by Anna Bradley
Bloody liar. Godfrey had seen him with Lucy at Lady Ivey’s ball just the other night.
“Yes, very well acquainted. With the Jarvises, and with Lady Lucinda.” Ciaran let his gaze linger on Lucy. “Better acquainted every day, in fact.”
Godfrey’s arrogant smirk faded. “I see. Well then, take a seat, Ramsey.” He waved a hand at the settee where Mrs. Jarvis and her daughter were seated, sneering as he inched closer to Lucy.
“Kind of you, Godfrey, but I’m afraid I can’t stay.” Ciaran paused just long enough for a gleam of satisfaction to enter Godfrey’s eyes, then he added, “I’m here to fetch Miss Jarvis and Lady Lucinda for a visit to Bond Street. Lord Markham, Lord Vale, and Vale’s sister, Lady Felicia, are in their carriage, waiting for us. Don’t say you’ve forgotten your promise to accompany us?” Ciaran raised a meaningful eyebrow at Lucy. “You said so at Lady Ivey’s ball the other night, remember?”
“No, no, of course they haven’t forgotten.” Mrs. Jarvis leapt to her feet as if the settee were on fire. “Go and fetch your cloaks, dears. You mustn’t keep Mr. Ramsey and your friends waiting.”
Godfrey’s face went an ugly shade of red, but there was little he could do without causing a scene. He rose imperiously to his feet. “I’ll take my leave, then.” He smiled at Mrs. Jarvis, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. More like a threatening baring of his teeth. “You’ll be sure to tell your husband I called, won’t you?”
Mrs. Jarvis paled, but aside from an anxious wringing of her hands, she remained steady. “Yes, of course, my lord. You’re more than welcome to stay until he returns—”
“No. I’ve other business to attend to.” Godfrey glanced between Ciaran and Lucy, his mouth tight. He offered the party a frigid bow, and took his leave.
Once the door closed behind him there was an audible intake of breath, followed by a sigh of relief.
Mrs. Jarvis crossed the room and took Ciaran’s hand. “How pleased I am to see you this afternoon, Mr. Ramsey. Such a timely arrival, too. I’m afraid we’ve all grown a bit…dull. Too much time indoors, I daresay. Some fresh air will do my niece and daughter no end of good. Indeed, I encourage you to call as often as you like.”
“Every day, even,” Lucy added, rising from the settee. The cornered look Godfrey had put on her face dissolved into a smile as her gaze met Ciaran’s.
Ciaran’s chest loosened, and an answering smile rose to his lips. “It would be my pleasure.”
* * * *
“Are we really going shopping on Bond Street?” Lucy was so elated at her escape from Godfrey she was bouncing on the carriage seat and trying at the same time to tie the ribbons of her bonnet more securely under her chin. “I thought gentlemen despised shopping.”
Ciaran looked down at her, tucked closely beside him on the narrow seat, then glanced at the matronly lady sitting across from them. Mrs. Jarvis had sent a servant along for the sake of propriety, but the woman kept her attention fixed on what was passing outside the window, and did her best to ignore them.
Otherwise, Ciaran and Lucy were alone. Vale had claimed Eloisa Jarvis as soon as she appeared and had taken her up into his own carriage with Lord Markham and Lady Felicia.
Ciaran leaned closer to speak directly into Lucy’s ear, his voice low. “Does Godfrey call on you every day?”
Lucy frowned. “I don’t want to talk about Lord Godfrey. Please, Ciaran. Can’t I enjoy my freedom while I have it?”
Ciaran shook his head, his jaw tight. “Answer me first, lass. Your uncle demands you receive Godfrey?”
“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.
Damn it. Just as he’d suspected, Lucy was utterly at their mercy. “I’ve known men like Godfrey before. He’s a predator, and your uncle’s no better. Promise me you won’t ever let yourself be left alone with either of them.”
It wasn’t enough, but unless he could find a way to spend every moment at Portman Square until Lucy’s twenty-first birthday, it was the best Ciaran could do for now.
Lucy sighed. “I promise to avoid them both as much as I possibly can.”
“Good.” Ciaran was somewhat pacified, but Lucy’s smile had fled. “Don’t look like that, Lucy,” he murmured, his lips close enough so his breath stirred the wispy tendrils of hair peeking out from the edge of her straw bonnet. “Not another word about either of them for the rest of the day. I promise it.”
“Yes, all right.” Lucy was quiet for the rest of the drive, but by the time they reached Bond Street she’d recovered her spirits. When Ciaran leapt from the carriage and offered his hand to help her down, she took it with a genuine smile.
“Ah, that’s better, lass.” Ciaran drew her arm through his and led her toward the walkway in front of Hookham’s Library, where the rest of their party was waiting for them.
“My goodness. Where did all these people come from?” Lucy’s fingers tightened on Ciaran’s coat sleeve as she gaped at the crowds of people bustling up and down Bond Street. “Why, it’s like being in the midst of a swarm of very fashionable bees.”
“They come from every corner of the city.” Vale had somehow managed to coax Eloisa Jarvis to take his arm, and he was looking mightily pleased by it. “Fashionable London haunts Bond Street during the season. The ladies come in search of their corsets and tippets at Madame Devy’s, and the gentlemen come to lounge and gawk at the ladies.”
Miss Jarvis let out a faint gasp of outrage and turned a frowning countenance on Vale. “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Lord Vale.”
“What did I say?” Vale gave her an innocent look, but his lips were twitching.
“Hush, Sebastian!” Lady Felicia glared at her brother. “Corsets, indeed. You’re scandalizing Miss Jarvis. You forget not everyone is accustomed to your wild ways.”
“Have I offended you, Miss Jarvis?” Vale captured Eloisa Jarvis’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I beg your pardon.”
Miss Jarvis gazed up at him, seemingly spellbound, but when his grin widened she snatched her hand away before his lips could touch her glove. Lord Vale laughed when her cheeks flushed pink, but his gaze lingered on her face.
“He admires her,” Lucy murmured to Ciaran. She bit her lip as she watched the scene unfold, as if she were trying to decide whether to be pleased or worried. “I’m not sure I like it. Lord Vale may be a bit much for Eloisa, but one can’t deny there’s a lovely symmetry about the two of them together.”
“Symmetry?” Ciaran snorted. “Your cousin’s a high-stickler, and Vale’s a scoundrel. What’s lovely about that?”
Lucy looked up at him in surprise. “Why, everything, of course. You don’t want a stickler with another stickler, or a scoundrel with another scoundrel. Surely you can see they balance each other out? In any case, Lord Vale’s not really a scoundrel. He’s quite gentlemanly when he chooses to be.”
As if determined to prove Lucy wrong, Vale spoke up again. “What’s so scandalous about corsets? I don’t know why you’re so offended, Felicia. I didn’t say a word about the other sort of gentlemen who come to Bond Street later in the afternoons to—”
“Sebastian!” That was the outside of enough for Lady Felicia, who tugged Vale to a halt in the middle of the walkway to give him a proper scold. “Never mind what wickedness the other sort of gentlemen get up to in Bond Street. Honestly, you’re the most dreadful tease—”
“Lady Felicia? I thought that was you! What luck!”
They all turned at once at the low, smooth voice to find Lord Nash bearing down on them, wearing a grin that stretched from one ear to the other.
“Lord Nash. I—I didn’t see you there.” Lady Felicia colored a bit as she greeted the tall, handsome earl with a smile. “How do you do?”
Lord Markham was walking a few paces ahead of the rest of the party, but he came to an abrupt halt when Lord Nash appeared. His brows rose in surpr
ise, then lowered again in a scowl when Nash offered Lady Felicia his arm.
“Much better, now.” Lord Nash’s admiring gaze lingered on Lady Felicia. “I’ve just been round to Park Lane to call on you. I was disappointed to find you not at home, but here you are.”
Markham scowled as his gaze fell to Lady Felicia’s hand resting on Lord Nash’s arm. There wasn’t much he could do aside from stand by and watch as Lord Nash led Lady Felicia down Bond Street, both of them chatting and laughing, and Nash carefully shielding Lady Felicia from the more rambunctious gentlemen crowding the walkway.
Lucy let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, that’s perfect.”
Her husky chuckle made Ciaran glance down at her. She looked so delighted Ciaran’s own lips curved in a grin. “What’s so amusing? You’re not laughing at poor Markham, are you?”
“No, certainly not.” Lucy gave him an impish smile. “I’m simply memorizing his scowl so I can describe it in detail to Lady Felicia later.”
Ciaran glanced at Markham. He’d dropped a few paces behind Lord Nash and Lady Felicia. He was a stern-looking fellow at the best of times, but Ciaran had never before seen him look so grim. He marched along behind them, glowering at Lord Nash’s back.
“Lady Felicia danced twice with Lord Nash at Lady Ivey’s ball, you know,” Lucy murmured. “She told me afterward she thought him perfectly charming. Those were the exact words she used. Poor Lord Markham! He’s not as indifferent to her as he thinks he is.”
Markham certainly didn’t look pleased, but jealous? Markham was too oblivious to be jealous. “He’s just protective of her. They’ve known each other since they were children.”
“Nonsense,” Lucy said stoutly. “That’s not protectiveness, Ciaran. It’s jealousy. Heavens, Bond Street is certainly entertaining, isn’t it? We’ll have to come here again. It’s better than the theater.”
Ciaran laughed. “How do you know? Have you even been to the theater yet?”
“No, but real life is always more amusing than a play. Don’t you think so?”
Ciaran opened his mouth to say no, but the truth was, he was amused. He’d been wearing the same ridiculous grin on his lips since they’d left Portman Square. No doubt that made him a damned fool, but he’d rather be foolish than miserable. “I didn’t used to, no.”
“No? Well, I assure you, it is. Now, where shall we shop first? Don’t say Madame Devy’s, if you please, or Eloisa will insist we go home.” Lucy fiddled with the ribbons of her bonnet again, her gloved fingers clumsy on the slippery silk. “Perhaps I should search for a new bonnet.”
“I don’t know. I think the bonnet you’re wearing is very fetching. Pretty ribbons.” Ciaran gave one end of the silk a playful tug. They were a dark pink color that flattered her eyes and brought out the delicate flush in her cheeks. “You should wear that color more often.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re very gallant today, Ciaran, as befits a suitor, but I can’t quite believe you know one sort of bonnet from the next.”
“I don’t claim to be an expert on bonnets.” Far from it, but he did seem to notice everything about Lucy. Bonnets, pelisses, the colors of her gowns. “But I know what I like.”
Good God. His sister Isla would laugh herself sick if she could hear him now.
“Well, then it’s decided. We’ll go to a bonnet shop, and begin your education. You’ll find it fascinating, I’m sure.” She turned her dark eyes on him, humor shining in their depths.
Ciaran swallowed. How had he ever thought he preferred blue eyes to dark?
Isobel had blue eyes.…
But he didn’t want to think about Isobel. He shrugged the memory of her aside, and the ghost of his first love drifted away on the breeze. “As tempting as bonnets are, we’ll have to shop for them another time. I have something else to show you today.”
He tucked her arm more firmly through his elbow, but Lucy hung back. “Wait. Is it proper for me to go off alone with you?”
Ciaran glanced behind him and saw the rest of their party was a few blocks behind. He turned back to Lucy with a sly grin. “Not really, no. Why? Are you suddenly concerned with propriety, Lady Lucinda? I’ve never known you to be afraid before, especially if it means foregoing an adventure.”
Lucy sniffed. “Afraid? Certainly not.”
Ciaran chuckled. “Good. Because we’re practically betrothed now, and that means we can do all sorts of improper things.”
His tone was playful, even a bit suggestive. Lucy noticed it, and her cheeks went such a deep pink they put her ribbons to shame.
Ciaran knew he shouldn’t tease her, but he couldn’t resist her blushes. He reached out to tweak her ribbon again. “That’s a pretty blush, Lucy. You should wear that color more often, too.”
She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, blush deepening when she saw his gaze fixed on her face.
Then she did something Ciaran would never forget.
Her pink tongue slipped out, and she dragged the tip of it across her lower lip. It was a little thing, and unconsciously done, but that didn’t stop his body from exploding with a sudden rush of fiery heat.
She cleared her throat. “Is Bond Street an adventure, then?”
Ciaran tore his gaze away from her plump, red lips and struggled to gather his wits. “It’s not the same sort of adventure as a bare-knuckle bout or a secret dip in the ocean, but genteel ladies don’t parade down Bond Street with dubious gentlemen, so you will be challenging propriety in some small way.”
She laughed. “Are you dubious, Ciaran?”
Her teasing smile made his heart pound. She was still fussing with the ribbons under her chin, and without thinking Ciaran brushed her hands aside. “Here, let me.” He tugged on one end of the ribbon to untie it, then carefully tied them again, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of her neck.
He tucked a stray curl back, then stepped back to study her face. “There. Much better,” he murmured huskily. Her hair was so soft, even softer than the silk ribbons. What would it feel like to gather handfuls of it, until it flowed like dark red silk over his palms?
What was he doing, flirting so shamelessly with Lucy? Teasing her, and touching her? And was she…wasn’t she flirting back? He could hardly believe she was, but plenty of ladies had flirted with him last season. He knew it when he saw it.
But he and Lucy didn’t flirt. Ciaran shook his head, confused, but at the same time he was aware of a low hum of pleasure in his belly as their gazes met. Lucy was watching him with wide eyes, and all at once Ciaran realized he was still toying with her ribbons.
Her jerked his hand away, clearing his throat. “I, ah…the shop is this way.”
He took her arm and led her down the block to a shop with a large bay window that looked out onto Bond Street. It was separated into multiple panes, with each pane boasting its own colorful satirical print. He waited, strangely nervous, as Lucy’s eyes wandered from one print to the next, her brows drawn together.
“What is this place? It looks like…” She trailed off, pausing on the curb to read the sign on the door. “Humphrey’s Print Shop.” She took her time, studying each print one by one, her mouth open in wonder. “They’re all James Gillray. Every one of them.”
Ciaran nodded, a flutter of nerves in his belly. He shuffled his feet like an awkward schoolboy, wanting very much to please her. “Yes. You told me once your father was fond of Gillray’s work.”
“I did tell you that yes, but it was some time ago. You, ah…you remembered.” She peeked at him from under the wide brim of her bonnet, the sweetest smile Ciaran had ever seen curving her lips.
Heat flooded his face, then surged a second time when he realized he was actually blushing. He waved a hand at the painted sign over the door of the shop to distract Lucy. “Gillray dealt exclusively with Hannah Humphrey. Admirers of his work purchase his prints here, at
Humphrey’s Print Shop. Mrs. Humphrey died last year, and now her nephew George has the shop.”
“But this is wonderful, Ciaran!” Lucy gripped his arm with one hand and pointed to the window with the other. “Look, it’s Very Slippery Weather, with the poor gentleman who’s fallen down, without a single person lifting a finger to help him, and…” Lucy slapped her gloved hand over her mouth to smother a choked laugh. “Ladies dress, as it soon will be. Oh, dear. That’s terribly naughty, isn’t it?”
The lady in the print had very tall feathers perched on her head, a very low décolletage—so low her breasts were tumbling out of it—and skirts split open nearly to her waist, revealing a plump thigh and the curve of her bottom. “Terribly. Now you see why this is such a scandalous adventure. Shall we go in?”
Lucy hung back. “Are you certain I can? That is, is it proper?”
A few rogues were standing about in front of the shop, guffawing at the prints, but they didn’t take any notice of Ciaran or Lucy as he led her to the door of the shop. “Proper enough.”
No one would accuse the crowds that often assembled outside Humphrey’s to gawk at the prints of being fashionable, or even respectable, but the inside of the shop was the height of elegance. A genteel-looking gentleman—likely George Humphrey himself—was standing behind a wide mahogany counter polished to a high gloss. “Good afternoon.” He offered them a polite smile. “May I help you?”
“Yes.” Ciaran took Lucy’s hand and drew her forward. “Do you have Gillray’s The Famous Battle Between Richard Humphreys and Daniel Mendoza? The lady here is fond of a bare-knuckle bout, and a pugilist in her own right.”
“A pugilist?” The man glanced at Lucy, who was looking particularly ladylike in her dainty straw bonnet with her pink silk ribbons, and chuckled. “She doesn’t look much like a pugilist.”
Ciaran grinned at Lucy and rubbed his finger over the side of his nose. “You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but she’s got a vicious kick. Rumor has it she once broke a man’s nose.”
