A Lady in Name (28 page)

Lucy’s features registered utter disbelief.
Stefan could not blame her. Until this instant, he’d had no inkling of his own feelings. He felt off balance, out of control. A hazy laugh escaped him.

‘By God, it’s the truth!
I am so mindless a fool, I have only just recognised it. I love you.’

He did not know what he expected of her.
He hardly knew what to expect of himself. Lucy’s fixed regard shifted to her hands. She looked at the glass and dish he had given her as if she knew not what they were.

Urgency engulfed Stefan.
He reached out and took the objects out of her hands. ‘Let us, for God’s sake, be rid of these!’

Hunting the chamber, he spied the tray on the chest.
Within a few seconds, he had divested himself of the offending articles and was able to return to where Lucy stood. A wave of tenderness came over him as he took in the bemused look in her face. He went to her. With infinite care, he took her face between his hands.

‘I have shocked you, have I not?
No more than I have shocked myself.’ He could not forbear a shuddering laugh, borne out of astonishment, or his love for her, or both. ‘My darling Lucy, you have turned me inside out and upside down.’ He loosened his hold, letting his fingers caress the softness of her cheeks. ‘You are brave and resourceful. You are infinitely fascinating to me, and your passionate nature is like to torture me into madness. But the only thing I want in this world is to marry you.’

He had said it without thinking, as a natural consequence of the discovery of his feelings.
But to his consternation and dismay, Lucy snatched away from his hold, throwing up a hand as if to ward him off.

‘Oh, stop!
Say no more. You know it is impossible.’

For the first time, doubt smote Stefan. The whole discovery was so new it had not occurred to him until this instant to question whether his sentiments were reciprocated. His mind ran like quicksilver over his dealings with this vivid creature, and there was no hint to guide him. Deep need drove him into speech, urgent but unthinking.

‘You return my desire, I know that much, Lucy.
And you are not wanton. Can it be you do not care for me? There is no impossibility but for that. Tell me.’

Lucy waved agitated hands.
She dare not answer him. Could she have wished for anything closer to her secret dreams? She had not supposed herself so foolish as to imagine this moment. But it had come. And in its advent Lucy knew how little she had seen into her own mind. Stefan was speaking words she had longed to hear. But just because she loved him, there was barren triumph in the hearing.

She forced herself to meet his searching eyes, hoping her truth did not show in her own.
‘I do not—’ Lord, how hard it was to speak against her heart! ‘I do not care for you in that way.’

She looked for disillusion or a drop in spirits, but neither came.
Stefan’s brows drew together, but his eyes remained riveted on hers, dark and burning, as if he sought to read behind her gaze.

‘I don’t believe you.’

It was flat and unemotional, Stefan at his blandest, if only his very being had not been redolent with the force of his feelings.

Lucy tried again.
‘It is of—of no use to try to overbear me. This is not a matter one can command.’

He shook his head slightly.
‘Do you accuse me of being autocratic in this? I would be, if I thought it might serve me.’

For a moment, he eyed her, bodingly, Lucy thought.
And then he moved. Caught in his arms, Lucy had time only for gasping surprise before his mouth claimed hers and the world exploded.

The essence of his character was in his lips, demanding and bold.
Lucy’s mouth was crushed beneath his for several mind-numbing instants. And then his lips released a little, and began to move with hers, touching, pressing, shifting, sending flittering hot flames chasing one after the other through her body. Her heart expanding in her chest, Lucy answered his kiss. Instantly it deepened, filtering a stray memory into Lucy’s mind. Last night, when just this madness had overtaken her. On the thought, she struggled to be free and the bands loosened from about her until Stefan was looking down into her face. His eyes were cloudy, his breath ragged.

‘Now tell me you do not care for me.’

Lucy was utterly unable to do any such thing. She was barely able to speak with any coherence.

‘You must not, Stefan
. We cannot. My heart is yours, yes, but it changes nothing.’

His eyes flooded with light, and he drew her close against him.
Gently this time, holding her head into his shoulder.

‘It makes all the difference in the world, my darling
. Oh, but you gave me a bad few moments there.’

Lucy’s emotions flooded in and she tugged herself free, putting her hands to his chest as it she would hold him off.

‘Stefan, think. For the love of heaven, stop and think! You cannot marry me.’

She had his attention now.
His brows snapped together, and his eyes darkened. ‘Because of your illegitimacy? I don’t care for that.’

‘But I do!’

‘So much so you would let it stand in the way of your happiness?’

Lucy blinked away the threatening wetness and spoke over the thickness at her throat as she shifted out of his hold.

‘How could I be happy, knowing such a match must be detrimental to your standing? You are an earl. You owe a duty to your name. I will not be the means of tarnishing it.’

Stefan felt as if the world was crumbling about his ears.
He foresaw the futility of argument, but he wanted to argue nevertheless, to overbear her scruples. He did not share them. But so deeply did he care for her, it was at once clear to him that the sacrifice was not all on one side.

‘It would be hard for you, would it not?
We should have to fight prejudice, in my acquaintance and the world at large.’

He felt the hurt in her as she shrugged this away.
‘I would not care for that, if there was no right in such prejudice.’

‘Your half-sister would make it her business to ensure your downfall.’

A faint smile lightened her features briefly. ‘Are you determined to fight my cause or your own?’

Stefan laughed, but it felt hollow.
‘Both.’ He moved close enough to reach out, stroking her hair. ‘Lucy, I think the prejudice is in your own mind. I wish I might remove the hurt my uncle inflicted.’

She had no answer to this.
She looked up at him and Stefan saw her closed against him.

‘Last night you spoke of some scheme for my relief, but I cannot remember what it was.’

His heart sank. ‘I was going to take you to live with my great-aunt at the Dower House.’

Her features brightened and she looked eager.
‘Yes, I recall it now.’

In the silence of impending gloom, Stefan waited for what she would say.

‘Will you take me there tomorrow?’

* * *

Lucy woke next morning heavy-eyed from lack of sleep and the bout of weeping in which she had indulged, once Stefan had gone and she had buried herself under the bedclothes in despair. She did what she might to lessen the ravages, but it came as no surprise when Dion, who was in sole possession of the breakfast parlour, instantly exclaimed.

‘Lucy, you look dreadful, and no wonder
. I declare, I could kill Cousin Thomas!’

Seizing upon this convenient excuse, Lucy made haste to smooth Dion’s feathers.
‘I dare say he cannot be blamed. After all, he only knows what his wife has told him.’

Dion was successfully deflected.
‘Don’t talk to me of Paulina! How anyone could be so ungrateful is beyond me. And after the horrid way she attacked you too.’

A puzzled frown was directed at Lucy as
she helped herself to a couple of baked eggs, feeling hungry after last night’s interrupted meal.

‘What was the letter she said she destroyed?
Stefan seemed to know of it.’

Lucy came to the table and sat down.
‘It must be the one my father wrote to your uncle to inform him of my birth. Stefan had not seen it in your uncle’s papers.’

‘But he might have thrown it away,’ suggested Dion.

Lucy took up her knife and fork. ‘No, why? Unless he had reason to fear anyone’s finding out.’

Dion considered this, pouring out coffee for Lucy and refilling her own cup.
‘Well, his father was alive then. But I cannot think Grandfather Fulbert would have cared much about a stray love child.’

Lucy winced, the reminder too raw now of what she had been obliged to give up because of her nameless state.
Dion set down the coffee pot with a bang.

‘Oh, forgive me, Lucy!
I did not mean to distress you.’

Lucy shook her head.
‘No such thing. I should be used to discussing it by now.’ She turned the subject quickly. ‘What was your grandfather like?’

‘Old Lord Pennington?
He was not profligate with money, like Uncle Beves. But in his day it was quite the thing for men of his rank to have a string of mistresses. Corisande says we are growing into a namby-pamby age, expecting our menfolk to be faithful unto death. She says it is unnatural for men. And of course she cites the manners of—’

‘The Middle Ages,’ finished Lucy in unison, and they both giggled, lightening Lucy’s gloom a trifle.

At this inopportune moment, Mrs Ankerville came into the breakfast parlour, immediately entering upon a discussion without even greeting the two younger women as she went to serve herself from the covered dishes.

‘I have been supplying Paulina with potential names for the infant, but I am afraid the wretched creature is perfectly recalcitrant.’

‘I need not ask if they are medieval names,’ Dion cut in drily.

Her mother directed an astonished glance at her.
‘Are there any other decent names to be had?’ She filled her platter and came to sit at the bottom of the table. ‘I put it to Paulina that as the child was born in this house, I ought to have some say in the naming, but she would not have it so. I dare say the poor boy will be saddled with Thomas, like his father, than which nothing could be more vulgarly common.’

She appeared as thoroughly put out as one of her equable temperament could be, and Lucy derived a degree of entertainment from her discourse as some small solace to her heart-sore state.

But then Stefan entered the room, and her comfort was at an end. He looked pale, which must be set to her account, and his eyes met hers but briefly before he turned away to the sideboard. Lucy read reproach in his look and felt wretched indeed. She was glad when Mrs Ankerville drew his attention.

‘Stefanus, I have spoken severely to Paulina about her ingratitude.’

He glanced at his mother, a frown catching at his brows. Lucy willed herself not to seek his gaze, and signally failed.

‘On Lucy’s behalf, I trust.’

Stefan’s eyes came back to hers as he spoke. They softened and he gave her a brief smile. Lucy felt its tenderness and hugged the secret to her bosom.

‘Naturally,’ returned Mrs Ankerville.
‘I pointed out that Lucinda is the child’s aunt and behaved very properly. I also said Paulina had caused her husband to act in a most unmannerly fashion and I made it clear that I did not approve.’

Dion clapped her hands.
‘Bravo, Mama. Not that I suppose it will make the slightest difference, but at least you said it.’

‘No difference at all,’ agreed Mrs Ankerville tranquilly.
‘But I will not pander to unreasonable prejudice.’

Stefan took his seat, setting down his plate with an air of decision which put Lucy on immediate guard.
‘Well said, Mama.’

He then looked across at Lucy and she realised instantly her instincts had not led her astray.
The message of his eyes was unmistakable and might be read by anyone in the room.

‘Which is why,’ he pursued, before she could think how to avert certain disaster, ‘I want you and Dion to know
that I have every intention of marrying Lucy.’

A strangled ‘No!’ was all Lucy could manage.
With horrified eyes, she glanced from Dion’s stunned expression to Mrs Ankerville’s face of blank incomprehension.

Dion was the first to recover.
She gaped at her brother, and then brought her astounded gaze to bear on Lucy, who rushed into speech.

‘Don’t look at me.
I told him I would not marry him. I told him how impossible it is.’ She turned desperate eyes on Stefan. ‘How could you? I thought you understood.’

He was wearing the bland face she knew of old, and his voice was coolness itself.
‘I understood it was useless to argue with you, my—’ To her relief, he cut off the endearment she guessed he had been about to utter, and rephrased it. ‘My dear Lucy. But that does not mean I am prepared to accept your reading of the matter.’