Shana Galen (10 page)

“O
h! Horrid, insolent man!” Lucia muttered after she’d arrived home and flung her blue and white day dress into the corner of her room. She pulled impatiently at her petticoat. “He’s a rake, a scoundrel, a blackguard and—”

She couldn’t think of any more insults. She couldn’t even think of words sufficient to express the depth of her hatred for him. “Infuriating man!” She flopped on the bed and lay fuming before bounding right back up again.

“Damn him!” She didn’t want to be angry that he’d bedded every woman from here to Scotland. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t care. He was not a nice man and she did not want to see him again. Or kiss him. Or touch him.

Lord! What was wrong with her?

She’d known the first time she’d seen him, he was not the kind of man with whom young ladies like her associated. But at fourteen, the forbidden had
been wildly exciting. Now she was older and he was no less exciting, but if she allowed it, he’d use and discard her like a wrinkled cravat.

Was her reputation and that of her family worth so little to her? She sank down on the bed. Lord, she must be mad to lounge about fantasizing like a schoolgirl about Selbourne when all the while she was engaged to Dandridge. What was she doing? Falling in love with a man who’d made it clear he didn’t believe in love? A rake who changed women as often as tailcoats?

Well, she would not be another of Selbourne’s conquests. His dalliances.
She
was no strumpet. From now on their relationship was to be strictly business.

But that was easier said than done.

If only Alex would stop looking at her
that way
. The way that hinted he knew exactly what she needed, wanted…and more. The way that made her forget all her resolutions and want to melt in his arms all over again.

Lord! She had to stop thinking about him!

Friday evening Ethan and Francesca gave a small dinner party, and Lucia was in a much better mood. She’d even decided to be pleasant. Selbourne hadn’t informed her what he’d learned after visiting her brother’s creditors, and it was much easier to get information from men if they saw her as sweet, pretty, and docile. With that in mind, when Lucia saw Selbourne swagger into Francesca and Ethan’s drawing room—late at half past seven—she gave him her brightest smile. It was a smile calculated to both beguile and disarm him—a smile that had never failed her before.

And for a moment, she felt the heady surge of victory. Selbourne stopped cold and stared. She had
to stifle a giggle. But the sound died in her throat when he narrowed his eyes and headed in the opposite direction. Lucia bit back a frustrated scream and turned back to Reginald, who’d been discussing the unseasonably warm weather for the past quarter hour. With a jolt, she realized Reginald was silent and watching her, arms crossed in disapproval.

“You seem pleased Lord Selbourne is in attendance this evening.” His tone itself was an accusation.

Oh, dear. She hadn’t considered Reginald’s reaction to her plan to corner Selbourne. No doubt her fiancé expected her to appear suitably cool toward the man who’d so recently threatened and cowed him.

“Ah…”
Think quickly, Lucia
. “I—I’ve decided to be hospitable to Lord Selbourne.”

He frowned.

“Merely in the interest of ensuring a pleasant evening, darling.” She sighed dramatically and gazed across the room at Francesca with what she hoped looked like sisterly devotion. “It means so much to Francesca that her party be a success.”

Reginald’s frown softened. Lucia bit her lip and blinked rapidly. “I do hope you follow my example, darling.”

“I suppose we owe the marquis and marchioness that much,” he agreed, but Lucia heard the reluctance in his voice. “Here, my dear, take my arm.”

Lucia took the proffered arm as a sign of forgiveness—or at least of a truce.

“Lady Winterbourne is rising from her seat. Shall I take you down to dinner?”

Several hours and a dozen courses later, Alex watched Lucia and the other ladies retreat to the drawing room, leaving the men to their preferred
vices. Thank God. The evening had been interminable.

Ethan produced Spanish cigars and a bottle of Portuguese port, which, considering the vast quantities of wine already consumed, did nothing to temper the heated arguments.

Sober and weary of dining room war strategy, Alex strode to the window facing Grosvenor Square. He scowled at the carriages racing past the park. Dinner parties. Balls. The theater. What was he doing here? Why wouldn’t Wentworth allow him to return to France? Who knew what Old Boney had up his sleeve this week?

Certainly not the new operative Wentworth had sent in response to the missive Alex had delivered to Pitt. Alex didn’t know who the agent was, but he couldn’t possibly have the same resources or the vast network of contacts Alex boasted. Bloody hell. His country
needed
him.

“You’re ruining my wife’s dinner party.” Ethan clamped him on the shoulder then handed him a snifter of brandy. “You’ve been sullen and morose all evening, and if I know Francesca, she’ll be up half the night trying to figure out why. And that means I’ll be up half the night as well.”

Alex smiled for the first time all evening. “My apologies.”

“Apologies won’t get my head on the pillow. Grant me a few hours’ sleep and say it’s something simple. How about the food?”

“Sorry, but the food was excellent. My compliments to Francesca and your chef.”

“The society then. She can dissect that in three-quarters of an hour.”

“No. Yes.” Alex glanced out the window.

“You’re killing me, Alex. Yes or no? Give me something. I’m exhausted, man.”

“I’d be more sympathetic if I didn’t know you have your own methods of diverting your wife.”

Ethan grinned. “And don’t think I won’t resort to them.”

The din of voices rose, and Alex glanced at the table where Dandridge was smoking, his face florid from arguing vehemently with Lord Brigham over some inconsequential issue. Alex’s fists clenched, and he turned away again.

“Ah, so it’s her fiancé that’s behind this mood.”

Alex rounded on his brother. “I wasn’t thinking of
her
.”

Ethan shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t been because I can’t tell Francesca this, and now I’ll never get any rest. But I know you, Alex. You’ve been watching Lucia all night, and she’s been watching you. What’s happened between you?”

Alex saw no point in lying. “Nothing of any consequence.”

“Of consequence to her or you?”

“To either. I haven’t defiled her, if that’s your meaning.”

“That’s precisely my meaning. Dandridge won’t take it kindly if he doesn’t find a virgin in his bed.”

Alex’s fist came up, stopping just short of Ethan’s jaw. Ethan didn’t blink, merely arched a brow.

Alex turned back to the window and the busy street circling the park. Lucia in Dandridge’s bed. The thought alone made him physically ill. Tonight the blood rushed in his ears when he saw her looking at Dandridge, smiling at him, laughing at the man’s comments. Alex wanted her azure eyes fastened on him. He wanted those smiles all to himself.
And when he thought of her in Dandridge’s bed, Dandridge touching her, kissing her…

He’d kill the bastard first.

Ethan was still watching him. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” Alex didn’t bother to turn from the window. “It’ll pass.”

“Alex, you’re not—you’re not in
love
with her. Are you?”

Alex kept his unseeing eyes firmly on the windowpane. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the one who falls in love.”

“I see.” Ethan crossed his arms. “Then why does it bother you that she’s marrying Dandridge? He’s a pompous ass, but she could do worse.”

“That’s the general consensus.”

“Alex, I’ve known Lucia for years.”

“Your point?”

“I know her better than you.”

Alex looked away.

“She’s impulsive, headstrong, temperamental…”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Alex grumbled.

Ethan went on, “Have you seen how often these traits get her into trouble?”

Alex shrugged, but images of her sliding into the Seatons’ ballroom and standing outside Schweitzer & Davidson flashed through his mind. The little fool.

“She’s young,” Alex muttered. “She’ll change.”

“Maybe this marriage is the change she needs.”

But Alex didn’t want her to change. He didn’t want to see her shaped into one of Society’s accepted molds, her exuberance crushed. He liked her angry and headstrong. He even liked her impulsiveness, though it tried his patience most of the time. But her spontaneity, her vivacity, was a rare gift. Dandridge had no idea what to do with it.

“Dandridge will only break her spirit,” Alex told
Ethan with another glance at the viscount, now pounding on the table to emphasize a point.

“And you wouldn’t,” Ethan said softly.

“No. I’d never try to make her into something she isn’t to satisfy some inane dictate of the beau monde. Or worse, to further my political career.” Alex looked pointedly at Dandridge.

Ethan crossed his arms. “Really, Alex, I had no idea you were in the market for a wife.”

Alex glared at his brother. “I’m not.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

Alex met his brother’s penetrating gaze. The warning was clear: Lucia was not available for dalliance. Alex had told himself as much a dozen times. Not just because of her station and their connection, but because being with him would endanger her. He couldn’t allow that.

He ran a hand through his hair and said tersely, “I’m sure Dandridge will make her a good husband.”

Ethan nodded. “That’s the end of it then. Now help me get these pickled fools into the parlor. Francesca’s probably wondering where we are by now.”

F
rancesca wasn’t the only one wondering when the men would make an appearance. Lucia sighed with relief when she saw that the gentlemen had finished with their port and cigars. The moment she’d exited the dining room, Lady Dandridge had clasped her elbow, steering her toward the chaise longue.

Reginald’s mother was a woman just shy of fifty, tall, slim, and regal. Lucia’s mother had told her that Lady Dandridge was the reigning beauty in her day, and Lucia had to admit the widowed viscountess was still a handsome woman.

She was also a dragon, who had relentlessly pushed her husband to attain power in Parliament and was now pressing her son to follow in his footsteps. Lucia often wondered if Lady Dandridge would push Reginald to an early grave like his father. Reginald already subscribed to his father’s vice
of heavy drinking. She only hoped he wouldn’t add gambling and whoring as well.

Lady Dandridge leaned back on the chaise to openly scrutinize her, and Lucia folded her hands in her lap and tried to look demure. She’d made the mistake of speaking too soon in the past, and she wasn’t about to make it again.

“The story goes, Lucy,” Lady Dandridge finally said, “that this marriage was the favorite wish of my late husband and your father.”

Lucia hated how Reginald’s mother never called her by her given name, preferring, as her own father did, to call her by its English equivalent. But she swallowed her annoyance and answered, “So I’ve heard, madam.”

“But
you
know that is not true.”

“No, my lady. Actually I’d always been told—”

Lady Dandridge flicked open her fan. “Yes, well, it is possible your father really believed the union was Charles’s idea, but, in point of fact, it was mine.”

Lucia had the wisdom to affect surprise, since her future mother-in-law seemed to expect it. But she doubted anyone in Lady Dandridge’s household could so much as change their undergarments without the dragon’s approval.

“Yes.
I
chose you for my dear Reginald. I thought about your sister, but Franny is perhaps a little too close to Reginald’s own age, and boys do need to sow their oats before marrying.” She smiled, and her dragon fangs flashed in the lamplight.

So Lucia had been second choice. Not only that, but Reginald had not even chosen her. She’d suspected as much, but she hadn’t wanted it confirmed.

Lady Dandridge was still smirking, and Lucia
searched her repertoire for a suitable reply. Unable to unearth one, she remained silent.

“You must be wondering why I chose you,” the viscountess prodded.

Lucia wasn’t, but she knew she was about to hear the explanation anyway.

“I chose you because I believed your father had the potential to become a man of some power and influence. And while he has not completely disappointed me, his devotion to Fox has certainly not furthered his career.”

Lucia stiffened. “My father—” she began indignantly. But then she saw the gleam in Lady Dandridge’s eyes and the plume of smoke trailing from her dragon nostrils. The woman couldn’t wait for her to argue, so she could take her down with a foul breath of fire.

Well, she wouldn’t give the scaly monster the satisfaction. Lucia averted her eyes and wiggled her toes, focusing on stretching the fabric of her tight pink slippers. But not speaking her mind was like trying to suppress a coughing fit in church. She knew the long hours her father had worked, the sacrifices he’d made to accomplish all that he had. She admired his devotion to his friends. And unlike most MPs, her father was loyal, even when it wasn’t politically expedient.

Lady Dandridge seemed to read her mind. “I have always told Reginald that he must be willing to change allegiance from time to time. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to accomplish our goals.”

Lucia stifled a snort. Sacrifice? Hardly. Spineless about-face were the words that came most readily to mind.

“In any case, your family is not in the position I had hoped. Your sister married very well.” Lady
Dandridge’s gaze passed over Francesca’s opulent drawing room with approval before settling on Lucia again. “But, if I may speak frankly, Lucy,
you
do not bring much to a union with my son.”

Lucia’s head snapped up. “I think Reginald feels otherwise, madam.”

Lady Dandridge sneered, and Lucia ground her teeth, knowing her retort had given the dragon exactly what she wanted. But how dare this woman treat her as though she were little more than property! Oh, where was her knight in shining armor, her own personal dragon slayer? Her eyes darted around the room and stopped on her mother. Lady Brigham glared at her, silently telling her to behave. With a sigh, Lucia turned back to Lady Dandridge.

“Oh, there’s no doubt that Reginald has been taken in by your beauty, which I hear exalted at every turn, but it is your character that concerns me.” Lady Dandridge fluttered her fan. “Now, don’t look so anxious, Lucy. Your virtue has not been impugned. Even my son praises it. When you refused his advances at the Pools’, it only increased his respect for you.”

Lucia coughed, all the air whooshing from her lungs.

“Oh, my! Do you need a glass of water, my dear?” The cloud of smoke streaming from Lady Dandridge’s leering mouth threatened to choke Lucia.

Beads of perspiration ran down the small of her back, and she knew from experience that her face was bright pink. Did Reginald actually share these intimacies with his
mother
?

Lady Dandridge snapped her fan closed and sat back smugly. “Oh, yes, he told me, Lucy. But, as I said, you made the prudent choice.” She tapped her fan on Lucia’s arm. “What truly disturbs me, how
ever, is your lack of political knowledge.” She pointed the fan at Lucia. “I’ve been watching you, and it seems to me you take too little interest in politics. You know
a little
, but this is not piano or drawing, my dear. You will be expected to host my son’s friends and acquaintances and perhaps even his enemies. If you are to build Dandridge’s political standing, your soirees must be the most glittering, your invitations the
most
coveted. Not to mention—” She raised a hand and began ticking off points on her fingers. “You must know whom to include, exclude, and you must have intimate knowledge of what goes on in Parliament.

“Don’t purse your lips like that, Lucy. Who are you to be so high in the instep? Your dowry is acceptable at best and your relations, well, we won’t discuss Lord Selbourne. I must tell you, I have concerns. Serious concerns.” She whacked her fan against her gloved palm.

Lucia bristled. Oh, if only she were a man, she’d punch the dragon in her fire-breathing nose. Instead she contented herself with sputtering, “Lady Dandridge, I assure you I will do everything in my power to make Reginald happy. Further, I am quite certain his interests will become mine. However—”

Lady Dandridge waved her hand, cutting her off. “Yes, yes, Lucy, you have good intentions, but it will take more than that. I have decided to join you and Reginald at Boyle House after you are married.”

“What?” she screeched. “Madam, I don’t think—”

“No, you don’t, and I can see that my son has yet to inform you of my intentions. He probably thought it a task best left to me.”

He probably took the coward’s way out, Lucia fumed.

“I am convinced that this is the best course of ac
tion, Lucy. We will have the fall and winter in which to mold you and educate you in all that is necessary.”

Lucia balked, shaking her head in disbelief. But before she could issue the scathing retort on her lips, she caught her mother’s piercing gaze from across the room. She gripped the chaise. “Madam, while I am most appreciative of this offer, I—”

“It’s all been decided, Lucy. Your parents have raised you well, but I still see something of a temper and a determination to have one’s own way in your character. This must be softened. Not to mention, you are far too animated in your conversation. Even now, you wave your hands about in the most unladylike fashion.”

Lucia’s jaw dropped. Unladylike? If the dragon only knew half of what she would have liked to do to her at that moment,
then
she’d see unladylike.

“You must learn to be more subdued,” Lady Dandridge went on. “And your manner of observation is entirely unsuitable! Why, anyone who saw you look at Lord Selbourne tonight might have thought you were in love with him!”

Lucia inhaled sharply. All the rancor seeped out of her, replaced by apprehension. Was she that transparent?

“But together we can erase these flaws and make you into a woman who cultivates respect, not pity.”

“Pity?” Rage, hurt, and embarrassment fought for control of her emotions. Riding out the storm, Lucia gripped the fabric of the chaise, her nails making half moons in the velvet. “Lady Dandridge, I hardly think—”

“I have said as much before. My son is entirely in agreement with me. You need not appeal to Reginald in this matter. I am afraid he defers to my better judgment in most things.”

Lucia stared at the dragon. The fan hid all but her hazel eyes, and those narrowed in a definite challenge—one Lucia knew she wasn’t going to win. She heard the men’s voices as they filed up the stairs and entered the drawing room, and she felt the change the moment Alex entered.

The temperature increased a notch. The room grew smaller. But she didn’t dare look in his direction. Lady Dandridge’s eyes on her had become as sharp as her fangs.

The two women stared at each other, and Lucia’s stomach turned. She hated this woman. Detested her. And now she would be forced to spend every day with her for months, perhaps years. Lady Dandridge gave her a slow smirk.

“Lucia!” Francesca crossed the room in a flurry of white skirts. Lucia could have kissed her.

Francesca nodded to Lady Dandridge then turned back to Lucia. “Will you be the first to sing and play on the pianoforte? You have such a pretty voice.”

Lucia glanced at her future mother-in-law. It wasn’t her chosen method of escape, but she’d sing a hundred songs if it would get her away from the woman. She reached up and took Francesca’s hand.

“What would you like to hear?”

As soon as he entered the drawing room, Alex searched for Lucia. With a frown, he noted Lady Dandridge had her cornered. Poor Lucia looked like a kitten trapped on a high branch, ready to spring given her first opportunity at freedom.

His first impulse was to climb the tree and rescue her, but he checked it, Ethan’s earlier words ringing in his ears. He needed to limit his involvement with Lucia Dashing. Already matters had gone too far. She’d chosen to marry Dandridge, and who was he
to interfere with that choice? But he didn’t have to like it, and he certainly didn’t have to watch her flaunt her mistake with the pudgy coward or his pushy mother.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d seen Lucia needed rescuing. He watched Francesca extricate Lucia from Lady Dandridge’s iron grip. But he wasn’t going to waste time lamenting Lucia’s engagement. The other ladies and gentlemen in attendance were stationing themselves strategically about the room, and gasps of pleasure erupted when Lucia took a seat at the pianoforte. Alex slipped away.

He ordered his carriage, intending to stop at Brooks’s for a drink—or seven. While he waited, Alex made a circuit of his sister-in-law’s garden. The night air was mild, the smell of hyacinth and spring on the light breeze. The town house’s windows were open, and Lucia’s voice, clear and high, floated out to him.

“
Caro mio ben
,” she sang.
Thou
,
all my bliss
. Her soft, lilting voice brushed against his skin, wrapping itself about him with the intimacy of a lover’s caress.

“
Che cosaé que stahimè
.”
What tortures I must bear
. “
Pietà, pietà, pietà.” Have done
.

Her voice was hypnotic, the spell broken only when a rich alto voice—Alex recognized it as Francesca’s—replaced Lucia’s.

Alex leaned against one wall of the house, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Francesca’s song continued, then she, too, was replaced. Weary from forced politeness, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. They snapped open again immediately. At first he saw nothing, but he tensed at the subtle shift in the air. Then he saw her, standing in the shadows and watching him.

She took an uncertain step toward him, emerging
into the light spilling from the windows. Though he’d watched her all evening, she seemed even more beautiful than he ever remembered. She wore a rose silk gown, and her pink cheeks glowed. Her hair was simple, the long tresses swept away from her face into a crown of gold. She looked older, the high cheekbones of her face more prominent without the frame of her hair.

She took another halting step and ran a hand along one hip, smoothing the silk of her gown. “It’s not the most fashionable color, I know,” she said. “But my mother insists pink complements my complexion and forces me to wear it at every opportunity.”

“For once, I’m in agreement with your mother.”

She frowned.

“You look beautiful,” he said. A warning bell rang in his head, but he chose to ignore it.

Lucia stared at him, flustered. “I hate pink,” she finally stammered.

“The
signora
is right. It suits you.”

She looked down, threading the flimsy silk through her fingers. “It makes me feel like a little girl.”

“We both know you’re no little girl.” Another bell added to the clanging of the first, and still he ignored the warning.

Her gaze met his, her azure eyes considering him. “Lord Selbourne, I didn’t come out here to argue with you.”

“Alex,” he bit out and stepped nearer.

Her brow crinkled. “What?”

“I said, Alex, goddammit. We’re well past Lord Selbourne and Miss Dashing.”

“If you don’t mind, I think it’s best if we retain that formality.” She tossed her head again, and he was before her in an instant, hands cupping her face. She
tried to jerk away, but he held her firmly and turned her face to his.

“Oh, but I do mind, Lucia,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I want to hear you say my name.”