An Unwilling Conquest Part 62

Lucinda turned to find Harry, the long pole in. one hand, steadying the boat, as he held his other hand out to her. She put her fingers in his; he helped her into the punt. Once she had settled her skirts on the cushions in the prow, he stepped into the stern and poled off. The dark water glided past the hull; reclining against the cushions, Lucinda trailed her fingertips in the lake-- and filled her sight with Harry. He avoided her gaze, concentrating, to all appearances, on their surroundings. With a small, disbelieving sniff, Lucinda switched her gaze to the sh.o.r.es slipping past.

The ends of Harry's lips lifted; his gaze, falling to her profile, was unusually soft but cynical, too. Hands on the pole, he propelled them through the water; not even the most inveterate rake could seduce a woman while poling a punt. He hadn't planned their recent close brush with intimacy--for once, he was truly grateful for his younger brother's interruption. He had reason enough to marry his siren, and too many excuses he had yet to convince her he no longer needed. Their night at Aster Icy had only added to the list, lending weight to the social pressures she might imagine had influenced him. Social pressures he himself had foolishly raised in order to hide the truth.

Harry lifted his gaze to the vista before them--the facade of Lester Hall--Jack's home now, no longer his.

His gaze grew distant; his jaw firmed.

She had made it plain that it was important for her to know the truth of why he wished to wed her; during the past days, he had realised it was important to him to know that she did. So before they were done, before he again asked her to be his bride, they would have it all clear between them.

His siren would know the truth--and believe it.

Lucinda opened her eyes the next morning to discover a dusky pink rose unfurling on her pillow. Enchanted, she took the delicate bloom into her hand, cradling it gently. The dew on the petals fractured the sunshine.

Her smile wondering, delighted, she sat up and pushed the covers back. Every morning she had spent at Lester Hall, she had woken to find just such a tribute waiting somewhere in her room.

But on her pillow.

Still smiling, she rose.

Fifteen minutes later, her expression serene, she glided through the breakfast par lout doors, the rose between her fingers. As usual, Harry's father was not present--he was a semi-invalid and did not stir before noon; Em adhered to town hours so would not rise until eleven. As for Heather and Gerald, they had the night before announced their intention of riding to a distant folly; they would, Lucinda judged, be well on their way by now.

Which left Harry alone, seated at the table's head, long legs stretched out before him, his fingers crooked about the handle of a cup.

Lucinda felt his gaze as she entered; with every appearance of unconsciousness, she considered her lover's token, then, with a softly distant-smile, tucked it lovingly into her cleavage, making great show of nestling the velvet petals against the curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She looked up to see Harry transfixed. His fingers had tightened about the haqdle of his cup, a stillness, like that of a predator abotat to pounce, had settled over his long frame. His gaze was riveted on the rose. "Good morning." Lucinda smiled sunnily and went forward to take the seat the butler held for her.

Harry tried to speak, then had to clear his throat.

"Good morning." He forced his gaze to Lucinda's; it sharpened as he read her expression. He shifted in his seat.

"I'd thought to visit the stud before we head back to town. I wondered if you'd care to accompany me-and perhaps renew your acquaintance with Thistledown."

Lucinda reached for the teapoL

"Thistledown's here?" Harry nodded and took a long sip of coffee.

"Is it far?"

"Only a few miles." He watched as Lucinda spread a m.u.f.fin with jam.

She leant both elbows on the table, the m.u.f.fin held with both hands, and took a bite; a minute later, the tip of her tongue went the rounds of her lips.

Harry blinked.

"Will we ride?" Lucinda didn't think to voice her agreement formally; he had known from the first she would go.

Harry stared at the rose nestling between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "No--we'll take the gig."

Lucinda smiled at her m.u.f.fin-- and took another bite. minutes later still clad in her lilac dress the rose ~n pride of she sat beside Harry as he tooled the gig down a narrow lane.

"So you don't spend much time in London?" Harry raised his brows, his attention on the bay between the shafts.

"As little as possible." He grimaced. "But with a venture like the stud, it's necessary to remain visible amongst the cognescenti, which is to say, the gentlemen of the ton."

"Ah--I see." Lucinda nodded sagely, the wide brim of her villager hat framing her face.

"Contrary to all appearances, you care nothing for the b.a.l.l.s, the routs, the parties--and less for the good opinion of the feminine half of the ton.

Indeed--' she opened her eyes wide '--I cannot understand how you have come by the reputation you bear. Unless--' She broke off to look enquiringly up at him.

"Perhaps it's all a hum?"

Harry's attention had left the bay gelding; it was focused on Lucinda, the light in his eyes enough to make her shiver.

"My reputation, my dear, was not gained in the ballrooms."

Lucinda kept her gaze wide.

"Oh?"

"No," Harry stated--more in answer to the hopeful expression in her eyes than her question. His expression severely reproving, he clicked the reins, setting the horse to a trot.

Lucinda grinned.

The stud was soon reached. Harry tossed the reins of the gig to a groom, then lifted Lucinda down.

"I need to talk to my head-stableman, Hamish MacDowell," he said as they strolled towards the stable complex.

"Thistledown should be in her box. It's in the second yard."

Lucinda nodded.

"I'll wait for you there." The stables were a ma.s.sive conglomerate of buildings--stables proper, as well as tack rooms and barns housing training gigs as well as what appeared to be quite enormous quant.i.ties of fodder.

"Did you start it up--or was it already in existence?"

"My father established the stud in his youth. I took over after his accident--about eight years ago." Harry's gaze swept over the stud--the neat, cobbled yards and stone buildings before them, the fenced fields on either side.

"Whenever I'm home I offer to drive him over-- but he never comes." He looked down, then added,

"I.

think seeing it all--the horses--reminds him of his inability. He was a bruising rider until a fall put him in that chair of his. "

"So you're the son who takes after him most in the matter of horses?"

Harry's lips twitched.

"In that regard--and, some might argue, his other most consuming pa.s.sion."

Lucinda glanced at him, then away.

"I see," she replied, her tone repressive.