An Unwilling Conquest Part 22

"Not that I ever heard.

But then, he's never had need to--there's Jack before him and Gerald behind.

Jack's about to marry--I just got a summons to the wedding. So Harry's thoughts are unlikely to turn to gold rings and white icing--not, that is, unless he's given an incentive to pursue the subject. "

"Incentive?"

"Hmm. Often the case with gentlemen in that particular mould-won't have a bar of marriage until the benefits become so blatantly obvious that even they, with their blinkered vision, can see it." Em snorted.

"It's all the fault of the light-skirts, of course. Lining up to give them anything they want--whatever their l.u.s.ts desire--without any strings attached."

"I suspect," Lucinda said, her expression guarded, Harry's

"No' echoing in her ears, 'that it would take a fairly ... powerful incentive to make Harry actively desire to be wed."

"Naturally--Harry's all male to his toes. He'll be as reluctant as the best of them, I don't doubt. He's lived a life of unfettered hedonism--he's hardly likely to volunteer to change." Em brought her gaze back to Lucinda's face.

"Not, of courses that that should deter you." Lucinda's head came up; she met Em's old eyes and saw in them a wealth of understanding. She hesitated for only a moment.

"Why not?"

"Because, as I see it, you've got the most powerful weapon in your hands already--the only one that'll work." Em sat back and shrewdly regarded Lucinda. "Question is, are you game enough to use it?"

For a long moment, Lucinda stared at her hostess-- then shifted her gaze to the gardens. Em sat patiently watching her--slim, dark-haired, fingers clasped in her lap, her expression calm and uninformative, a faraway look in her soft blue eyes.

At length, the blue eyes slowly turned back to Em. "Yes," Lucinda stated, calTM and determined.

"I'm game."

Em grinned delightedly.

"Good! The first thing you'll need to understand is that he'll resist for all he's worth.

He'll not come to the idea meekly--you can't expect it of him. "

Lucinda frowned.

"So I'll have to put up with more of this..." It was her turn to gesture as she sought for words.

"This uncertainty?"

"Undoubtedly," Em aver red

"But you'll have to hold firm to your purpose. And your plan."

Lucinda blinked.

"Plan?"

Em nodded.

"It'll take a subtle campaign to bring Harry to his knees."

Lucinda couldn't help but smile.

"His knees?" Em gave her a haughty look.

"Of course."

Head on one side, Lucinda eyed her unpredictable hostess.

"What do you mean by " subtle"?"

"Well." Em settled in her chair.

"For instance..."

"Good evening, Fergus."

"Good evening, sir."

Harry allowed his aunt's butler to relieve him of his greatcoat, then handed him his driving gloves.

"Is my brother here?" Harry turned to the mirror hanging above the ormolu table.

"Master Gerald arrived half an hour ago. In his new phaeton."

Harry's lips twitched.

"Ah, yes--his latest achievement." He made an almost imperceptible adjustment to the folds of his crisply white cravat. "Your aunt will be delighted to see you~ sir."

Harry met Fergus's eyes in the mirror.

"No doubt." He let his lids fall, veiling his eyes.

"Who else is here?"

"Sir Henry and Lady Dalrymple, Squire Moffat and Mrs Moffat, Mr b.u.t.terworth, Mr Hurst and the Misses Pinkerton." When Harry stood stock still, green eyes hooded, his expression utterly blank, Fergus added, "And Mrs Bubbacombe and Miss Babbacombe, of course."

"Of course." Regaining his equilibrium, momentarily shaken, Harry reset tied the gold pin in his cravat. Then, turning, he strolled towards the drawing-room door. Fergus hurried to open it.

Announced, Harry entered.

Her eyes met his immediately--she wasn't experienced enough to cloak her spontaneous reaction. She'd been speaking with Mr Hurst, a gentleman farmer whom Em, Harry suspected, had long had in her matchmaking sights. Harry paused just inside the door. Lucinda smiled across the room--an easy, politely welcoming smile--and turned back to Mr Hurst. Harry hesitated, then, languidly urbane, strolled to where his aunt sat ensconced in regal purple on the end of the chaise.

"Dear Aunt," he said, bowing elegantly over her hand.

"Wondered if you'd come." Em grinned her triumph. Harry ignored it.

He nodded to the lady sharing the chaise.