Under the force of Edgerton’s continued, caustic gaze, Lucinda fought to control her emotions. She longed to convey her outrage, to tell her cousin exactly what she thought of a man who could display such cruelty toward an innocent little boy. But how could she? Looking around the table, she saw fear in the faces of her cousins. Even Aunt Pernelia looked alarmed. And there was poor Jane, begging with her eyes, Lucinda please, please, don’t talk back to him. She felt sick from the struggle within her, but for now there was but one thing to do.
The words stuck in her throat but she finally managed. “Nothing is wrong, Cousin Edgerton. I have nothing to say.”
* * *
The next morning, Lucinda awoke to thoughts of little Charles. She wondered if he’d slept last night in that dark, little room on the servants’ floor. He must be starving, she thought as she slid from her bed. How she wished there was something she could do. Perhaps later in the day she’d find a way to visit the poor child, despite Edgerton’s warning. She felt guilty that she’d been such a coward last night. If only she had voiced her honest opinion to Edgerton! But even as she accused herself of cowardice, she knew that had she spoken her mind an even worse scene would have ensued, further upsetting the family. She tried to assure herself she had taken the right course by remaining silent. Still, a large part of her wished she’d thrown caution to the winds and told Edgerton what she thought.
Something else bothered her, too. Alethea. Those words she’d said: I am in a spot of trouble. Whatever had she meant? She must find out.
But not now. Don’t think of it, she advised herself as she started out on her usual before-breakfast bird-watching expedition. Her thoughts turned to the news Alethea had given her last night—that Lord Belington had returned home. But he was also a subject she shouldn’t think about. In reality, what did she care whether he was home or not? The thought struck her that he might even possibly be hunting in the woods this morning. But what difference if he was? His presence would be of absolutely no consequence. She would not be expecting, and surely not anticipating, another accidental meeting. She had better be careful, though. On her many treks to these woods, she crossed the little brook many a time, trespassing onto Belington property. She had done so with little concern, knowing Belington was in London. Today, though, and for as long as he was home, she had better not cross that brook. Also, she would not look for him, or think about him. But at least, since the sound of gun shots would probably announce his presence, she would be well-warned. Before another pitiful dead bird dropped at her feet, she would gather up her sketch pad and pencil and leave quietly, thus avoiding another uncomfortable encounter.
She settled onto a tree stump on the Linley side of the brook and was surprised when, after a few minutes during which she had been deeply engrossed in sketching the dashing plumage of a magpie, a quiet voice behind her said, “Good morning, Miss Linley.”
Lucinda turned in surprise. When she saw who it was, she hurriedly jumped up, dumping the contents of her lap onto the mossy ground. “Lord Belington, you startled me.”
“My apologies, he murmured, perfectly polite, with a little bow. He stepped forward and bent to retrieve her scattered sketching effects.
“You needn’t bother.” She bent so quickly that they bumped heads, not hard, but enough to embarrass her. “Sorry, how clumsy.” She felt her face grow red.
“No harm done,” he said graciously, but after he’d restored her sketch pad and pencil and stood back, she could plainly see a glint of humor in his eye.
I have just acted like some gawky-awkward country girl, she thought, but still, she would not be laughed at. After that obvious lie he told at Hatchards, he needed to be put in his place. She would do just that, then leave. She decided a bold approach would be best. “May I ask what you are doing on Linley land?” She pointed to the brook. “I’m the one who made a mistake before, but this time you’re the one who’s trespassing.”
“So I am,” he answered congenially and seated himself on a flat slab of limestone that protruded next to the stream. He propped one booted foot upon a small rock and regarded her oddly. “We’re off to another fine start, I see.”
As she watched him, a shaft of sunlight broke through the thick spread of branches overhead. It struck his shining, dark hair, then lit his head and shoulders, and she saw, as she never had before, the inherent strength in his face, accentuated by his fine, straight-as-a-lance nose and the charming cleft in his stubborn chin.
And, too, she could not keep her eyes from his lean body. He was plainly dressed again: buckskin riding pants, snowy white shirt, hunting jacket, no cravat, just a simple stock. Which was positive proof, she thought, that a man didn’t have to dress to the nines in order to look devilishly attractive. In fact, as he sat there, so very sure of himself, so perfectly at ease in those simple clothes, she found herself drawn to him and not the least annoyed with him at all. But that was madness. She would take pains not to let him know. She regarded his empty hands and asked, “So where is your double barrel sporting flintlock shotgun this morning? Are you not planning to rid the world of a few more birds?”
“Not this morning,” he affably replied.
“Didn’t you understand me? You’re not on your own land, you know.”
He smiled gently. “Do tell. Come sit down.” He glanced toward the ample space beside him on the slab of limestone. “This rock is big enough for two.”
This wasn’t going at all as she had planned. By now he should be humbly apologizing for having trespassed, and, indeed, for all his various sins, but instead, it appeared he did not in the least care whether he trespassed or not. Don’t forget Edgerton, she warned herself. She positively could not get involved with this man. “I must go. My Aunt Pernelia needs me.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “Why the quick retreat?”
“Retreat is hardly the word, sir. I don’t ever retreat. If you must know, I find you very...difficult, and I shouldn’t be talking to you, and that’s why I want to leave.”
He nodded agreeably, as if she had just announced the weather would be warm today. “So you thought my conduct at Hatchards was...?”
“Abominable.”
“And you would like an apology?”
“What for? It wouldn’t do you any good.”
“Then I won’t apologize. There’s something urgent I want to discuss with you.” He raised his brows. “Look, I know it’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t be here, but for God’s sake, quit arguing and just sit down.”
She hesitated, engaged in a heated debate with herself. On the one hand, she most definitely wanted to demonstrate her opinion of him by leaving. In so doing, she would give herself the satisfaction of knowing she had made a wise decision.
But on the other hand...
She found herself so drawn to him she didn’t want to go. And besides, she was keenly curious to know what was so urgent. She decided she had to know. “A minute,” she said primly. She seated herself on the slab of limestone beside him, carefully arranging the skirts of her simple green chintz morning gown. Earlier, her mirror had informed her how fetching she looked in it, with her hair hanging loosely down her back. Ordinarily she did not put a great store on her appearance, other than to be clean and neat, but today she was glad she had taken pains to look her prettiest. Why? she wondered. Was it just coincidence she looked her best, or deep in her heart had she known he would be here?
I did know, she confessed to herself.
And I do care.
“Well? What is the great urgency?” she inquired, careful to keep her voice disinterested.
His eyes flickered with amusement. “All in good time. First, you and I must talk.”
“What about?”
An oath flew to Douglas’s lips. He had to tighten them in order not to say it. Stubborn wench! What was he doing, even bothering to spend his valuable time with this obstinate young woman? He tried to recall if any other woman in the world had ever caused him to suppress a cur
se. None, not ever, as best he could recall. But then, most of the women he had known were docile, agreeable creatures, eager to please. Even Rose, who could be rather caustic at times, would never dream of snapping at him and telling him he was difficult. But this one...
He shifted to fully face her and immediately felt practically impaled by the gleam of righteous indignation coming from her large, brown eyes. Such lovely eyes...and, ah, such lovely auburn hair, curling so softly around her delicate face that he felt an urge to run his fingers through it. The skirt of her pretty green gown spread gracefully about her. It was a gown of modest design, yet he was keenly aware of her soft full bosom underneath the high-necked cut, and of his struggle to keep his eyes off it. A struggle he most assuredly would win, of course. Never would she catch him acting like a school boy, trying to sneak a peak down a woman’s bodice.
The smart thing to do would be to bid her a hasty goodbye and be on his way, but he felt challenged. At the very least, he should get a smile from this reluctant girl. Damme, he would get it! Then he would leave, and God help him, never think of her again. “What would it take for me to get you to smile?”
“What will you give?” she asked boldly.
That was easy. “My assurances that we shall not meet ‘accidentally’ again, thus assuaging your fears concerning Edgerton.”
She folded her arms across her luscious bosom. “That’s a good start, but not enough.”
“What else?”
“Your admission that you were in the woods that day we were to meet, even though you indicated you were not.”
“Perdition, madame!” The gall! How did she know? He could hardly contain himself as she tilted her pert little nose and announced in a superior air, “Very well then, I shan’t insist since it’s rather a sensitive subject. Hmm, what else...?”
“Haven’t you asked enough?” he commented, trying to hide his annoyance. With facetious intent he suggested, “Or perhaps you would prefer that I give up hunting so your delicate sensibilities won’t be brutalized by dead birds dropping at your feet.”
“I might...yes, that would be a fine idea.”
His anger and frustration were rising, and he was searching for a biting response when he noticed that the corners of her mouth had turned up into the beginnings of a smile. So she was joking. He found himself inordinately pleased, although he naturally concealed his delight and said gruffly, “At last a smile.”
Lucinda had tried to remain straight-faced, but to no avail. He really was amusing, despite his bluntness. “You’re such a rascal.” Their gazes locked. A raven flew overhead, announcing its presence by its characteristic caw, but so fascinated was she by the man beside her, that she was only vaguely aware of it. The woodsy smell of the forest touched her nostrils, but she hardly noticed as time seemed to stand still and nothing was real except that she and a difficult man named Belington were sitting on a limestone slab, alone, in the middle of the woods, suddenly acutely aware of one another. She tensed. Her whole being filled with a sudden wanting. His mocking smile faded as his gaze bore into her with silent expectation. There was such a pull between them that when, in a sudden, swift move, he gripped her shoulders, she had no thought to wrest herself away. Slowly, his breath suddenly coming fast, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. She felt his hot breath against her ear and could feel him trembling as he softly whispered, “Oh, Lucinda.” Her heart started pounding as she, sinking into his cushioning embrace, felt his hands exploring the hollow of her back. A little voice within her called, you shouldn’t be doing this! but the attraction of this man was so strong she felt helpless in his embrace.
His lips trailed a row of small kisses across her cheek, and then his mouth covered hers with hungry demand. He bent her back. She wrapped her arms around his powerful shoulders and offered herself up completely to his kiss, the little warning voice stilled. His kiss sang through her veins. Never, ever, had she felt like this! No man she’d ever kissed had made her feel so wild...wanton...so wanting those large, strong hands to touch her everywhere, and not stop, ever. Of course she must stop, she thought, as a warm, sensuous feeling coursed through her pliant body, and soon...very soon she would stop, but not just yet.
He broke away—swiftly, with a sudden, unexpected cry of alarm...disgust...it was hard to tell. He got off the rock and strode a few paces away, coming to a stop with his back to her, his hands angrily thrust to his hips. “Good God!” he said.
“What’s wrong?” she softly called.
After a moment, he turned and came back to her, his face a mask. “My deepest apologies. Believe me, this was totally unplanned.”
An inner struggle seemed to raging within him. He appeared to be having trouble arranging his thoughts. At last, an ironic smile touched his lips and he said lightly, “Ah, well, it was only a playful kiss.” In an offhand way, he brushed her chin with his finger. “Done to put you in your place. But never fear, it won’t happen again. I had best be going. Good day, Miss Linley.” He started away.
A playful kiss? Done to put her in her place? Ha! She felt like calling after him, “If that was a playful kiss then I am Queen Charlotte!” She refrained, though, and concentrated on trying to calm herself. Now, as she watched him leave, she remembered what he mentioned earlier. “A matter of some urgency,” he had said.
“Wait! You said you had something urgent to discuss with me.”
He stopped, his back to her. She could have sworn she heard an oath escape his lips, but when he turned, she could discern nothing from his implacable face. “It’s nothing. I have changed my mind. It was of no import.”
Somehow she knew it was, but she could say nothing more. She watched transfixed as his graceful, lean form disappeared down the wooded path. It was a good thing she was sitting because her legs felt like jelly. Almost in a daze, she looked down and noticed her sketching things had slid off her lap again. Funny, she had not even noticed, she was so completely addled from their kiss. She placed her hand over her heart, and for a long time simply sat on the limestone slab, nothing in her head except the sound of her heart’s wild beating. When at last her pulse returned to normal again, she still sat, memories flooding her head of the night of Amelia’s wedding when her sister Catherine’s mouth had curved into a secret little smile and she’d said, “To know passion—it’s such pure ecstasy, impossible to describe.”
Impatient with herself, Lucinda pulled her drifting thoughts together and faced a heretofore inconceivable reality. In all her twenty-six years she had never known real passion until this very day, when a man so devilishly charming she could not resist had taken her into his arms.
He had said it was only a playful kiss. She, dazzled by the enchantment of the moment, had not believed him for a second. Now, in the cold morning light, logic had returned. She realized what he said was doubtless true, and he, like so many men, was only dallying.
But dallying or not, the whole affair was ridiculous. Of all the men in the world she might fall in love with, Douglas Belington would be the absolutely worst choice.
Chapter 11
Fool!
Douglas’s mind was in a turmoil as he followed the path to Ravensbrook Manor. Had he completely lost his senses? Only last night he berated his brother for consorting with a Linley. Now he’d done the same. It should not have happened, but it did.
He wondered if the kiss might not have occurred if Lucinda had acted like most young ladies he had known. Where were the fluttering eyelids? Where was that little flirtatious smile that subtly conveyed her opinion of how wonderful she thought he was? Ha! Not that he was the least impressed with such birdbrained feminine behavior, but still, did she have to be so impudent?
Or was it, perhaps, her very impudence that had provoked his sudden urge to kiss her? He recalled that overpowering need to subdue her that had swept through him, suppressing all reasoned thought. Unlike some of his more brutish friends, he never succumbed to such caveman-like behavior. If nothing else, he was a
t least civilized. In fact, he harbored a great respect for women and had nothing but contempt for those barbarians who held women in such low self-esteem they sought to subdue them through brute force. Still, he recalled that brief moment when he’d felt pure, unadulterated male dominance as he took her into his arms—a dominance driven by the pure physical power he knew he held over her. But such unacceptable behavior lasted only a moment. In an instant, he had controlled himself. He was back to being a gentleman, deciding that a mere light-hearted kiss would suffice, perhaps followed by a clever riposte, indicating that his kiss was the best way to shut her up. That had been his plan, but it didn’t work. No sooner had he gripped her and felt the melting softness of her body—inhaled that intoxicating whiff of her lavender perfume—peered into the vibrant depths of her velvet brown eyes—then all thoughts of a quick, casual embrace left his head. Instead, a huge wave of lust? desire? God knew what, coursed through him. No, not lust. With Rose it was lust, tempered by civility and true friendship, but lust nonetheless. But with Lucinda...?
He thought hard, but could not come up with any answer. No surprise. He was not accustomed to examining his feelings. He had long since come to terms with the old scandal. Life for him went from one adequately pleasant day to the next and that was enough. He had no need to search his soul. True, he would never be supremely happy, yet all things were in their proper place in his satisfactory existence. He had never felt a deep connection with any of the women he’d known before.
“Douglas, is that you?” Alex called as Douglas entered Ravensbrook Manor’s Great Hall. After taking one look at his brother’s face, he went on, “You look distraught. Has something happened?”
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