She recalled that he had mentioned he was to go to Paris. Was it possible that he could be persuaded to take her with him? It was presumptuous of her, she knew that, and it was highly likely he would refuse, but it was a lifeline she had to cling to, hoping it would get her out of this intolerable situation.
* * *
The next morning when Lucy left the house, attired in a cloak over a lavender gown and carrying Captain Wilding’s satchel, she did so quietly so as not to disturb Sofia. Hiring a hackney, she instructed the driver to take her to Hanover Square. There was no sign that she had spent a sleepless night trying to come to a decision about her future course of action or that she was still trying to bolster the courage to carry out the wild plan she had conceived. But her delicate jaw was set with determination. Sofia had provoked more than her own anger—the woman had aroused in Lucy an instinct for self-preservation. But she was also struck with the fear that, as she had no one else to turn to, only this stranger, if he would not help her then she was doomed.
London was gilded with sunlight and bustling with activity. In the elite environs of Mayfair, dwellings were elegant, smart cabriolets driven by prideful drivers passed up and down the thoroughfares, along with carriages pulled by well-matched, fine-blooded teams. When the cab halted outside the address she had given him, handing the driver his fee, with her heart pounding in her chest, she climbed the steps to the house.
It was the same as all the others in the square—large and elegant with Doric columns flanking the black-painted door. Gathering all her courage, she squared her shoulders and made perhaps the most dangerous and important decision of her life. Raising the brass knocker with a determined lift of her arm, she hit the door to announce her arrival.
A man she assumed to be the butler opened the door and, yes, he said, Captain Wilding was at home. Forcing herself to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, she stepped inside. The hall was bathed in sunlight, revealing the fine plastering and elegant marble stairs rising to a gallery. Decorated in soothing shades of cream and green, it possessed a simple elegance. Tasteful paintings and shimmering gilt mirrors hung on the walls. She was shown into a large room and told to wait. He would ask Captain Wilding if he would see her.
Gingerly perching on a sofa, she looked around her. Fresh flowers in a porcelain vase were arranged on the marble mantelpiece. She admired the elegant silk damask furniture and the Persian carpet, which shimmered with vivid colours. Tall French windows overlooked a terraced garden. It was not the kind of house in which she imagined a seaman would have lodgings. Did Captain Wilding own this house? she wondered. If so, he must be very rich.
Minutes passed. She sat there, clutching the satchel, feeling the tension mounting inside her. Then she heard footsteps and, fixing her eyes on the door, watched him enter. He was as tall as she remembered, slender and as handsome as a god with those perfectly chiselled features, She could see he was surprised to see her. Clearly he had not been expecting callers at this hour of the morning. His linen shirt was open at the throat and thin enough to reveal the sculpted muscles beneath, and his snug black breeches were moulded to his legs. Standing up, she threw back the hood of her cloak, unaware that even without ornamentation she appeared as young and fresh as a spring breeze. She waited for him to cross towards her, watching him, admiring him, suddenly shy of him. She was physically attracted to him—no woman could be immune to that potent magnetism. He inspired emotions she had never felt before, marvellous, conflicting emotions.
‘You—you remember me? We met at the fair.’ He smiled at her, a heated, knowing smile, which gave her hope that he would help her.
‘This is my lucky day. I remember, for once having made your acquaintance that would not be something I would forget. This is a pleasant surprise. Indeed it is. Ah, I see you have my satchel. Thank God you found it. You have also saved me a journey. I was going to call on you later.’
‘You were? How did you know I had it?’
‘When I realised I had mislaid it I went back to the fair and made enquiries. I went to your academy on the off chance that you might have found it. Your friend Emma told me that you had and that you had it with you.’
‘I see. I hope you don’t mind, but I looked inside and saw this address on one of the papers.’
‘No, I don’t mind. I’m glad you did. Thank you. Are you alone?’
‘Yes—I—I...’ Lowering her eyes, she chewed on her lip, at a loss as to how to continue. How could she ask someone she didn’t know to help her? But whoever he was, her excellent instincts told her that she could trust this man.
He looked down at her, frowning, his eyes delving into hers. ‘You appear troubled. Is something wrong?’
‘Yes,’ she replied quickly, meeting his gaze. Summoning up her nerve, she said, ‘I—I’m sure you will think me presumptuous, and I cannot blame you, but I would like to ask you a favour.’
‘A favour?’ His eyes narrowed in sudden wariness. ‘What sort of favour, exactly?’
Her confidence wavered a little, but with her heart in her throat she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. ‘I—I was wondering—I recall you telling me that you were going to Paris shortly.’
He stiffened, his eyes glittering with the wary gaze of a seasoned warrior. Putting his hands on his lean hips, he regarded her with a frown. ‘You do have a way of knocking a man between the eyes, don’t you, Miss Walsh? I did say that, although I’m surprised you remember. Why?’
‘Will you take me with you—to France?’ Too naive to know how to hide her feelings, the words came out in a rush and she waited, holding her breath, for him to reply. She lifted her eyes to his and her longing for him to agree to her wish was there in their soft depths.
‘Good Lord!’ The words were exhaled slowly, but otherwise, he simply stared at her.
Somewhat heartened that she hadn’t been refused outright, Lucy went on. ‘Before you give me your answer, perhaps I should mention that I am quite desperate to leave London.’
‘So why are you running away?’
She stared at him, looking wary and perplexed. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I don’t, but you’ve just confirmed my suspicion.’ He paused, studying her. ‘Has someone hurt you—been cruel to you? Frightened you?’
‘No, nothing like that. If you must know, my father has arranged my marriage to a man he deems suitable. I think he’s a family friend.’
‘And you don’t want to marry him.’
‘No, absolutely not.’
‘Is there someone else you would rather marry?’
‘Good heavens, no. I don’t want to get married—not to anyone—at least not yet. I’ve only just finished my education. I’m not ready to get married. But this is so unlike my father. I can’t help feeling that there is something wrong.’
‘I recall you telling me your godmother is in Paris. Have you written to her?’
‘Yes, but it will be ages before she replies.’
‘Is there no one you can stay with until you hear from your godmother?’
‘No—only Emma, but she is still at the academy. If it were possible, I would take ship for America and demand to know what my father is playing at.’
‘When did you last hear from him?’
‘About two months ago. He writes on a regular basis.’
‘And he gave no hint of what he had in mind?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Did you by any chance read the letter he wrote to the academy?’
‘Why—I—no, I did not. It was addressed to Miss Brody. Why do you ask?’
He shook his head. ‘No reason. Have you met this man he has chosen for you?’
‘Yes, last night, and I don’t like him.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with him? Is he old, ugly, fat?’
‘No—at least at nearly forty he’s old to me—old enough t
o be my father.’
‘Your father is still in Louisiana, I take it.’
‘Yes. He sent my stepmother to take care of the proceedings. Being taken early out of the academy has ruined what should be a happy time for me. I find I have been thrown into the middle of an unpleasant situation.’
‘Do you think you are worrying too much about all this? You might be wrong. There might be a logical answer to all these things.’
‘I don’t know. It’s just this feeling I have that things are not quite right. I have to be prepared in case I am right.’
‘So you think running away is the solution. And you want to go to Paris. That’s a bit extreme, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘No, not at all, and I imagine you think with the impetuosity of youth and all that I am quite mad, but I’m not. My godmother was expecting me to go to her when I finished at the academy. She loves Paris and was simply dying to show it to me. She was unaware that my stepmother was coming to London—as I was.’
‘Has it not occurred to you that a scandal might ensue should you run away from your stepmother?’
‘Scandal! Why, no. Why should it? No one knows me or my stepmother—although I think she will make her presence known and will soon be invited to every soirée and ball on offer. I cannot imagine it will matter to you if I am gossiped about.’
‘It happens to matter a great deal to me. For reasons of my own the last thing I want at this time is to have scandal attached to my name. Have you explained to your stepmother your aversion to marrying the man your father has chosen for you?’
‘Yes, but my objections fell on deaf ears. She is determined that we will be married before she turns round and heads back to Louisiana. Why, Sofia has even suggested shopping for my wedding gown.’
Christopher was quiet for a moment, studying her, then he said, ‘So you are asking me to aid and abet you in your escape.’
‘If you put it like that then, yes, I am.’ Her eyes looked beseechingly into his. ‘The fact is that there is no one else I can ask. Please take me with you.’
‘How do you know I’m not a madman or a seducer?’
He spoke quietly, raising an eyebrow in question. She glanced at him. He was standing perfectly still, watching her. A muscle moved spasmodically in his throat as he waited for her answer. Something in his expression made her catch her breath, for the effect of that warmly intimate look in his eyes was vibrantly, alarmingly alive, and the full impact of the risk she was taking by being here and asking him to take her to France made her realise the recklessness of her actions. She did not know this man at all—she’d only met him briefly the day before, yet her instinct told her she could trust him implicitly.
‘I might be young and inexperienced in the ways of the world at large, but I do trust my judgement and believe you would not do me harm. You might be no prize, sir, but you are certainly preferable to the man who poses as my betrothed. I will sell my soul to the devil before I marry him. Will you take me to Paris?’ She waited through a long moment of awful suspense.
Christopher looked at her in taut silence. Finally he spoke and his voice was rough with emotion, as if the words were being gouged out of him. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘But—why?’
‘Because it’s a mad idea, that’s why.’
‘No, it isn’t. You told me you had to go there.’
‘Not any more. The person I was going to see is here in London.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Disappointment swamped her.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Walsh, but I’m afraid I’m not free to take you to Paris. I have a duty I am obliged to fulfil here in England.’
His tone suggested such finality that Lucy turned away, tears welling in her eyes. But while her heart began to beat in helpless misery she was determined not to let them to break free, for if she allowed them to do so she would be utterly demolished. She felt crushed by the full weight of her stupidity, her gullibility, and all that those two traits had brought down on her. She was afraid her knees were going to give way. Thankfully they didn’t.
She was still under the influence of his sensual magnetism and felt her heart begin to break. His refusal shouldn’t hurt so much, but she had done her best to persuade him. She couldn’t force him to take her to France. What she was going to do now she didn’t know and that alarmed her. There remained only for her to extricate herself from this awkward situation as gracefully as possible.
‘Of course you do,’ she murmured, stepping away from him. ‘I understand perfectly.’ Her voice seemed to belong to someone else, a flat, hollow, defeated voice that came from a great distance.
‘My advice is that you return to your stepmother and try to reason with her. Perhaps you are making too much of it when she might very well have your best interests at heart. Maybe she will be willing to delay your nuptials until you are back in Louisiana.’
Lucy stared at him, offended that he had not believed a word she had said. His sweeping, masculine assumption made her eyes sparkle dangerously and she was unable to bite back the retort that sprang to her lips. ‘Please do not belittle me. What I told you was the truth and I have good reason to be concerned about the plans being put in place for my future without consideration for my feelings.’
‘Miss Walsh—I beg your pardon. I did not mean to belittle you.’
‘Yes, you did, Captain Wilding. You intended to do just that, to make me see that I am no more than a green girl and that I am making a mountain out of a molehill. It was the sort of remark I would expect from a typical arrogant male who thinks women would be better off doing what they are told by their male superior who think they are brainless and helpless. I am neither of those things, sir.’
Taking a deep breath, she clenched her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt, her chin tilted as a thin, determined smile curved those tempting lips. ‘I’m sorry. I should not have bothered you with my troubles. I must go. Thank you for your time.’
She walked away, devastated by her sense of loss and amazed by his obvious indifference. Before she could reach the door, Christopher closed the distance between them and grasped her arm. When she turned to look at him, Lucy could see the silver lights in his grey eyes and the crinkled web of laugh lines at the corners. Yet he wasn’t anywhere near to laughing now. He searched her face for a long moment, then reached up to gently touch her trembling chin with a long forefinger.
‘Lucy, if I were free... I really would be tempted to take you to your godmother in Paris. But I cannot.’
She forced a smile at his gallantry and had to struggle to answer. She was grateful when he released her arm and escorted her into the hall.
‘I must go.’
‘No—wait.’
‘No, really. It was most kind of you to listen to me, but...’ She mouthed the polite words which she had been taught from the nursery upwards and Captain Wilding continued to look at her without expression. There was about him a certain air of boredom and no doubt he was impatient for her to be gone. She should not have come. She should have given his wretched satchel to one of the servants to deliver for her, for his attitude seemed to tell her that she was no more than a silly young girl and her usual exuberant confidence drained from her.
‘How did you travel here?’
‘In a hackney cab.’
‘You really should not have come alone. A young woman taking a hackney in London, no matter how brave, has much to fear.’
‘I am sure you’re right, but I had to see you and I didn’t want my stepmother to see me leave. She would have stopped me.’
‘I’ll arrange to have the carriage brought round.’
‘No,’ she was quick to say. ‘Thank you for your offer, but I would rather go back the way I came.’
She turned abruptly and headed for the door, bewildered at the strength of her own feelings and not at all sure what she was goi
ng to do about them, only aware at this precise moment that she needed quite desperately to get away from the overwhelming hurt that had attacked her.
On her return journey anger took over, anger at her own gullibility, her innocence and inexperience in this new world into which she had been thrust. Did she not have enough spirit to refuse a suitor she despised and did not love—could never love?
CHAPTER THREE
When the hackney had disappeared, Christopher raked his fingers through his hair in consternation, thinking of the reasons he wasn’t free: his grandfather, his inheritance and a sister, injured in mind and body who needed him at this time. He shook his head in frustration. He couldn’t take Lucy Walsh to Paris if he wanted to. Besides, he had received notice that the man who was interested in purchasing his vessel was in London so there was no need for him go to Paris.
Christopher couldn’t deny that he was fascinated by Lucy Walsh. When he had walked into the room and seen her sitting there, waiting for him, looking so heartbreakingly young and lovely, he had welcomed the sight of her. When she had left, he felt that he had let her down and knew there would be no peace from the throbbing emptiness that was gnawing away at him that was to increase unbearably as the days passed. He felt a sudden longing, a bittersweet mixture of desire and regret for sending her away. It was a sensation so unexpected and so unwanted that the force of it astonished him.
Instead of meekly doing her father’s bidding, she had, instead, set upon a course to save herself from an unwanted marriage and appealed to him for help. He recalled how she had looked at him with her soft brown eyes. She needed him. It was the kind of look that was imploring and proud, the kind of look that could stir a man’s conscience. He couldn’t do what she asked, it was impossible, and on that thought he had put up his defence.
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 27
