A Reckless Desire (30 page)

“Oh, hang the wager,” he said. “I've never been more proud of you today, Lucia, first with McGraw, and then with the ladies. When I saw you sitting in the green parlor with a porcelain cup in your hand, taking tea between Gus and Serena, you looked as if you could have been their sister. You
belonged
there.”

But she didn't. Not in that house, not among the welcoming ladies of his family. It was, in a way, a complement to her acting ability, her skill at imitating noblewomen as she sat in their midst. But she wasn't one of them, and all the lessons in the world wouldn't change that. She knew the truth, even if he pretended not to. Breconridge Hall was not her place, and all his wishful thinking could never make it otherwise.

“You mean Mrs. Willow belonged,” she said finally. Mrs. Willow: the lady he'd made her over into, the one he'd wanted, his creation, not the tiring-girl who'd first bluffed her way into his house to see him. “Not Lucia di Rossi.”

“I mean the woman I love,” he said, gently cradling her jaw in the palm of his hand.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.”

Her heart melted: how could it not? Such sweet words, such perfect words of love and devotion! He kissed her, and she kissed him in return, deeply, fervently, with all the love that she possessed. She would do as she'd told him to do, and love him and this moment as if no others would follow.

But never doubt I love
…

It was only later, much later, as she lay beside him in his bed and the new moon rose high outside his bedchamber window that she remembered that those beautiful words of promise and fidelity had belonged to the doomed, disloyal Hamlet.

After the excitement of the day before, Rivers and Lucia were in no hurry to rise the next morning. The rain had left their retreat on the roof too wet to use, and they had spent the night in the large, old-fashioned bed in Rivers's rooms. She had been quiet, even subdued, but she also had been so passionate during their lovemaking that he'd put aside any worries that she might be unwell. She loved him, loved him as he loved her, and that had been all that mattered.

It was nearly noon when they finally wandered downstairs for a late breakfast, still in their dressing gowns, and going no farther than the small parlor Rivers had converted into a library. He hadn't bothered to have Rooke shave him, and she hadn't called to have her hair dressed, letting it tumble luxuriantly around her shoulders, the way he liked best.

There was no talk of any further lessons. After Lucia's successful audition the day before, there seemed no point. Whatever additional instruction she might require could come later, once she'd rehearsed with the other players for the benefit. He didn't suggest returning to Breconridge Hall, either, despite the urgings of his stepmother and sisters-in-law. Although that surprising visit had gone better—infinitely better—than he ever would have expected, he wanted to keep Lucia to himself as their days together dwindled.

Nor did either of them speak of their imminent departure from the Lodge to London. They had this day left to enjoy and another besides, and then they would return to town, and this part of their lives together would be done. Everything would change, and they both knew it. It seemed that they tacitly agreed that they would savor these last two days in the country and not talk yet of the future, as Lucia had always begged Rivers to do.

But silence on the subject did not mean that Rivers was not considering their shared future. Far from it. He had no intention of giving Lucia up simply because the wager would be done, and they'd have a change of scenery. He loved her too much for that. In these short weeks, she'd become the best part of his life, and he easily envisioned a pleasurable and overlapping existence for them in London.

After her audition with McGraw, he was certain the manager would offer Lucia a permanent place in his company, as she deserved and as she wanted. He regretted having to share her with so many others, with the other actors and people of the playhouse as well as with the audiences who would surely adore her, but he would not dream of denying her the success that she'd wanted for so long. As much as he loved her, he couldn't selfishly expect her to give up that dream to dote upon him, nor did he want the guilt of her squandered talent upon his conscience, either.

He would simply occupy himself as usual with his own affairs during the day, and then she would again be his by night and on days when the playhouse was shut. He had already instructed his agent to find a small but elegant furnished house for her, one that was convenient to both the playhouse and his own home in Cavendish Square, and where he could visit her whenever he pleased.

True, she claimed not to want anything else from him, but a house would be different. Because of his wager, she'd been forced to quit her last lodgings, and in a way he felt he owed her a new residence. Besides, the dream of gathering her up from the playhouse each night after yet another brilliant performance was very sweet indeed, and he was already imagining endless cozy suppers and intimate evenings together in the delightful little house.

He smiled fondly at her. They were sitting together on the sofa, or rather he was sitting, and she was lying curled upon it with her head resting against his thigh. Her hair was loose and tumbled around her shoulders, and her rose-colored silk sultana draped sensuously over her naked body, falling open to reveal her bare, pale calves and ankles and feet in green beaded heeled mules, all of her a sight that he'd never tire of.

He was pretending to read the newspaper that had come with the morning mail, while she was intent upon the small, fat book in her hand:
The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling
by Sir Henry Fielding. Given the freedom of his library, she'd surprised him by becoming a voracious reader; he intended to surprise her with a subscription to one of the lady's lending libraries in town so she'd never be without books again. It pleased him that they shared this, too, and he loved watching her as she read, with one finger pressed to her lips and her brows scowling in fierce concentration.

“It's a novel, sweetheart,” he said mildly. “It does not merit that much agony from you.”

Her brows unknitted, and she looked up at him. “But it does, Rivers,” she said. “Once again Tom nearly finds Sophie, and yet again they miss each other.”

He brushed an unruly lock of her hair back from her forehead. His hand trailed down her cheek to her shoulder, and slowly eased the silk away from her collarbone. “If they found each other as easily as you wish, then the book would be only fifty pages instead of six hundred.”

“I know,” she said, “but still I wish to know how it ends, so I need to finish the book before we leave.”

“No, you don't,” he said, thinking more about the softness of her skin than the book. “Take it with you. I would never deprive you of the unbridled bliss of Tom and his Sophie.”

“It
will
be bliss.” She wrinkled her nose, but smiled at the same time to show she wasn't truly upset with him. “You shouldn't treat their love so lightly, Rivers.”

He slid his hand lower, to find and cup her breast. “I wouldn't dare,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

She let the book drop from her hands to the floor and reached up to slip her fingers into his hair, cradling his jaw with her palm. She made a contented purr deep in her throat as his mouth moved over hers, deepening the kiss. Perhaps they should go back upstairs again, or perhaps he should just join with her here on the sofa.

He didn't hear the front door open, and at first the voices didn't register, either. But as those voices—a man and a woman—came closer, and grew louder, he realized he'd no choice but to pull away from Lucia.

“Hell,” he muttered, as she sat upright beside him, modestly pulling the sultana back over her breast. “This is twice in two days I've had my privacy interrupted. If this is more of my infernal family, I mean to send them on their way before they—”

“Rivers, you dog,” exclaimed Sir Edward Everett, throwing the door to the library open himself and striding boldly into the room. “Your man told me you were not at home, but I know you too well to believe that nonsense. At home, my foot! You're at home, oh, yes, home with this divine little creature.”

He leered at Lucia, clearly not remembering her, nor recognizing her.

“Blast you, Everett, you can't come barging in here without warning,” Rivers said, standing and putting himself between his friend and Lucia. “At least no gentleman does such a thing.”

But Everett ignored him, trying to get a better look at Lucia. “Sir Edward Everett, my darling, your ardent admirer and a friend of this dry old philosopher.”

“Asino sciocco!”
exclaimed the woman, a few steps behind Everett. “Foolish donkey! Cannot you see who she is?”

The rustle of too many silk ruffles and too much perfume entered the room as well, and even without looking Rivers knew who it was.

“Magdalena!” cried Lucia, and not happily, either. She scrambled swiftly to her feet, clutching her sultana more tightly about her body. “Why have you come? Why have you followed me here?”

Everett drew back uneasily. “You know her, Magdalena? Do
I
know her?”

“Of course you do, Everett,” Rivers said, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. How in blazes had the earlier blissful peace of being with Lucia in his library turned into this farcical circus? “Or you should anyway, considering she is going to be the reason you have lost a hundred guineas to me.”

“And a sorry business it is, too, my lord,” Magdalena said with an unconvincing show of indignation, the oversized plumes on her hat twitching with it. “The proof is here, yes? You have ruined my little cousin, haven't you, made her your
giocattolo,
your plaything?”

“Hah, I see it now,” Everett said uneasily, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “The chit's the serving-girl from the playhouse after all. But what the devil is this game, Rivers? When we made the wager, she was as plain as they come. Now she's—”

“Ruined,” Magdalena said succinctly, stepping so close to Rivers that it felt as if she were swaying against him. “You will be made to pay my family in return for my poor cousin's maidenhead, my lord.”

Rivers stepped back, wanting none of the intimacy that her nearness suggested. Without looking, he felt Lucia beside him instead, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. At least she didn't believe herself to be ruined, and he covered her fingers protectively with his own.

“You should not be here, Everett,” he said, ignoring Magdalena's accusation. “By the rules of our wager, you were not to interfere with my instruction or with Miss di Rossi—”

“ ‘
Miss
di Rossi' my lord!” exclaimed Magdalena, dramatically pressing a hand to her bosom. “Did she dare call herself that to you, my lord? A tiring-girl who has never so much as danced a single step on a stage with the company!”

“No, I haven't, Magdalena,” Lucia said, each word as clipped and well-bred as Rivers's own. “That is the reason I no longer go by that name, but by Mrs. Willow.”

“You've duped me, Rivers,” Everett said indignantly. “Listen to the girl! She's no more a serving wench than I am. She's an utter sham, that's what she is.”

Rivers smiled. He couldn't help it. “I thank you for the compliment, Everett, and your concession with it. Mrs. Willow's accomplished speech is the winning proof of my lessons, and her diligence.”

“Aye, 'tis that, Sir Edward,” Lucia said, instantly slipping back into her old accent. She huddled her shoulders, clutched her hands together, and ducked her head; even dressed in the luxurious silk sultana, she once again became the shrinking tiring-girl. “No one's a better schoolroom gov'nor than his lordship.”

Rivers's smile widened to a fully fledged grin. How could it not, when she showed Everett up as neatly as this?

Everett jabbed his finger in the air, encompassing both Lucia and Rivers. “I still say it's a trick, a low and dirty trick, and the two of you have somehow contrived to make me look the fool. It's a good thing I came down here to see for myself, Rivers, before you made me the laughingstock of the entire town.”

“I would never do that to you,” Rivers said evenly. “No one will laugh at you, so long as you admit that you've lost the wager fairly.”

“Blast you, Rivers, it's not right,” Everett said, his outrage spilling over into petulant anger. “McGraw has already been boasting how he's to have this Mrs. Willow in his playhouse. Who is she? Where did you find her?”

“
Stupido,
she is my
cousin
!” Magdalena grabbed Everett by the sleeve to claim his attention, her voice turning shrill. “Do you not see what his lordship has done? He has made my innocent cousin
prigioniera del suo desiderio—
a prisoner of his desire! He has seduced her, debauched her, ruined her. You must help me, Sir Edward, help me to save her and our family's honor and pride, and to rescue her from—”

“Magdalena.” Lucia deftly removed her cousin's hand from Sir Edward's arm and drew her away; she'd years of managing Magdalena, and it showed. “Let us leave the gentlemen to speak together alone, while we shall walk in the garden. Come, this way.”

Glaring, Magdalena jerked away from Lucia. But though she pointedly pulled back, making a faint hissing sound between her teeth, she still sailed from the room in the direction that Lucia had suggested. As she followed her, Lucia smiled over her shoulder—a smile that was both warmly reassuring and conspiratorial, and reminded Rivers all over again of why he loved her so.