An Unwilling Conquest Part 32

Harry's lips twisted; he laid aside his pen. He knew better than to bask in triumph--the Season had yet to end. Rising, he frowned. He was, he hoped, as capable as the next of behaving like a gentleman until then.

He pondered the point, then grimaced. Squaring his shoulders, he went up to change.

"Tell me, Mr Lester--are you enjoying the Seasoh's entertainments?"

The question took Harry by surprise. He glanced down at his partner's face, composed in polite enquiry, then looked up to whirl them around the end of Lady Hemminghurst's ballroom. " He had arrived to' find her already surrounded--by a crop of the most eligible rakes in town. He had wasted no time in extricating her and gathering her into his arms.

"No," he answered. The realisation gave him mental pause.

"Then why are you here?" Lucinda kept her eyes on his face and hoped for a straight answer. The question had grown increasingly impOrtant as day followed day and he made not the smallest move to fix her interest.

Em's likening him to a horse appeared increasingly apt--he might have followed her to London, but he seemed determined not to pursue her.

He had escorted her to all four Babbacombe inns, remaining by her side throughout her inspections, but he had thereafter shown no interest in driving her elsewhere. All comments about the Park, about the delights of Richmond or Merton, fell on studiously deaf ears. Talk of a visit to the theatre had simply made him tense.

As for his behaviour in the ballrooms, she could only describe it as dog-in-the-manger. Some, like Lord Ruthven, found the situation immensely amusing. Others, like herself, were beginning to lose patience.

Harry glanced down and met her unwavering gaze. He frowned intimidatingly.

Lucinda raised her brows.

"Am I to take it you'd rather be with your horses?" she enquired sweetly.

Goaded, Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Yes." A mental picture leapt to mind.

"I would infinitely prefer to be at Lestershall."

"Lestershall?"

His gaze distant, nodded.

Manor--my stud. It's named after the village, which in turn derives its name from my family's princ.i.p.al estate. "

The old manor house was in dire need of repairs. Now he had the money, he would put it to rights. The rambling, half-timbered house had the potential to be a wonderfully comfortable home; when he married, he would live there.

When he married? Harry clenched his jaw and forced his gaze back to his partner's face.

Lucinda captured it with a challenging glance.

"Why, then, aren't you there?"

Because it's empty. Incomplete. The words leapt to Harry's conscious mind before he could shut them out.

Her misty blue eyes lured him to the brink; the words burned his tongue.

Mentally gritting his teeth, he smiled one of his more practiced smiles.

"Because I'm here, waltzing with you."

There was nothing seductive in his tone. Lucinda kept her eyes innocently wide.

"Dare I hope you're enjoying it?"

Harry's lips thinned.

"My dear Mrs Babbacombe, waltzing with you is one of the few compensations my current lifestyle affords."

Lucinda allowed herself a sceptical blink.

"Is it such a grind, then, your current life?"

"Indeed." Harry shot her a narrow glance.

"My current round is one no rake should ever be forced to endure."

Gently, her eyes on his, Lucinda raised her brows. "Then why are you enduring it?"

Harry heard the final bars of the waltz; automatically, he whirled them to a halt. Her question echoed in his ears; the answer echoed deep within him.

Her eyes, softly blue, held him, beckoning, inviting--open and rea.s.suring.

It took an effort of will to draw back, to find and cling to the cynicism which had kept him safe for so long. His features hardening, he released her and offered her his arm.

"Why indeed, Mrs Babbacombe? I fear we'll never know."

Lucinda refrained from gnashing her teeth. She placed her hand on his sleeve, reflecting that a single waltz, which was all he ever claimed, was never long enough to press his de fences Why he was so intent on denying what they both knew to be fact was a point that increasingly bothered her.

"Your aunt was quite surprised to see you in town--she said you would be ...

pursued by ladies wishful to have you marry their daughters." Did he, perhaps, see marriage as a trap? "I dare say,"

Harry replied.

"But London during the Season has never been safe for well-born, well-heeled gentlemen." His eyes . ~et hers.

"Regardless of their reputations."

Lucinda raised her brows,

"So you view the ... pursuit as nothing more than a fact of life?"

"As inescapable as spring, although a dashed sight more inconvenient."

Harry's lips twisted; he gestured up the room.

"Come--I'll return you to Em."

"Ah..." Lucinda glanced about--and saw the gently billowing drapes hanging beside the long windows open to the terrace.

Beyond lay the garden, a world of shadow and starlight.

"Actually," she said, slanting a glance at him.