An Unwilling Conquest Part 52

"I'm more than capable of managing any gentleman who might darken my horizon.

So just tidy up in here--and let Joshua know that we'll be departing in the morning." Lucinda glided to the door--then paused to look back at her maid.

"And don't worry, you old curmudgeon!"

With that, she turned and, a scintillating vision in shimmering silver blue, glided out of the door.

The drawing-room quickly filled, the guests eager for 175 each other's company. Now sure of her footing, Lucinda found no difficulty in strolling through the crowd, acknowledging the compliments and the open admiration in the gentlemen's eyes, artfully turning aside their subtle suggestions. She was once more in control--but her nerves were taut, her whole being on edge.

The moment she'd been waiting for finally arrived.

Harry walked into the room, creating, she noticed, an immediate stir.

He must have arrived while they were changing; he was dressed in his usual severe black and white, his fair hair gleaming in the candlelight.

Marguerite broke off her conversation to sweep forward and greet him--with a peck on the cheek, Lucinda noted. Lord Asterley came up to wring his hand.

Other gentlemen nodded and called greetings; many of the ladies prinked and preened, smiling in gracious welcome.

Abruptly finding herself the object of a piercing green stare, Lucinda didn't smile at all. Her heart stuttered, then accelerated; a vice slowly closed about her chest. Her expression studiously remote, she inclined her head fractionally and turned back to Mr Ormesby and Lady Morcombe.

And waited for him to come to her.

He didn't--nor was he about to. That much was made plain within ten minutes.

Excruciatingly aware of his gaze, dwelling on her shoulders, bare above the abbreviated neckline of her gown, and on her upper b.r.e.a.s.t.s, likewise revealed, Lucinda gritted her teeth and inwardly cursed.

What the devil was he up to now?

Cursing her, as it happened--Harry could barely restrain the urge to cross the room, lay hold of one delicate wrist and haul her away. What the deuce did she mean by appearing in such a gown? Of the sheerest silk gauze, it shimmered and glimmered, tantalised and teased. The soft material clung wherever it touched, outlining then concealing her slender form, artfully displaying the graceful curves of hips and thighs and the smooth planes of her back. As for her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, they were barely concealed at all--the square neckline had been cut by a miser.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his feet to remain still. As all the gentleman were openly captivated, at least he didn't need to disguise his interest.

"Harry, old chap! Didn't think to see you here. Thought 'you might be looking to take a leaf out of Jack's book, what?"

Harry bent a look of intense irritation on Lord Cranbourne.

"Not my style, Bentley. But who have you got your eye on?"

Lord Cranbourne grinned.

"Lady Motcombe. She's a ripe little plum--that old codger of a husband of hers doesn't appreciate her as he ought."

"Hmm." Harry sent another penetrating glance about the room.

"Just the usual crowd, is it?"

"All except the lovely Mrs Babbacombe--but you know all about her, as I recall?"

"Indeed." Harry's gaze rested again on Lucinda. Again he quelled the urge to go to her side.

"Your interest lie that way this evening?" Harry shot Lord Cranbourne a quick glance, but his lordship's question was clearly an idle one.

"Not as you mean it."

With a nod, he strolled away--before a puzzled Lord Cranbourne could ask for clarification.

With studied nonchalance, Harry circled the room, watching, a.s.sessing. His interest was certainly cent red on Lucinda--but his first concern was to determine who had placed her name on the invitation list.

He'd been halfway to Asterley before his mind had cleared enough to see the point. He hadn't suggested her--so who had? And why?

He prowled the room, carefully studying, not only Lucinda, but all who approached her, intent on discovering which, of his fellow rakes, felt he had first claim. By the time dinner was announced, by Melthorpe in sepulchural vein, Lucinda had come to the conclusion that Harry was waiting for something--presumably disaster--to befall her, so that he could come to her aid and take charge of her again. Vowing it would never be so, she smiled graciously on Mr Ormesby as he offered her his arm.

"Do you come here often, sir?" Mr Ormesby gesticulated airily.

"Now and then. A peaceful interlude away from the bustle of town, what?"

"Indeed."

From the corner of her eye, Lucinda saw Harry frown. Then Marguerite stopped beside him and claimed his arm.

Lucinda turned a bright smile on Mr Ormesby.

"I will rely on you, sir, if I may, to guide me in As~erley's ways."

" Mr Ormesby looked thoroughly chuffed.

"A pleasure, my dear."

Lucinda blinked, and hoped she wasn't raising any false expectations.

"Tell me--are the dinners very elaborate?"

Tonight's wasn't, but neither was it less than an elegant.

sufficiency with four full courses and two removes. The conversation, to Lucinda's relief, remained general throughout, with much exchanging of the latest gossip and on dits, accompanied by considerable merriment, all in the best of taste.

Indeed, if it hadn't been for the subtle undercurrent, borne on glances and the occasional whispered word, her enjoyment would have been unreserved. "My dear Mrs Babbacombe."

Lord Dewhurst, on Lucinda's left, leaned closer to claim her attention.

"Have you heard of the treasure hunt Marguerite has organised for tomorrow?"

"Treasure hunt?" Aware of the growing warmth in his lordship's gaze, Lucinda dimly wondered if such an enterprise, in this company, could possibly be innocent. "Indeed--and we play a version of Fox and Geese that will, I'm sure, delight you. Needless to say, there's no board involved." His lordship smiled.

"We, ourselves, represent the pieces." could just ~ma But she her smile serene, grasping the offer of a custard to turn aside without comment. In doing so, she caught Harry's eye. He was seated across the table, some way along. Despite the distance, she could sense his simmering irritation, there in the odd tenseness that invested his apparently relaxed frame, and in the way his long fingers gripped his wine gla.s.s. Lucinda summoned a radiantly ingenuous smile--and turned it on Mr Ormesby.

Harry felt the muscle in his jaw ripple; his teeth were clenched tight. He forced his jaw to relax, turning aside as Marguerite waved at him from the end of the table. Lucinda had hoped to catch her breath, to rest her wits and strengthen her de fences when the ladies retired to the drawing-room.

But at Asterley, port was the last thing on the gentlemen's minds; they followed in the ladies' wake, not even glancing at the decanters on the sideboard.

"We generally take things quietly on the first evening," Mr Ormesby informed Lucinda as he joined her by the hearth.

"Let people ... get to know one another, if you take my meaning."

"Exactly!" Lord Asterley followed hard on Mr Ormesby's heels.