she’d like for ye ta think. Mark my words, Drew. She’s plottin’ yer downfall, and ye willna even realize it until yer standin’ before St. George’s altar.”
“Indeed?” Drew sat a little straighter, glaring at his friend. “Then why did she reject my marriage proposal, Ian? Is that all part of her devious plot?”
Ian’s mouth fell open and for once, the Scot seemed to be at a loss for words. The footman decided at that moment to appear with the two whiskys, and Drew tossed his back in one gulp.
“He, uh, needs another,” Ian finally said, though his eyes never left Drew. As soon as the footman departed, the Scot leaned closer to Drew, his brow drawn up tight. “Ye asked the lass to marry ye?”