Shana Galen (27 page)

“Could it be that your affections have been swayed by another?”

For a moment she wondered if he knew about Alex. She studied his face and decided he was reaching. “No,” she finally answered. “I’m sorry, Reginald, but I don’t love you. Pray excuse me.” Lucia moved to go, but Reginald’s arm snaked out, catching her wrist in a punishing grip.

“You little bitch!” he hissed, pulling her against him. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” He shoved her toward the fireplace, and Lucia stumbled, knocking a vase to the floor.

“Reginald, you’re hurting me. Stop!”

He pushed her hard against the mantel. “I want to know his name,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Let go of me.”

Reginald’s grip on her arm tightened. “I want to know the name of your lover, whore.” He shook her
roughly. “Whose bed have you been sharing? Do you think I believe you were at Winterbourne Hall? No one in Yorkshire reports having seen you.”

Lucia stared at him. The man facing her was a stranger. “You had me
investigated
?”

“No one humiliates my mother or me, whore.”

Lucia slapped him hard across the face, but he only smiled. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Let. Me. Go.” She jerked away.

“We’re not finished yet,
dear
.” His face was inches from hers, fat lips spraying spittle on her cheek. “You
will
marry me.” He clutched her chin, yanking her to face him, fingers dug into her cheeks. “I will not be humiliated.”

“This isn’t the Middle Ages, Reginald. You can’t force me to become your wife.”

He smiled. “I won’t have to. You’ll do it willingly because if you don’t, I’ll make certain everything your father has worked for his whole life is destroyed. I’ll ruin your family name, your father,
and you
. You know I can do it.”

Lucia stared at him in disbelief. Reginald made no threats he did not keep. And with his position and connections, he could do it.

“Now, my dear, I have acquired a special license. Is tomorrow too soon?”

Lucia’s eyes met his. The malevolence in his face sent chills racing across her skin. How could she marry him?

Then she thought of her father, all he’d worked for destroyed. Her mother thrust out of her social circle. Ethan and Francesca whispered about behind raised fans. “No,” she whispered. “Tomorrow will be fine.”

“Unfortunately,” Lord Brigham’s voice boomed from the doorway. “I have a prior engagement tomorrow. The wedding will have to be put off indefinitely.”

Lucia started at her father’s voice. She hadn’t heard him enter, and neither had Reginald, but he seemed unconcerned.

“I do not believe that is a wise decision, Lord Brigham.”

“By God, unless you want me to get my pistol and shoot you now, Dandridge, you’d better step away from my daughter and get out of my house.”

Reginald stepped away from her.

“Now get out.” Lord Brigham pointed at the open door. Paolo and two footmen stood just outside.

“I warn you—” Reginald began.

“Mr. Tavola!” Brigham yelled to the butler. “My pistol!”

Reginald didn’t need any more encouragement. He fled, only pausing in the doorway to promise, “You’ll pay for this, Brigham. I give you my word.” He retreated, heels clicking on the polished wood floor.

“Father! Shouldn’t we go after him?”

“Are you hurt, Lucy?” Her father crossed to her and took her arm.

“No, I’m fine.” She stared at him. “But didn’t you hear what he said?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter? He’s going to ruin us.” She clutched his hand. “He’s going to ruin you!”

Lord Brigham huffed. “Man overestimates himself.”

“But the cabinet position—”

Her father waved a hand. “Oh, I’ll lose that, no doubt, but I wouldn’t have you married to that swine for a hundred cabinet positions. I owe you an apology, daughter.”

Lucia’s jaw dropped. She had never heard the word
apology
come from her father’s lips before.

“That’s right,” he went on. “I should have seen the man’s true character before. I wasn’t thinking of you, and I admit it. By God, Dandridge is powerful and wealthy, and I never looked past that. Thank God you put a stop to this before it was too late. All I have ever wanted was for you to be happy, you and Francesca both. Can you ever forgive me?”

Lucia blinked. This man could not be her father. She let out a sob, and when he opened his arms, she threw herself into them. For the first time in years, he held her tightly. “Do you forgive me?” he murmured.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Father. It’s you who have to forgive me for all the trouble I’ve caused!”

He stroked her hair. “We’ll forgive each other, Lucia. And I give you my word, I’ll sort out the nonsense here. You just manage to avoid any further scrapes at Tanglewilde.”

She pulled back, looking him fully in the eyes. “I will. I’m going to be a different person when you see me next.”

Lord Brigham chuckled. “By God, daughter! I was just getting used to this one.”

But Lucia fully intended to stay out of trouble. In any case, there was little trouble for a young girl to get into during a summer in the country. Everyone who was anyone was in Town, or so her mother frequently complained, and there was little visiting to be done. Not that the absence of members of the peerage curtailed Lady Brigham’s social activities very much. She made half a dozen calls to her wealthier neighbors every day, grousing about her perceived lack of Society at every opportunity.

By mid-July, Lady Brigham decided not only she, but Lucia also needed entertaining. Several attempts were made to coax her daughter into attending some
of the public balls held in Selborne, the little town so named because Alex’s ancestors had been granted land and built their estate nearby in the Middle Ages. But Lucia repeatedly refused her mother’s attempts to bring her into Society.

To Lady Brigham’s great pleasure, several young gentlemen of the area called at Tanglewilde and asked Lucia to accompany them on various excursions—riding or walking or picnics. Much to her mother’s dismay, Lucia remained polite but aloof.

She spent her time visiting her father’s tenants, which was really more her mother’s duty, but Lady Brigham complained that she was no good in a sickroom and had nothing to say to the lower classes, so Lucia took on the responsibility herself. Soon she was known and respected by the people of the town as well as her father’s numerous tenants. They called her the Angel of Tanglewilde and praised her kindness and consideration. Lucia suddenly understood why Francesca was always helping animals. It felt good to do something for others.

By November, when the news of the British victory at Trafalgar reached England, Lucia had convinced herself that she was no longer in love with Alex. Well, she
did
still think of him daily and dream about him nightly, but she didn’t think of him
every
minute of
every
day. That had to be progress.

But the news of Trafalgar shattered her illusions of impartiality. For weeks the Battle of Trafalgar became the prime article of discussion in every drawing room, dining room, and club. The brilliance of the British naval tactics, the genius of Lord Nelson, and the tragedy of his death were on everyone’s tongue.

Lucia read everything she could on the battle, for
getting that she didn’t care for Alex anymore. The British fleet under Admiral Nelson had faced twelve Spanish ships and twenty-one French vessels. At the end of the decisive battle, eighteen enemy ships had surrendered and the rest retreated.

The French were thoroughly defeated, but the British had suffered losses as well, not the least of which was Lord Nelson’s demise after being shot on the quarterdeck of his ship
Victory
. Lucia scanned the names of the casualties for Alex’s and cried with relief when she did not find it.

In fact, she found no mention of Alex or
The Incognito
whatsoever. But for some reason, she was certain Alex had been there. The intelligence reports he’d carried were probably integral to the British victory.

But now that the threat of a French invasion was well and truly over, Lucia realized Alex would be coming home to England. And, as much as she tried, she couldn’t help but hope he would come to her. She knew she was a fool, even as she planned their reunion over and over again in her mind. He’d arrive in London and learn that she hadn’t married Dandridge, then he’d swallow his pride and come to her at Tanglewilde. He’d be contrite and apologetic, swear his undying love, and offer to marry her. She, of course, would have to take a few days—or weeks—to consider his proposal, but when she’d decided he’d suffered enough, she’d agree and they would be wed.

But as the months dragged on, and Alex didn’t come, Lucia was forced to give up her romantic notions. A letter from Francesca was the final straw. Lucia read it while walking in the park at Tanglewilde.

Lucia stopped reading and crumpled up the letter. The next day when her mother, as usual, suggested going to Town, Lucia agreed without protest. She didn’t care where she was anymore or what she did. London would be busy and full of activities and she wouldn’t have time to think or feel. In Town she could blend in, disappear, become numb. And then maybe she wouldn’t feel her heart breaking.

A
lex was sprawled on a couch in his massive library at Grayson Park, a bottle of gin in his hand, when Hodges announced Lord Winterbourne. Before Alex could protest, Ethan sauntered in, his nose wrinkling with disgust.

“You look like the devil,” Ethan said. “When was the last time you changed your clothes?”

“Get out,” Alex growled.

Ethan crossed the room and pulled open a curtain. Alex shielded his eyes from the light, but not before he saw Ethan wince. He knew how he looked, had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror yesterday and barely recognized the man who stared back at him. His hair was long and disheveled, his face unshaven, and his clothes dirty and stained. He had smudges of black under his eyes and looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks. He hadn’t.

“I’d like nothing better than to leave, but Francesca sent me here, and she’ll have my head if I
don’t try to help.” Ethan lifted one of the bottles covering Alex’s desk, but finding it empty, set it down again. “She keeps saying she’s worried about you. Of course, I can see now that her fears were unfounded. You’re only trying to drink yourself to death.”

Alex saluted him and took another swallow.

“Good God, man. What’s happened to you?” Ethan sat across from his brother and stared at him.

Alex closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the couch. “Go home, Ethan. I don’t want your help.”

“Is it Trafalgar? Was the fighting that bad?”

“No. It was bad, but I’ve seen worse.”

Ethan nodded and took the half-empty bottle of gin. “We lost Nelson.” He poured the remains of the gin in a glass.

“I was on the
Victory
when it happened,” Alex said, keeping his eyes closed. He saw it clearly in his mind. “I helped carry him to the cockpit and was with him at the last.” He opened his eyes and saw Ethan staring at him. “Do you know, his last words were not about the battle. His last words were about his mistress. He whispered her name before he closed his eyes.”

Ethan glanced sharply at Alex, eyes narrowing. Alex looked away. Through the immense French windows of the library, he saw the sun was shining and that spring had arrived in the form of small flowers dotting the rolling hills of Hampshire. But he registered none of it. His thoughts were on Trafalgar—Nelson lying in the cockpit, blood pooling around him, his anguished voice whispering the name of his love.

“I hear that Décharné was found a few weeks ago with his throat slit. Would you know anything about that?” Ethan sipped his drink.

“Bastard deserved to die after what he did to Henri. I had to go back to France anyway.”

Ethan nodded, and Alex knew he understood, would have done the same.

“It was dangerous to go back to France.”

Alex shrugged. “Marie was still there.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened visibly. “That little French maid I saw in your foyer? She’s a bit young for you, Alex.”

“She’s not for me. She’s for Lucia.” Alex scowled at the hitch in his voice on her name. Why could he not move past this?

“For Lucia?” Ethan sounded as though he was being careful to keep his voice neutral. “I hardly think that’s the sort of girl she’d employ.”

“She asked for her when we were in Calais. I went back to Madame Loinger’s and bought her.”

“Good God, Alex!” Ethan almost spilled his gin. “What are you going to do with her now? You
cannot
send her to Lucia.”

“I realize that now,
brother
,” Alex spat. “But I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I’m sure Dandridge won’t approve of Marie, but by the time I thought of that it was too late.”

“Dandridge? Don’t you ever read your mail?” Ethan gestured to Alex’s large mahogany desk, now covered with letters and papers.

“No.” Alex lifted another bottle and drank its scant contents.

“Lucia is not married.”

Alex sat up too quickly, and his head spun. “I don’t believe that. I told her to marry him.” His heart began pounding, and he dropped the bottle of gin.

Ethan smiled. “And has she ever listened to you in the past? She didn’t marry Dandridge. She cried off, and it was the scandal of the Season, which you
would have known had you had opened your mail.”

Alex tried to organize his thoughts, tried to take in his brother’s words. Lucia wasn’t married. She was free.

He had to go to her. He could get her back. He could…

He sat back and picked up his bottle again. No.

Ethan was staring at him, had, no doubt, seen everything all too clearly. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Alex drank, very deliberately, from the bottle. “I don’t fall in love.”

Ethan scowled. “Clearly you have.”

“It’ll pass.”

Ethan gave a bitter laugh. “Take it from me, brother. It
won’t
pass. Give in, and make the best of it.”

“No. I’ll not play the fool.”

Ethan stared at him. “The fool? What are you…” Then he paused, looking at Alex long and hard. “This is about your father, isn’t it?”

“It has nothing to do—”

“Don’t lie to me, Alex.” Ethan slammed a fist on the table. “I suffered from his exploits, too. He was a bastard, and if he was alive now, I’d kill him for what he did to Mother.”

Alex nodded. He would have liked to do the same. His father—Society’s joke.

Love’s Fool.

“He was a fool,” Alex said. “He made fools of all of us.”

“No, Alex.” Ethan sat forward. “His behavior has nothing to do with you—or Lucia.”

Alex snorted. “Right. The moment I show the first sign of affection toward a woman, the comparisons begin.”

Ethan shrugged. “So let them talk. No one who
knows you would ever believe you’re anything like Selbourne.”

Alex knew this was true. He’d done everything in his power to set himself apart from his father. But what if it wasn’t enough? What if, deep down, he
was
just like his father? He’d never forgive himself if he hurt Lucia.

Ethan rose. “The way I see it, Alex, you need only ask one question: Do you
love
her? If you don’t, let her go. If you do—” He gave Alex a hard look. “If you aren’t willing to go after her, to take a risk, then you don’t deserve her.”

Alex looked out the window again. Of course he didn’t deserve her, but he wanted her, needed her,
loved
her.

God, he loved her.

His mind had been full of nothing but Lucia from the moment he’d walked away. He thought of her on the voyage to the West Indies, longed to be with her on his return with Nelson. It was thoughts of her that gave him courage to fight at Trafalgar, and, when Nelson had whispered the name of his ladylove, Alex was shocked to find that Lucia’s name had become his own mantra.

It was thoughts of Lucia that necessitated Décharné’s death. He couldn’t risk allowing her to be made a pawn in Décharné’s schemes again. Long before he returned to England, Alex had known he was in love with her.

He needed her, and it was driving him mad. She’d wriggled her sweet way into his heart despite every defense he’d erected. The worst part had been resigning himself to the fact that she was lost to him. He’d assumed she’d married Dandridge, and only alcohol had numbed the pain of losing her.

Not that her freedom made any difference. Even if
he were to see her, she’d turn and walk the other way. And he couldn’t blame her after the way he’d acted.

Alex thought of a thousand different ways he could’ve parted with her, a million different things he could’ve said. She’d said she loved him. If only he’d said it back. The look in her eyes when he’d turned away still haunted him. He took another swig of gin, wanting to forget that look, stop all the regrets running relentlessly through his brain.

“I’m in love with her,” he said, but when Ethan smiled and came forward, Alex held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll never see me, not after the way I treated her.”

Ethan laughed. “You’re giving up that easily? Maybe you don’t love her.”

Alex plowed a hand through his hair. “Ethan, I can’t make her want me—”

“Alex, the girl mopes around like she’s been refused a voucher to Almack’s. If you’re not the cause, I don’t know what is.”

Hope flared in Alex, and he sat forward. “You think I can succeed, then? You think I can convince her to—” He swallowed.

“Marry you?”

Alex nodded.

“You’re looking a little pale, brother. Are you certain you want to get married? It will mean entanglements. It will mean commitment to
one
woman. And one only.”

Alex’s stomach lurched.

“For life,” Ethan added ominously.

“Do you think she would agree to—”

“Say it and you are dead.”

Alex sighed. “You’re right. Sorry. Panicked for a moment.”

“I know the feeling,” Ethan said. “But if you want her,
really
want her, you’ll do anything.”

“Right,” Alex said. “I’d better go to London. See her as soon as possible.” Alex rose and started for the door.

“Slow down, Alex,” Ethan said. “I told you she still loves you, but she’s a Dashing, and she has her pride.”

“What are you saying?” Alex asked, turning in the doorway.

“I’m saying this may not be as easy as you think.”

Alex frowned. “What is your advice?”

“Practice getting on your knees and apologizing.” Ethan laughed, and Alex imagined his brother was enjoying the mental image immensely.

“Be serious.”

“I am. From all accounts, your behavior was atrocious.”

“Well, she was no angel.” Alex crossed his arms. “She actually threw a bowl at me.”

“Unprovoked, I’m sure,” Ethan muttered, then shrugged his shoulders and rose to leave. “Very well, if you do not want her back.”

Alex allowed him to take three steps before he gave in. “All right. What do I have to do?”

Ethan smiled. “Sweep her off her feet.”

Alex stared. “Sweep—” He shook his head. “Sweep her off her feet? You’ll have me looking like a complete—” Alex froze, and every nerve in his body tingled. That was it!

“What are you thinking?” Ethan asked. “I don’t like your look.”

“I have it.” Alex snapped his fingers. “I know what she wants.”

Ethan raised a brow. “I find that rather difficult to believe.”

“Well, it’s true. I’m going to marry her, Ethan.”

And he would. He’d never lost anything he wanted this badly. And Alex wanted her. Badly.

Lucia spotted Reginald and his wife as soon as she placed one silver slipper on the prince’s ornate marble staircase at Carlton House. The crowd was enormous, everyone jammed together tightly and screaming to be heard over the din of so many voices. But Lucia saw Reginald right away. He was watching her coldly.

His wife stood at his side, a plump brunette, dark and petite. They had arrived in Town, married only two months. She was an heiress from a good family that Reginald had met in Brighton. He’d quickly wooed and wed her, and now everyone was talking about the match.

Lucia stared at the girl, knowing the
ton
’s comparisons would not be in Lucia’s favor.
She
had called off the wedding and remained unmarried, while Reginald had snatched up an heiress. And the heiress was a ripe seventeen, while Lucia was past her prime at twenty-one.

Her mother came up behind her. “Do make an attempt to be civil,
mia bella
,” she said without moving her lips. “For your father’s sake.”

Lucia glanced at her mother and saw her father just behind. He frowned. “Dandridge is still a power in Parliament. It won’t do to offend him more than we have. Make an overture of friendship—a slight one. It will be enough.”

Lucia sighed. It was going to be a night in hell.

At the bottom of the steps, she smiled, nodded to her parents, and made her way toward Reginald and his bride. There was no point in putting off the inevitable meeting. As she neared the couple, she no
ticed the people around them quieted. Her words would be repeated in more than one drawing room the next day.

Upon reaching Reginald, Lucia curtsied, murmuring, “My lord.”

He did not bow in return. “Annabelle, pray allow me to lead you into dinner. I know you must be hungry.” He turned away, leading his bride with him. To her credit, the girl looked extremely apologetic, but it didn’t lessen the sting of the cut.

Lucia stood stiffly, watching Reginald and his wife disappear into the crowd. Around her, she heard the whispers swell. She had to force her legs to move. Somehow she made it to the open French doors and pretended to study the nearby foliage. After a few moments the
ton
forgot her, and she escaped through the French doors and into the brisk April night.

She dashed the unshed tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. Outside, away from the crush of people, she could breathe again. She hated London. The gossip and lies. It was a wonder that she had ever tolerated Society. She felt like a caged bird surrounded by people waiting to jab their fingers at her.

Nothing here would ever change, and until she married, she’d never escape it. She’d have to smile and nod, dance and forget. Forget, once more, how to feel. How to love.

She pushed the thought away.

The prince had ordered torches lit, and the manicured lawns of Carlton House were bright and colorful. From the terrace, Lucia watched with envy as the couples strolled together on the lawns below.

Most were drifting inside as the dancing was about to begin. What she wouldn’t give to stroll in the garden, hand in hand, like the young lovers be
fore her, to think of nothing but a happy future together or when another kiss could be stolen.

But she couldn’t stay outside all night musing on a future that would never be. It was cold and she had no wrap, since her mother subscribed to the latest fashion that wraps, even on the coldest days, were unstylish.

She peered inside the ballroom and saw Francesca and Ethan entering the lavish room where the prince was holding court. She smiled at the surprise as she’d expected them to still be in residence at Winterbourne Hall. Her spirits rose, and she turned, bumping into a man dressed in black.