Shana Galen (2 page)

“I
don’t want to be here,” Lucia muttered to herself. It was a lie, and she knew it even before she settled on the sensuous squabs of Selbourne’s town carriage with the Selbourne coat of arms emblazoned on the door. She was a bad liar. Why, she couldn’t even convince herself. This was
exactly
where she wanted to be—only not tonight, not under these circumstances.

She snuggled into Selbourne’s greatcoat and tried not to think about what might have been. The night air was chilly for early May, and on the way to the carriage, he’d wrapped her in the voluminous garment. The gesture had surprised her. It wasn’t as if he’d shown any other inclinations toward civility. In fact, she’d been so confused when he’d draped it about her shoulders, she’d started to protest, then closed her mouth abruptly as the delicious warmth from his body seeped from the coat into her skin.

Even now she could smell his scent on the
material—something dark and enigmatic, like the man brooding in the shadows across from her. The curtains were drawn, enfolding them in a plush darkness penetrated only by the flickering carriage lamps. Normally she found carriage lamps comforting and was warmed by their soft glow. But Selbourne’s lamps seemed cold and weak.

She shifted, unnerved by the silence that reigned between them since leaving the Pools’. As promised, he’d given her no more of those seductive stares, no more lingering looks that caused heat to rush to her face—and other parts of her body. In fact, he seemed not to notice her at all.

“You never did answer my question,” she said finally, more out of a need to break the heavy silence than out of curiosity. “Why did you attend the Pools’? I know this is only my second Season, but I’ve never seen you at any other functions. I was under the impression they were not to your taste.”

“I just returned from Hampshire and thought I’d better make a social appearance.”

Lucia almost jumped at the sensation the sound of his voice produced in her—warm velvet in the golden dark. The deep tones caressed and enveloped her like his scent on the greatcoat she wore. She shivered and tried to focus.

“Hampshire? I thought you spent most of your time on the Continent.”

“As you say.” He pushed the curtains aside and peered at the silvered streets.

Lucia frowned. He certainly wasn’t given to conversation, but she’d expected as much. His stoicism was one reason she’d never liked him—well, except for the
tendre
she’d harbored for a few months after they’d first met—but even when she’d fancied herself in love with him, he’d made her nervous. Or per
haps not so much nervous as filled with anticipation, as though something—she didn’t know what—was about to happen. She had only to catch a glimpse of him and her pulse would thrum. But, she reminded herself, she was not the only one ill-at-ease in his presence. Reginald’s reaction to him in the garden was a perfect illustration of his effect on most people.

Selbourne snapped the curtains closed, and Lucia jumped. She liked him better when she could prod him to talk.

“And what brought you to Hampshire?” she asked, her voice breaking the silence.

His gaze slid to her, and appearing as though he was making a monumental effort on her behalf, he said, “Business.”

“Oh?” Lucia straightened. Business—a safe, banal topic. Tedious, but at least she was making progress. “What business?”

He raised a brow. “Business at Grayson Park, and now business in London.” He parted the curtains again, obviously impatient to arrive in Berkeley Square and be rid of her.

Lucia scowled. Why did she have to be saddled with him?

If mad King George himself had emerged from behind those trees in the garden, Lucia could not have been more surprised. It was bad enough to be caught in such an embarrassing position, but worse yet to have Selbourne witness the indignity. She hoped he didn’t plan to inform her parents.

She assessed him through the gloom. “I—I hope you won’t feel obligated to mention the—the, ah, incident with Lord Dandridge to my father.”

With a grin, Selbourne dropped the curtains and looked at her.

“I prefer to sort out my own scrapes,” she said,
tossing her hair for emphasis. “And I don’t need a knight on a white horse, or black horse as the case may be, coming to my rescue.”

“Is that what I am? A knight on a black horse?” His irritating grin widened. She ignored the question.

“I’m no damsel in distress, Lord Selbourne. Reginald was no real threat. In fact, you’ve caused more harm than good.”

He crossed his arms and settled back on the squabs. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” She nodded, warming to her argument. “He’ll be in a pet tomorrow, and I imagine I’ll have to apologize.”

“
You’ll
apologize?”

She heard the disgust in his voice and felt it herself. After all, why should she apologize? She’d done nothing wrong. But it was either that or risk Reginald’s displeasure, and she couldn’t afford to lose him. Couldn’t afford to disappoint her father yet again.

With a sigh, she tried to push thoughts of the inevitable meeting aside. Tried to push aside as well the memory of Reginald’s advances. For a moment, shoved up against the cold, hard stone of the bench, Reginald’s clammy hand locked around her neck, she’d felt a tremor of panic. She’d never seen that side of her bumbling fiancé before, and she didn’t relish ever doing so again. But of course she wouldn’t. Reginald had drunk a bit too much champagne tonight.

“And how long were you at Grayson Park?” she said, changing the topic with finesse. At times like these, she was thankful for her years of training in the social graces.

“I thought we were discussing your fiancé.”

She frowned. Obviously Selbourne didn’t appreci
ate her talents. “No,” she said with a tense smile. “We were talking of business.” She pulled the greatcoat closer against her neck at the considering look he sent her. “You’ve been at Grayson Park—”

“Two months.”

“Two months in Hampshire? Whatever do you find to keep you occupied?”

“There’s always something.”

Lucia wondered if the something was his French mistress. The rumor was he’d spent much of the last two years on the Continent with a French dancer. And she could well imagine him, all arrogance and ennui, in Europe. She found it harder to see him at home in the Hampshire countryside. Unless, of course, his mistress was in residence as well.

She bit her lip against the urge to ask directly about the mistress but couldn’t stifle the impulse altogether. “And were you alone at Grayson Park?”

She immediately regretted the question. Even in the darkness, she saw the knowing flicker in his eyes.

“No.”

Lucia waited for him to elaborate, but—vexing man!—he remained silent.

What seemed like days of nerve-wracking silence passed, and Lucia tried to distract herself by looking out the window. She could feel those cool gray eyes on her, and her body warmed in response.

From the moment she’d seen him in the Pools’ garden, she hadn’t been able to drag her eyes from him. Five years ago, when she’d met him, he’d been twenty-four and barely a man. Now there was nothing of the boy left in him. Handsome, formidable, broad-shouldered, he overwhelmed other men of her acquaintance. Lucia herself was tall for a woman and looked most men in the eye. But she’d had to crane her neck to meet Selbourne’s penetrating gaze.

She darted a glance at him now. His hair was dark brown, swept back carelessly from his forehead and too long to be strictly fashionable. The neglected mane framed a face that, like his body, was all hard planes and ridges, only the face was softened by lips that could only be described as sensual. Unlike the ridiculous fops of the
ton
, he was dressed in black, and the color suited him. He looked…dangerous. She shivered again. Underneath that fashionably bored exterior she imagined he
was
dangerous.

Lucia twirled a curl around one finger, pulling it surreptitiously over her face to hide the blush heating her cheeks. As she did so, a mental image of her dishabille flashed in her mind. With a start, she realized the uproar she’d cause if she arrived home in this condition.

Locating some of the pins in the tangled mass, she began to pile sections of hair on top of her head. With fumbling fingers, she twined and twisted, jabbing pins into the unruly pile. The whole bundle fell over lopsided, and she sighed impatiently. Bleakly, she prayed Selbourne wasn’t watching.

“Need help?”

She groaned at her bad luck. His voice had sounded strained for some reason, and Lucia peeked at him reluctantly.

His eyes were on her—a blistering gray that smoldered like molten steel. She took a shaky breath and forced herself to sound normal. “I need Jane, my maid. If I arrive home in this state the servants will be gossiping for a week. My father won’t tolerate that.”

“In his position he can’t afford scandal.” He watched her a moment longer. “Come here. I’ll do it for you.”

She laughed. “You?”

He didn’t laugh in return. “I’m full of surprises. Come here.” It wasn’t a request this time.

Lucia froze, unsure of the proper protocol. The situation seemed far too intimate for propriety, and she knew she should refuse. But she
was
an engaged woman. And she did need to fix her hair. Damn Reginald!

Across from her, Alex spread his hands and raised a brow. She supposed the action was designed to give him a harmless appearance, but it looked more like a wicked invitation than a guarantee of safe passage.

“You’re not afraid, are you?”

“Afraid?” She forgot her wariness and let out a bitter laugh. “Lord Selbourne, you are hardly the sort to frighten me.” Her tone was as stiff as her movements when she crossed to sit next to him, and she turned her face to the window so he was presented with her cold, ramrod-straight back.

But as soon as she was beside him, she knew she’d lied. He did frighten her; he overwhelmed her. She could almost feel his gray eyes searing into her, tracing her every curve as he had in the garden. Why didn’t he move? Breathe?

She had to check herself from peering at him over her shoulder. But even without looking, she felt the tension in his body, and it only increased her anticipation. Then, just when she knew she could no longer stand the uncertainty, she felt his hands on her shoulders. Their heat penetrated the thick greatcoat and flowed through her.

“I need to remove the coat,” he murmured.

She nodded, and he slipped the garment halfway down her shoulders. It was an effort to smother the urge to tremble.

In the next moment his warm, strong hands were on her bare neck, tracing the skin above the row of
cold amethysts she wore. Goosebumps followed the trail of his heated fingers as, with aching slowness, he slid his hands into the hair at the nape of her neck. His touch was gentle and firm, so unlike Reginald’s clumsy caresses. Tingles of pleasure coursed through her as he stroked the sensitive skin. Quelling her quivers was becoming more challenging by the moment.

“Are you cold?” he whispered. “You’re shivering.” His breath brushed her ear, another caress, the sensation fogging her mind. She clung to one thought—she mustn’t let him know the effect he had on her.

Lucia blurted the first words that came to her. “What business brings you to London?” She tried to concentrate on anything but the feel of his hands on her bare skin; it was all she could do to stop herself from shaking. “Are there not enough young ladies in Hampshire in whose lives you might interfere?”

His chuckle was deep and quiet, and the low rumble sent another shot of heat straight through her.

“Ethan needs me.”

Lucia craned her head, her interest piqued. “What do you mean? Is something wrong between my sister and Ethan? I dined there only Wednesday, and Francesca seemed as happy as ever.”

“Hold still a moment.” He lifted her hair and positioned it. Dear Lord, was he actually styling it? She didn’t even want to consider where he’d acquired this talent.

“It’s not their family who need assistance,” he continued when it seemed he had better control of her curls. “It’s yours.”

Lucia started, and the heat and fog in her mind whooshed away. She opened her mouth to ask him what in blazes he meant, when the carriage slowed.

“We’re here,” Alex observed. He reached around her, parting the drapes, and she recognized her parents’ elegant town house across from the tree-lined park of Berkeley Square.

He tugged her hair a few more times, then remarked, “It’s not pretty, but it’s neat.”

Reaching back, she touched her hair and was surprised that it did seem in order—the kind of tight, efficient style a man would create.

“I’ll escort you inside.”

“No,” she barked.

His coachman opened the door just then to assist her, but she pulled it shut in the surprised servant’s face and rounded on Alex, almost bumping noses with him. Ignoring his nearness as best she could, she demanded, “Explain what you meant by your last comment.”

“I’ll escort you inside? It’s simply a polite—”

“No, you obstinate man!” She poked him in the shoulder. “About my family!”

“Ah.” His steel gray eyes considered her coolly. In the dim light she felt rather than saw him search her face. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars. I’ll call on your father tomorrow. Maybe you’ll learn more then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Is that all the reply I’m to expect when this concerns my own dear relations?”

“For now. Get out. I’ll escort—”

“No!” She whirled and swung the carriage door open, taking the baffled coachman’s hand. “I’ll do quite well without you.” She stepped down from the carriage, deposited his heavy greatcoat at his feet, turned, and glided regally up the short walk.

“You’re not behaving in a very sisterly fashion,”
he called after her. She stiffened at the amusement in his voice and stopped for a fraction of an instant under the wrought-iron arc of the lamp shedding light on the landing. Then, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a backward glance, she straightened, jerked her head high, marched up the last of the steps, and stormed through the polished black door of the town house.