The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (27 page)

He began counting again, and Lucy drew in a deep breath, trying to do as he said. Gradually, her breathing evened, the fog in her mind cleared somewhat, and she began to grasp the movements, which surprisingly, weren’t overly difficult. Forward-side-back, then back-side-forward. And repeat.

As the song drew to an end, Lucy’s mind had entered the doors of Almack’s, and she was dancing in the center of the assembly room with none other than Lord Drayson. All eyes were on them. Some were curious, some envious, some disapproving, and some pleased, but Lucy didn’t care about any of them. All she cared about was the feel of Lord Drayson’s arms around her, the warmth in his eyes, and the touch of a smile on his lips.

“Would you care to dance another one?” his voice intruded into her thoughts, pulling Lucy back to the present, where her hands still clung to him even though the song had ended.

She immediately dropped her hands to her side and stepped away from him. “I believe I know it well enough now. Perhaps you will allow Harriett to take a turn.”

The earl smiled. “For you, perhaps I will.”

“Truly?” Harriett leapt out of her seat and grabbed her brother’s hands before he could retract his offer.

“But only,” added her brother firmly, “if you allow
me
to lead.”

“What are you talking about? A man always leads,” said Harriett. But as soon as the music started, she pushed her brother forward, sideways, and backwards, practically dragging him through the steps of the waltz. Throughout the dance, he directed dramatic and humorous glances at Lucy, appearing pained or bored or even scared. Harriett whacked his shoulder with each look, and Lucy’s lips soon ached from the strain of trying not to laugh. It was a side of him she had not seen before, and she found she rather liked it.

That night, as Lucy lay in a soft and comfortable bed, staring at the embossed designs that pattered the ceiling, she thought that perhaps she wasn’t as opposed to dancing as she used to think.

Lucy quickened her steps when the pounding of hooves sounded behind her, wishing whoever it was would leave her in peace. It was her third day at Tanglewood Manor and the first time she had been able to sneak away without Harriett or Georgina in tow. Lucy wanted to check on her garden and perhaps harvest a few of the carrots to share with Tanglewood’s wonderful cook.

The basket she carried swayed with each step, and as the horse neared, she glanced over her shoulder. The earl pulled Darling to a stop about twenty paces away and jumped from the horse’s back. Lucy stopped as well and turned, wondering what he wanted now.

Only this morning he had waylaid her after breakfast to tell her about a book he thought she might like. A few hours later he had found her again, wanting her opinion on what flowers to plant in a certain area of the garden. Now here he was again, upsetting the peace she had only begun to feel.

The way Lucy reacted to him reminded her of a small morning glory flower. When the sun rose, the vibrant petals uncurled and blossomed, but when darkness came, it shriveled back into a pathetic little ball. It was the same with Lucy whenever Lord Drayson came near. She would immediately blossom, only to shrivel when he left. He was wreaking havoc with her peace of mind, and she wished so badly that she could return to Knotting Tree where she could avoid him completely.

“Where are you off to this afternoon?” said the earl as he approached, keeping his horse a safe distance behind him.

“I intend to harvest a few of my carrots and clip some roses, along with a few other things for a flower arrangement for your mother.”

“
Your
carrots?” He quirked an eyebrow beneath the brim of his beaver. “Surely the labor of tilling the ground has earned me some stake in the harvest.”

Lucy pretended to give it some thought before nodding. “I suppose you may have ten percent.”

He chuckled. “If I help with the harvesting?”

Not wanting to encourage him to linger, Lucy pronounced, “Eight percent.”

“Eight!”

“I’m afraid so,” she answered, nodding solemnly. “I have seen you help with plants before. They have all wound up torn to shreds in a disorderly heap. I would not wish such a thing to happen to my—” she cleared her throat and corrected, “
our
carrots.”

“I must protest,” he said. “The only help I have given with regard to plants has been to cut the grass and rid the beds of weeds. Surely you did not expect gentle treatment of those.”

“Of course not. It simply did not inspire any confidence in your ability to handle tender carrots or flowers with care.”

He stopped abruptly and took hold of her arm, turning her to face him. “Lucy, if you do not wish me to help with our garden, simply say as much and I will leave you to it.”

“I . . .” Here was her chance to tell him that she wished him to
always
leave her to it. She needed him to stay far away from her heart, mind, and person so that she could find a way to move on with her life without constantly thinking of him or missing him or aching to be held by him.

But the words felt stuck in her throat, and in the end, all that came out was a strangled “No.” She pulled her arm from his grasp and began walking again, hoping he wouldn’t follow and yet wishing he would. Her emotions felt so muddled.

Unfortunately—or was it fortunately?—her wish was granted because he soon caught up. “What does ‘no’ mean exactly?”

“It means no,” she repeated, the words coming easier this time. “I do not wish you to help.”

“What about taking a drive with me once you have finished?”

“No.” The word practically flowed off her tongue now.

“A riding lesson tomorrow?”

“No.”

He caught her arm again and stepped in front of her to stop her progress. Lucy noticed that he’d left Darling to graze in the meadow several paces behind them. “Why do you try so hard to keep your distance from me?” he asked. “I thought we were friends, and yet you refuse to call me Colin, you do not want to stand up with me, ride with me, or allow me to help you with our garden, and you stiffen every time I come near, as though I am abhorrent to you. And yet you didn’t seem to find me abhorrent when I was Collins. I cannot understand it.”

“Friends, you say?” Lucy said, feeling her frustration rise to the surface and erupt like a stepped-upon hill of ants. “I do not think you know the definition of friendship if you think we are friends.”

His eyes widened, and he studied her for a moment before saying, “Pray enlighten me then. What is
your
definition of friendship?”

Lucy was losing patience. For an intelligent creature, he was being incredibly dim-witted. “Why are you here, Lord Drayson? What purpose do you have in coming all this way with your mother and sister? How long do you plan to remain, and what in heaven’s name do you want from me? I have apologized for what I have done to you, and my mother and I have removed ourselves from the dower house. I see no reason for you to still—”

Lord Drayson’s hands framed her face and his lips pressed against hers. Lucy gasped and froze, but once her initial shock subsided, the basket she carried dropped to the ground, and she began returning his kiss with vigor. Her mouth moved across his, and her hands clenched the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer. His fingers worked their way from her cheeks to her hair, pulling several strands free from the pins.

Lucy kissed him as she had never kissed him before. It was as though someone popped the cork on her carefully guarded emotions and they came bursting out, one after the other. She wanted so much from this man while knowing she didn’t deserve anything. Yet she continued to kiss him with all the energy she possessed. She kissed him until her breath was spent, and she had to pull away for air.

She buried her face in his shirt, feeling like a wanton for needing his arms around her more than ever. Against her cheek, his chest rose and fell as quickly as hers.

“That is the reason I returned,” he said, keeping his arms locked tight about her.

Lucy slowly raised her face to his, noting that his eyes had become the color of storm clouds, looking down at her with something akin to uncertainty. Her mind felt so cluttered and thick.

“To kiss me again?” she said. “Lord Drayson, I—”

He clasped her shoulders, giving her a shake. “Deuce take it, Lucy, call me Colin.”

“Not until you explain to me what the devil is going on,” said Lucy, not caring about her language. She was tired of the rise and fall of her emotions, tired of guessing, wishing, hoping, and aching. She wanted to be free.

Lord Drayson closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and let his hands slide down her arms to her hands, where he took her fingers in his, holding them securely in his own.

“I cannot explain what I do not understand myself,” he said. “After I returned to Danbury, I could not rid my mind of your beautiful face. I wanted to see you again, make certain your reputation had not suffered because of me, and spend more time with you. I wanted to touch you, hold you, look upon you, and yes, kiss you.”

“Why did you not write? Mother and I fretted for weeks, wondering if I had angered you, if we were to be turned out at any moment, if—”

“You think so little of me then?” he interrupted, his jaw taut.

Lucy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You came here to sell Tanglewood, and I used your injury to deceive you. I never had the chance to explain or see what you would think of me when all was said and done. Tell me, Colin, how could I not assume the worst?”

“Because I would never turn away . . . a friend,” he said.

“Friend,” she repeated, looking down at their hands. “You call me friend, and yet . . . Do you kiss all your friends, Colin?”

His finger came to rest under her chin, and he gently lifted her head to meet his gaze. A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. “Only the pretty ones.”

He was attempting to tease a smile from her, but Lucy did not feel like smiling. She needed more from him than this. She needed his assurance that he would not crush her heart.

“What do you want from me?” she asked again.

He watched her for several heartbeats before answering. “I want time,” he said quietly. “More time. With you.”

Lucy drew in a shaky breath, unsure how to respond. She could either risk giving him the time he wanted—along with her heart—or cut her losses and walk away. It was her choice to make.

The trouble was, she had already given him her heart. She knew that now.

Lucy finally nodded slowly. Then she cleared her throat. “I believe I shall require your help with the carrots after all, Colin.”

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “On one condition.”

“And that is?”

“That I get an equal share of the spoils.”

“As they will all go to your cook, I suppose I can agree to those terms.”

He chuckled and took a few slow steps backward before turning around to collect his horse. Lucy waited for him to return, and when he held out his arm for her to take, she accepted it without reservation. As they walked the rest of the distance to the garden, Lucy noticed that her feet felt lighter, her mind clearer, and her heart trilled with every beat.

Lord Drayson—no,
Colin
—had returned to Tanglewood because of her.

Lucy selected a lavender rose from the pail and began removing all the thorns and the leaves at the base of the stem. She placed it in a lovely glass vase before doing the same to two other roses. Lady Drayson and Harriett stood on either side of her, watching her movements.

“The arrangement will come together with greater ease if you begin at the center and work out from there,” explained Lucy. “Also, I have found that odd numbers arranged in an asymmetrical way look best.”

Lucy added a few white lilies to the mix, tucking them around and between the roses. To give it a touch of whimsy, she clipped and added some lovely greenbell. Then came several more roses, a few scattered lilies, and more greenbell. She would pause every now and again to fuss with a few stems, pull one out to clip it a bit shorter, and fuss some more. Once the vase was filled to her satisfaction, she drew back and smiled at her latest creation. She may not be handy with the needle or proficient on the pianoforte, but this . . . this she could do, and do well.