by Beverley, Jo
“Very well,” he said, “but on one condition.”
“Yes?”
“You pay me with a kiss a day.”
She made a humming noise that was hard to interpret. “And why would I agree to that?”
“Because it’s my price.”
Her thoughtful look could be very steady indeed.
“You wouldn’t prefer a guinea a day?”
“No.”
“Ten?”
“No.”
“A hundred?”
He should. “No.”
“One kiss a day, then. Lips on lips. No more than that unless I agree.”
“Do you always forge such a detailed contract?”
“I’m my father’s daughter, Lord Wyvern, trained by him all my life.”
“Good God. Why, then, the pretense of idiocy?”
“I was coming here as a Cit and as a reminder of a great scandal. I’d no mind to be even more of an oddity by showing that I had a brain.”
“Clever women aren’t so rare as that.”
“Most young unmarried ladies disguise it.”
“All is deception inside the fairy circle.”
“I believe we’ve struck an honest deal,” she said. “Are we agreed on our terms?”
He felt spun like a top, but he couldn’t resist. “Agreed. I will be your favored escort and you will pay me with a kiss a day.”
“For a week only,” she said.
“Too short to have effect. Three weeks.”
“A fortnight. You will need to return to pursuit of well-dowered ladies who might accept your offer, and by then I might have done with fairy matters.”
“Very well,” he said, having bargained to the time he’d expected, knowing that she probably had, too. Did that count as deception? Overall, she seemed to have been honest to a fault.
“Now we should return to the house,” she said. “The dancing will soon begin again and I have paid today’s kiss.”
“The kiss was before the agreement. I owe you nothing.”
Quick as a bird, she went on tiptoe and kissed him again. “There.”
“Meager payment, Miss Potter, but very well.” He extended his arm and she placed her gloved hand around it. Such a slight touch to create havoc.
She couldn’t be truly opposed to marriage, but he didn’t think she’d lied. If he could convince himself it was safe to marry her, would he then have to fight to persuade his goddess to the altar?
* * *
Lucy went with him, making sure to keep a light smile on her lips, but she was surprised he couldn’t hear her heart or sense the sizzle that ran along her nerves. When he’d overpowered her so easily and dragged her into the shadows, she should have been appalled, but instead she’d felt a thrill close to flame. Not fear at all, but a fierce longing for him to embrace her ruthlessly, kiss her to distraction, and perhaps do more. At last she understood how foolish women allowed themselves to be ravished into ruin. Especially as she would only have been ravished into marriage. A marriage she wanted now, despite all the costs.
Sanity clamored a protest, but it couldn’t dent her need for this man, always, everywhere.
It should be so simple!
He needed her money, and she had an abundance of it. Why wasn’t he grabbing the prize?
When he’d seized her, he’d claimed to feel nothing, to be teaching her a lesson, but she knew that wasn’t true. She’d heard his breathing, sensed his heat. When he’d kissed her she’d felt his tenderness. He’d broken the kiss and moved away, but not because he disliked it. Of that she was sure. Even now, entering the house and in sight of others, passion hummed between them.
She was tempted to turn him back, to entice him in some way, to overwhelm his self-control and be ravished into commitment here and now.
To capture the prize.
Perhaps her mother would have done that, but Lucy had enough of her father’s cool head to resist such a dangerous path when there were other ways.
She’d won the means to spend time with him, to learn him better, to find the way. She had to suppress a smile at how he’d seen the daily kiss as a bargaining point when the prospect filled her with a shocking delight. It had taken all her nerve to lay a fortnight as the term when she’d longed for a month.
As they entered the house clocks struck midnight.
“Does that mean it’s a new day?” she asked. “That I paid that kiss for nothing?”
“It was a nothing of a kiss,” he said. “We start afresh. Twenty-four hours ahead for labor and payment.”
Lamplight showed a spark in his eyes—of anger that he was being manipulated? Perhaps a little, but there was excitement there, too—the same excitement that sizzled inside her.
“So there are, my lord,” Lucy said. “Twenty-four hours through dark and daylight, and all the shadowy times between.”
Chapter 14
It was nearly three in the morning when Lucy entered her aunt’s coach to return home, and some guests still danced at the duchess’s ball. She wasn’t yet accustomed to such late nights, so she yawned as she settled into her seat, but she was alive with a different kind of energy.
She and Wyvern had danced together twice and it had been noted. Some of her suitors had already abandoned the chase.
Dancing with him had been extraordinary.
She’d danced with many men of all types, but never with one she desired. It made even the most conventional contact significant, and the second dance had been a waltz. The parts of the dance that turned them together in one another’s arms had been almost unbearably delicious. He’d held her just a little closer than was proper, but she hadn’t minded, and she’d felt the same excitement in him as in herself.
Only imagine the marriage bed. . . .
She glanced at her aunt and cousin, alarmed that they might guess her thoughts, but they were afroth with chatter, about turbans, about necklines and ankles, about whether Lady Harroving really might marry the scandalous Dick Cranbrook, and whether Lord Darien was as mad as his brother.
Lucy slid back into her thoughts. She was not entirely ignorant about marital matters. There had been girlish whispers and speculations, and sometimes a glimpse of servants in a corner doing what they shouldn’t be doing. But, in addition, her father had some Indian prints that were quite startling. She and Betty had giggled over them, wondering whether normal people such as their neighbors did such things and deciding they did not.
Now, however, it seemed not quite so unbelievable. She and Wyvern kissing, touching, moving into positions . . .
“Wyvern.”
Lucy jerked out of her sinful thoughts.
“You danced twice with him, Lucinda,” Aunt Mary said.
Lucy admitted that she had, hoping her blushes were given an innocent interpretation.
“What did you think of him on closer acquaintance?” Clara asked.
Closer . . .
Lucy pulled her wits together. “He’s an interesting man.”
“But do you favor him?” Aunt Mary asked.
“He’s the only young earl on the marriage market.”
“Lucy!” Clara exclaimed. “What of love?”
“Love can come later,” Aunt Mary said, “and often it is better so. I wouldn’t want Wyvern for you, Clara dear, but given Lucinda’s situation, she is being very sensible.”
Being a scandal-ridden Cit of coarser stock and thus less able to be choosy. But even thoughts like that couldn’t darken Lucy’s mood.
Her aunt could think what she liked. The lottery wheel had turned, the ax had fallen. Lucy was in love with Lord Wyvern with the same blind passion that had driven her mother into Daniel Potter’s arms. She could only hope it would turn out as well.
* * *
Nighttime was fertile ground for hot memories and fevered expectations, but Lucy managed to get some sleep.
She woke late, too late for the park. With kisses in mind, she was intensely interested in Aunt Mary’s plans for the da
y. She saw some opportunities for him to woo her, but none for them to have a private moment until the evening when the Caldrosses were to attend a poetry reading at Drury Lane.
He would find a way to keep their bargain, and especially to make her pay her debt. She was sure of that.
As was usual now, she settled to her “poetry” while Clara and her aunt went over future invitations. For the first time, however, she found it difficult to write. The thoughts and emotions that jostled in her head were too powerful to be put into mere words, and some too wicked by far.
She recorded the superficial events of the St. Raven ball and a few foibles of the ton—but then she saw a way to meet in the afternoon. She still wanted to visit the exhibition of household inventions at Beech’s Tavern.
She rang the bell, praying Hannah would come. She did. Probably the maids knew that Clara was with her mother.
“Hannah, can you get a letter to Lord Wyvern for me?”
Hannah looked alarmed. “You don’t want to be doing that, miss.”
“Doing what? I simply want him to escort me somewhere.”
“You’d be better avoiding him, miss. They say his father was raving mad.”
Lucy had forgotten that, and his behavior last night came to mind. Not insane, however, except with the particular insanity of love. She wondered if the previous earl might have been driven mad by his beloved fleeing into the arms of another.
“There, see,” Hannah said, seeing her hesitation.
“Nonsense. There’s nothing deranged about the present earl, and you must do as I say.”
“If you insist, miss. And if his place isn’t too far.”
With frustration, Lucy realized she had no idea of Wyvern’s direction. He was staying with Lord and Lady Amleigh, but where was their house? She thought it had been mentioned when her aunt had read about his arrival, but at that time she’d not thought such a detail important. She could ask, but her instincts demanded secrecy, especially from her aunt and cousin, who had no discretion at all.
“Never mind, Hannah. I’ve thought better of it.”
“Thank the Lord for that, miss!” Hannah lowered her voice. “They say belowstairs, miss, that he’s a smuggler.”
“What nonsense! His mother took up with a smuggler after she left her husband, the earl.”
“Such goings-on. I never heard the like back home.”
“True enough. Don’t gossip about what we’ve just discussed or I’ll send you back there.”
“Not sure I’d mind, miss. Things are different here. But you can trust me.”
When Hannah had left, Lucy considered those words. Things certainly were different here, and she was out of her place. Could she live her life inside the fairy circle, even for love?
But he’s not part of Mayfair or the ton.
He was David, the simple country gentleman who flew a kite, who bought books about agricultural improvement, who spoke with her as an equal.
Yet Lord Wyvern existed.
Who is the real man?
Her journal sometimes helped her clarify her thoughts, so she sharpened her pencil and sat to write.
The Peasant Earl?
He’s not a peasant.
The estate manager turned earl?
That’s the truth, but it
Doesn’t feel like truth.
Could the estate manager cow
A lord and a well-born gentleman
So effectively?
Born a scandalous bastard,
Employed as a servant.
How can he be the man he is?
He is a mystery.
Too mysterious to be safe.
Lucy looked at the words, knowing they were true, knowing she should break the contract and keep her distance. Her behavior last night had been so foolhardy! It had been exciting, but precisely because it had been dangerous. Because he was dangerous. To her sanity, but in other, poorly understood ways.
When Clara came in to say they must change for their morning calls it was a relief. The mindless social round was just what she needed to quiet her wildly spinning mind.
When she didn’t encounter him anywhere she made herself be glad, and when they set off for Drury Lane that evening she hoped he wouldn’t be there. When her hopes were fulfilled, she sank into gloom, but no one would notice. The whole evening was devoted to an epic poem based on the story of Job.
She’d have much rather endured more Sebastian Rossiter, though love poetry wouldn’t suit her mood, either. All very well for her to intend to avoid the Earl of Wyvern and all his mysteries and danger, but the wretched man had no right to avoid her!
Tomorrow, Wednesday, would be Almack’s, and she finally had admittance to the select ball. He’d better be there to do his duty.
* * *
She entered Almack’s fretting. Would the patronesses have raised the portcullis for him? He was an earl, but with a tainted background from both parents. She needed Wyvern to be here, not least so she could tell him what she thought of him for breaking their contract.
She needed to berate him, but she also needed his attention. Their two dances at the Duchess of St. Raven’s ball hadn’t entirely turned the trick, especially with no further evidence of commitment. She was still being pestered by Outram, Launceston, and a few others. She excused herself to speak to Lady Vandeimen.
Maria had Miss Florence at her side, who was cheerfully dealing with a number of suitors of her own.
“I hope you’re enjoying Almack’s, Lucy,” Maria said.
There was no point to pretense here, for Maria knew her well. “I’ve enjoyed other assemblies more.”
Maria’s lips twitched. “It’s a marvel, isn’t it, how something can be made desirable simply by limiting access? As you say, it’s nothing out of the ordinary, and one meets the same people as at other events.”
“Minus the cads and wretches.”
“A title can cover a host of sins.”
“Is the Earl of Wyvern admitted?”
It slipped out. She hadn’t meant to show her interest.
“He’s not a cad or wretch.”
“No, of course not,” Lucy said, mortified. “Only titled and something of a scandal. Not himself, of course . . .”
She was becoming Silly Lucinda in truth. No wonder Maria was looking at her strangely.
“I believe he’s passed muster,” Maria said.
“Of course he has. I only wondered because of his odd background.”
“If odd backgrounds barred people from Almack’s, it would be very thin of company. Ah, there he is.”
Lucy turned and saw him entering with a couple who must be his brother-in-law and sister, for the resemblance to the lady was marked. Her foolish heart performed a few completely impossible acrobatics, and a few more when he came straight to her, bringing his companions.
He made the introductions and Lucy sensed that she was being discreetly inspected. What had he told his family? She should have added secrecy to their agreement.
“You are an example of noble forbearance, Lord Amleigh,” she said. “Everyone admires your gracious surrender of an earldom.”
He was dark haired and gray eyed, and the word “steady” came to mind.
“It was a tussle,” Amleigh said drily, “but in the end matters were arranged as they should be. May I lead you out for the first dance, Miss Potter?”
“Alas, my lord, I’m promised.” She sent Wyvern a look.
“Indeed,” Wyvern said. “You are mine.”
He was all danger and mystery, but Lucy was no longer sane. Almack’s was magical at last, and she would enjoy her first dance in happy anticipation of a kiss.
How?
Where?
When?
In the end it was quite easy. After their dance he strolled with her down a corridor toward the refreshment rooms, where there were very few people at that moment.
She went straight on the attack. “You have been very neglectful of your duties.”
&nb
sp; “Clearly we should inform one another of our plans. I didn’t expect you to be a devotee of gloomy poetry.”
“I think you should have been more ingenious.”
“And I that you should have made yourself available to be served.”
“I was at the poetry.”
“And I was at the Duchess of Morbury’s, which was much more amusing.”
“I’m not paying you to be amused.”
“Thus far, you’re not paying me at all, despite being the proud possessor of thirty thousand pounds.”
She fixed him with a look. “It’s more than that, in fact. Good investments.”
“Your father is a clever man.”
“I’ll have you know that I manage my money for myself.”
He stopped to stare. “Do you, by gad?”
“For all your fanciful imagination, you seem to have difficulty in accepting unusual truths. I’m my father’s daughter, remember, trained by him, but also with many of his abilities and talents. Do not be deceived by my appearance.”
“Believe me, I haven’t been since our first meeting.”
His tone annoyed her. “But you disapprove of my having a brain and expertise? Or perhaps cling to the hope that you’re mistaken?”
“Most men are afraid of clever women.”
“That’s absurd,” she said. “Men rule the world.”
“Beth Arden says that’s because we daren’t allow women any scope for their powers. We cage the lion.”
“Lioness,” she corrected. “You mean the Marchioness of Arden?”
“She’s a follower of Mary Wollstonecraft. Rights of Woman and all that. I don’t know if she believes women should be able to speak in Parliament, but she definitely wants women to be able to vote.”
“And why not? Especially women of property.”
“It would be the beginning of the end. Men would lose dominion over the earth.”
“Nonsense.” But it came out breathily, for he’d detoured into a small anteroom.
He drew her behind the door, where they couldn’t be seen by anyone passing and raised an expectant brow.
“Someone could come in,” she said, suddenly nervous.
“Adds a little spice. But even if someone did, a simple kiss, lips on lips, would be naughty, not scandalous. Of course, if you wish to make more of it . . .”
