by Beverley, Jo
He couldn’t renege!
When she returned to her seat, he wasn’t in his.
Had he left the theater?
No. He was truly in competition with her, and playing a game.
What should be her next move?
She almost didn’t leave the box at the next interlude, but that would be no fun. As soon as she did, there he was, coming straight to her in the manner of an urgent suitor.
No, in the manner of one sure of possession.
A few other gentlemen had gathered around her and she was tempted to play a game in return, but she never had the chance. Wyvern walked through them as if they didn’t exist and captured her lilac-gloved hand.
He raised it close to his lips, looking into her eyes, and simply said, “Miss Potter,” as if his life was now complete.
Surely other suitors had done the same, but if so, it hadn’t had the same effect. It was infinitely more powerful than poetry.
“Lord Wyvern,” she said, which should have seemed inane, but didn’t.
He tucked her hand into his arm and led her away. No one stopped them. Good heavens. He’d as good as stamped her with his mark. It was what she wanted, but it was still shocking.
“You’re bold, my lord.”
“I established my claim, as we agreed. I always attempt fair trade.”
“As any good merchant should.”
“Role reversal, Lucy? Do you intend to lord it over me?”
“I might if I could, but my sex prevents me. As it does so many things.” She hadn’t meant to let that slip out. “When and where do I pay you?”
“In a while. So you can’t be a lord. What else does your sex bar you from?”
She suddenly wanted to give him the truth. “I dreamed of being my father’s heir and successor.”
“In business?”
“I see it shocks you, too.”
“Yes. Unfair, perhaps, but it would be hard. I would rather keep you from all harsh winds.”
She was startled by true tenderness in his eyes and needed to kiss him, but though they’d walked to the end of the corridor she saw no possible concealment.
Of course they could be outrageous and commit themselves here in the blaze of a dozen candles.
Then he pulled back one of the curtains that hung all along the wall. She’d thought them ornamental, but this one covered an opening and he slipped them quickly behind, into a narrow, circular stairwell. The only light was from below.
“Where’s this?” she whispered.
“Probably for use of servants, but if we’re lucky, none will pass this way in the next little while.”
There had been only a few people in the end of the corridor, but they would have been seen. He was giving service to a scandalous degree, but Lucy didn’t care. He was hers, and they would wed, and he would shield her from harsh winds.
The narrow space only just allowed the two of them to stand together, so they were close, sharing warmth and subtle smells.
“This reminds me of Winsom’s,” she murmured.
“How?”
“The space is narrow and you are large. I thought you dangerous then.”
“And now I’m not?”
She met his eyes. “And now I know you are.”
“You don’t look afraid.”
“I’m not.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, perhaps to restrain him, though she could never hold him off. Perhaps simply to touch. “How much of a kiss do I owe for such ardent attentions?”
“You dictate the nature of the kisses.”
“But I want to be fair.”
“I did mighty service,” he murmured, almost into her ear.
Dry mouthed, she whispered, “A long kiss, then.”
“If you dare. Too long, and who knows where it might end?”
“Then I will be cautious,” she said, giving him a peck of a kiss, only half teasing.
She tried to squeeze past him, but mostly in a game. As she’d expected, as she’d hoped, he caught her around the waist.
“Not so fast unless you want to trigger another duel.”
Even in a game, she was captured by a man who could overpower her with ease. As she remembered. Her heart thundered and she was hot, dizzy, and breathless with hunger for more.
By accident or design she was now on a higher step. At a better level for kissing.
He nipped her ear. “You should pay in full.”
“You wretch!” But it was a whisper. She could indeed exclaim in a whisper.
He licked where he’d nipped, then kissed behind her lobe in a secret place. The warm, moist touch seemed more wicked than any kiss on the lips. She realized she was stretching her neck as if asking for more, and that her breasts . . . her breasts were aching. Demanding.
“We mustn’t . . .” she said.
“We are.” He blew into the trailing curls at her neck, making her bite her lip.
“Let me go.”
“I’m not holding you.”
He wasn’t. She turned slowly against him, looking at him, seeking the truth. She saw it, a need as powerful as hers.
“Why?” she whispered.
“This isn’t what you want?”
That isn’t an answer to my question. But the heat inside her was building. She cradled his head and kissed him, pressing herself against him. Such sweet relief. Such fierce hungers.
They sealed together, hotly intimate in a way she’d never experienced before. A wicked way. A perfect way.
This, this . . .
This was the mystery she’d never quite understood, taking over her body in fire and torment. She pressed harder against him. His hand pushed up her skirt, grabbed her thigh, pulling her leg up, opening her.
Shocking her, but she stretched wider, as wide as she could, her foot pressing against the far wall. Her breasts. He’d freed a breast, was kissing there, sucking there. . . .
Oh, sweet heaven!
Then he thrust backward, hitting the wall behind, not far, not far enough, but far enough for air and sanity to return.
She stared at him, wanting to scream a protest, knowing she’d narrowly escaped the worst, but wanting, desperate for, the best.
He sucked in breaths, and simply said, groaned, “Goddess . . .”
Lucy knew if she pressed forward, tempted, offered, they could do it here, now, in a staircase. She’d never begun to imagine such a thing, but she knew it now, could envision it, in a tangle of bodies and limbs so very like those Indian drawings.
No, no, not like this.
She couldn’t. Mustn’t.
She assembled herself out of chaos. Lowered an aching leg until both feet were on the step. Stuffed her breast back behind bodice and stays. Wriggled to get everything in place, awareness of her swollen nipple fixed in her mind, along with hollow yearnings that could make her howl. She reached up to check her hair by feel.
He took over that task. “A good thing you don’t have it in a complicated arrangement.” His tone was light, his voice husky.
“And that yours is cropped,” she said, touching it, though there was no need. “One of your shirt points is crumpled.”
He touched her neck. “It scraped you. Damned starch. Behind the ear. I think your hair will cover it.”
Lucy had closed her eyes at the sweetness of that touch, but then jumped when bells rang, summoning everyone back to their seats.
“We must go.”
“If you’re ready.”
Would she ever be ready to leave this magical place? Was she ready to face the world when what they’d done should be branded on them?
She turned in the narrow space and made her way up the steps and then back into the world, blinking in the bright candlelight. The corridor was empty, but people had seen them go behind that curtain, and some would have noted how long they’d been there. Had they heard things?
She looked at him, astonished to find that he looked unmarked. Was it possible she looked the same? As they linked
arms and strolled back toward her box, she could only hope so. Weak though it was, she still didn’t want to be notorious.
“Another magical circle,” she said.
“Or one of the circles of hell.”
“Hell?”
“We did go down.”
“And rose back to the light.” She studied his face. “What is it, David? What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t mean that to happen. I still worry that I can’t make you happy.”
It was hard not to laugh with joy. It was as close to an offer of marriage as he could make here.
She gave him as close to an acceptance as she could. “You can. You will.”
She slipped her arm from his slowly, wishing they didn’t have to part, and returned to the box, trying to pretend that nothing of importance had happened.
Again the play passed unobserved as she relished the thoughts of all future delights.
Chapter 20
The next day David left the house early, not for the park, but to deal with some necessary business regarding the estate’s debts. When he returned in the afternoon, Susan steered him into the drawing room and shut the door.
“What’s happening?” she demanded.
“In what respect?”
“You and Miss Potter!”
“Is it any of your business?”
“Of course it is. I can’t be completely happy until you are, too.”
“Don’t place that burden on me.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I won’t. But how can I not care? You used to be so carefree.”
“Boyishly irresponsible.”
“We certainly corrected that, all of us. Miss Potter?” she asked gently.
“I as good as committed myself to her last night.”
“And she?”
“Replied in kind.”
“Why is this not good news?”
“She may be mistaking her heart.”
“She doesn’t strike me as weak-minded.”
He laughed drily. “No, she’s certainly not. She dreamed of being her father’s partner and heir.”
“In business?”
“Et tu Brute? I would have expected you to be more sympathetic.”
“Having fought the way things are, I know the pain more clearly.” True enough. When younger she’d fought against the restrictions put upon girls and women.
“Why did she imagine such a thing?” she asked.
“I should have pieced together the clues for myself. She told me she was her father’s daughter, trained by him. She negotiated a bargain with calm expertise. She was his only child and clearly he involved her. Why shouldn’t she expect that to continue?”
“But then her mother died,” Susan said, “and now he’s to remarry.”
“And can expect to have a son. She’s been suddenly cast adrift and she’s seeking a new harbor, but she’s not fit to make a decision that will affect her whole life. Not so quickly.”
“So you want to wait.”
“I intend to return to Devon.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“So she can think clearly, and can’t tempt me to take all decision away.”
“As bad as that?”
“Every bit.”
“If you leave, some other man might snatch her.”
“If she’s willingly snatched, it will be better for her. A normal gentleman with a pleasant country estate within easy traveling distance of London, her family, and friends.”
“Love matters. You can make her happy.”
“She’ll come to her senses.”
“Why are you being so disastrously noble?”
“You made me an earl, remember?”
“Oh, I wish Mel were here! He’d knock some sense into you!”
“Sense? Mel led a risky run because the Horde lost patience with being confined by the navy, which is why he’s in Botany Bay.”
“I give up!”
“Good.”
“Very well, be stupidly noble, but when you’re miserable, don’t come to me for comfort!”
David watched his sister storm out, smiling wryly. She’d always been more fiery than he, and far less cautious, which is why she’d fallen into sinful passion with Con when they were both fifteen. When she’d told him last year he’d been shocked by the insanity of it, but now he could understand.
He wouldn’t let Lucy fall into the same trap. Susan’s madness could have been disastrous, just as their mother’s would have been if not for Mel and the kindness of Uncle Nathaniel and Aunt Miriam. Luck had to run out at some point.
He went to his room to ring for a servant to pack for him, but a footman arrived first.
“A visitor for you, milord.” The man presented the card.
Daniel Potter, Esq.
Had Lucy’s father heard rumors and come to demand his intentions? Damnable if true, but he couldn’t avoid seeing the man.
“In the reception room?”
“Yes, milord.”
David went down.
Daniel Potter was not a big man, but he stood tall and had presence. Here was a man used to command in his world. His features were rough, but full of character, his hair a nondescript brown, but very well barbered. His build was slim and set off by fine, fashionable tailoring of the more subdued sort. A man to respect, but also to be wary of.
“Mr. Potter. How may I help you?”
“My lord,” Potter said, with a nicely judged bow. “I’ve come to speak to you about my daughter.”
Alas. “Please be seated,” David said, taking a chair himself, adding nothing. Let the other man make the play.
“I understand that you’ve been favoring her with particular attentions, my lord.”
“We have enjoyed each other’s company a time or two, sir. She’s a charming young lady.”
“Not that much younger than you, my lord.”
“Of age.”
“As I believe I pointed out to you in response to an enquiry.”
David thought of denying it, but that could only make him look foolish. “You did, sir.”
“So you intend to wed her.”
“Perhaps.”
“Why only ‘perhaps,’ my lord?”
David raised a hand. “I mean no insult, sir. These matters take time.”
“Yet you tried to cut them short.”
“And you wisely pointed out a better way. I admire your daughter in many ways, but I’m not sure we would suit.”
“Good, for I’ve come to tell you it won’t do.”
David stared, fighting an urge to blast the man with noble arrogance. Of course, he should agree with Potter’s judgment, but instead fury ignited inside him. “May I ask why?”
His anger had no effect on the other man. “Selfishly, I’d not want her so far away as Devon, but I’d not put that in the way of her happiness. I don’t believe you could make her happy.”
“Again, may I ask why?”
“I’ve made enquiries.”
What did he mean by that? David thought of one thing. “You object to the madness in the blood of the earls of Wyvern?”
“I see no reason to.”
Ah. A nicely judged phrase. This was not a man to underestimate in any way. “You object to my muddled parentage? Permit me to point out that yours is rather more dubious.”
Potter didn’t like that, but he said, “It’s what lies behind it, my lord, and what grows from it. Things that could prove dangerous to my daughter’s comfort and happiness.”
In other words, he knew, or at least guessed, that David was Captain Drake’s son, and probably deeply involved with the perilous Freetrade. How the devil . . . ?
After a calculated pause, Potter rose. “I wish you well, my lord, but not with Lucy.”
David rose, challenging him. “What if she wishes to marry me?”
“She’ll get over it.”
“May I suggest, sir, that you underestimate your daughter?”
“No you m
ay not. I know and appreciate all her virtues.”
David was suddenly aware of abandoning Lucy to a world full of people who didn’t see the truth of her. “Yet you call her pet.”
“What?” Potter was baffled. “Perhaps you are the Mad Earl’s son after all.”
“Think on what I’ve said, Potter. Talk to her. Listen to her. Love her.”
“Damn you, sir! I love my daughter dearly, which is why I will protect her, even from her own folly, in all ways necessary. She is not for a damned smuggler.”
David wanted to declare then and there that he’d have her. That Potter could go to hell. But the man was saying only what he’d told himself.
“There’s no need for this heat, Potter. I leave Town today and don’t expect to return soon. Your daughter is safe from me.”
Potter studied him with narrowed eyes, but then nodded. “I’m glad to hear it, my lord. Good day.”
When the man had left, David stood in thought, but nothing changed, nothing improved. Without him to distract her, Lucy would settle on some other man.
Northcliff. She’d shown some partiality there. He seemed a little dull for her, but he’d be a safe and doting husband.
Or Sir Harry Winter. He was a thoroughly good man, and not a fortune hunter. His estate lay in Essex, so within easy reach of her beloved City. Perhaps she would even be able to enjoy involvement in trade from there.
Even that fool Outram would be better.
He could easily have bloodied Potter’s nose, but damn it all, he was right. In addition, his implied threat couldn’t be ignored.
Susan came in. “Was Lucy’s father really here?”
“In the flesh. He warned me off.”
“What? How dare he?”
“Don’t fly into alt again. He was in the right. Also, he knows.”
“What?”
“That I’m Captain Drake.”
“How?”
“I should have expected it. A man doesn’t succeed like that without excellent intelligence on anything that might concern him. Lucy certainly concerns him, even though he’s dense about her.”
“But no one back home would let anything slip to a stranger.”
“It needn’t have been that way. He’s a merchant, and possibly not above a bit of illegal trade, especially in his early days. A word to the right people and he’d know.”
