She nodded. The only thing she was aware of was that he was sending her away, ripping her heart apart. The pain inside her was terrible and it was going to get worse with every bitter moment of their parting. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perfectly.’
‘And I haven’t made things worse?’
‘Not at all,’ she said, turning round to face him, feeling a little better suddenly, no longer stupid and embarrassed. Yet she was confused. What had she expected from him? What had she wanted? He didn’t feel the same as she did about him. She was a young girl who had thought she was in love, with all those charming mannerisms such a state imposed. Why had she let herself be swayed too much by her emotions and her own desires? He was going to be a duke, for heaven’s sake, and way beyond her in social class.
She saw this with a new clarity of mind. Of course he wouldn’t commit to her—the daughter of a Louisiana planter. Men of his distinction married ladies from their own sphere. But it didn’t alter the way she still felt about him and made her wish she was a good deal older. Even his companionship was to be denied her in the days and months ahead. He had fulfilled his obligation and now he was doing his utmost to distance himself from her. His next words proved this.
‘Whatever sentiment I have created, you have deceived yourself. Many women have made that mistake and regretted it. I made no promises, Lucy. So go with you godmother to the Continent and enjoy your parties and balls—you might find a husband, even, which is what it is all about.’
Lucy laughed with derision and, for sheer defiance, she gave her head a toss, determined to make herself anything but meek and sad. ‘You may stop there, Christopher. I understand perfectly. I am quite happy with my single state—which is probably a good thing. You are not entirely blameless when it comes to the damage done to my reputation. You really should have known better than to take advantage of a girl fresh out of school with no experience of the world at large and gentlemen with seduction on their mind. I have only recently finished my education and I shall enjoy testing the water, so to speak. It’s all very exciting.’
Summoning all the dignity she could muster, she turned from him and walked out with her spine ramrod straight and her chin held high.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christopher steeled himself to let her go. He emitted a low groan with the gnawing hunger she had aroused in him, for he had never felt anything quite so stimulating as that moment when she had turned from him and he had pressed his body close to hers. He had been tempted to slide his arm around her waist and pull her back to him, to forget all logic and sweep her away and make love to her. Recollecting himself, he was prone to wonder if he was having some kind of lewd fantasy involving the precocious young woman and it came as no surprise to him that she had once again awakened his manly cravings like none other before. At that moment he was torn between an impulse not to go after her and prolong their goodbye, and another to offer her some sort of comfort. The latter impulse was the stronger, but it was the first that won out.
He watched her go and, despite her coolness, knew how upset she must be feeling and his conscience tore at him. His rejection had hurt her, but he’d done it because he had to, he reminded himself. But he hoped his parting words had reached her and taken away the hurt—although her own parting words had cut him to the core and she was right. Along with Barrington, he was equally to blame for the damage done to her reputation.
Lucy was young—her godmother was taking her on a grand tour of Europe, where she would meet all kinds of sophisticated young men who would sweep her off her feet. Their friendship had to end. He couldn’t let her waste one moment of her precious life believing she was in love with him.
He had thought this would solve the problem of this lovely young woman, but his plight somehow only became more unbearable at the thought of being parted from her. He watched her leave with Lady Sutton, determined to follow his standard policy of never looking back where females were concerned, but Lucy Walsh was not to be so easily forgotten.
* * *
Having left Rockwood Park behind, Lucy was aware of her aunt looking at her with some concern.
‘You have come to rely on Viscount Rockley perhaps too much, Lucy.’
‘He has been very kind and considerate to my situation, which, strangely, is linked to his own.’
‘I do realise that. How do you feel about him?’
Lucy sighed, remembering how he had looked when the carriage had pulled away from the house. She could almost imagine the look in his eyes was asking her to stay—but perhaps that was only because she wanted to see it. Whatever it had meant, it was too late.
‘I like him, of course, and he has been very kind to me.’
‘He has certainly been there for you when you needed someone and I am grateful. But—how important is he to you?’
‘I suppose he is—important. He will become very powerful in his new position.’
‘That isn’t quite what I meant.’
‘Then what did you mean?’
‘I think he is not indifferent to you. He is very handsome and he possesses that fascinating allure that is so fatal to a young girl’s heart. Your heart is still intact, I hope, Lucy?’ she asked, watching her goddaughter’s face closely.
Lucy lifted her chin, Christopher’s words still raw in her mind. She was not so sure whether she was in love with him. She was very much a novice when it came to falling in love. And yet why should she feel angry and hurt that he had turned from her? She had feelings for him, yes, but love? Was it just infatuation? How would she know, never having experienced either emotion? She was fresh out of the schoolroom, so how could she know? Perhaps she had been flattered by his attentions and finding in him a certain sensuality which kindled in herself.
‘Yes, it is,’ she replied, not at all sure that it was.
‘He’s a lot older than you, darling, you know that, don’t you, and far too experienced.’
‘I know, but...’
‘...but you like him just the same.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘You’ll soon put what happened behind you. You have your whole future ahead of you.’
Aunt Caroline was right, of course. Tormenting herself about something that had happened and could not be changed would do her no good. ‘I know and I plan to enjoy every moment of it. You and I are going to Europe. I expect that by the time we return he will be married. Don’t worry about me, Aunt Caroline. Christopher Wilding is well and truly in the past.’
Lucy sighed and looked out at the passing scenery. She was returning to London and a new life. She had not been alone with Christopher since he had dismissed her so casually—and what had seemed to her brutally—from his life. After she had said goodbye to Amelia in her room, they had partaken of a light meal before setting off and she had heard nothing of the conversation between Aunt Caroline, Christopher and the Duke as they said their farewells. She had, in fact, not seen or heard anything since the incredibly strong arms of Christopher Wilding had pulled her out of the path of a runaway horse. But she was another person since that day, when she had taken part in the excitement of the fair and her enjoyed her newfound maturity of leaving the academy and embarking on a whole new and exciting future.
But she was deeply troubled by the recollection of her time at Rockwood Park, which she carried in her softly pledged young heart—the one that she had given without thought and, she was certain, irrevocably to Christopher Wilding because she had found herself defenceless against the sheer magnetism and vitality of the man, the man who had struck at her heart, leaving a great emptiness inside her. But she would not spend her life nursing unrequited love. She knew that in time she would forget him...no, not forget him, but at least her heart wouldn’t ache when she thought of him.
* * *
The time following Lucy’s departure from his life was a time of adjustment in Christopher’s life. But, by God, how he missed her. He had felt ou
t of sorts ever since she’d left. He threw himself into his work to try to forget her, but it was no use. Her lovely face had a habit of popping up in his mind like a mischievous sprite when he least expected it. In the silence of the night he would lay awake, his chest aching with wanting her, remembering her laughing her musical laughter, holding out her arms to him, how it had felt to kiss her sweet, soft lips. He had a habit of conjuring up her image and concentrating on it, tracing every delectable curve of her face in his mind. Even as the weeks faded into months, the memories of their brief time together did not fade and suddenly the year of waiting for her to return seemed like a lifetime away.
* * *
Taking the cross-Channel packet from Portsmouth, Lucy kept her eyes on the receding English coastline, wondering what the next twelve months would bring. She was determined to put the past few weeks behind her once and for all. She had hated leaving Rockwood Park and she felt a pang of loss at leaving Amelia, but it was offset by the thought of the exciting prospect of seeing Europe.
* * *
Accompanied by her maid, Aunt Caroline had a full schedule, beginning in Paris. Lucy thought Paris was heaven. Throbbing to its own frenetic rhythm, in her opinion it was the most wonderful, invigorating city on earth. The days were long and relaxed. Aunt Caroline was an extremely likable, socially ambitious woman for whom fashion and society newspapers and magazines satisfied all her literary requirements, whereas Lucy tried desperately to banish all thoughts of Christopher by losing herself in literature written by popular authors of the time.
Eventually they travelled on to the south of France where they stayed in fashionable hotels or homes of Aunt Caroline’s friends. When the heat was not so intense they would visit local places of interest or simply sit around on sunny terraces beneath trailing bracts of tropical bougainvillaea, surrounded by blood-red geraniums in terracotta pots, drinking cool lemonade. When Lucy could manage it, she dipped her feet in the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
And then it was on to Italy. Lucy fell in love with Florence. Here there was no shortage of young men to dance attendance on her—French, Italian and English gentlemen doing the Grand Tour. But she could not find elsewhere that certain exhilaration she had felt when she had been with Christopher Wilding. Her moods were like quicksilver and unpredictable, but whether she was aloof and frosty or wickedly appealing, she drew men to her side almost without conscious effort. Those who fell victim to her potent magnetism soon learned to their cost that the fascinating Miss Walsh was not so easily caught.
* * *
All too soon it was time to return to England. Lady Sutton considered that enough time had passed since Lucy’s unfortunate association with Mark Barrington and that it was time for her to be reintroduced into English society. Much to Lucy’s amusement her aunt could think of little but the coming Season and how she would revel in bringing her out. She was certain that her beautiful goddaughter would be the debutante of the Season. Remembering how it had been when she had left London, Lucy wasn’t convinced.
Her affairs in Louisiana had been settled. As an extremely wealthy young woman, with nothing there for her any more but childhood memories, she had sold the Aspendale ranch. No word had been heard of Sofia and, after what she had done, Lucy wasn’t too concerned about her.
Lady Sutton’s London home was a large residence on Curzon Street, tastefully furnished and filled with art. She was high up in the social scale and normally a constant stream of friends would visit when she was at home and she entertained on a regular basis, but this did not happen. This did not worry her unduly for she surmised her return had not been circulated. They were having tea in the drawing room. Surrounded by recent newspapers and magazines, Lady Sutton sifted through the invitation cards that had been delivered for various functions. She did note and comment on the fact that they were for minor events and fewer than she had anticipated. She did so wish for Lucy to make what she called a brilliant match and to do that she would vet closely all Lucy’s suitors.
Pleading her case—and contrary to Aunt Caroline’s decision for her to marry as soon as a suitable beau could be found because, having enjoyed her time in France, where she had loved attending the many social functions continually held in the nation’s capital and had looked forward to attending the same in London—Lucy was in no hurry to wed and didn’t want to look too far into the future. She wanted to delight in the finery and revel in the admiration and the flattery of those who found her appealing, giving no indication to her aunt that at the heart of her resistance were the feelings she still carried in her heart for Christopher Wilding.
Why did she keep tormenting herself with memories that were better forgotten? Christopher had promised her nothing, given her no assurances beyond the fact that he wanted her. She had tried to force him from her mind since leaving him that day at Rockwood Park. His life did not impinge on hers. But now they were back in London he was the only man she wanted to see. Just the thought of him made her stomach churn and she was amazed that he could still do that to her. She wondered if he ever thought of her. She doubted it.
‘I am so looking forward to reintroducing you into society,’ Lady Sutton said, scrutinising one particular gold embossed card that pleased her and gave her hope that things might not be as dire as she had surmised. ‘We can only hope that everyone’s memory regarding your association with that unpleasant Barrington man was of short duration. I wonder what happened to him—where he disappeared to. No doubt Lord Rockley will know since he put him under surveillance. Fortunately you didn’t remain long enough in London to see if you were the topic of any scandal.’
Lucy was aware how concerned her aunt was, even though she tried to hide it behind a smiling face and encouraging words. ‘I was exposed for just the one night at Lord and Lady Skeffington’s ball—indeed, I still have the scars to show for it—but it was so eventful that I fear it will still be remembered and my reappearance will resurrect the scandal—not that there won’t have been others in the meantime, but society does seem to thrive on gossip. Perhaps that’s the reason why your visitors are few.’
‘Lady Beckwith indicated as much when she came to call, being the inquisitive sort, hoping to get a glimpse of this flighty young woman who’d garnered so much interest on her first outing into society—betrothed to one man and seen kissing another—so she could spread the gossip. I made a point of avoiding her. It was my hope that what happened that night would have been forgotten. It would appear that it has not, so I shall have to suffer the slights of society’s narrow-minded hypocrisy. But how dare they presume to criticise me when their own lives are dripping with indiscretions?’
‘It might not be as bad as you imagine, Lucy.’
‘I truly hope not—for your sake. I am not unaware of the upset that unfortunate affair has caused you, Aunt Caroline, but none of it was of my doing. The guilty parties appear to have escaped without as much as a blemish, whereas I have been left to shoulder the blame. But I intend to enjoy myself and I will snap my fingers at those who show their disapproval of me.’
‘I agree. There is nothing to be done about that, but you have the spirit to endure what they will put you through if they have a mind. I am determined that before the Season is over you will be engaged to a marquess or a duke.’
‘You set your stakes high, Aunt Caroline.’
‘Of course. I have high standards. None but the highest in the land for my beautiful goddaughter.’
‘I would rather be happy with a pauper than miserable married to a marquess.’
‘I would not see you marry anyone you cannot love, Lucy. I see we have an invitation to attend the Wilmingtons’ ball in two weeks so things might not be as dire as we thought. Lord and Lady Wilmington’s affairs are always popular. Everyone who is important will be there so it will be a complete crush, which might be to our advantage.’
* * *
To alleviate the ted
ium of the days leading up to the Wilmington ball, they often drove through Hyde Park, which was a rendezvous for fashion and beauty. Lucy was a new distraction, drawing the admiring, hopeful eyes of several dashing young males displaying their prowess on high-spirited horses, but few approached her. Today the park seemed to glow with light and gaiety and vibrant colour. They halted the carriage to greet an acquaintance of Aunt Caroline, an elderly lady shielding her face from the sun with a gaily painted parasol. Lucy was introduced and Aunt Caroline left the carriage to sit with her to exchange pleasantries. Left alone, Lucy let her eyes stray beyond the carriage and alight on a lady and gentleman riding into the park.
The smile faded from her lips as she recognised Christopher. Seeing him again, she found he disturbed her. When they had been apart he had intruded into her thoughts more than she liked to admit and seeing him again seemed more disturbing than ever. She had resolved not to be tempted by him, but already her defences were being sorely tested.
Whatever it was that had caught his attention he looked her way, halting his horse. Across the distance their eyes locked—and those silver-grey orbs struck her to her heart, eyes that had not so long ago melted her. She clutched at her memories as recognition flashed between them at the speed of light. There was no change in his expression, nor did he make any attempt to approach her.
She stared at him, feeling her heart rate increase, and the sounds of the park muted. Colour flushed her cheeks. It was not caused by the heat of the day, but rather the uneasiness and tension within herself. She realised her feelings towards Christopher had not changed. She still loved the flesh and bone of the man and whatever it was that made him the way he was. But she could not allow this to blind her to the fact that he had hurt her once and she would not give him the opportunity to do so again.
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 38
