A Lady in Name (27 page)

‘Dion!’

Lucy threw Stefan a look of gratitude, and fought to speak through an increasingly unsteady voice. ‘Furthermore, Lord Sarclet echoes my own opinion about the unwisdom of my being brought into this household. For my part, my sojourn has never been anything but temporary. I have no notion of embarrassing anyone, and it is no part of my plan to move in.’ She was aware of her tone rising and struggled to keep it down. ‘My lord Sarclet may rest assured that I will be removing my disturbing presence in short order.’

She was too near to disgracing herself to be able to remain.
Without looking to see how her words were received, she pushed back her chair and turned quickly to Mrs Ankerville.

‘I am very tired, ma’am.
I trust you will not object if I excuse myself.’

Her legs were jelly, but Lucy managed to make herself walk to the door.
In a moment, she was thankfully out of sight of anyone within the dining parlour, and it did not matter that she stumbled along and had to support herself at one wall, dashing tears away from her eyes with her free hand.

* * *

The dining parlour was momentarily silent. Stefan was unable to speak, for fear of the hot words choking in his throat. Enough of a scene had been made already, and anything he said could only make bad worse.

Then Dion jumped up.
‘I will go after her.’

Stefan
got to his feet, reaching out and grabbing her arm. ‘No, sit down. There has been enough drama for one day, I thank you.’

‘But Lucy is distressed.
Could you not see how she was desperately trying to keep back her tears?’

Stefan did not let go his sister’s arm.
‘If I know Lucy, she will infinitely prefer to be left alone.’

At the other end of the table, Corisande was nodding.
‘Quite right, Stefanus. If one wants to have a really good cry, one must dispense with an audience.’

Stefan ignored this.
‘Dion, sit down.’

She looked rebellious, glaring at Thomas.
‘I have a very good mind to walk out of here.’

‘You will do no such thing.
We are all going to sit down and finish dinner.’ Stefan looked for his butler. ‘Hawkesbury, ask Cook to make up a tray with something light from the next course and have it taken up to Miss Graydene’s room.’

As ever, he could rely on the butler’s imperturbability.
‘Very good, my lord.’

Stefan looked around the table, noting Sarclet’s high colour.
‘Now, for God’s sake, let us at least try to be civilised!’

To his intense relief, Corisande rose for once to the occasion.
‘I am reminded of nothing so much as the old manor houses of the early twelfth century. You could not help but have your personal business overlooked by all your acquaintance. I believe this accounts in large measure for—’

After a moment Stefan tuned out, allowing his mother’s monologue to drift gently over his lacerated senses.
Had he allowed his instincts sway, they would have led him to plant a useful blow from his fist in the self-satisfied bullfrog features. There was little point in dwelling upon it. What else was to be expected from a man whose actions were dictated by Paulina’s whining complaints? How two women springing from the same seed could grow up to be so different was a mystery. The one, self-centred and mulish; the other, generous to a fault. Yet both exhibited, in highly different forms, the passion that had characterised their father.

The thought of the other passionate side he had discovered in Lucy only last night made
Stefan acutely uncomfortable. He took a sip of wine and tried to think of something else. But Lucy’s image persisted in his mind. He saw her features in all their phases, and it came to him how infinitely complex was her character. Just when he thought he had begun to understand her, some other facet came to the surface to confound him. She was endlessly fascinating, and wholly necessary to his comfort.

Shock ripped through Stefan as he tried to recapture that thought.
It wafted away from him, together with its message. Lucy had all but unhinged his mind. What had she said? That she intended to leave this house? The better for him if she did, and quickly.

* * *

By the time Lucy got to her room, the desire to weep had left her. She felt cold and dead inside. But a thread of resentment could not but meander its way into her heart.

She had not asked for quarter.
From the outset, she had set herself to manage her own affairs. Had she not had the misfortune to lose her heart to the unattainable, she would likely have removed much sooner. Lord Sarclet had succeeded better than he knew, his intervention reminding her that she had no business in this place. Last night felt an aeon away. If Stefan had indeed kissed her near senseless, it proved nothing. Had he not said such things happened between men and women?

The reflection left her forlorn, but she set about removing her gown and petticoats.
She was down to her chemise and stays when a tapping at the door made her start. Lucy’s heart made a wild leap and hammered painfully. Breath held she called out, ‘Who is it?’

‘Turton, Miss.
I was sent by Mr Hawkesbury.’

Disappointment crept like a stinging serpent into her bosom and Lucy almost wept.
But she went to open the door to find the maid bearing a covered tray.

‘His lordship said as how Cook was to send you up a little something, miss, seeing as you had no dinner.’

Stefan’s thoughtfulness was near her undoing. Fortunately the maid, having set down the tray, distracted her with an offer to help her undress. Attired for the night and left alone again, Lucy investigated the contents of the tray. Rejecting the piece of cold pie, she buttered two halves of a roll and slid a slice of succulent ham between them. She ate without enthusiasm, listlessly wandering about the room, her concentrated mind going round and round the problem of how to get away. Or rather, how to persuade Stefan of her urgent need to depart.

A filter of memory gave her back an echo of last night’s discussion.
Was it only last night? She had wanted to leave after Mrs Ankerville had observed the likeness between herself and Paulina. Matters having drastically deteriorated, that desire was now acute. Had not Stefan made a suggestion of some merit? For the life of her, Lucy could not remember what it had been.

She swallowed the last of her roll and looked at the tray again, her palate urging something sweet.
There was a syllabub, which she did not fancy. Regretfully, she sipped water instead and made ready to go to bed, drawing the curtains around the four-poster. As she made to climb in, there was another soft tap upon the door.

Lucy hesitated, fighting an obstinate slow thump at her heart.
An absurd hope. Why would he seek her out? And in her bedchamber. It must be Dion. Lucy weighed the desirability of reliving the unhappy moments of tonight’s events, interspersed with Dion’s exclamations, against the more sensible course of pretending to be asleep.

The tap came again, a little louder.
Sighing, Lucy left the bed and padded to the door. She opened it as she spoke.

‘Is that you, Dion?’

Stefan stood in the passage. His chestnut locks were a trifle dishevelled, his cravat askew. His waistcoat hung half open and his hands were out of sight behind his back.

Lucy’s pulse skittered out of control and she forgot her own state of undress.
One hand holding to the door handle, she stood staring at his face, mesmerised by the gleam in his eyes as they travelled down her person and back up to her face.

‘I’m not supposed to come in,’ he said, slurring his esses slightly, ‘but you look altogether inviting in that nightgown.’

In shocked realisation, Lucy looked down at herself. ‘Oh, no.’

She took several steps backwards, leaving the door open.
His gaze riveted on hers, Stefan came into the room, and kicked the door to with his heel. It clicked shut.

‘That’s a degree safer.’

‘Safer!’ echoed Lucy, retreating to the four-poster.

His brow lifted.
‘From prying eyes, I meant.’ Again his gaze ran down her body, and Lucy saw him draw in a breath. ‘For God’s sake, find something to cover yourself with! Haven’t you got a dressing-gown?’

‘Of course I have,
’ Lucy retorted, driven into irritation as she ran to the press and frantically hunted through the drawers. ‘How was I to know it would be you?’

The dressing-gown proved elusive, and Lucy’s trembling hands found instead her black woollen shawl.
Dragging it from the drawer, she shook it out and threw it around her shoulders, wrapping its voluminous folds about her in an effort to conceal as much of herself as she could. When she turned, trusting her body was less exposed, Stefan had brought his hands from behind him.

‘I thought you might be in need of comforters.’

In one hand he held a glass of ruby liquid, in the other a small china dish. Warmth flitted through her. ‘That was thoughtful of you, Stefan.’

A muscle tightened at his jaw line.
‘It is time someone spoiled you a little, Lucy Graydene.’

Her eyes pricked as remembrance of all she had undergone today swept back.
She was unbearably touched and hardly noticed Stefan was moving until he proffered the glass he held. Lucy took it and looked up, ready to thank him. But as she opened her mouth, his fingers popped something between her lips, mischief flashing in his eyes.

Lucy had perforce to close her mouth, tasting instant sweetness and the hard surface beneath.
Automatically she bit into whatever it was, and could not help making a sound of deep content.

‘Sugared almonds,
’ she managed, as her teeth and tongue made short work of the pleasurable sensations. ‘I had been wishing for something sweet.’

Stefan held out the bowl.
‘Enjoy them, then.’

Lucy took hold of the bowl, but Stefan did not release it into her grasp.
Instead his eyes roved her face, settling on her mouth, watching her lips move sensually as she chewed on the last of the sweetmeat.

He groaned in spirit.
He should not have stayed so long in the dining-parlour, lowering the level of port in the decanter. Else he might successfully have fought the dangerous urge to come near the girl.

Without intent, he took another almond and held it to her lips, glancing up to meet her eyes as he did so.
Lucy’s delicious mouth opened as if at his command, and he slipped the sweet inside, the tip of his finger lingering, caressing the wetness of her inner lip.

Her tongue touched his fingertip and Stefan hissed in a breath as flame danced in his loins.
Lucy’s eyes darkened and he knew his desire was echoed within her. She did not move, making no attempt either to pull her mouth away from his intrusive finger, or to prevent the exploration he could not stop himself from making.

Lucy felt powerless under the gentle probing of his single fingertip.
It ran lightly across the edge of her teeth and traced back along the line of her lips. Her veins were rich with heat, and in her depths a pulsating force held her motionless with yearning.

At last the finger left her and Stefan’s hand released the dish into her grip.
But his eyes held hers, and slowly, slowly his face leaned down towards hers. Lucy closed her eyes as she felt the touch of his mouth. It was wholly without pressure, light as the brush of silk against her lips. But Lucy felt as if she were drowning in sensation.

An aeon passed.
Then his lips left hers and Stefan was shifting, his back against the door. Her eyes flew open. His gaze seemed to burn in the candlelight, his voice was roughened, his breath uneven.

‘I had better go before I disgrace us with conduct unbefitting us both.’

Lucy could not argue. She was in as much danger of forgetting all she had learned from Papa’s patient nurturing. Yet all she’d thought she was had been overturned. Out of a desperate need, she uttered foolish words.

‘Perhaps it befits me.’

Stefan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t speak like that. I won’t have you denigrate yourself.’

Lucy swallowed.
‘I don’t mean it. Don’t be angry with me.’

‘I am not angry.’
He threw a hand out as if he would touch her, and quickly withdrew it again. ‘If I am angry, it is not with you, Lucy, but with those who would seek to lower your dignity.’

Lucy’s head came up sharply.
‘They cannot do that. I am mistress of my own dignity.’ She bit her lip and drew on all her reserves of strength. ‘But you must not kiss me again, Stefan.’

His eyes left hers, ran over her face and rested briefly on her lips.
His gaze came up again to meet hers, and Lucy was startled by the depth of feeling she saw there. Was it tenderness?

‘But I want to kiss you,’ Stefan said, his voice low and caressing.
‘Thoroughly and without ceasing. The difficulty is, Lucy, I am in love with you.’

His words echoed in Stefan’s mind.
He had said them with no prior concept. His head felt light and his heart free, as if he was released of a terrible burden.