Lady Libertine (12 page)

‘She is thinking of Hamersley. Don’t fret about it. The earl has no intention of making you an offer and I happen to like Lord Appleby very much. He has a very sweet disposition.’
And
an income of ten thousand a year; Phoebe would be perfectly comfortable.

Lucy felt her sister relax a little. ‘I’m very glad you think so. It’s not that I do not like the earl. He seems perfectly amiable, but he isn’t in the least bit interested in me. In fact,’ Phoebe shot her sister a mischievous glance, ‘he seems far more interested in
you
.’

‘He is a dreadful flirt,’ Lucy said, unimpressed, ‘and I am not such a fool as to take him seriously. Now then,’ they had reached the door of the drawing room through which could be heard the murmur of voices, the guests assembled before dinner, ‘smile nicely, be charming to Hamersley, and let’s convince Mama that you are doing your best to snare him. She will leave you alone, then.’

‘But really, Lucy,’ Phoebe insisted, speaking softly, ‘I saw him looking at you today and, well, he looked as if he would like to
eat
you! I was quite taken aback.’

‘But I am so indigestible.’ Lucy replied, seemingly indifferent although the warmth that burned within flared a little higher at her sister’s words.

Around thirty people were gathered in the drawing room, small groups talking together (or roaring at each other, in some instances) as they sipped golden sherry or lemonade. Lucy’s eyes searched the party for Hamersley and found him sitting on the outskirts, talking to nobody, nursing a glass of Madeira, still looking out of sorts. He was dressed in a blue satin jacket with white knee breeches and he looked devilishly handsome and absurdly sulky. She broke away from Phoebe, heading towards him purposefully, but was cut off by Mr. Bristow who appeared before her suddenly.

‘Miss Landon! How delightful to see you.’

‘Mr. Bristow,’ she returned, slightly annoyed to be stalled in her endeavors, ‘my presence is hardly surprising, surely. I was bound to come down to dinner.’

Henry Bristow hesitated for a moment, taken aback, but good manners gave him no choice but to do as she asked and he gave her a small bow before turning towards Phoebe. Lucy continued on towards Hamersley. He glowered up at her when she alighted in front of him.

There was a small pause, then, ‘It is customary for a gentleman to stand when a lady arrives,’ she said, sounding prim.

The earl rose to his feet, still looking irritated. ‘What did that young cub want?’

‘To entertain me with his fine wit and excellent address and as you are hardly Methuselah yourself, I think the cub reference a little extreme. Julia told me you were six and twenty, which must surely be more or less the same age as Mr. Bristow.’

‘I mean, that ever since we arrived back this afternoon, you have been acting like a bear with a thorn in its paw. What has put you in such a humor?’

‘He is the kind of man who likes nothing better than to flirt with a lady, with no thought of anything other than his own amusements!’ Hamersley told her, voice a low growl.

Rather like the earl himself, in fact, Lucy thought, but said instead. ‘Well, one can hardly blame him for seeking out younger company. It cannot be much fun for him, talking to people twice his age.’

‘It’s a wonder he came, then.’

Her lips twitched. Seriously, for a grown man, he was acting like a schoolboy! ‘Even allowing that Mr. Bristow is of a ‘type’, which seems most unlikely, I fail to see what that has to do with anything?’

‘Of course you are,’ she agreed placidly, ‘but you have nothing to worry about. I limit myself to one rogue at a time and as you have the greater claim...’

‘Lord Hamersley!’ Mama’s voice spoke behind them, a mixture of sweetness and starch, breaking apart the small circle of intimacy that had briefly enclosed them. ‘There you are! I cannot have you depriving the guests of your company, now can I? And Phoebe has particularly asked where you are. She wanted to ask your opinion of the watercolors over the mantle.’

‘
My
opinion?’ Hamersley returned, clearly astonished, ‘But why?’

‘Oh, my lord! You are
too
modest,’ Lady Landon fluttered. ‘Men are always so knowledgeable about such things.’

‘Then she is going to be sadly disappointed,’ the earl returned wryly, ‘for my knowledge of all things artistic could fit upon a thimble top.’

‘Perhaps she could instruct you,’ Lucy suggested, with a small laugh, ‘Phoebe is quite the artist.’

‘Nonsense!’ Lady Landon snapped, frowning at her daughter. ‘Don’t be absurd, Lucy. Women’s understanding of such matters is sadly inferior.’

Or not, Lucy thought wryly. Surely her mother was allowing herself to be carried away in her efforts to make his lordship feel superior.

‘I can’t say that I understand what you are talking about, but I’m sure you will forgive Lucy. It was I that was monopolizing her time. You must be very proud,’ he said quietly, ‘she is such an accomplished conversationalist.’

This was so unexpected – and so very much the opposite of what her mother
did
think – that Lucy recovered enough to draw breath again. How extraordinary that what her mother said could still cause her to hurt so much. Mama was eyeing the earl uncertainly, knowing that something odd was happening, but unable to fully grasp it. And why should she? She had never thought of her eldest as having more than passable social skills, something she had pointed out on numerous occasions. It must seem incredible to her that somebody of Hamersley’s social stature would want to spend time in with Lucy.

‘Well, yes, of course.’ She shot Lucy a malevolent look. ‘But you have both been tucked away for far too long. I insist you join the rest of us.’

Hamersley glanced at Lucy – a particularly warm glance – and shook his head. ‘What a pity! But I suppose I must not be selfish. I am certain the rest of the room would appreciate Miss Landon’s wit as much as I.’

Lucy hid a smile. Such effusive comments would undoubtedly bring her a reprimand from her mother later, but the moment was enjoyable, nonetheless. He had successfully managed to ruffle her mother’s feathers and Lucy took a degree of pleasure in accepting Hamersley’s arm as they moved into the crowd that were going through to dinner.

Unfortunately, she was not seated near either the earl or Mr. Bristow so dinner conversation was less than sparkling. Still, she had a great deal to occupy her thoughts, one of which was the knowledge that the attentions of Henry Bristow had made Hamersley… jealous? She stole a look at the earl, who was sitting three seats down, on the opposite side of the table. An impossible position to hold a conversation, but at least she could observe him. She took a great deal of pleasure in observing Hamersley. He had an expressive, mobile face when he spoke without consideration, but now it was masked behind a ‘social’ face as he exchanged pleasantries with the lady next to him. It was a bland mask and one, she realized, that a great many people wore.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked her way and smiled and Lucy hastily looked back down at her plate, an inexplicable flush rising, as if she had been caught doing something wicked. Perhaps that was just the effect that he had on her now, making her think wicked thoughts whenever he so much as looked at her. Which was not to say she did not want to pursue some of the fantasies that had kept her awake last night. Another kiss would be delightful. Something stronger even more so. She could still recall, all too easily, what he had done to Caroline Astor, the girl’s soft sighs of satisfaction, the muffled groans as he had... what?

Exactly what it was he did had been playing on her mind. That, and the fact that it might be nice if he did something similar to her.

Was she wicked? Dear Lord, she was positively sinful!

She sighed, wondering if she would ever get the chance to be alone with him again. Time was running out. The very least she could do, before she left Fendleton Hall, was sample what so many of the ladies in London had already experienced.

Was one memorable experience too much to ask?

Rand was finding it hard to concentrate on either the food or his dinner companions. Instead, he found himself glancing towards Lucy, hoping to catch her eye. He’d done it several times and had been rewarded by a rosy blush, which made him wonder what, exactly, she had been thinking about.

He had his suspicions, of course, but would have liked to confirm them.

By now, Rand had resigned himself to remaining for the duration of the house party. He could fool himself for only so long. He wasn’t going anywhere until he had secured at least one more kiss from Miss Lucy Landon, just to see if it was as delightful as the first.

He had been trying to remember the last time he had been this intrigued by a woman, but, aside from a very youthful dalliance when he swore his heart was taken (only to find out, after four weeks that it wasn’t so much taken as lent out for a period of time), he had never been so captivated. Oh, he had been focused on conquest – such was the nature of the beast – but it had been more about the chase than the prize at the end.

But this was different. He knew it was. He just didn’t understand the why or the how of it, which left his usual course of action; pursue the girl, kiss the girl, and then…

That was the part where he became unstuck. Lucy. Smart, sensible Lucy, was simply not
that
kind of girl. For a man who devoted his life to
not
being taken seriously, he suddenly felt all at sea, uncertain what to do with a girl who was an innocent, even if her eyes and her mouth might try and tell him a different story. His sister’s words kept coming back to him. Lucy was marriage material.

But he was not interested in marriage. He had forsworn the institution until the last possible minute and that minute had belonged somewhere in the dim and distant future, when buckling down and taking Responsibility (extraordinary how, when Challender said it, the word came with a capital R) became an unpleasant fact of life. He had given himself another ten years before necessity caught him up. A man could sire an heir at any time, after all, and there were so many lovely ladies who appreciated his attentions.

Nothing had changed. Why should it? He certainly had not fallen for a little brown mouse of a woman who was a self-confessed failure in the marriage market. Seven Seasons and not one offer. It was odd how irritating he found that fact. It was even odder that he should quietly steam because no man had realized her intrinsic value. There was a great deal more to Lucy Landon met the eye. Her intelligence and wit were manifest and yet no idiot had managed to discover them for seven years?

Did you?
A small voice within mocked and of course the answer had to be no. He would never have looked at her twice.

All of this was damned perplexing, but it didn’t change his focus, which was, to kiss Lucy again the first chance he had.

Once again, his eyes drifted down the table and met Lucy’s, only this time, she didn’t look away. Instead, their gaze caught and held and he felt something stir within him and, regrettably, something stir without as well, and he grimaced inwardly.

Miss Landon certainly had a powerful effect on him! He would have to start thinking pure thoughts or he would be using a napkin to cover his indiscretion for the rest of the evening.

Breaking their gaze, his attention was caught by Lady Landon who was watching both Lucy and himself with slightly narrowed eyes. She gave him a small, tight smile when he met her gaze, but there was something about her and a small shaft of unease ran through him.

Unpleasant woman
, he thought, returning his attention to his meal and the practice of pure thoughts. Lady Landon was certainly enough to cool any man’s ardor. He had heard the note of vitriol in her voice when she had spoken to Lucy, a vicious undertone that had made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Lucy’s plans for escape, whatever they may be, suddenly made a great deal more sense. Lady Landon was poison personified.