An Unwilling Conquest Part 38

Through the simple contact, Lucinda could sense his simmering anger, and the control that left his muscles twitching, shifting restlessly beneath her hand; for an instant, her feelings threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted him to comfort her, yearned to feel his arms about her once again. But she knew he was right--she had to reappear in the ballroom soon. Dragging in a AN.

UNWILLING CONQUEST.

shaking breath, she lifted her head. With the slightest of nods, she allowed him to lead her back, into the cacophany of conversation and laughter, back to the bright lights and bright smiles.

Her own smile appropriately bright if brittle, she gracefully inclined her head as, with a curt nod, Harry deposited her at the end of Em's chaise. He immediately turned on his heel; Lucinda watched him stride away,"

into the crowd.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

"Good afternoon, Fergus. Is Mrs Babbacombe in?" Harry handed his gloves and cane to his aunt's butler.

His expression stonily impa.s.sive, he glanced towards the stairs.

"Mrs Babbacombe is in the upstairs parlour, sir--she uses it as her office.

Her ladyship's laid down upon her bed. These late nights are greatly tiring at her age."

"I dare say."

With decisive stride, Harry headed for the stairs.

"I won't disturb her. You needn't announce me." His lips thinned.

"I'm quite sure Mrs Babbacombe is expecting me."

"Very good, sir."

The upstairs pa dour was a small room at the back of the house. Tall windows looked onto the garden at the rear; two armchairs and a chaise plus an a.s.sortment of side-tables graced the floral rug by the fireplace while a large day bed filled the s.p.a.ce before the windows. An escritoire stood against one wall; Lucinda, a vision in soft blue muslin, was seated before it, pen in hand, when Harry opened the door.

She glanced around, an abstracted smile on her lips-- and froze. Her smile faded, replaced by a polite mask.

Harry's expression hardened. He stepped over the threshold and closed the door.

Lucinda rose.

"I didn't hear you announced."

"Probably because I wasn't." Harry paused, his hand on the doork.n.o.b, and studied her haughty expression. She was going to hear him out, come what may; he wasn't in the mood to tolerate interruptions. His lingers closed about the key; the lock slid noiselessly into place.

"This isn't a social call."

"Indeed?" One brow rising, Lucinda lifted her chin. "To what, then, do I owe this honour, sir?"

Harry's smile was a warning.

"Lord Craven." As he stalked towards her, his eyes boring into hers, Lucinda had to quell a weak impulse to retreat behind her chair.

"I've come to demand an a.s.surance from you, Mrs Babbacombe, that you will, as of this moment, cease and desist in this little game of yours."

Lucinda stiffened.

"I beg your pardon?"

"As well you might," Harry growled, coming to a halt directly before her, his eyes, glittering green, hplding hers.

"That little scene on Lady Harcourt's terrace was entirely your own fault.

This ridiculous experiment of yours, this habit you've formed of encouraging rakes, has to stop."

Lucinda summoned a haughty glance.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm merely doing what many ladies, situated similarly, would do--looking for congenial company."

"Congenial?" Harry lifted a supercilious brow.

"I would have thought last night would have been sufficient demonstration of how " congenial" the company of rakes can be."

Lucinda felt a blush tinge her cheeks. She shrugged and swung aside, stepping away from the desk.

"Lord Craven was clearly a mistake." She glanced back to add, "And I have to thank you most sincerely for your aid."

Deliberately, she met Harry's gaze, then calmly turned and drifted towards the windows.

"But I really must insist, Mr Lester, that my life is my own to live as I please. It's no business of yours should I choose to develop a..." Lucinda gestured vaguely '. a relationship with Lord Craven or anyone else. "

A tense silence greeted her statement. Lucinda paused, fingers lightly trailing the high back of the day bed her gaze fixed, unseeing, on the prospect beyond the windows.

Behind her, Harry closed his eyes. Fists clenched, his jaw rigid, he fought to shackle his response to what he knew to be deliberate provocation, to suppress the clamorous impulses her words had evoked. Behind his lids, a fleeting image took shape--of her, struggling in Lord Craven's arms.

Abruptly, Harry opened his eyes.

"My dear Mrs Babbacombe." He bit the words out as he stalked after her.

"It,s clearly time I took a hand in your education. No rake in his right mind is interested in a relationship--other than of an extremely limited sort."

Lucinda glanced over her shoulder and saw him coming. She turned to meet him--and abruptly found herself backed against the wall.

Harry's eyes trapped hers.

"Do you know what we are interested in?"

Lucinda took in his predatory smile, his glittering eyes, heard the undercurrent in his silky voice. Deliberately, she tilted her chin.

"I'm not a complete innocent." Even as the lie left her lips, her breathing seized.

Harry moved closer, crowding her against the wall, stopping only when she could retreat no further, her soft skirts caressing his thighs, brushing his boots. His lips, so fascinating, were very close. As Lucinda watched, they twisted.