by Cara Elliott
After a moment, Lucas cuddled closer and curled a hand possessively over her hip, aware of an utterly unfamiliar sensation spreading through his limbs. It wasn’t the purely physical thrum of sated pleasure. This was more… cerebral. Contentment? No, something far more profound. Perhaps peace was a better description. The aimless urge that drove him to seek ever-more desperate thrills seemed to have stilled within him.
Ciara stirred and opened her eyes halfway. “Mmmm.” Her voice was slightly slurred, a sleepy, smoky, sexy sound. She blinked, trying to sharpen her gaze. “Luuucas.” He loved the way she said it, drawing it out as if it were a length of melting toffee. “This was special—”
Smiling, he hushed her with a finger to the lips. “Yes, it was.”
Ciara looked sweetly flustered, so unlike her usual self. “Th-that was not precisely what I meant.” She shifted with a lazy wriggle, propping herself up on one elbow.
As Lucas watched the sheet slide over the curve of her breast, he felt his cock twitch. Damn. He did not want to overwhelm her with his carnal lust, but another fraction of an inch and he would be hard-pressed to keep from rolling her back and having her again.
“I meant, the circumstances were special.” She bit her lip. “We can’t… that is, we mustn’t—”
“Shush.” He brushed his lips to hers and tucked the sheet around her. “Sleep now, sweetheart. We’ll try to make some sense of it all later.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The Day After.
Ciara made a wry face. Oh, dear, that sounded so gothic. She wasn’t some peagoose heroine in a novel. She was a rational scientist, trained to be disciplined and detached.
So why were her thoughts swirling like puffs of pollen in the breeze?
The mists had blown off, leaving the morning cool and cloudless as she approached the climb to the cliffs. Hiking her skirts, Ciara rounded the tangle of brambles and scrambled over the outcropping of granite. She had risen early and decided to take a long walk, rather than appear in the breakfast room. At some point she would have to face Lucas in the light of day, but she would rather not do it over kippers and toast—or the scientific patter of Ariel and Sir Henry.
The thought of a discussion on reproductive details, even if they were about flowers, made her stomach slightly queasy.
Winding through a last steep stretch of rock, the footpath finally brought her to the crest of the cliff. In the slanting sunlight, the blue of the ocean was nearly blinding in its brilliance, the aquamarine hue dotted with flecks of foamy whitecaps for as far as the eye could see. High overhead, gulls wheeled on the gusting winds, the echo of their raucous cries nearly drowned by the pounding of the surf below.
For an instant, she envied their freedom to fly away, to wherever their wings and their whimsy might take them. How exhilarating it would be to sail through the heavens without a care in the world.
Don’t be a bird-witted fool, she scolded herself. Life was not so simple, even for a Larus argentatus. Every species on earth had predators lurking, ready to pounce at the tiniest slip in vigilance.
She, at least, had a brain to counter any threats.
Though it could be argued that hers was not in full working order at the present time.
How else to explain the fact that she had made mad, passionate love to Mad, Bad Had-ley?
Taking a seat on a sun-warmed slab of stone, Ciara shaded her eyes and stared out to sea. Had she cast off all common sense, leaving herself adrift in shoaling waters? The earl could not be counted on as an anchor—only look at how he had floated through life, content to bob along in whatever current caught his fancy.
She bit her lip and winced, the flesh still tender from the torrid force of his kisses. But at the moment, it was not Lucas who had to answer for his actions. She could have—should have—said no.
“No!” she cried, startling a plover from his roost on the rocks.
No. She would not let guilt drag her down to the depths of self-loathing. There was an old English adage… if you make your bed, you must be prepared to sleep in it.
That the sinfully sexy Earl of Hadley happened to be in it with her last night added an awkward twist to the sheets. One thing was certain, she couldn’t make a habit of it. For any number of compelling reasons.
But no matter all the rationales against the relationship, she could not bring herself to regret the night. Lucas was not perfect—what man or woman was? But neither was he so wicked or wanton as he claimed to be. He had played the role of devil-may-care rake for so long that by now it was like a second skin. And yet beneath the careless carousing and shocking stunts was a compassionate, caring man. He was kind, he was funny, he was loyal, he was… lovable despite all his faults.
Love?
Oh, surely not. Her brain, however impaired, knew better than to let her fall in love with Mad, Bad Had-ley.
The only trouble was that the rest of her body was refusing to listen to the warnings.
Salt stung her mouth as Ciara sighed and rose. The mysteries of the heart defied all human logic. Better to concentrate her efforts on the ancient manuscript, whose arcane code was based on reason. Perhaps with the help of her friends, she could finally coax the secret from the last section of coding. Already, she had an idea about the final result. If she was right…
Lost in scientific thought, she began making her way back to the manor house. From what she had pieced together so far, she had a feeling that there was an important connection between the Penicillium notatum mold and—
“Ciao, bella!”
As Ciara crossed through the orchard, Alessandra’s call roused her from her scholarly musings.
“I finished my business in Bournemouth a day early, so decided to come on ahead of schedule,” continued her friend. “Ariel said you had gone for a walk in the hills, so I thought I would come meet you.”
“Oh, Lord, I am so glad you are here.”
Alessandra took her arm and fixed her with a searching look. “Has something else happened?”
“N-no. Yes.” She caught her breath. “No.”
Alessandra stared a fraction longer before shaking her head. “Santa cielo, I hope you know what you are doing.”
Ciara colored under her friend’s scrutiny. “Is it so very obvious?”
“Only because I recognize the subtle little changes,” came the cryptic reply. “There are certain things a woman cannot hide.” Her friend flicked out a finger. “And some that you can. Pull your collar a touch higher, bella. You’ve a love bite on your neck.”
Blushing, Ciara fumbled with the soft merino wool.
“Not that I blame you in the least,” added Alessandra. “He’s a very attractive man.”
“Still, it wasn’t very smart of me,” said Ciara softly.
“Tesoro, the heart is a perverse little organ with a mind of its own. Unlike the brain, it refuses to be ruled by logic or reason.”
“So I have discovered.” Ciara made a wry face. “Lud, as if I don’t have enough trouble in my life right now without this.”
“Or that,” quipped her friend. “Tell me—”
“I will not,” muttered Ciara.
“Tell me, does Ariel know?”
“No! And please don’t tell her.”
“Don’t worry, bella.” Alessandra regarded her rings for a long moment. “I can keep a secret.”
Ciara heaved a ragged sigh. “Thank you.”
They turned onto a path through the gardens, and for some moments, the only sounds between them were the soft crunch of gravel.
“I shall not say another word on the subject,” murmured Alessandra as they rounded a trellis of climbing roses. “But if you feel in need of any advice, you have only to ask.”
“Actually, I do have some pressing questions.” Her mouth quirked. “But they concern Sir Henry’s manuscript. I think I am coming close to the answer, but I would like your opinion, and that of Ariel, about my idea. It may sound crazy, but…”
Lucas watched
the two ladies cross the lawn, heads bent together in deep conversation. He couldn’t help but wonder what had them so engrossed. Some arcane archaeological discovery? The marchesa was, after all, a noted expert in the field.
Alessandra’s sudden laugh rose above the twittering of the songbirds, then died away just as quickly.
Hell. He hoped they were discussing an ancient artifact and not some other subject. Did ladies have the same code of honor as gentlemen about discussing the details of—
“HADLEY!” Two juvenile voices chorused as one.
He started, a fraction too late. The cricket ball smacked him square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. With an echoing thud, his rump hit the ground.
Both Peregrine and Isabella came running.
“Are you all right, sir?” asked the boy, skidding to a stop.
“We called out,” said Isabella. “Several times.”
“My fault entirely,” wheezed Lucas. “I must have been woolgathering.”
“At least she didn’t break your skull,” pointed out Peregrine with a snigger.
Isabella scrunched her mouth in indignation. “I’ll have you know that’s exactly where I was aiming!” She looked at Hadley, her expression brightening quite a bit. “It worked, sir! I am learning to put a really wicked spin on the ball, just like you showed me. And now my throws are right on target.”
“A splendid pitch, Isa,” he assured her. “I’ll wager that no wicket can stand up to your prowess.”
The little girl beamed.
Peregrine waggled his bat. “She’ll have to get the ball by me first.”
“Ha!” She gave a toss of her ebony curls. “You still have a funny hitch to your swing.”
“Let’s have a look,” said Lucas before any further words could be exchanged.
He rose rather gingerly and picked up the ball. So much for intimate adult musings. He made a wry face. It was probably all for the best that he kept himself occupied with other activities. Thinking of Ciara, stretched out in delightful dishabille among the rumpled sheets, was obviously dangerous…
“Hadley?” Peregrine gave him a fishy stare.
“Er, right.” Lucas made a show of inspecting the seams of the ball. “Just checking that Isa didn’t scorch the leather with her throw.”
The little girl giggled.
“Now, Perry, take your place and let’s see your form. Remember—elbows in, wrists cocked.”
Their shouts and laughs were soon punctuated by a deliriously happy bark as Mephisto bolted from the kennels to join in play. The dog was delighted to fetch the batted balls, and though it took some wrestling to retrieve the chewed leather, his antics kept Peregrine and Isabella much amused. By the time they all traipsed into the kitchen for lemonade and jam tarts, the two children had finally been run ragged and agreed that the game was done for the day.
Lucas flexed his shoulders. Lud, he must be getting old—he had forgotten just how much stamina it took to keep up with two active eight-year-olds.
“Master Lucas.” The elderly cook waggled a wooden spoon, just as she had when he was a boy. “How many times have I told you not to track your dirt into my kitchens.”
“I’m afraid I’ve lost count,” answered Lucas, cramming a bite of warm shortbread into his mouth. “I never was any good at mathematics.”
The children chortled. Mephisto gave a low whoof.
“Incorrigible, as always,” she scolded, though her mouth tweaked up at the corners. “Sir Henry wishes to see you in his study.” The spoon stirred again. “And mind that you wipe your boots and tuck in your shirt.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at the children before dusting his hands and heading for the corridor.
“Ah, there you are, my boy.” Henry looked up with a smile from a sheaf of notes.
There must be some special tonic in the sea breeze, thought Lucas, for his uncle was suddenly looking years younger.
“Did you sleep well?”
Damn. Lucas shuffled his feet, hoping he wasn’t blushing. “Quite. And you?”
“Extremely well. What a splendid idea it was to come here. I know that the country is probably boring for you, but your sacrifice of pleasure is much appreciated. I think it will prove an excellent respite for the others, too.” The papers crackled. “Look! Already Lady Ciara has solved the final mystery!”
Lucas felt a surge of excitement for her, mixed with a touch of pride in her accomplishment.
However, he masked his feelings by clasping his hands behind his back with a careless shrug. “Is it as important as you all believed it to be?”
“Indeed it is.” Henry adjusted his spectacles. “Let me explain.” He cleared his throat. “The ancient Greeks established regular trade routes to India, bringing back exotic spices to the West. The merchant ships also carried fresh foodstuffs from the ports of call for the long voyage home. Well, by some fortuitous chance, a passenger interested in medicine noticed that a sailor with an infected wound made a miraculous recovery after eating a moldy Malabar melon.”
“Mold.” Lucas made a wry face.
“Science is all about the unexpected,” said Henry with a smile. “The great Greek man of medicine, Hippocrates, did a number of empirical studies, which verified the result. Now that Lady Ciara has deciphered the original text, she plans to do some experiments of her own. We’ve sent one of the servants to town for cassava melons. Apparently she needs to cultivate a certain mold known as Penicillium notatum. She will, of course, have to do some experimenting with how to distill its essence. But I’ve no doubt that she will come up with a formula that works. Just imagine—a miracle drug!”
“Amazing.”
“Quite,” replied Henry. “It is all so very exciting to be a part of such a momentous discovery. She is running some tests on moldy mushrooms right now, just to refine her procedures for handling the organisms.”
Lucas looked up from the intricate patterns of the Oriental carpet. “She and her friends figured all this out on their own?” He crooked a rueful smile. “Clearly the Circle of Sin can run rings around the male intellect—save for yours, of course.”
“Oh, no. My brain does not turn nearly as quickly.” Henry chuckled. “Perhaps the current government ministers should cede their places to the ladies. The war would likely be over in a fortnight.”
“I think they could solve any problem they put their minds to.”
“Speaking of complex conundrums, my boy…” The whisper of papers fluttered against the leather desk blotter. “Might I ask if you have given serious thought to your situation with Lady Ciara?”
Lucas carefully avoided his uncle’s eye. “I take it you mean the sham engagement?”
“Yes.”
He chose his words carefully. “We haven’t discussed it of late.”
“Ah.” There was a long silence, and Lucas assumed that Henry, with his usual tact, had decided to drop the subject.
However, before he could excuse himself, a desk drawer opened, then shut with a soft snick. “Have I ever shown you this?”
Lucas moved in closer to the desk as Henry opened a tiny leather case. “I bought this a long, long time ago.” The ring, a strikingly simple design of flawless diamonds and sapphires set in burnished gold—seemed to sparkle with its own inner life. “And then I locked it away and forgot about it, leaving it to gather dust for all of these years.”
Lucas shifted his gaze.
“Am I a senile old fool to think of asking Ariel for her hand?” Henry forced a rueful laugh. “It’s a little late in life for romance, is it not?”
Through the mullioned glass, Lucas watched the play of sunlight on the freshly mown lawn. “You are asking my opinion on matters of the heart?”
“Yes, my boy. I value your judgment.”
“I would think that it is never too late for love.”
Henry’s smile was a little tentative. “You wouldn’t mind? Or feel abandoned?”
Lucas chuckled. “Good God, you have sp
ent too much of your life worrying about me, Henry. I’m a grown man, though I might not act like it very often.” Leaning over his uncle’s chair, he pressed a quick kiss to his brow. “I wish you happiness,” he murmured.
Henry turned red. “She hasn’t said yes.”
“Well, she hasn’t said no,” he replied. “The only way to know for sure is to ask. And I suggest you do it soon. Carpe diem, remember?”
“Right. I’m not getting any younger,” quipped his uncle. “I shall try to screw up my courage. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Excellent. I’ll help create a distraction, so that the two of you have the afternoon alone.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll take Lady Ciara bird-watching, and suggest that the marchesa ride over to see Pevensey Castle, which has the ruins of an old Roman fort on its grounds. One of the maids can take the children to play with the puppies.”
“Lud, you should have followed your friends into the military.” Henry grinned. “Wellesley could have used your tactical skills in the Peninsular War.”
“Let’s concentrate on making a different sort of conquest, shall we?” said Lucas dryly.
“By all means.” Gripping the wheels of his Bath chair, Henry turned for the door. “Speaking of which, the ladies are still working on their experiment. Shall we go see how things are progressing?”
As Lucas entered the laboratory, Ciara looked up a little shyly, or so it seemed to him. They had yet to speak to each other since their parting just before dawn.
Their eyes met for an instant, and then, in a flicker of gold, she quickly lowered her lashes.
Strange, he felt a flutter inside, too. Other trysts had never affected him this way.
He didn’t dare try to analyze why.
“How is it coming?” asked Henry, wheeling a little closer to the work counter.
