England's Perfect Hero (29 page)

Evelyn nodded matter-of-factly, sipping her own tea. "Yes. He and I had an argument, and he announced that he was going to tear down the orphanage I'd been working to save, and so I locked him in its cellar for a week to convince him to change his mind."

For a long moment all Lucinda could do was stare at her friend. And to think, she and Georgie had considered Evie the most timid of the three of them. "It… worked."

Evie smiled, completely composed but for the twinkle in her gray eyes. "Yes, it did. Anyway, the reason I'm telling you now is because I want to assure you that whatever it is you're up to, you can trust me."

The morning-room door opened. Saint strolled in, Robert on his heels. "Good afternoon, Lucinda," the marquis said.

Lucinda shot to her feet, missing the rest of the marquis's greeting as she looked at Robert. Last night in the ballroom had been bad enough. But today, it took all of her self-control not to run across the room, throw her arms around him, and kiss him until the pain left his eyes, and until the heated yearning in her was satisfied.

Saint leaned back against the doorjamb. "Is someone making sandwiches or something, Evelyn?"

"Yes."

"Good. I wish you'd tell me when we're having friends over for luncheon."

"I would, if they would tell
me
."

"Hello," Robert said, ignoring the byplay around him and taking Lucinda in from head to toe.

Warmth crept up her cheeks at his scrutiny, and lust tugged at her again like a warm breeze. It would be nice if Geoffrey made her feel that way, she reflected, but no, it had to be the one man her father truly seemed to dislike. "We forgot to tell Evie and Saint that we were calling on them today," she offered.

"Yes, well, you're here," Saint interrupted, "so have a seat. Unless you'd like Evie and me to leave."

"We are
not
leaving," Evelyn stated. "I insist on some propriety in this house."

Robert blinked, as though he'd forgotten anyone else was in the room. "It might be better if you
did
go," he said, facing Saint again. "I'm something of a pariah at the moment."

"You've already come through my front door. Obviously you needed a safe place to meet," Saint countered. "And this is it. Have a seat." He walked to the table set beneath the window. "Brandy?"

Shaking his head, Robert sat in the chair beside Lucinda. He didn't look as if he'd done much sleeping over the past few days; neither, though, had she. Something other than weariness lurked in his blue eyes, however; worry, unless she was greatly mistaken. And she was only going to make it worse.

"Did anyone follow you here?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"They tried," he returned. "Two men. Soldiers, I presume?"

She blanched. "Yes. They can't know I'm here talking with you, Robert. My fath—"

He took her hand, and despite the reassuring touch and the blaze of heat that ran through her at the contact, she could feel the tension along his fingers. "They think I'm in Piccadilly, Lucinda. It's all right. I've been expecting it."

"Because of last night?"

Robert frowned. " 'Last night?'" he repeated, surprise touching his eyes for the first time.

"Someone from the Horse Guards sent my father a note saying that you were seen there last night. You and another man."

"Bradshaw," he supplied, scowling. "I wanted to take a look at the building, to see how easy it would be for someone to get inside."

"You shouldn't have gone yourself," Saint put in, sinking onto the couch beside Evie.

"I couldn't very well ask anyone else to take the risk," Robert returned stiffly. She could read his reluctance at letting anyone else into this, but at the same time she was relieved that he'd done so. "I wouldn't have taken Bradshaw," he continued, "but he caught me escaping out the window."

"The window?" she murmured, and caught the brief amusement touching his gaze. At least there were some secrets they wouldn't have to share.

"Being that you're here," Saint said, "and being that that could potentially harm my standing in Society if I gave a damn about it, I do have a few questions, Robert."

"Too many people know more than they should, as it is," Robert retorted.

"You can't expect—"

"That's my fault, Robert," Lucinda said stiffly, standing again. "Not Saint's. If I hadn't relayed to my father what you told me in confidence, no one would suspect you any more than they would suspect… Wellington."

Robert looked as though he wanted to speak, but instead he stood to look out the front window. "This was a bad idea."

Lucinda looked at Evie, and jerked her head in the direction of the door. They couldn't force Robert to trust them; under the same circumstances, with the same past he'd faced, she wasn't certain she'd be keen to trust anyone, either. The fact that he trusted
her
, even after what she'd done, both astounded her and left her feeling unworthy.

Evie cleared her throat. "I need to go check on luncheon," she said, rising. "Michael, please fetch me a shawl."

Saint crossed his legs at the ankle. "I'm staying."

"No, you're not."

"I thought we were being chaperones."

Lucinda looked from Saint to Robert, standing unmoving by the window. "Five minutes. Please."

She wasn't certain he would change his mind, but after a moment Saint blew out his breath and stood. "Five minutes."

When they were gone and the door closed behind them, Lucinda forced a chuckle. "I definitely see drawbacks to including Saint in any of this."

Robert turned around. Stalking up to her, he took her face in his hands and kissed her with a desperate ferocity that stole her breath. Heat speared from her toes through the top of her scalp. With a moan she sank into him, slipping her hands beneath his jacket and twining them into the back of his shirt.

Whatever this was, it intoxicated her.
He
intoxicated her—and she knew that wasn't supposed to happen. His mouth molded to hers, pressing her against the back of the couch as he deepened their embrace.

Finally he lifted his head. "It's not your fault," he breathed. "The way I am… Something was bound to happen sooner or later."

"No, Robert. There is nothing wrong with the way you are. You lived through what would kill most men."

"It did kill me, Lucinda."

She shook her head. "It hasn't killed you yet. And I don't think it will."

A soft smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I'm beginning to see more mornings where I agree with you." Slowly the somber look came into his eyes again. "I thought I might have been seen last night, but I needed to know something."

"I hope it was important." Finding that she wanted to run her fingers through his dark, lanky hair, she backed away and sat again. They had five minutes, and they had best use them.

"It was. I'm fairly proficient at getting in and out of places, and—"

"So I've noticed."

Appreciation flickered in his eyes. "The Horse Guards is a rabbit warren. Did your father say whether anything other than the sympathizers list and the maps were taken?"

"No."

"Then someone had to know where they were in advance, and had to have fairly easy access to the building." He grimaced, pacing to the window and back again. "I think that whoever did this—"

"Works at the Horse Guards?" she finished. She pondered that for a moment. "I'm not so certain, Robert. I've been there a great many times myself. Men, soldiers, come and go all the time. Wellington and his entourage, old friends of my father and the other senior officers, anyone Papa's talking to about his book, messengers to and from Parliament and the War Office, the—"

He muttered a curse. "Do visitors or workers have to report to anyone? Is there any record of who goes in and when?"

"Visitors only. There's a book everyone's supposed to sign by the front entry." For a moment hope flared, until she remembered how quickly they'd spotted him last night. "Inside the front entry and under guard," she amended.

"It's a start," he said, shrugging.

"Oh, it's useless." Blowing out her breath, she went to the liquor table and deliberately poured herself a whiskey. "I've tried and tried to tell my father that you had nothing to do with this, and all he cares about is that I not offend Lord Geoffrey, and that I keep my nose out of trouble."

"You offended Lord Geoffrey?"

"I disagreed with his suggestion that I stay away from my friends in order to preserve
his
chances at promotion."

"And what did he do?"

"He brought me flowers this morning—though I think he spends more time courting my father than me."

"What kind of flowers?"

She looked over at him. "All of this, and you want to know what kind of flowers I received?"

He stood there watching her pace, eyeing the drink in her hand, an absorbed expression on his face. "I would guess daisies," he said.

"How in the world could you know that?"

"You grow roses, so he would conclude that you have enough of those. Daisies are in abundance this year."

"You mean they're less expensive."

"I mean they're simple," he corrected. "Easy to find, easy to please."

"I see. And what kind of flower would you have brought me then, pray tell?"

"Lavender roses," he answered promptly.

Lucinda's heart flip-flopped. "Why?"

"Because lavender is your favorite color, and roses are your favorite flower." He approached her again, slowly running the back of his finger along her cheek.

She couldn't breathe, didn't want to move. Abruptly she wished they could stand like that forever, just looking at one another, just barely touching. "How did you know that? I mean about lavender being my favorite color."

"I pay attention," he said quietly, leaning down to kiss her again.

This time he was slow, gentle, and feather-light, like a breath of warm air across her lips. Lucinda closed her eyes, leaning up toward the embrace of his mouth.

"Lucinda?"

She opened her eyes again, looking up into bottomless blue. "Yes?"

"Has Geoffrey kissed you?"

Whiskey
. Lifting the glass, she tilted it down her throat. It scalded, making her cough and hack, and her eyes tear up. "Good… good heavens!"

The morning-room door opened again. "Five min—" Saint strode forward, taking Lucinda's shoulder and rapping her on the back. "Are you all right?"

"F… fine." She coughed again.

"She drank whiskey," Robert supplied.

"Well, I wish I'd seen that. Come along. Luncheon is served."

The marquis led the way down the hall to the dining room, but seeing Robert hanging back a little, Lucinda slowed as well. "Why did you have to ask me that?" she whispered.

"Because if you're going to marry him, you should at least try kissing him," Robert murmured back.

"And then I suppose we should stop kissing?"

He flashed his breathtaking grin, then sobered again. "I don't think I can do that."

That was the problem. Neither could she.