Guilty Series (95 page)

“Lady Sarah is the loveliest young lady of my acquaintance,” he answered, male admiration obvious in the sudden warmth of his voice. “A stunning beauty. Golden hair, deep blue eyes, and a perfect, milk-white complexion. The epitome of young English womanhood. I admire her greatly, but then, most men do.”

Lucia repressed the urge to make gagging sounds.

“She is always surrounded by admirers,” Sir Ian continued. “Through her, many suitable young men would have the opportunity to meet you. She isn't the most intelligent of companions, perhaps,” he added with an indulgent smile, “but I am certain the two of you would be able to find things to talk about. Young ladies discuss all manner of things that we men do not comprehend. Fashions in sleeves and hair ribbon bows and such.”

Lucia began to wonder how a man so dense had ever become such a widely respected diplomat. Did he really think she could be friends with a woman who was both beautiful
and
stupid? They should despise each other. “Are there any other choices?”

“I don't believe so…” He frowned, considering the matter.

Lucia waited, hoping he named someone, anyone, who sounded remotely in keeping with her needs for enjoyment and independence.

“There's my brother, I suppose,” he said with doubt. “He and his wife live in Portman Square, which is right in the heart of things. And they are very good friends with the Duke and Duchess of Tremore. That's a valuable connection. But…no.” He shook his head. “I couldn't even think of letting you stay there. My brother is outrageous, and as for his wife, well, I hardly think she would be an appropriate chaperone. She caused quite the scandal herself when she was a girl.”

“She did?” Lucia's spirits began to rise. “What did she do? Tell me.”

Sir Ian's face took on an expression of heavy disapproval. “She ran off to the Continent with some French painter when she was seventeen. She'd known the man a week. A week, mind you. And he didn't even marry her until two years later.”

To Lucia's way of thinking, this woman sounded like a definite possibility. “What happened?”

“After her husband died, Grace came back to
England, but her reputation was in ruins. She became my brother's mistress. Needless to say, that didn't help her regain her respectability. My brother, Dylan, was quite the rake in his day, I'm ashamed to admit.”

“Dylan?” Astonished, Lucia stared at him, unable to imagine this man with a brother whose reputation for outrageous behavior was so well-known. “Your brother is Dylan Moore, the composer?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm sure you can understand that staying with them would not be a good situation for you.”

Oh, yes it would. She liked outrageous people. And Grace Moore, having done some scandalous things herself, would surely be a permissive chaperone. Lucia could go where she pleased, do what she wanted, and visit her mother any time she liked. She decided it was time for another layer of buttering up.

Lucia leaned forward in her chair, all wide-eyed and earnest. “But, Sir Ian, you are a member of their family. Given your impeccable reputation and influential position, your brother and his wife must therefore be considered respectable people.”

“They are now.” He smoothed his cravat, looking pleased with himself. “After I managed to salvage Grace's reputation.”

“You did?” She gave him her most admiring gaze. “So I am not the first young lady to be saved by you? I am not at all surprised, given your diplomatic skills.”

“It was not all due to me,” he answered with an obvious attempt at modesty. “The Duchess of Tremore and her sister-in-law, Lady Hammond, were most helpful to my efforts. And, of course, Dylan has settled down to married life quite well. But still—” He hesitated, gray eyes narrowing on her with sternness. “Can I rely upon you to exercise the utmost self-restraint while in my brother's house?”

Lucia folded her hands in her lap, meek as a lamb. “I know I have made mistakes, but I am sure that if I had interesting companions, I would be very wise.”

“I daresay, but I'm not certain the people you would meet through my brother's acquaintance would be of good character.”

“But you would never choose a husband for me who was not of good character,” she said with dulcet sweetness. “And if your brother and his wife are friends with a duke, that should provide many opportunities for me to meet people of the utmost breeding and suitability, thereby fortifying my reputation. I would so much like to stay with them. With your permission, of course.”

Sir Ian sat back in his chair, folded his arms, and considered the matter. “It would be more amusing for you there, I suppose,” he said with reluctance. “And I did give you your choice.” Another long pause, then he nodded. “All right, Portman Square it is.”

She gave a sigh of relief and satisfaction. “Thank you, Sir Ian. This shall be a new life for
me, and it is so reassuring to know that I can rely upon you to advise me.”

He smiled, looking as buttered up as a man could get. “No thanks are necessary, Miss Valenti. It is my pleasure to guide you in any way I can.”

Lucia smiled back at him, looking grateful, feeling like a cat swimming in cream. Perhaps it was a terrible flaw in her character, but she did love getting her way.

I
an loved getting his way. There was nothing more exhilarating than a diplomatic negotiation concluded with success. He now had a second negotiation to undertake, and there was no predicting how it would turn out. His brother could be as contrary as springtime weather.

After leaving Francesca's house, he called at Portman Square, but he found that Dylan was out. Grace, however, was at home.

“Ian!” With a wide, delighted smile, his sister-in-law rose and came forward as he walked into the drawing room, her hands outstretched in greeting. “Dylan told me you were in London. I am so sorry I was out when you came to call last evening.”

“I regret that as well. I so seldom get to see you.” He took her hands and kissed her cheeks with warm affection. Grace was slender, blond, beautiful, and one of the most generous-hearted people Ian had ever met. She was certainly the best thing that had ever happened to his brother. She was also sensible, a quality Ian admired. Most people had no sense whatsoever.

“I would have written ahead that I was coming home,” he went on as she sat down and he took the chair opposite her, “but there was no time to do so. This diplomatic mission cropped up rather suddenly.”

“Would you care for tea?” When he nodded, she reached for the bellpull on the wall behind the chair where she sat, and a footman stepped into the drawing room. Grace ordered refreshments, and a few minutes later, she was pouring out a fragrant cup of China tea for each of them.

“So, are you allowed to discuss this diplomatic mission?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, cup and saucer in her hands. “Or is it a secret one this time?”

Ian also leaned back with his tea. “Quite the contrary. I wish to tell you all about it. In fact, my dear Grace, to accomplish this particular assignment, I am in need of your assistance.”

 

The day after she and Sir Ian had come to agreement about her new living arrangements, trunks, satchels, and traveling cases were stacked in the foyer of the house in Cavendish Square to
be transported to her new home. Lucia studied them as she waited with her mother for Sir Ian to arrive. “I had only one small satchel with me when I arrived on your doorstep, Mamma,” she murmured. “I am departing with twenty times that much.”

“We did keep Bond Street rather busy, didn't we?” Francesca agreed.

Lucia recognized the deliberate cheerfulness in her mother's voice, and she felt once again as if she were a little girl in boarding school. “This is a change, is it not?” she choked, blinking at the suddenly blurry pile of luggage. “This time, I am the one leaving you.”

Francesca grasped her chin and turned her head to look her in the face. She gave her a frown that tried to be stern. It failed utterly, but it always did. Francesca was as stern as a kitten. “No tears now.”

“No,” she agreed, and forced herself to smile. “I intend to sneak out and see you whenever I can.”

Francesca sighed. “You get that stubbornness from your father,” she said, shaking her head, but without much disapproval. “I know you will not listen if I order you not to come, so I will not even attempt it. But if you do visit me, be careful how you manage it. Remember, in London society, discretion is all.”

“Mamma,” she said with a wobbly laugh, “if I can get past convent nuns and Cesare's guards, I can do anything.”

At that moment, the carriage arrived, and Lucia was glad of it, for she knew all about good-byes and hated them. She turned away and started out of the house, but at the last minute, she ran back to her mother. “My birthday is only three weeks away,” she said, inventing an excuse to stay another moment. “Don't forget, Mamma.”

Her mother caressed her cheek. “Do I ever forget?”

“No. But you do forget things sometimes. I just…wanted to remind you.”

“I promise I won't forget.” Francesca kissed her forehead. “Go. Enjoy yourself and try not to worry about your future. Things will work out for the best.”

This time, when Lucia turned away, she did not look back, and she cheered herself with the reminder that her new home was not all that far away.

Sir Ian was halfway to the front door when she emerged. He was impeccably dressed and had not a hair out of place. Of course, no speck of lint dared to dust his dark blue coat. He seemed more inhuman than ever.

He stopped on the walk as she approached. He bowed to her, then escorted her to the waiting carriage, where he assisted her to step up into the vehicle.

Someone else was inside, and when Lucia took her seat, she found herself sitting beside one of the loveliest women she had ever seen. Wheat-blond hair peeped out from beneath the woman's
cream-colored bonnet, and her eyes were a clear, light green color, almost like peridot jewels. They made a striking contrast to her periwinkle blue dress and hat ribbons. Her golden beauty was so different from Lucia's own dark coloring that she could not help but stare in admiration, feeling as if she were looking at a painting by Bellini. When the woman spoke, her voice was warm and friendly.

“Miss Valenti, I am Grace Moore,” she said, forgoing the formality of waiting for Sir Ian to enter the carriage and introduce them.

Not one to always mind her manners then, Lucia noted, remembering the story Sir Ian had told her of the woman's scandalous elopement. Given her angelic looks, it was hard to credit. “How do you do?”

Grace Moore studied her for a moment, then she gave Lucia a wide smile. “Ian did not tell me what a lovely young woman you are.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you. You look a bit like a Bellini Madonna.”

“But not as pious, I hope! I find pious people tiring, don't you? One is always conscious of not living up to their standards. It wears one out.”

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Lucia assured her. “I lived in a convent for nearly a year, and I was always exhausted.”

They both laughed at that as Sir Ian entered the carriage. “It seems the pair of you are already friends,” he commented as he sat down beside his sister-in-law.

“We are going to get on famously,” Grace told him as the carriage jerked into motion and started down the street.

Lucia was inclined to agree with her. Perhaps she was going to enjoy her new situation after all. She hoped so, after all the tricky maneuvering she'd done to arrange it.

 

Lucia's optimistic hope about her new life was reinforced once she arrived at Portman Square and a maid showed her into her bedchamber. The room had two big windows and was done up in golden yellow and creamy white, with simple walnut furnishings and vases filled with daffodils and hyacinth. She found the room very pleasing, for it was simple, not ostentatious, and she liked that. She'd had enough of gilded chairs and marble floors in her father's palace. Falling back into the plush luxury of her bed's thick mattress, she thought of the hard beds and windowless cells of the convent and laughed aloud. She did like things simple, but she also liked comfort. Here she had both.

“You seem pleased with your room,” a voice commented, and Lucia sat up to find Sir Ian in the corridor, watching her through the open doorway.

“Si,”
she answered, giving him a smile as she leaned back on her elbows. “Yellow is my favorite color, so I do like this room. And the bed is most comfortable.” She gave him a flirtatious smile, just to see how he would react. “I like comfortable beds.”

“Excellent.” With a bow, he turned away from the doorway and started down the corridor.

Lucia gave a sigh and fell back into the pillows. Flirtation was a waste on that man, and it was a crime, for he was quite handsome. Still, she was feeling a bit less hostile toward him, probably because she'd managed to wrap him around her finger yesterday.

“I shall see you at dinner,” his voice echoed back to her from farther down the corridor.

She frowned and sat up, uncertain she'd heard him right. “What do you mean?” she called after him as she rose from the bed and started toward the door. When he reappeared in the doorway, she came to a halt. “What do you mean?” she repeated. “Are you coming to dinner here this evening?”

He gave her a look of surprise. “Of course, and most other evenings as well. After all, I do live here.”

“What?”

“Yes.” Sir Ian gestured down the corridor. “My room is right next to yours. Did I not tell you that yesterday?”

“No,” she said, feeling dismay sinking in. “You failed to mention it.”

He brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his sleeve. “How remiss of me. My apologies.”

“You did this on purpose,” she accused, folding her arms and glaring at him. “You lied to me.”

He put his hand on his heart. “Miss Valenti,
you wound me with such an accusation. Even I, as—how did you put it?” He paused a second. “Ah, yes. As strong and powerful a man as I am, I also have some sensibilities. I do not lie.”

Lucia's eyes narrowed. He had maneuvered her with his talk of other chaperones, pretending to consider her wishes and give her a choice when he'd had her presence here in mind all along. Like a fool, she had fallen right into his trap. “Tricked me, then,” she amended. “Do you like that accusation better?”

“For what purpose would I trick you into living here as opposed to somewhere else?”

“So that you can make certain I behave myself, of course.”

“What an excellent notion.” He smiled, not at all ashamed of his deception, and it was a smile so galling, so self-satisfied, Lucia couldn't stand it.

“Of all the devious things to do. You, you…oh, you—” She broke off, trying to think of what to say to him that was satisfying enough. Though she spoke four languages, only one of them was sufficient to describe her opinion of him at this moment, and Lucia lapsed into Italian.
“Tu furbo bastardo manipolatore!”

“I must protest. Clever and manipulating I may be, but I assure you my parents were married for an entire year before I was born.” He leaned into the room, reaching for the handle of the door. “Dinner is at seven o'clock. Since my ten-year-old niece will be joining us, I suggest
you wear something a bit less—” His cool gray eyes dipped to her bodice without a spark of masculine interest. “Less revealing.”

Before she could say another word, he closed the door between them.

“Oh!” Lucia stared at the door, outraged that insufferable man had gotten the best of her and the underhanded way he had done it.

She had escaped schools, relatives, palaces, and convents only to find herself saddled with Ian Moore. If that man was dogging her heels at every waking moment, she wouldn't have any freedom.

Accidenti!
They all wanted her to get married, didn't they? How on earth was she ever going to find the right man to marry with Ian Moore hovering nearby all the time, ready to remind her and every man she met of the proprieties? No couple could fall in love properly under such circumstances.

And what about her mother? Lucia stopped in front of one window of her room, lifted the sash, and leaned out for a look. Not a tree in sight. No sneaking out that way. Thoroughly vexed, she closed the window and stalked about the room.

“Furbo bastardo,”
she muttered, and proceeded to vent her frustration by coming up with more unflattering descriptions of Ian Moore in Italian. It was only when she ran out of names to call him that she stopped pacing.

She glanced up and caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror of the dressing table, and
it was only then, looking into her own eyes, that she admitted the true reason for her frustration. She had underestimated that Englishman, and she was angry at herself for making such a foolish mistake.

She told herself it did not matter where she stayed. She had not come all the way to England only to be denied her mother's company. And she would wear what she liked and go where she wished. And by heaven, she wasn't going to let anyone, especially that man, choose her husband for her.

Her gaze moved past her own reflection to that of the closed door. She just had to be more clever than Sir Ian Moore.

 

After Ian had changed into evening clothes and returned to the drawing room, he found that Dylan had arrived home. Since Miss Valenti had not yet come down to join them before dinner, talk of her was the subject of their conversation.

“I hope she likes it here.” Grace looked at her brother-in-law, her green eyes anxious. “After all, we are strangers to her.”

“She liked you well enough, and I am certain she will grow accustomed to living here.” Ian sat down in a chair facing the couple opposite him on the settee. “Miss Valenti has a rather adventurous streak in her character, and I have imbued her with the notion that living with people who have scandalous pasts is going to be exciting.”

“You've always been rather a devious fellow,” Dylan remarked.

He thought of Miss Valenti's words a short time ago. “So I have been told.” He leaned back, smiling. “Grace is helping me to play up the scandal a bit.”

“Yes,” Grace agreed. “I did not mention to Miss Valenti that we are now highly respectable members of society.”

Dylan laughed and turned his head to kiss his wife's hair. “You and I respectable,” he murmured. “Who would ever have thought it?”

Ian gave his sister-in-law a look of gratitude. “Thank you for taking on the job of chaperoning the girl. I realize what an enormous responsibility it is for you.”

“No thanks are necessary, Ian,” she assured him. “It is the least I can do after you saved my reputation.”

“Salvaging the reputations of young ladies seems to have become my lot in life,” Ian said wryly. “But Grace, I hope you do not come to regret this. Chaperoning Miss Valenti will not be easy. I hope you can manage her.”

“Managing her will be no great problem for my wife.” Dylan stretched his arm across the back of the settee behind his wife. “She manages me quite well, and Isabel, too, for that matter. I doubt Miss Valenti will give her much trouble.”