Guilty Series (99 page)

She was inundated with enough male attention to satisfy any woman, but as much as Lucia enjoyed flirtation, she began to refrain from it. She did not want to encourage any of these men or hurt them. She tried to be more aloof and distant, but it was an aggravating truth about men that the less interest a woman displayed in them, the more enamored they became.

Even more aggravating to Lucia was the fact that the man responsible for this bachelor parade was nowhere in the vicinity. Telling Grace he had important diplomatic matters to handle, he gave over full charge of Lucia's launch into society to his sister-in-law. When she did chance to see him, he was so aloof and stuffy that she became certain any spark of fire in that man's eyes had been a trick of the light or her imagination.

Despite the admiration she received from many bachelors of London society, the ladies were not so generous, a fact that those two weeks made painfully obvious. Though some invitations came their way, and she was included in those invitations along with the Moore family, Lucia felt the coolness of other women everywhere she went. She did not want to admit how much it hurt to be ostracized, but she found herself confiding her feelings to Isabel one evening over a chess game.

“Why should you care what they think?” Isabel asked.

“It would be nice to have female friends in this country, since I am going to live here for the rest of my life.”

“They are just jealous.” Isabel moved a knight to take Lucia's bishop. “You are prettier than any of them. And much more fun.”

“
Grazie,
Isabel.” Lucia made her next chess play, fully aware that it was an unwise move that put her in danger. She smiled at her petite defender across the table. “That is the nicest compliment I have ever received.”

“From my daughter, it is high praise,” Dylan said from his place at the writing desk where he was composing a letter. “She is very chary of granting her good opinion to anyone. It took me forever to gain it. Grace, too. And Ian.”

“Mr. Moore, I suspect it is my ability to teach her the Spanish guitar that is at the heart of her liking for me.”

“Not true!” Isabel protested. “I do like you, really. You're not silly like most ladies. You don't twitter or fuss or say mean things behind other people's backs. Lady Sarah is the worst of the lot.”

“Isabel!” Grace said, lowering the embroidery in her hands with a laugh. “You mustn't say such things. It isn't proper.”

“My niece is misbehaving again?” Sir Ian entered the drawing room, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He smiled at the little girl as he crossed the room to Dylan's side. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I'm not misbehaving, Uncle Ian, honestly. It's just that the ladies are being mean to Lucia, and it's not right.”

“Mean?” He paused beside Dylan's chair and looked at Lucia. “What are they doing?”

“It's nothing,” she answered. “Isabel exaggerates.”

He took her at her word and turned to his brother, handing him the papers. “Dylan, take a look at these expenditures from Plumfield. Are they comparable to what you are paying at Nightingale's Gate, or do they seem high to you?”

While Dylan complied, Ian returned his
attention to his niece. “Are you exaggerating about this, Isabel?”

“No! They are mean.” She moved her bishop, just as Lucia had known she would. “Checkmate!”

“What?” Lucia stared down at the board in pretended amazement. “How did you manage that?”

Laughing, the child turned toward the man on the other side of the room. “Look, Uncle Ian. I beat Lucia at chess. I never beat you, but I beat her, and she's good. Really good.”

He gave Lucia what might have been a glance of puzzlement, but it was gone before she could be sure. “Yes, Miss Valenti is very skilled,” he agreed. “If you defeated her, Isabel, that is quite an accomplishment.”

Lucia returned her attention to the child opposite her. “I could swear I had you trapped.”

“Not for a second.”

“You distracted me,” Lucia accused her. “We started talking about the ladies, and you distracted me from the game.”

“I didn't!” Isabel grinned, clearly delighted with her victory. “I beat you fair and square. Didn't I? Admit it.”

She sighed, slumping in her chair. “You did,” she confessed in her best discouraged fashion. “And I never saw it coming. I should have paid better attention.”

“Got distracted during the game, did you, Miss Valenti?” Ian's voice once again entered
their conversation. “You seem to let that happen often.”

“I am afraid I do,” she agreed mildly, biting her lip.

His frown deepened. He started in their direction as if to study the board, and Lucia felt a pang of alarm. He might start asking questions about the way play had gone, and Isabel would realize the truth. He hadn't taken more than one step toward them, however, before Dylan spoke. Ian returned his attention to his brother, and with a silent sigh of relief, Lucia began rearranging the chess pieces to hide the evidence of her deliberate loss.

“These expenses seem reasonable to me,” Dylan told him. “Prices have been rising these past few years.”

“I need to come home more often, it seems.” Ian once again started toward the chess table, but when he saw that Lucia had already returned the chess pieces to their original places, he turned to his sister-in-law instead. “Grace, perhaps you should tell me what is going on with the ladies of the ton.”

Grace looked up from her needlework, but she hesitated before replying. With a glance at Lucia, she returned her attention to Ian, and said, “Perhaps we should discuss this another time.”

Knowing it was her presence that caused Grace to hesitate, Lucia spoke. “I want to know. Why do they dislike me?”

“Jealous cats,” Isabel pronounced.

“Isabel,” Grace said, “I want you to go upstairs and tell Molly it's time for your bath.”

The child started to protest, but Grace cut her off. “Dinner is in an hour. Go.”

Isabel slid out of her chair. “I never hear any of the good gossip,” she mumbled as she headed out of the room.

Grace waited until she could be sure Isabel was upstairs before she spoke. “Dylan and I usually receive numerous invitations during the season, but matrons are not issuing very many to us at present.” She shot Lucia a look of apology. “So there is a lack of acceptance. Some of it is due to Miss Valenti's position.”

“That I am illegitimate?” Lucia's chin lifted. “Or that I am Francesca's daughter?”

“Both, I'm sorry to say. I also agree with Isabel's point about jealousy. It is somewhat understandable. They resent that Lucia, a foreign girl with a courtesan mother, has had so many gentlemen callers, and that she is admired by them. Everywhere we go—bookstores, parks, the art galleries—men express the wish for an introduction to her.”

Her husband groaned. “And those are the ones who haven't met her. Grace, my darling, the men who have already been introduced accost me in Brooks's to talk about Miss Valenti.”

“They do?” Lucia asked. “What do they say?”

“They ask me questions about you,” Dylan replied, turning in his chair to look at her. “What flowers you like and who your favorite poets
are—as if I know any of these things! I suggest they ask you. Or, if they can't work up the nerve for that, to make these inquiries of Grace. They rhapsodize, Miss Valenti, about your beauty and your wit and your delightful accent. If I hear one more description of your chocolate eyes and your cherry-red lips, I shall be forced to retreat to the country.”

“They are saying things like that?” Ian asked, his voice sharp.

“All the time. Stop working long enough to get about town, and you would hear it for yourself.” He paused, looking up at his brother. “I'd have thought you'd be happy about this, Ian.”

“So I am.”

“Then why are you frowning like thunder?”

He took a moment to answer. “The situation of the matrons concerns me,” he finally said. “It must be resolved. But I am pleased to hear Miss Valenti has so many suitors.” His frown vanished, and he gave her a nod as he walked by her chair. “It bodes well.”

Lucia frowned at his back as he walked away. Being inundated with men would only bode well if she had a speck of desire for any of them. And did Sir Ian have to be so pleased about it? Really, she thought, aggrieved, a man with any passion in him would have been just a little bit jealous.

Ian paused at the door and turned. “Grace, to entrench Miss Valenti into the ton, she must have the good opinion of the matrons, don't you agree?”

“Yes.”

He tapped the sheaf of papers in his hand against his palm, lost in thought. Lucia wondered what scheme he was coming up with now, but she was not kept in suspense long. “Dylan, I believe that, for once, you have given me sound advice.”

“I always give you sound advice. You just don't listen very often.”

He ignored that. “I do need to get about town more. I believe it might be time for me to call upon some of the matrons and start mentioning Miss Valenti's half brother.”

“Antonio?” Lucia stared at him, bewildered. “What could be the purpose of mentioning him?”

“Prince Antonio is a very important man. He is the future ruler of Bolgheri, and a grandson to the King of the Two Sicilies. He has always wished to come to London, of course.”

“Antonio is coming to London?” Lucia asked in surprise.

Sir Ian raised an eyebrow. “Did I say so?”

She saw a tiny smile at one corner of his mouth, and she suddenly understood. “You are clever, just as I said,” she accused, but with a hint of admiration. “I see what it is you do.”

“I don't,” Grace said. “What does your half brother have to do with any of this?”

Lucia looked at the other woman. “Antonio,” she explained, “is not yet married. He is also most handsome.”

“Ah.” Dylan began to laugh. “I can just see you, Ian, in the drawing rooms of all the matrons with marriageable daughters and sisters, sipping tea and hinting that Prince Antonio is looking about for an English bride. No doubt you'll be mentioning how much affection he has for his dear half sister, Lucia.”

“I will say only what is true,” Ian said with dignity. “I cannot help it if others allow their imaginations to fill in missing details.”

“What other strategies do you have in mind for Miss Valenti's acceptance into society?” Dylan asked with lively curiosity.

“Something not so subtle, dear brother. I intend to pull out the heavy guns.” Ian studied Lucia across the room for a moment. “Grace, I hear the Duchess of Tremore has finally arrived in town. I think Miss Valenti should meet her.”

I
t was clear that Sir Ian intended to waste no time in implementing his plans, for the following afternoon, the Duchess of Tremore came to call.

He had referred to her as the “heavy guns,” but in looks at least, the duchess did not fit that description at all. Lucia had envisioned a stout, middle-aged matron, but in reality, the duchess was a young and slender woman, with a warm smile and lovely violet-blue eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. Lucia did not see how such a mild-mannered woman was going to force society to accept her, but she had also come to appreciate that when it came to strategy, Sir Ian knew what he was doing.

The duchess was obviously on terms of great intimacy and friendship with Grace, for when she entered the room, the two women embraced like sisters.

“Daphne, how are you feeling?” Grace asked her. “And how is the baby? The last time I saw Anthony, he told me your recovery has been difficult, but your letters to me make no mention of illness.”

“Because there has been nothing to mention. I suffered a cold right after the birth—a bad cold, yes, but nothing more than that. You know how Anthony fusses about these things. He was even refusing to go to London and take his seat in the House until I was well enough to come with him, but I refused to let him do such a thing. Honestly, he was hovering over me every minute and making me so insane, I told him if he did not go to Town and leave me to recover in peace, I was going to shoot him.”

“And how is little Rosalind?”

“Not so little now. She may have been a month early and only five pounds when she was born, but in the two months since then, she's become fat as a ball of butter.” She glanced at Lucia. “But Grace, you must introduce me to your new friend.”

“This is Miss Valenti,” Grace said. “Lucia, may I present the Duchess of Tremore.”

“Your Grace.” Lucia gave a deep curtsy.

“When Sir Ian came to call on me this morning,”
the duchess said, “he told me all about your situation, Miss Valenti.”

Lucia gave the duchess a rueful smile. “I fear I have become Sir Ian's greatest inconvenience.”

“He did not say so. I believe he thinks it is the ladies of the ton who are being inconvenient.” She sat down in the nearest chair and waited until Grace and Lucia had seated themselves as well before she spoke again.

“Grace, you and Ian have no call to be worried about this.” She looked at Lucia. “Gaining the acceptance of the ladies for you, Miss Valenti, is going to be a very simple matter.”

“I take it you have a plan, Daphne?” Grace asked.

“I do. Ian suspects that several prominent ladies will be calling on you this afternoon, because he has been spreading word of Miss Valenti's handsome half brother to everyone. I suggest the three of us spend a long, leisurely afternoon right here, visiting.”

“I'll ring for tea,” Grace said, pulling the bell. “I take it your carriage is out front?”

“Of course, where any lady who comes by can see the Tremore insignia.” She turned to Lucia. “During the next few days, the three of us shall make calls together. Of course, we shall also take rides in my carriage, shop in Bond Street, all that sort of thing. It is important that you be seen, Miss Valenti.”

“Will your aid and this business of Prince Antonio be enough?” Grace asked. “There's the issue
of Lucia's mother, and you know how spiteful ladies can be about that sort of thing.”

The duchess did not seem troubled. “While we are making calls and such, I shall drop a few hints about your half brother, Miss Valenti, just as Ian is doing. I shall also make casual mention of my upcoming parties.” She settled back in her chair with a complacent expression. “Ian has asked me to give a country house party for you at Tremore Hall at the end of July when the season is over, but we must do something before then. I believe I shall have a water party. Tremore's new yacht,
The Cleopatra,
is docked at Chelsea, you know.”

Lucia did not quite understand what sailing had to do with gaining her acceptance into society, but it was obvious Grace comprehended at once, for she began to laugh. “And your husband has been most exclusive in his choice of who is allowed to sail upon his yacht. Thus far, his few invitations have been for only his closest friends. His
male
friends, I might add. Even I have not been allowed on board as yet, though Dylan has gone out with him twice.”

“Such a shame I have been in the country,” the duchess said, “and such a frustration to the ladies. You see,” she added, turning to Lucia, “my husband has informed me that the most absurd rumors are circulating about
The Cleopatra.
The ladies are dying to know if it really has naughty Roman frescoes in the master cabin and if I did indeed have a pink-marble bath installed. I think
it is time to have a water party and satisfy their curiosity. Miss Valenti, I hope you do not get sea-sick?”

 

That night, Lucia ensconced herself in the library with a book, but she found it impossible to read. Her attention kept drifting away from the novel in her lap to the events of the afternoon and the man who had brought them about.

Sir Ian had spent a busy day, for while the Duchess of Tremore was at Portman Square, many other people had come to call as well. Lord Haye paid a visit, which was not unusual, for he called nearly every day, but on this visit he was accompanied by his two sisters. Lord Blair also came to call, and unfortunately, Lady Sarah came, too. Lord Montrose brought his mother and his sister.

It was fortunate that Lucia had a talent for acting, since she had spent most of her afternoon expressing murmurs of affection for her dear half brother, whom she had only spoken with twice in her life.

Yes, everything was going just as Sir Ian had anticipated. With that thought came an acute sense of loneliness, a feeling so sudden that it startled her. Those women were not interested in being her friends. They did not like her. They wanted her brother, the prince.

As for the men, it was nice to be admired, but admiration was not enough. And if any of them did profess love, how could she ever be sure that
it was her and not her money they loved? As for her own feelings, she was no fonder of Haye, Montrose, Blair, Walford, or any other of the suitors who called upon her than she had been upon meeting them. They all seemed to lack the thing she craved most.

Englishmen are capable of the deepest passions, believe me.

Absurd, she thought in vexation, that she should have half a dozen admirers, yet only be able to think about a man who did not admire her much at all.

She returned her book to its place and began perusing the shelves for something interesting enough to change the direction of her thoughts and preoccupy her mind, but it was useless.

She stared at the rows of books in front of her, but in her mind's eye, it was Sir Ian she saw in front of her as he had looked in Lady Kettering's garden. So rigid he was, so controlled, and yet she sensed the passion there, seething beneath the surface. It was rather like the hot lava of a volcano.

“Looking for a book again?”

The sound of his voice was so unexpected, she jumped.
“Per Bacco!”
she cried, whirling around. “How you startled me.”

“My apologies.”

“Did you come in here to work?” she asked, noting the leather case in his hand as he crossed the room to the desk.

“Yes, although, I have already been working this entire day.” He circled the desk and set his
case on top, then removed his dark blue evening coat and slung it over the back of his chair. “I spent a very productive afternoon.”

“Yes, I know. We have had a barrage of callers. The ladies are beginning to accept me, it seems.”

He paused in the act of removing documents from his dispatch case. “You do not seem happy about it. What's wrong? I thought you wanted the ladies to like you.”

She shrugged. “It is not me they like. They pretend because they want to meet Antonio and impress the duchess. I want to be liked for myself.”

“Give it time, Miss Valenti. You will make genuine friends. Acceptance comes first.”

She sighed and turned to lean back against the bookcase. “Patience has never been one of my talents.”

That got a smile from him. “What did you think of the duchess?”

“She was very nice to me. I liked her. She is planning what you call a water party.”

“Ah, yes, Tremore's new yacht. Excellent. I expect you shall be receiving many such invitations from now on.”

“I think so, too. I was right about you all along, Sir Ian. We are all your chess pieces, and you move us all around.”

“Odd, since I have been feeling that I am the one being manipulated.” He paused a moment, but before she could ask what he meant by that, he spoke again. “Did Isabel really defeat you at chess last night?”

She turned away and resumed her search for a book. “You saw for yourself.”

“Isabel, though a good player for her age, is no match for a player of your skill.”

“I got distracted.”

“Distracted, my eye,” he muttered. “You let her win, didn't you?”

She looked at him. “If I did, what of it? She and I are now the best of friends.”

“Is that why you did it? To gain her friendship?”

Lucia shrugged and returned her attention to the books. “Allowing her to win pleased her and cost me nothing.”

“Did you let
me
win?”

She turned in amazement, prepared to emphatically deny it, only to find him watching her with a frown, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. She caught back her hasty denial and turned away, thinking things over.

He believed she might have lost to him on purpose, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

“Did you?” he asked again, more insistent this time. When she remained silent, he started across the room toward her, and she moved farther along the bookshelves toward the far end of the room.

“I want to know,” he said, following her as she circled the billiard table. “The night we played chess, I thought you got distracted in the midst of the game, but was it just a show for my benefit?”

He sounded almost angry at the possibility she
had lost deliberately. Lucia decided this opportunity to needle him was just too good to pass up, for she might see that fire in his eyes again. She paused beside the billiard table. Staring down at the green felt surface, she let several more seconds pass before she spoke. “Why would I let you win on purpose?”

“To please me, charm me, get me on your side. To get your way.”

“If that was my motive,” she said, glancing up at him long enough to smile, “it worked, did it not? I am now allowed to choose my husband.”

“With my approval,” he reminded her. “I could change my mind about that.”

“You will not change your mind. It would not be right, and you always do what is right. You told me so.”

As if that were an end to the matter, she changed the subject. “I have always wanted to learn to play this game,” she said, idly pushing billiard balls around with her fingers. She grabbed the red one off the table and turned to face him. “Will you teach me?”

The determination in his face made it clear he was unimpressed by her diversionary tactics. “Forget about billiards,” he said, taking the ball out of her hand and putting it back on the table. “I want to know about the chess. Did you lose our game on purpose?”

“I only lose to people I want to like me.”

That puzzled him. His brows drew together. “You don't want me to like you?”

“I have deemed you a lost cause. You will never like me.”

His dark lashes lowered a fraction as he looked at her mouth. “Never, Miss Valenti, is a long time.”

Something in his voice and the way he looked at her mouth made her insides begin to quiver with excitement, and when he looked up, there it was. That spark, flaring up as quick and breathtaking as a flash of lightning, making those gray eyes like silvery fire and smoke, his gaze so intense that she felt hot and shivery all at once.

How, she wondered in a daze, could she have ever thought his eyes were cold? Never again would she make that mistake. Never again would she deem that look to be a trick of light or a fancy of her imagination.

She remembered how he'd put his hands on her hips that day in Lady Kettering's garden to keep her from falling, of how he had jerked back, minding his manners, ever the gentleman. What would it take to bring this man's tightly leashed passions to the surface? It would be a dangerous game, that.

“Stop prevaricating,” he ordered, interrupting her delicious speculations, “and answer my question.”

“Why should I?” she countered. “No matter what I say, you will not believe it.”

“Convince me. God knows,” he added, his voice harsh, “you could convince a man of anything.”

“Not you.”

“Even me.” He leaned closer, and his hand cupped her cheek. Wildly, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. If he did, she wouldn't kiss him back, she decided as she closed her eyes. He didn't deserve it. But when his thumb brushed back and forth across her mouth, she began changing her mind about that. Maybe she'd kiss him back. Her lips parted. Maybe.

“But,” he went on, as his thumb caressed her mouth, “you would have no scruples about losing on purpose if you thought it would get you something.” With startling suddenness, he let her go and stepped back. “I want a rematch.”

She opened her eyes and fought to come to her senses. “What?”

“I want a rematch.” He folded his arms across his chest, looking grim. “It's the only way I'm going to know.”

Lucia felt a ridiculous sense of disappointment. He hadn't even tried to kiss her.
Accidenti!
It was an insult, that. The least he could have done was
try.
“No,” she said, taking great satisfaction in refusing. “I am not giving you a rematch.”