by Dayna Quince
Dean leapt over the wall and slid forward to catch her hand before she was out of reach and the earth swallowed her.
“I’ve got you.” He wedged his boots into the mud, finding a thicker layer of clay and rock to hold him.
“Give me your other hand.”
“I’m trying,” she cried. She kicked at the cloying mud, searching for leverage. She clawed her way up enough to give him her other hand, her torso level with his boots now. He sat back into the mud and pulled her up to his chest, wrapping his arms around her.
They rested for a moment, panting from exertion.
“We’re not safe yet.” Dean could feel the dirt sliding under him. “Use me to climb out.”
“What about you?” She clung to him, arms looped around his neck.
“I’ll get out after you.”
Lucy briefly pressed her forehead to his and said a prayer, then began to shimmy her way up his body. In any other time and place, she would have loved this moment, but the rancid taste of mud was inside her mouth. He helped her up, gripping her waist and then her hips to give her a boost. Her dress made it difficult, weighted by the wet mud. She lifted her knee to his shoulder, and he pushed her up over his head to dryer ground.
She was finally free and holding onto the wall. She turned to help him as he flipped himself over and climbed out of the sinkhole. From this perspective, she felt lucky to be alive. What had once been open clearing of grass was now a gaping hole. Thank God he’d come when he had or she might not be.
“Are you all right?” He put a hand on her back and caught his breath.
Lucy nodded. “And you?”
He nodded. “We should move further away. We don’t know how much more will cave in.” He pulled her to her feet and helped her to the horse. The horse stamped in fear as Lord Winchester helped her into the saddle and climbed up behind her.
“Here we are again,” Lucy commented, though she felt significantly unattractive, caked as she was in smelly mud.
He didn’t comment. He charged the horse up the hill.
“What on earth was that?”
“Underneath could have been a natural cave or a cellar of sorts from long ago.”
“It used to be a mill.”
“I see. You shouldn’t venture there again.”
“I won’t, I assure you.”
They had quite the story to tell Thea and Aunt Harriet. It served to ease the tension between herself and Thea, and now that she was out of danger and in a hot bath, Lucy gleefully awaited the journey home. Winchester had said they would leave tomorrow morning. The roads were still horrendously muddy. Lucy could appreciate choosing to wait another day.
Being that it was their last night, Aunt Harriet wanted to make it a special occasion. They dined in a sea of candlelight, and after dinner was over, the parlor furniture was moved for dancing. This Lucy relished the most. As Winchester was the only gentleman about, it was up to him to dance with all of them.
Dean looked about the room dubiously. Lucy caught his eye, and she grinned playfully as she took her seat at the pianoforte.
“Aunt Harriet will have the first dance.”
“A waltz will do,” Aunt Harriet chimed.
Dean wanted to groan, but he’d become quite fond of Aunt Harriet, and if it was dancing she wanted, dancing she would get.
“Do you waltz, Lord Winchester?” Lucy asked.
“Of course. Can you play a waltz?”
“Of course,” Lucy said smugly.
Dean took his place in the middle of the open floor with Aunt Harriet and bowed. She curtsied, and then she stepped close to him. Too close. She put her hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and her cheek on his chest. Giggling could be heard as the music began. He began slow revolutions, unsure she would be able to keep up. She kept pace with him, and surprisingly, Dean enjoyed the dance. As the music came to a flourish and ended, he bowed before Aunt Harriet and kissed her hand.
“You rogue.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
He chuckled as he awaited his next partner. He turned to Miss Manton and held out his hand. “I do believe the next dance is mine?”
“Oh no.” Thea shook her head. “I’m only here to spectate.”
“Everyone will dance,” Aunt Harriet decreed from her throne like chair.
“I’ll play a reel, Thea. You love those.”
Thea reluctantly stood from her chair.
“You wound me.” Dean put a hand to his heart.
“Wait until I trample your feet and see how you feel.” Thea took her place. It was odd only having two people on the floor for a country reel. They mucked their way through it, finishing with more laughter than dance steps.
“Another!” Lucy cheered and began to play another reel. Winchester and Thea obliged. Lucy hoped if she kept playing, they’d grow tired of dancing before it was her turn. She longed to dance with him, but at the same time, she was afraid. It was easier to hide behind the pianoforte and poke fun than to look him in the eye, let alone touch him. Her heart was beginning to ache for him. These two weeks of holding herself back had shown her how vulnerable she could feel not engaging him.
What would she feel if he left? What would she do? Pine for him? She never liked the heroines in books who did so, but she feared she would soon learn what it meant to pine for someone, to have to love them from a distance and survive on memory alone.
If she thought she would escape a dance with him, she thought wrong. She’d forgotten how conniving her aunt could be.
“Lucy, don’t think you will escape the festivities. Thea can play just as well as you. Young ladies should dance at every opportunity.”
Lucy hesitated with her fingers on the keys as all attention turned to her, including his vivid green eyes. “I really am enjoying playing for you.”
“I’d love to see you dance, my dear,” her aunt said sweetly.
“You can’t see much of anything, aunt,” Lucy muttered quietly. Thea came to take her place.
“What would you like?”
“A waltz,” Dean answered.
His voice startled her.
“Lovely!” her aunt cheered.
“Go,” Thea whispered as they changed places.
Lucy didn’t know why she felt so nervous. It wasn’t as if she were in a crowded ballroom with a hundred eyes upon her. Only Thea and her aunt would witness her spin around the room with her heart on her sleeve. And Winchester. He would have the best view of all.
“Don’t look so frightened. I won’t bite,” he murmured as he bowed over her hand.
“Won’t that be a shame,” Lucy smiled nervously.
He gave a crooked smile in return and placed his hand on her waist. They waited as the music began, and then they started to move in time. Lucy counted in her head. She could waltz in her sleep, but being so close to him, staring right into his eyes, made her head feel strange. She dropped her gaze to his nose, and then his lips. He was biting his bottom lip and she felt an urge so strong to kiss him, she snapped her eyes away. She looked at the room spinning around them, the light heavenly feeling inside her turning to one of uneasiness. She started to feel queasy.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You seem distracted. Am I such a bad dancer?”
She pulled her eyes back to his. “No, I’m just tired and anxious to return home. You must know how that feels.”
“Not particularly.”
“You don’t have a place of comfort? Sanctuary?”
He spun her around before answering. “No. My home stopped being a home long ago. I like to live a nomadic existence.”
“Oh.”
“But I can see why you are so attached to your home and family. You are very blessed.”
She grinned. “I am. Even with Jonathan as a brother, I’m luckier than most.”
Dean snorted. “It’s clear there is a strong sibling affection between you, even when threatening bodily harm.”
Lucy thought about that. She supposed there would always be a bond between them, no matter how many years passed or how they grew and changed.
“Have you any siblings?” Lucy asked.
“No. My family has been rather good at pushing each other away.”
“Oh.” Lucy didn’t want to pry, not when he was finally speaking to her so easily. She didn’t ask any more questions, and she didn’t look away from him again as his eyes trailed over her features. She could feel her cheeks warming under his inspection. She licked her dry lips self-consciously.
A little line appeared between his brows and he tore his gaze away from her.
Lucy bit her cheek in annoyance. Why did he do the things he did if he didn’t return her feelings?
His gaze shifted back to hers. He made an odd expression.
“What are you thinking?”
“What?” Her face blanked.
“I could tell you were thinking. You stare so intently when you’re thinking and bite on the corner of your bottom lip.”
“I—I do?” She blinked. She couldn’t recall consciously doing anything of the sort.
“You do.” He smiled smugly.
His smugness irritated her. He thought he knew her so well.
“Why do you watch me so incessantly?”
He furrowed his brow. “No, I don’t. I’m observant of the general surroundings.”
“You watch me all the time. Thea tells me so, and half the time, I see you do it with my own eyes. Then you make comments like you just did about some quirky thing I do with my lip that I don’t even realize I do.” She pushed at his shoulder and they stopped dancing as the music ended.
He put his hands on his hips and tried to glare down at her. “I have to watch you. It is my job to keep you out of trouble while we’re here and consequently, trouble follows to no end.”
“It does not. You are watching me because you want to. You are exhibiting all the things a man does when he wants a woman, but you refuse to acknowledge such things.”
“Don’t—” He looked around. Thea and Aunt Harriet had slithered from the room. They were alone again. He cursed.
“Diabolical, aren’t they?” Lucy muttered.
Dean swallowed his fury.
“I can’t marry you,” he said quietly.
Lucy stared at him in astonishment. “I didn’t ask you to.”
He pinched his nose. “Everything that is happening here is a result of simple infatuation. Yes. You are beautiful, you don’t need me to tell you that, but there is one immovable fact that will never change. You and I are from different worlds. I don’t want to marry and it is your destiny to marry. You will have a grand house, a nursery full of children, and all the trappings that go with it.”
“You don’t want to marry? Ever?”
“I’m hardly the first man to choose the bachelor lifestyle in lieu of parson’s mousetrap.”
“I see.” Lucy tried to marshal her thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wanted to spare you this hurt.”
Lucy shook her head. “You can’t spare me. It’s not your place. I did this to myself or perhaps it is fate.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“Bully for you.” Lucy wiped at a tear. She was embarrassed, a swell of emotions taking hold, resulting in more tears that made her feel like the typical weeping female. She never wanted to be typical. Ever.
“Please don’t cry.” He wiped his thumb across her cheek and caught a tear.
“I don’t want to. I don’t want to be standing here alone, feeling this way, dreaming of an outcome that I’ll never have. I don’t want to be just anyone’s wife. I needn’t marry if I wish not to.” She moved away from him and sat in her aunt’s chair. She kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet under her skirts.
He stood there with his back to her.
“I’ve never been comfortable with the assumption that I wanted these things—I do, but I want them on my terms. A husband, yes—a partner to have adventures with. Children… eventually. I want to do things, things I’m not allowed to do now. I can either find a man who meets these needs, a man like you, or I don’t marry, wait until I’m an age that no one cares what I do, and do it all.”
He chuckled and shook his head. He turned to face her. “Do you think it’s that easy?”
“For you, yes. You’re a man. You do as you please.”
“No. It isn’t easy. Part of the reason I avoid society is because there is still an expectation that I must marry, I must need an heir.”
“Then you understand, don’t you? You didn’t want it, and you found happiness outside the walls of society.
Dean closed his eyes in a brief pang of pain. “I didn’t choose this life. It chose me.”
Lucy tensed. “What do you mean?”
He opened his eyes. “It’s not up for discussion.”
“I think I deserve an explanation.”
“How?” He snorted.
Lucy stood from the chair and slowly approached him. “With every word, you’ve tried to persuade me not to like you, but every action has brought me closer than before.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can’t always have the things we want.”
“It does matter. A life of repression and regret isn’t worth having.”
He sighed. “What can I say that will end this? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Tell me why you won’t consider love. What happened?”
“Don’t you dare say what you feel is love,” Dean growled.
“How could it not be? I’ve never felt like this before. How do I know what it is and isn’t? All I can do is trust my heart, and my heart says that you are my match.”
A shudder rippled through him. “I don’t believe in love.”
“Then what is this?!” She grabbed the halves of his coat. “Tell me what this misery is.”
“It is lust, infatuation…obsession. It afflicts us all. Sometimes all that is needed is a night of passion, sometimes more.”
Lucy looked at her hands. She rubbed her thumb over the velvet lapel of his coat. She believed the ‘sometimes more.’ There was no chance she could be satisfied with one night. Not with him.
“Prove it to me.”
“No,” he growled.
“How else will I know?”
“You won’t.”
She smoothed invisible wrinkles on his coat, enjoying the freedom of touching him. “There has to be a way that won’t harm either of us.”
“You’ve already done enough harm.”
“Me?”
“I’ve told you from the first night to let it be. You didn’t do what you ought to, what is best for you.”
Lucy scowled at him. She dropped her hands to her side. “Everyone always tells me what is best for me. Shouldn’t I be the one to know what is best for me?”
“No.”
“This is exactly what is wrong with our society. Women are treated as property, as unintelligent breeders, and look what you men have done? War, famine, and death. I don’t believe for one moment that another person is capable of deciding what is best for another—not in this. If it affects the rest of my life, I should have the ultimate say and everyone else can damn themselves to hell.”
He raised one brow. “Impressive speech, but you won’t change anything. This is the way things are.”
Lucy lifted her chin in challenge. “Watch me.”
She turned on her heel and left him standing alone in the parlor.
Chapter 15
They arrived mid-morning and Dean handed Lucy and Thea down. Her father, brother, and mother waited happily on the steps. Dean held Lucy’s hand before she could move away. She hadn’t spoken to him since last night, and that was probably for the best, but he had one thing to say.
“I’m leaving,” he said low enough for only her to hear.
“What?” She turned to him in confusion.
“I’m part of the problem, so I’m withdrawing
from the situation entirely.” He watched her swallow. That was all time they had to speak before her family descended on them. He watched her go to her mother and she hugged her tightly. Lady Heath looked well, if a little thin.
Rigsby clapped him on the shoulder. “My thanks, Winchester. I will never be able to repay you for the trial you must have suffered.”
“It was nothing. Your Aunt Harriet is very entertaining.”
“That she is.” They turned and watched the emotional reunion.
“By the way, an acquaintance of yours has arrived fresh from the season. She arrived yesterday and awaits you inside.”
“She?” Dean said curiously.
“The Countess of Clive.” Rigsby smirked.
Dean’s face fell. “No.”
“Oh, yes. I tried to spare you, but my mother, fresh from the boredom of her sickroom, insisted the Countess stay and assured her you would return post haste.”
Irritation filled Dean. The nerve of that woman. How did she find him? “I, unfortunately, can’t stay. I was planning to see Lucy home and return home to check on my father.” From the corner of his eye, he saw movement on the steps. He turned slightly. He watched her descend with that predatory air. She shimmered in the sunlight, her gown far too elegant to be a day dress, but Lisbeth didn’t care. She always wanted to shine. She always wanted to be the center of attention. She smirked as she caught his eyes, her look knowing precisely what he was thinking and feeling. Her raven hair shined and bounced perfectly as she moved forward with the grace and tenacity of a huntress.
He broke his eye contact with her, his focus moving to Lucy, also witnessing the glorious arrival that was Lady Lisbeth St. Andrew, the Countess of Clive. He swallowed back an urge to snarl. She too had turned her attention to Lucy, and her eyes gleamed like a predator that smelled blood. Dean unconsciously moved forward, thoughts of his escape vanishing from his mind. A protective instinct swelled inside him. He must shield her from Lisbeth. She was a venomous snake.
Lord Heath greeted him first, thanking him for his escort. He was astonished when Lady Heath went so far as to hug him and kissing his cheek.
