A Necessary Husband

by Debra Mullins

  "I'll be back," he said. "And I guarantee, you will be happy to see me."

  He had gone, leaving Lucinda alone with her resolve to survive.

  Hard to believe that was only a year ago, she mused now, watching the sky take on a pink glow. Since then, Malcolm had done his best to sabotage her efforts and force her into a corner where she would have no choice but to become his mistress. He had started rumors that she was barren in order to discourage potential suitors. The only thing he hadn't advertised was her financial circumstances, probably because the situation reflected badly on him. But she had managed to thwart him time and again, first by selling her house to pay some of the debts, then by accepting the duke's offer.

  She still had no idea how the duke had known of her circumstances, but she did not question her luck. She merely accepted the offer and thanked God that staying at Raynewood got her out of Malcolm's reach for a short time.

  And God willing, a marriage would get her out of his reach forever.

  The sound of the garden gate broke her train of thought, and Garrett slipped quietly into the garden. There was a slump to his shoulders that she had never seen before, a weariness to his step that tugged at her heart.

  He looked as if he didn't have a friend in the world.

  Where was the charming scoundrel she had come to expect over the past couple of days? What trouble had befallen him that he looked like the loneliest man in the world?

  Good breeding dictated that she remain quietly hidden in the rosebushes, since he clearly had no desire to be seen. She should just let him pass and leave him to his privacy.

  But as he came closer, she saw the look on his face—bleak and lost. Her heart went out to him, and she stepped into his path before she could stop herself.

  "Good evening, Captain."

  His head jerked up, and for a moment she could have sworn that his eyes looked red, as if he had been crying.

  Ridiculous. It must be a trick of the fading light.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked, an edge to his voice. "I thought you and Meg had gone to the dressmaker's."

  "That was hours ago." She came closer to him. "Captain, are you feeling quite the thing?"

  He stiffened. "I'm fine."

  "I don't think you are." She laid a hand on his arm. "Is there some way I can help?"

  He looked down at her hand, then raised his gaze to hers and gave her a mocking smile. "I do believe that's the first time you've ever touched me voluntarily."

  She snatched her hand back. "There's no need to be nasty. I will be more than happy to leave you to your misery!"

  She spun away, the peace of the garden shattered, but he caught her by the crook of her elbow.

  "Wait," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Lucinda. I'm not fit to be around people at the moment."

  His sincerity soothed her ruffled feathers, and she couldn't walk away from the sorrow in his blue eyes. She relaxed, not protesting when he left his hand on her arm. "I'm just trying to help."

  "I know. I'm just...having trouble dealing with things at the moment. But I appreciate the gesture."

  He sounded so desolate, and now she could see that it wasn't the light—the redness of his eyes clearly indicated he had been crying.

  "Sometimes emotions are more crippling than physical wounds," she said quietly.

  He stared at her for so long that she began to regret her words. But then he gave her a crooked smile. "I'd much prefer a bayonet to the belly."

  "I'm sure you would."

  "I'm no good with feelings," he said. "Unless it's lust."

  She laughed, and he grinned along with her. The moment caught the both of them. Her laughter faded. His smile slipped away.

  He held her gaze as he leaned forward, giving her every chance to back away. But she didn't. Something rose between them, some sort of kindred connection, and she stood captured by its spell as his lips sought hers.

  Their lips met softly and clung, and he gently caressed her face. The sweetness of it destroyed her defenses as hot passion never could. Aching to be closer to him, she lifted her hand to cover his against her cheek.

  He pulled back and looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips in a simple, affectionate gesture. "Thank you," he whispered, squeezing her hand. "I'll be all right in a little while."

  "If you need to talk—" she began, wanting him to linger.

  "I'm fine."

  Then he was gone, striding rapidly up to the house and leaving her alone in the garden with the sunset and the memory of his tender kiss.

  Chapter 8

  That evening Garrett spent a lot of time watching Lucinda, first at dinner and then as everyone relaxed in the drawing room after the meal.

  He had regained control of his emotions, though he was still unsettled by that moment he had shared with her in the garden. Why had he been talking to her about his feelings? What kind of a man did she think he was, to have practically cried on her shoulder in such a manner?

  He caught her looking at him now and then with concern in her gaze, and it made him damned uncomfortable. Did she now think that he was one of these frail and fainting Englishmen? He would have to get things back the way he wanted them; that is, pursuing his goal to get Lucinda naked in his bed.

  And she played right into his hands by sending Meg up to bed with Lady Agatha after the duke had retired. She deliberately lingered in the drawing room after the others had left, though for propriety's sake, she left the door open.

  "Are you all right?" she asked quietly, coming to stand beside his chair. "I've been worried about you."

  "I appreciate your concern," he said, though he winced inwardly at the compassion in her voice. Damn, she did think him some sort of blubbering fool, didn't she?

  "I imagine the events of the past few days have been somewhat taxing for a man who's used to being in charge all the time," she continued.

  "Quite so." He rose to his feet, unable to sit placidly. He was no babe in swaddling to be so coddled! "Come to think of it, I have been feeling somewhat... lonely."

  She backed up a step, wariness slipping across her features. "May I remind you that you are surrounded by family, Captain?"

  "That's not the kind of loneliness I've been feeling." He gave her a charming smile, advancing on her even as she retreated. "A man such as myself misses the comfort to be found in a woman's arms more than anything else." She bumped up against the sofa, and he took another step, bringing their bodies within inches of each other.

  "Captain, we have discussed this," she said primly, but he saw the way she swallowed hard. The very proper Mrs. Devering was more rattled than she was willing to admit. "And the door is open," she added.

  "Shall I close it?"

  "Certainly not!"

  "Then let's get back to the subject at hand. You said you were worried about me," he said, caressing the rim of her ear.

  "Only that the pressures of your situation may have become overwhelming." She met his gaze squarely, clearly ignoring his flirting. "You don't want to be here, you dislike your grandfather, and you have just lost your mother. I imagine anyone would feel overburdened in such circumstances."

  "So you think you know all about me, Lucinda?" He took one last step, trapping her fully between his body and the sofa. Her scent teased his senses, soothing his raw emotions. This was what he needed: the softness of a woman to ease his aching heart.

  "This won't stop the pain, you know," she said quietly as he bent down to nuzzle her neck.

  He stopped and leaned back to look at her, brows raised. "So wise, Lucinda?"

  "I've lost more than you know," she said. "Physical pleasure won't ease what bothers you."

  "Have you tried it?" He gave her a rakish grin.

  She sighed in exasperation. "I have already told you that I do not indulge in casual affairs, Captain."

  "And is this where I am supposed to ask you to marry me?"

  She raised her chin. "No, Gar
rett. Even if you were to ask me to marry you, I would not do so."

  "Is that so?" He brushed his chest across her breasts, smiling as she gave a little shiver. At last he was starting to feel in control again.

  "Why should I marry a man who hates my country, hates my way of life, and is gone most of the year?" Lucinda demanded. "If I want to be alone, Garrett, I might as well stay a widow."

  "I don't hate your country," he corrected, leaning forward again to place soft kisses along her throat. "In fact, I am becoming quite fond of England."

  "You could have fooled me." She pushed at his chest, but didn't succeed in moving him an inch.

  He laughed outright at the annoyance on her face. "Why are you fighting this?" he asked, teasingly flicking one fingertip over her nipple. Her flesh responded, hardening visibly beneath her dress. "You can see how good we can be together. This kind of attraction is rare and should be treasured."

  "As you no doubt have more experience than I do, Captain, I shall have to trust your word on that." She pushed against his chest once more. "Do let me go before the servants see us!"

  "Come to my bed tonight," he murmured, nuzzling his face into her hair. Emotion welled up, desire tangled with a dozen others he could not name. Somehow he knew that making love to Lucinda would ease the darkness shrouding his soul.

  "I can't," she whispered, her voice uneven. "Even if I wanted to, I can't."

  He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands and staring into her eyes. "But do you want to? Tell me the truth, Lucinda."

  She tried to turn her head away, but he held her gaze steadily. Her eyes were amazing, revealing everything she was thinking and feeling, even as her facial expression remained neutral. He could see the confusion, see the indecision. And he could see the desire.

  "Tell me, Lucinda," he commanded.

  "Yes." The word escaped her lips as a strangled sob. "Yes, I am tempted. But I can't. Don't you understand? I can't. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

  He hungered for her nearly to obsession, and he had been determined to reestablish control of their relationship. But now he had forced this admission from her, and the suffering in her voice robbed him of any pleasure he might have taken in it.

  "Actually, I wanted to hear that you would come to my bed tonight." He tried to grin, tried to inject humor into the situation, but the distress in her eyes did not fade.

  "I can't."

  His grin vanished. "I know."

  She pushed at his chest again, and this time he stepped back. She darted away from the sofa and turned to face him. "Garrett, my...promise... to your grandfather is important to me. I need to concentrate on getting Meg ready to face London, and frankly, having to avoid your attentions is distracting me from that goal. Do you want your sister to make a fool of herself? To be ostracized as the uncivilized American?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then leave me be," she beseeched him. "If not for my sake, then for Meg's. She needs me right now."

  Her words made him feel like a cad. "When do we leave for London?" he asked.

  "In five days' time."

  "All right, then. You have my word that I shall not pursue you."

  Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you for being reasonable, Captain."

  ". . . until we get to London."

  "What!"

  "At that time," he continued, "all bets are off. I still intend to make love to you before I leave England, Lucinda. You'd best get used to the idea."

  "You'd best get used to a lonely bed." Turning on her heel, she sailed from the room.

  Garrett grinned as a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. Things were getting back to normal.

  * * *

  Four days later, as she climbed into the coach to return from the village, Lucinda pondered the amazing fact that Garrett had kept his word.

  Monsieur Collineau had returned only that morning for Meg's last dance lesson, and the girl seemed to have picked up the rudiments of the waltz at last. Garrett had made an appearance at the lesson, partnered Meg while she mastered the steps, and then left again, all without one improper remark.

  Astonishing.

  Lucinda had gone on to spend the afternoon in the village with Meg, getting last-minute adjustments done at the dressmaker's and shopping for shoes and hats and other accessories. Garrett's only response to their plans had been "Enjoy yourselves," before he had gone riding.

  No innuendoes, no disparaging comments about the English, nothing.

  His new behavior had been noticed by Lady Agatha and the duke, as well. Lady Agatha didn't seem surprised, but the duke credited the change to Lucinda's influence.

  He was right, Lucinda thought wryly, but not in quite the way he thought.

  Garrett had spent most of his free time these past few days either riding or at the tailor's, and he even managed to keep his disagreements with the duke to a minimum. If only it could last, Lucinda thought as she listened to Meg's idle chatter on the way back to Raynewood. But the household left for London on the morrow, and like Cinderella's pumpkin, the spell would be broken. Once they were in London, Garrett would once more be in pursuit of her, and it was getting harder and harder to resist him.

  He still sent sizzling looks toward her whenever no one was watching. Sometimes he would find little ways to touch her, grazing her hand or taking her arm to escort her in to dinner, nothing more forward than any English gentleman would dare. Yet it was that one remembered glimpse of his vulnerability that fascinated her.

  So while she smiled and nodded at Meg's conversation as the coach rolled up the drive, her mind lingered on Garrett, and the kiss in the garden that haunted her still.

  * * *

  Having returned from a long, sweaty ride, Garrett tried to make his way up to his room, but it was slow going. He encountered so many servants darting about, packing for the move to London, that it was like trying to navigate the main streets of Boston just to get down the hall!

  One more day, he thought. One more day and he would be able to actively pursue Lucinda again. The subtle flirting they had been doing had only fueled his desire for her.

  He finally made it to his bedroom and pushed open the door, only to see a young man rummaging in his sea chest.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Garrett demanded.

  Startled by Garrett's shout, the young man straightened abruptly, but Garrett was already moving. He grabbed the fellow by the shoulder and slammed him up against the wall in one swift movement. A threatening hand around the young man's throat brought fear to the lad's eyes.

  "What the devil were you doing in my sea chest?" Garrett demanded again.

  "I...I..." the fellow stuttered. He was pale now, his brown eyes wide with alarm. He couldn't have been more than five and twenty, though his sparse light brown hair and round, moonlike face made him look older. Garrett towered about a foot over his head, and the fellow's sturdy body seemed more the result of good English cooking than physical activity.

  "I didn't catch that," he said, tightening his fingers around the fellow's throat a fraction.

  "St-St-Stobbins," the intruder finally gasped. "I-I'm Stobbins, m-my lord."

  Oh, Lord, the valet. Garrett jerked his hand away from the servant's throat. "Sorry about that, Stobbins," he apologized, taking a step back. "I thought you were a thief." Now that he was thinking clearly, Garrett noticed that Stobbins wore decently cut, clean clothing, which should have given him pause before attacking the fellow.

  Stobbins felt his throat and cast Garrett a wary glance. "Of course you did, my lord."

  "First rule," Garrett said, "is to stop with the 'my lord' stuff. I don't like it. If you cannot address me by my given name, then you may call me Captain Lynch."

  "I would never presume to address Your Lordship by your given name!" Stobbins gasped in shock.

  "Then let's settle on 'captain,' shall we?" Garrett said, slapping the fellow on the back. "So tell me, Stobbins, what does a valet do?"

 
"Sir?" The manservant's eyes bugged out, as if he could not comprehend that anyone should not know what a valet did.

  "Calm yourself, Stobbins. I'm an American. Surely they told you that?"

  The valet seemed to relax. "Of course, my... er, Captain. I should have realized. A valet takes care of a gentleman's clothing, helps a gentleman dress, and assists in a gentleman's toilette."

  "So basically you take care of my clothes and help me get dressed every day?"

  "Indeed, sir." Stobbins bobbed his head. "My father is also a gentleman's gentleman, to Lord Knightsbridge. And my grandfather served the duke for many years before his death."

  Garrett bit back a smile. "I'm certain I don't deserve you, Stobbins, but I shall count myself lucky to have a man of your experience to help me while we are in London."

  Stobbins beamed. "Indeed, sir."

  "So tell me, what were you doing in my sea chest?"

  "Starting to pack your clothing from the wardrobe, Captain, to go to London. By the way, your new garments have arrived from the tailor."

  "Good. I'll try them on as soon as I change my clothes. I smell like a horse."

  "As you wish, Captain."

  Stobbins reached out to remove Garrett's coat, and Garrett jerked away from him. "What the devil are you doing?"

  Stobbins swallowed hard. "I was assisting you in removing your coat, sir."

  Garrett sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "There is no need to undress me as if I were a babe, Stobbins. I am quite competent in that area."

  Stobbins wrung his hands. "Then what shall I do, sir?"

  Garrett thought for a moment. "You can take away the dirty clothing." Stobbins reached out again, and Garrett stepped away, clarifying, "After I have taken it off myself!"

  "Of course, sir." The valet all but pouted.

  What was with the people in this crazy country? They all seemed to live for waiting on others hand and foot! Exasperated, Garrett stripped off his coat and handed it to Stobbins. "Here you are. This should cheer you up."

  The valet's face brightened as he took the garment. "Thank you, sir!"

  Garrett tugged at his neck cloth. "You know, I could probably use a bath. Does arranging that fall under the duties of a valet?"