England's Perfect Hero (2 page)

"No, I don't think you cheated, Evie, and I wish you'd stop saying it." Lucinda Barrett sent her friend an exasperated look as she settled deeper into the window seat.

"I know," Evie replied, "but I only intended on delivering lessons to a scoundrel. And now I've ended up married to him." With a scowl she rose, striding toward Lucinda's refuge and back again. "I mean, for heaven's sake, less than two months ago I was plain old dull Evie Ruddick, and now I'm the Marchioness of St. Aubyn. I can't even believe—"

"You were never plain or dull, Evie," Georgiana interrupted as she glided into the drawing room and signaled her butler to close the door behind her. "And as for apologizing, firstly I'm late for my own tea, and secondly I seem to have married the object of
my
lesson as well."

Lucinda grinned. "Neither of which is an offense for which you need to apologize, Georgie."

Smiling, Georgiana motioned Evie to a seat on the couch and sank carefully down beside her. "Perhaps, but a little over a year ago I would have shot anyone who even suggested I would marry Tristan Carroway. And now here I sit, Lady Dare—and two months away from bringing yet another Carroway into the world."

Evelyn chuckled. "Perhaps it'll be a girl."

"That would only begin to even the odds against me." Georgie shifted, plainly uncomfortable. "I'll never understand how Tristan's mother could be brave enough to produce four more boys after the example he set. If not for his aunts, I should be completely outnumbered—and they've abandoned me to take the waters at
Bath
."

"Speaking of the Carroway brothers," Lucinda said, knowing she was deliberately stalling, now that she'd finally decided to tell her friends about her own plans, "did I hear you say that Lieutenant Carroway is due back in
London
?"

"Yes. Bradshaw's ship should be in
Brighton
by the end of the week. He's hoping for a new assignment to the
West Indies
, of all places." Georgie narrowed her eyes. "Why do you want to know about Shaw? You've decided on him for your lesson, haven't you?"

"Good heavens, no." Lucinda's cheeks warmed. "Can you imagine my father's reaction if I began paying attention to a Navy man? Not that delivering a lesson means imminent marriage, of course."

Evie snorted. "The odds do seem fixed in that direction."

Georgie's gaze was more speculative. "Nor is that possibility something you should ignore." She sipped her tea, gazing at Lucinda over the rim of the cup like some all-seeing blonde-haired gypsy girl. "You have decided on a student."

"Oh, I knew it!" Evie seconded, applauding. "Who is the villain?"

Hesitating, Lucinda looked from one successful lesson deliverer and happily married friend to the other. What would they say if they knew she'd watched their maneuverings with a combination of interest and growing jealousy? Did they realize that since Evie had married St. Aubyn she'd been on the lookout for a student of her own? And not so much one in need of a lesson as one she wanted to marry. She sighed. Of course they realized it. They were her closest friends.

"Well, I have narrowed down the search," she hedged.

Yes, she'd narrowed it down—to one.

"Tell us," Georgiana pressed. "This whole lesson thing was mostly your idea, anyway. No more delays, my dear."

"I know, I know. It's just—"

"And no excuses," Evie interrupted.

"Fine." Lucinda took a deep breath. "It's Lord Geoffrey Newcombe." She closed her mouth to wait and to watch.

Lord Geoffrey, the Duke of Fenley's fourth son, was quite possibly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Other ladies of the same opinion referred to him simply as "the Adonis." Curling golden hair, light green eyes, broad shoulders, and a smile that could charm a cobra—it was no wonder that women threw themselves at him with nearly calculated regularity.

And that was the problem. The choice was so obviously directed more toward matrimony than lesson giving. Dozens of more poorly behaved single gentlemen practically littered
Mayfair
, after all. John Talbott, for example. What did it matter if he only had one eyebrow that ran almost ear to ear? Or there was Phillip R—

"Lord Geoffrey," Georgiana said slowly. "He's a splendid choice."

"Yes," Evie seconded with her pixie smile. "I agree."

Relief made Lucinda's shoulders sag. "Thank you. I really have given this a great deal of thought. I mean, he's a war hero—a fact of which my father would certainly approve—and he's quite handsome, but at the same time he could definitely use a few lessons. He's arrogant and insensitive…" She trailed off. "I'm being terribly obvious about why I chose him, I'm afraid."

"No, you're not," Evelyn countered. "You're being brilliant, as usual. I mean, how can you ignore the fact that Georgie and I both fell in love with and married our students? You
have
to take that into consideration."

Georgie was nodding. "Nor can you ignore the fact that you and your father are quite close, and that General Barrett would have to have some fondness for whomever you decided to take on as a student, whether you thought anything beyond your lessons might occur, or not."

"Exactly," Lucinda said, smiling at the effort her friends were willing to go through to justify her choice. "As far as I can tell, the general thinks highly of Lord Geoffrey socially, and I know he worries that I'll be left all alone when he hops the twig, as he puts it."

Rising awkwardly to bring the teapot to Lucinda, Georgiana chuckled. "I've never seen you make a false step, Luce. How can we help?"

"Oh, I think I can man—" Tea overflowed her cup and splashed onto the saucer and the front of her gown. "Georgie!"

The viscountess jumped, righting the teapot and tearing her gaze from the window. "Oh! I'm so sorry! It's just—look!"

Out on the front drive Georgiana's youngest brother-in-law, ten-year-old Edward, was climbing onto the seat of a high-perch racing phaeton. Helping him was Evie's new husband, the Marquis of St. Aubyn.

"Saint," Evie gasped, sprinting for the door. "That blasted team will pull Edward's arms off! Saint!"

Georgie was close on her heels. "Edward! Don't you dare—"

Chuckling, Lucinda carefully set aside her overflowing tea cup. "Don't mind me," she muttered, standing. "I've only a gallon of hot tea spilled down my front."

Over the last year she'd come to know Carroway House almost as well as her own, and with a last glance to make certain no one was killing anyone on the front drive, she made her way upstairs to one of the spare bedchambers.

She didn't know how Georgiana coped with Dare, his four younger brothers, and his two aunts, but her friend seemed to thrive on the chaos—as did Evie in the face of Saint's continuing devilry. Of course, since Lucinda had been five, Barrett House had meant just her and her father, General Augustus Barrett. She was far more used to quiet than to the continual uproar Georgie faced.

Dipping a cloth in a washbowl, she dabbed at the tea stain running down her front. "Blast, blast, blast," she muttered, frowning into the mirror at the darkening splotch across the bosom of her green muslin walking dress.

A slight movement in the mirror's reflection caught her attention. Blue eyes, as deep as the bottomless northern lakes in summertime, gazed at her. With a start she turned around.

"Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He was a Carroway brother, of course.
The
Carroway, as far as the rumormongers were concerned. He sat in a chair by the window, an open book in one hand.

Robert. The middle brother. The one who'd been wounded at
Waterloo
. The one the wags said wasn't quite "right." She could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen him in public since he'd returned from the war. And she'd barely spoken a word to him since then, even at Georgie and Tristan's wedding.

Slowly he closed the book and stood. "My fault," he said in a low, ill-used voice. "Excuse me."

"Don't go," she said, blushing as she belatedly lowered the cloth from her bosom. "I'm just making repairs. I'm afraid your brother Edward is determined to learn to drive a racing phaeton, despite Georgiana's objections."

He paused halfway to the door. "He threw tea on you?"

"Oh, heavens no. Georgie saw him through the window conspiring with St. Aubyn and spilled on me." Chuckling, she made another dab in a more dignified spot. "Apparently I should have ducked."

How had he known it was tea? She remembered the whispers that said those blue eyes could see right through you.
Nonsense
. He'd smelled it, or something.

Dark azure assessed her for another moment. The gauntness in his face had faded in the three years he'd been home, but he was still lean and wary—like a wolf, she thought abruptly. And rumor or not, that gaze was most… unsettling.

His jaw clenched, then with a visible effort he lowered the straight line of his shoulders. "Have you chosen yet?"

She looked at him blankly. "Chosen what?"

With what looked like a wince, the cobalt gaze broke from hers. "Nothing. Good afternoon." With a few steps of his long, slightly limping stride he was gone out the door.

Lucinda looked at the empty doorway for a moment, then glanced at the book he'd left on the windowsill.
Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus
, by Mary Shelley. The edges of the pages were worn, and the back broken as though he—or someone—had read it almost completely into ruin.

"Luce?"

"I'm in here," she returned.

A moment later Georgie entered the room. "Did I drown you? Is the tea coming out?"

She shook herself and went back to dabbing. "No, you didn't drown me. How's Edward?"

Lady Dare sighed. "Careening down the street with St. Aubyn holding the reins. I'm so sorry I spilled on you."

"No harm done." Lucinda hesitated. "Georgie, have you told anyone about our lessons?"

The viscountess frowned. "Just Tristan, and only about me. Why?"

Why, indeed
? Was that what Robert Carroway had been asking her about? Hm. Not unless he truly
could
read minds. "No reason. I was just wondering. There. That's about as good as it'll get."

Lucinda followed Georgiana back down the hallway. As they started downstairs she glanced behind her—just in time to see a pair of broad shoulders vanish back into the bedchamber.

"Georgiana," she continued in a low voice as they reached the bottom of the stairs, "how is Tristan's brother these days? Robert, I mean."

"Bit?" The viscountess shrugged. "He seems to be feeling well. His limp's nearly gone. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I just… spotted him upstairs. He—"

"He makes an impression, I know," Lady Dare said softly. "I hope he didn't fright—"

"No! Of course not. He just surprised me." Still, as they entered the drawing room again, she couldn't help looking back up the stairs. What had he asked her? And if it was regarding what she suspected, then how had he known?

Robert Carroway moved to the head of the stairs as Georgiana and Miss Barrett returned to their friend Evelyn and the drawing room. Georgie made excuses for him. He'd heard her do it before, but that was the closest he'd heard her come to apologizing. He knew Tristan, Georgie, Shaw, Andrew, the aunties—they all had an answer ready if someone happened to inquire about him, or more likely, about his absence.

At least Tristan had asked whether he wanted to go to Tattersall's this morning; Tristan always asked if he wanted to join them, and if he didn't, Georgiana did. He wondered how long it would be before his continued refusals discouraged them from asking at all. Sometimes he only agreed so they wouldn't give up completely.

His own family might not understand, but they let him sit quietly when he wanted to, and they let him leave when he felt the walls closing in. Guests, though, or crowds, meant polite conversation about the weather and fashion and any other meaningless idiocy they could conjure to waste time with. He shuddered just thinking about it.

Gripping his book, he limped back down the hallway to the guest bedchamber. His own room left him more comfortable, but he liked the cool afternoon breeze. And besides, he could hear the three ladies down in the drawing room when they laughed. He could hear Lucinda when she laughed. He wondered what she would say if she realized he made a point of being close by whenever she came to call on Georgiana.