A Lady in Name (22 page)

‘That will be all.’

The girl gave him one fearful glance and disappeared. The door closed behind her.

Stefan pulled himself together.
He crossed to the desk, putting distance between himself and Lucy, and turned there to confront her. She had whisked to the far end of the room, her face averted. He summoned a tone as close to normal as possible.

‘Let us begin again, Lucy.’

She turned, casting him a sharp look. ‘Begin what again?’

‘This discussion.
Clearly it is time we looked at the best way to provide for your future.’

Her gaze became fixed and Stefan thought her eyes darkened, but in the uncertain light he could not be sure.

‘Do I have a say in it then?’

‘Of course you have a say in it,’ Stefan returned, snapping uncontrollably.
‘Did you suppose I meant to force a solution on you?’

She did not move.
‘I supposed you had decided everything without consulting me. That is your usual practice.’

Stefan wanted to refute the charge with heat, but the germ of truth would not permit him.
He had settled it with himself just what would be best, but he was aware of finding alternatives only so he might give Lucy the pretended option of choice.

Suddenly she wafted a hand as if to throw something away.
‘Let it be some way I may remove from here as soon as may be and I will say nothing against it.’

The sentiments that prompted this he could appreciate, but the urgency behind it gave him pain.
Abruptly hating the plan he had made, Stefan knew it nevertheless for the best.

‘I was going to send you to the Dower House,’ he said, only half aware of the deadness of his tone.

Lucy was staring at him, blankness in her face. ‘I cannot live in your mother’s intended dwelling.’

‘I was not proposing to have you live there alone.
It is already occupied, but—’

He was interrupted, Lucy’s eyes flashing fire.
‘I will not suffer you to turn out your tenant for me.’

He was nettled.
‘A fine opinion you have of me, by God! If you will allow me to finish before making premature judgements, we may be able to get somewhere.’

Lucy bit her lip, cursing her hasty tongue.
She was in the wrong yet again. Her heart cried out at the constant clashing of swords with him, but the churn of emotion too readily got the better of her.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said, aware of stiffness in her tone.
‘Pray continue.’

‘I thank you,’ he returned, and she winced at the ironic twist.
‘The house is occupied by my great-aunt, Lady Dorothea Ankerville. She is very elderly, quite as eccentric as Corisande and at least twice as scatterbrained.’

Lucy’s interest was fairly caught.
‘You mean me to care for her?’

He shifted his shoulders in a half shrug.
‘Not precisely. She is sprightly for her years, and she has her maid who is fiercely loyal, as well as servants.’ Stefan threw up his hands. ‘Well, let us be honest. She needs a guardian. I have been increasingly troubled for her. It had not occurred to me until we were upon our travels, but I believe it would answer perfectly.’

Forgetting caution, Lucy moved closer, intrigued.
‘How so? What would you have me do?’

Stefan wafted a vague hand.
‘You will know better than I, believe me. Keep an eye on her. Prevent her from doing herself a mischief. As things stand, I have enjoined her maid to watch her, but the woman cannot be forever at her side.’

It sounded ideal to Lucy.
Provided it was far enough away from Pennington to be safe from too many incursions.

‘Where is the Dower House?’

‘Within an hour’s journey from here.’

Not far enough.
But an hour might discourage too frequent visits. On the other hand, her heart whispered, it was yet within reach of him. She would not be quite parted from him—until he married.

A knock at the door brought the butler, bearing a tray which he set down on the desk.
Pouring a measure of golden liquid from a decanter into two glasses, he laid them on a small silver salver which he brought over to proffer to Lucy. She took one of the glasses and sipped cautiously. The liquid stung sharply on her tongue, burning as it slipped down her throat.

Stefan took his glass.
‘Thank you, Hawkesbury.’

The butler bowed and quietly withdrew.
Stefan raised his glass to his lips and drank. Feeling fortified, he looked again at Lucy.

‘I will pay you a salary, of course,’ he said, and smiled at her look of surprise.
‘Lucy, I do appreciate your wish for independence. It is a point of honour with you not to be beholden, is it not? To me, or anyone.’

At last he was rewarded as her eyes lit and a perfectly spontaneous smile curved her mouth.
The warmth which spread in his chest owed little to the brandy.

‘I cannot sufficiently thank you,’ she said, and he thought there was a tremor in her voice.
‘I had not the remotest guess you would think of something so much in tune with my feelings.’

‘Do you think I have not learned to know you, Lucy?’

His tone was soft, and lulling to Lucy’s senses. She felt cradled and comforted, despite the few feet of distance standing between them. At the back of her mind she knew this was dangerous, but the change was so welcome she pushed it away.

‘I had not supposed it,’ she said.

‘Evidently.’

She sipped again at the golden liquid, feeling its sting less this time.
A sensation of intimacy began to overtake her. Caution fled away.

‘What else had you in mind?
You spoke of more than one projected solution.’

Stefan’s lip curled in the old ironic way.
‘Best to keep my own counsel on those, I think.’

Lucy giggled.
‘Why, would I dislike them?’

‘Let us say I have more regard for my skin than to try you with them.’

She opened her eyes at him. ‘You are piquing my curiosity.’

He moved and Lucy found herself looking up directly into his face.

‘Then I fear I must keep you guessing,’ he said softly. ‘Having pleased you once, it is scarcely in my interests to provoke a less welcome response.’

He put his glass to his lips again, and Lucy watched the remainder of the liquid disappear into his throat.
Recklessly, she followed his action, tipping what was left in her glass into her mouth.

It swept like fire down her throat and she almost choked.
Coughing, she staggered, the empty glass wavering in her fingers.

Stefan seized the glass and caught her before she could fall, supporting her while she recovered her breath.
‘What in the world did you think you were doing?’

‘Only what you did,’ she gasped out, her voice a little rough.

‘You little fool! I am accustomed to it.’

She was holding on to his arm, but she let go then, and Stefan had to catch her about the shoulders again.
‘It is not the first time I have had brandy, I’ll have you know.’

‘But I’ll wager it’s the first time y
ou’ve knocked it back in one go.’

Lucy chuckled.
‘True. And it may well be the last.’

‘I should hope so.
’

She gazed at him owlishly.
‘Are you becoming autocratic with me again, my lord?’

Stefan grinned.
‘I should not dare, Miss Graydene.’

‘So I should hope,
’ she retorted, and hiccupped.

Stefan drew her towards the desk so he might set down both glasses.
‘That’s better.’

He turned to her, and found her leaning back in the circle of his arm, her eyes gazing up at him, in their depths a dark burning that spoke straight to his soul.

‘Oh, Lucy,’ he uttered on a groan, and lowered his mouth to hers.

The touch against her lips was feather light, but liquid flame swept down Lucy’s body.
His mouth moved on hers, the pressure gentle and shifting, sending a warm breeze snaking after the initial flame.

The next she knew, she was caught up in an embrace so violent the breath felt as if it were knocked from her chest and she thought her ribs must crack.
Her lips were seized, tightly pressed against his, and all down her body she could feel the hardness of muscle.

Into her mind seared remembrance of the feel of Stefan’s thigh against her own when she was tightly closed with him in the curricle.
And with it, a pulse ten times the power she had experienced before thudded in her secret well.

The sensations lasted but a moment, for Stefan released her abruptly, pulling back with his hands at her shoulders, and staring into her face with shock in his eyes.
Lucy stared back, her mind cloudy with a need she barely understood.

‘Oh, my God, what have I done?’

His voice was guttural, his eyes seemingly on fire.

Lucy could not speak.
Her breath came short and fast through parted lips and the only thing in her head was the ardent prayer he would not let her go.

‘God help me,
’ he ground out, and then his lips found hers again.

The kiss began with the selfsame shifting pressure, but stronger, persuasive, melting Lucy’s bones.
Then she gasped as the tip of Stefan’s tongue slipped lightly across her lower lip. Fire streaked through her and she opened her lips to his.

Like velvet, the tongue probed gently, seeking for hers.
Each little touch flicked like a leaping flame within her, and the deep well pulsed more strongly. Lucy could taste the brandy again, and as of instinct she answered with her own soft touch, matching her tongue to his.

She heard Stefan’s indrawn breath, and his hands at her back slid down, drawing her
close so that heat almost overcame her. She moaned softly, powerless as her legs turned to jelly.

Stefan felt her sag and the sudden weight brought him faintly back to consciousn
ess. The enormity of what he was doing filtered into his mind until it was too insistent to be ignored. Groaning, he tugged himself out of the kiss, and opened his eyes to see Lucy flushed and languorous, her lips swollen, her eyes cloudy.

‘Oh, dear God,’ he uttered, holding her as she lay half-swooning against him.
‘Lucy, we must stop!’

She did not hear him, or she was too lost to pay him heed.
Stefan could feel the heat of her limbs, and his response made him desperate. He looked round for succour. He must put her from him before things went far beyond what might be mended. The nearest chair was his own on the other side of the desk. He looked again at Lucy. She was incapable of walking. If he let her go, she would slide to the carpet.

Stefan slipped his arm under her knees and lifted her bodily into his arms.
Her head fell against his chest, and one arm snaked up around his neck. She was only semi-conscious, and he wondered at it but a brief moment. The brandy! It must have kicked in as he was kissing her. No wonder she had so readily abandoned herself to his assault.

He carried her around the desk and set her in the chair.
She sank down, sliding a little until her head was resting against the chair back. Her eyes rolled and closed.

Stefan looked down at her with dismay tinged with longing.
He ought to carry her to her bed. But he could not trust himself so far. There was no further purchase in denial. He had desired her from the first. She had unsettled him almost from the moment he set eyes on her. But Lucy was taboo. He remembered the moment in the night hours in the Half Moon when Lucy’s fear had surfaced that she might resemble her wanton mother. But Stefan was no rake, and he liked Lucy too much to treat her with such contempt.

He must thank his stars she had approved his plan for her relief.
The sooner she was removed from here the better. She was temptation, and he could not give in to that.

Once more he moved to the bell
pull. He would have to send for Dion. He devoutly trusted she would accept his tale of Lucy having suddenly been taken ill.

* * *

Lucy woke to a headache and hazy memories that made her sit bolt upright in bed. The movement caused hot pokers to jump into her skull and she clutched at her head. It was a moment or two before she was again able to think coherently. But her thoughts were so appalling Lucy almost preferred the pokers.

Could she truly have been kissed in a fashion as ruthless as it was devastating?
Her body juddered with horror, and an echo of the sensations she remembered. Lucy’s hands went to her abdomen, pressing down as if to still the fateful risings in an unmentionable area.

There had been an argument, had there not?
Then how was it possible she had allowed Stefan to assault her lips in so scandalous a fashion? She must have dreamed it. Which argued so strongly in her mind as the likeliest possibility that Lucy was inclined to believe it. How else could she account for the images and the feelings they prompted? Her affection for Stefan was reason enough for betrayal of her senses in sleep. It was unthinkable he should so far forget himself as to kiss her like that.