Surrender of Trust (First Volume of the Surrender Series)
Read Surrender of Trust (First Volume of the Surrender Series) Online
Authors: Mariel Grey
Tags: #romance, #horses, #historical, #regency, #thoroughbred
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Grey
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London
Early July, 1803
Lucy Goodwin sighed and leaned back against
the plush settee. Closing her eyes, she sniffled and swiped at her
eyes with the back of her hand, drying the tears.
"You don't look like Lady Monique."
Startled by the intrusion, Lucy jumped and
her eyes flew open. The deep, masculine timbre of the unknown voice
reverberated through her bones. Lucy found herself looking into the
most intense pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. Her mouth went
dry and her breath caught in her throat.
Unable to find her voice, Lucy stared
wordlessly into the cobalt blue eyes of the tall, commanding
presence of the man who held her in his gaze. The handsome, angled
planes of his face, the stylish cut of his green striped coat
without a waist seam, and long sleeves set high into the shoulder
marked him as wealthy. The aura of power and privilege he radiated
marked him as a peer.
"I'm not sure what has you so distraught, but
a runner of Madeira might do you some good." He moved to the
sideboard and began to pour for her.
Whoever the man was, he was certainly
comfortable and at home in her friend, Lady Monique's house. While
the man's back was turned, Lucy combed her fingers through her hair
and wiped her eyes again in an effort to appear presentable.
I
must look awful
. Lucy shook herself and managed to find her
voice. "Please don't trouble yourself. Lady Monique has gone to
have some tea made."
The stranger turned to face Lucy and pinned
her with his gaze. "Ah, the lady speaks!"
Heat rose in her cheeks. "I apologize. I
didn't intend to be rude in not speaking. You just surprised
me."
The man's lips curved in a slow, sensual
smile and a cascade of flutters shot through Lucy.
"There's no need to apologize. I was looking
for Lady Monique. I have a message for her from my sister, but I
see I've obviously intruded on you during a private time. It is I
who should apologize."
The man towered over Lucy and stared at her
with his disturbing eyes. Her heart rate accelerated and her breath
hitched. She dropped her eyes. Who was this man?
"Lord Chalifour! What are you doing here?"
Monique asked from the doorway.
"Why, bothering your guest, of course."
"I see that," Monique said.
"Actually, I was looking for you. I have a
message for you from my sister."Chalifour reached into his coat and
withdrew a piece of folded foolscap with a red wax seal. Handing it
to Monique, he gave a slight bow.
Chalifour's hair was cut in the fashionable
Titus hairstyle, trimmed short everywhere except around the front,
where his curls were brushed forward. A stray lock of thick, dark
curly hair escaped and fell across his forehead. Lucy had an insane
desire to brush the hair back into place.
Chalifour returned his gaze to Lucy. His eyes
unabashedly perused her. "I would enjoy a proper introduction, but
I think that should wait until you are feeling better."
Chalifour's deep, velvet smooth voice washed
over Lucy and she shivered. Lucy had never responded so strongly to
a man.
What was happening to her?
Disoriented, Lucy reached
her hand out to steady herself.
Wonderful.
Not only was she
a fright, she probably appeared daft to boot.
Chalifour swiveled toward Monique and said,
"I'm sure your brother is wondering what's keeping me. Now that
I've delivered my message, I should take my leave." Passing through
the doorway, Chalifour paused and turned. He cast one last glance
at Lucy before departing.
Lucy expelled her breath and the tension
drained from her body. Curious, she hadn't realized her muscles
were so taut.
"I believe you may have an admirer," Monique
said.
"Don't be silly. Who is he?"
"That is Lord Philip Lyton, Marquis of
Chalifour, one of my brother's cronies. Currently, he's one of the
most eligible bachelors in the ton. Women flock to him like bees to
honey. I think he spends most of his time dodging women with
designs on him."
"Well, he has nothing to fear from me. I've
no intention of marrying."
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course, you'll
marry."
Lucy didn't reply. There would be no husband
in her future, but there was no sense arguing with her closest
friend over the matter. It would serve no purpose. The butler
arrived with a tray of tea and proceeded to pour for Lucy and
Monique.
Chalifour strode down the hallway.
What a
striking woman. How had he missed her in Town?
Who was she?
Even her red, swollen eyelids couldn't hide the magnificence of her
emerald eyes. And her lips. Chalifour suppressed the multitude of
impure thoughts which flooded him. Farther down the hall, Chalifour
found his friend, the Duke of Glenhurst, reading in his study.
Glenhurst looked up when he entered. "There
you are. I'd begun to think the minions from hell finally caught up
with you. I hear they've been pursuing you for some time now."
Chalifour laughed. "No, I'm still dodging
them! Though who knows how long I can evade them. So, tell me, who
is your guest?"
Glenhurst looked puzzled for a moment, then
comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh, you must mean my sister’s
friend, Lucy Goodwin."
"Lucy Goodwin." Chalifour savored the sound
of the name on his tongue. "Why is that name familiar?"
"Perhaps because it's Lucien Goodwin's
sister."
"The breeder and jockey?"
"One and the same."
"No wonder I missed her. Not being a member
of the ton, I'd hardly have run across her. She's stunning."
"If you say so. I’m more partial to someone
like Lady Miriam, all rosie and fair. Besides, she's also a sweet
girl. Not your type."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just what I said. Your women are generally,
shall we say, a little more jaded."
Lucy's face came unbidden to Chalifour's
thoughts. He had caught Lucy in a weak moment for sure, but her
beauty was unmistakable. Even her weeping, tortured face couldn't
disguise her charms. More than that, the image of Lucy's poise in
what was obviously a time of personal lament wouldn't leave
Chalifour. He had been assailed by an odd desire to kiss those
tears from her face. Rousing himself, he caught Glenhurst studying
him.
It's just a woman. Gather your wits!
"She was quite distraught when I saw her a
few moments ago. Didn't she recently lose her father?" Chalifour
asked.
"Yes. He passed just a few weeks ago."
"I thought I heard that. He was a genius at
breeding."
"That he was. He was also a good man."
"So why is his daughter here?"
"She's in Town having mourning attire made.
She's been having a very difficult time of things."
"So how has Lucien taken to the breeding
business? I mean, I know he's a prominent jockey, but how is he on
the business and breeding end of things?"
"It's too early to tell, but I think, if
you'll pardon the pun, Lucien will take up the reigns of the family
business just fine. From what I gather, his father educated him
fairly thoroughly in the craft, or dare I say, the fine art of
breeding. I believe Lucien will fare quite well."
Interesting
. Chalifour had intended to
approach the father with his proposition. He would have to address
Lucien Goodwin instead and now might be the opportune time to put
his plan in motion.
Light filtered through the open doorway of
the stable. Lucy Goodwin hugged Thor's neck and slid off his back.
Thor neighed and tossed his head. Lucy she reached over and patted
him. While one of her hands glided across the glossy hair of his
back, Thor's wet nose nuzzled her hand expectantly, looking for a
treat. She smiled at his antics and grabbed a comb and began
brushing him out.
"Miss Goodwin! Miss Goodwin!"
Startled by the anxious voice, Lucy turned to
the footman, Cedric, running through the stables toward her.
"Cedric! What's wrong?"
"You're needed at the house, Miss Goodwin."
Cedric panted and leaned against the doorway to catch his
breath.
A chill tickled the base of her spine. "Why?
What's happened?"
"It's your brother, m'am. There's been an
accident."
The chill turned to ice. Cold tendrils of
fear coiled around Lucy’s insides. Hands momentarily paralyzed, the
comb fell from her numb fingers. Grabbing the hem of her black
crepe riding skirt, she tore from the stables and scrambled up the
pathway through the garden and into the house. Half stumbling
through the kitchen in her haste, Lucy entered the hallway. Her
brother's valet, Alistair, descended the steps, face drawn, eyes
filled with worry.
Fighting the rising panic, Lucy asked,
"What's happened to Lucien?"
"From what we were told, his coach slid off
the road during the rainstorm last night and went over an
embankment. He's lucky to be alive. The coachman was killed."
"Please, not Lucien too," Lucy breathed.
"Where is the doctor? Why isn't he already here?"
"He'll be here as soon as he can, but he's
got to travel a great distance."
Lucy took the stairs two at a time and
entered her brother's room. Not expecting the severity of his
injuries, she gasped at the mottle of black, red and purple welts
that covered his face. Alistair had obviously attempted to sponge
the blood from Lucien's battered head, but red stains were smeared
across the covers.
He's too pale. He looks like a corpse. Stop.
Don't think like that!
"Dear, God. Please don't take Lucien. He's
all I have now," Lucy whispered. Hastening across the room, she
halted at Lucien's bedside and eased herself onto the bed to sit
beside him.
Stroking Lucien's forehead, Lucy contemplated
how lonely the house would be without her brother's boisterous
laughter. Voices echoed from downstairs and she cocked her head,
straining to listen. The voice of Dr. Willets carried upstairs and
she sighed with relief. Heavy footfalls pounded up the staircase.
Hurry
, she urged silently.
An eternity passed before Dr. Willets hurried
into the room with Alistair in tow. Dr. Willets glanced at Lucy and
moved beside her to stare at the inert form. Grasping Lucy's
shoulders, he gently moved her from the bed and yanked the bed
covers away from Lucien, exposing his damaged body. Lucy's stomach
plunged at the sight of the full extent of her brother's
injuries.
