England's Perfect Hero (18 page)

"But I set myself up as a potential rival," he returned, as they slowly made their way along the front of his garden in the direction of the stables. "It's a good sign if he insults me."

"It's never a good sign to insult anyone," she retorted. "You and he went through the same experiences. If he can't sympathize with a fellow soldier, I—"

"We didn't go through the same experiences," he interrupted. "He just thinks we did. Everyone does. That's why…" Robert cleared his throat. "What do aphids look like?"

"You don't have to worry about aphids until you get blooms," she said, pulling him to a halt. If his leg hadn't been injured, she didn't think she would have been able to stop him. "That's why what?"

"Nothing."

"No. It's not 'nothing.' Finish your sentence."

Robert shook his head. His gaze had gone past her, to the stables, as though he wanted to escape. Well, he could go, but she was going with him. Georgie had hinted at things, and Robert avoided discussing them. And she wanted to know why he hurt so much.

"I was just going to say that's why they despise me," he muttered.

"You're wrong, Robert. And they have no right to despise you," she snapped, as angry at the thought as she was at herself for goading him into saying it. "You were wounded, several times over. Wellington even called you a hero for your efforts at Waterloo. You can't—"

He yanked his arm free and limped for the stables. "I didn't make any efforts at Waterloo," he hissed, vanishing inside.

She followed him through the door. At her quick gesture, the three grooms inside exited, leaving the two of them alone with the horses. "Of course you did. Whatever Wellington's political agenda, you—"

"I wasn't even there, goddammit." He limped up to his bay's stall. Tolley stuck his head over, nuzzling Robert's arm. "Now go away."

Lucinda stared at his back. Everyone knew he'd been wounded at Waterloo. She remembered when he'd returned to London, one of the first soldiers to do so. In fact, he'd arrived only three days after the battle. She frowned again. It had taken Wellington's messenger two days to get the news to Prince George, and he'd been on horseback with a dispatch ship waiting specifically for him on the coast.

"You're figuring out the timing, aren't you?" he said in a quiet voice. "You're General Barrett's daughter. You know the different routes along which information and troops travel. I was so glad the news arrived in town before I did. No one would think to ask any questions."

My God
, she kept thinking.
My God
. "What happened to you, Robert?" she asked, slowly approaching him and laying a hand on his shoulder. She felt his muscles flinch beneath her touch. "How were you hurt?"

He lurched around to face her, haunted eyes burning into hers. "You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do."

"No. You would tell your father."

He started around her, but taking advantage of his game leg she pushed him back against the stall door again. Snatching the cane from his fingers, she swept it behind her. "I wouldn't tell my father."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't want me to."

Robert closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing harsh. When he looked at her again, she couldn't begin to read his expression. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.

"Because… because we're friends, Robert. Friends care about each other." She reached up, putting a hand over his heart. Touching him was probably the wrong thing to do, but it seemed to be the only thing guaranteed to get a reaction from him. It was funny—touching Geoffrey didn't give her goose bumps. "And friends
can
keep secrets. So if you want to tell me, tell me. If not, I'll still be your friend."

He stared into her eyes for a long moment. "Have you ever heard of Chateau Pagnon?"

She frowned. "It sounds familiar. In southern France, isn't it?"

"Yes. I spent seven months there."

He made it sound like he'd been there on holiday, but she knew it would have been nothing like that. "Why?"

Robert opened his mouth, but all that came out was a low growl. "I… don't want to talk about this anymore," he whispered, and leaned down to capture her mouth with his.

Almost on instinct, Lucinda leaned up, twining her fingers into his lapels to draw herself closer against his hard chest. Hunger and need. The sensation crashed through her as he molded his mouth hard against hers. It was as if he was breathing through her, breathing
her
, even. Heat and longing spiraled down her spine as his hands swept around her.

His previous kiss had been tentative, as if he didn't quite remember how to do it. Not so, this one. She knew exactly what he wanted: her.

Her mind began to catch up with her body, and she became aware that she was moaning, drinking him in. "Stop!" she commanded, pushing against his chest. "Please stop."

Robert abruptly released her. "I'm sorry," he said, wiping a hand across his sensuous mouth. "I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean to kiss me," she interrupted, backing away and nearly tripping over his borrowed cane. "That's all right."

"No, I didn't mean to upset you," he countered, limping forward to retrieve the cane from the tangle of her skirts. "I meant to kiss you."

"Oh. Why?" she asked, still stammering and uncomfortably hot beneath her thin muslin gown.

"If I told you that, I don't think we would be able to remain friends," he said, his gaze still on her mouth. "And we are still friends, aren't we?"

She wanted to point out that she'd never had a friend kiss her like that, so that her heart felt as if it was going to pound right through her chest. But if she complained that he'd overstepped the bounds, he would close off from her again, never touch her again—and certainly never kiss her again. And she wasn't quite ready to give any of those things up yet.

"Yes, we are friends," she agreed, straightening the front of her dress. Did he mean that he desired her? It was certainly mutual. But if he hadn't meant to upset her, hadn't been in earnest, then whomever he did kiss with those intentions was going to die in his arms of ecstasy. "Of course we're friends."

He shook himself, looking around them as if he'd forgotten they were in the stables. "I'd best get you back to Georgiana," he said, hitching forward with the cane and offering his arm again.

"Oh. Yes. Your family will be wondering what we've done to your roses by now."

As they reached the stable entrance, Robert stopped again. "Do you go to Vauxhall for the fireworks?"

"Yes. Are you going to attend?"

He nodded. "I'll try. And you'll have to tell me there what your third lesson for Lord Geoffrey might be."

Robert left her with Georgiana in the morning room while he vanished somewhere back into the depths of the house. Much as she enjoyed Georgiana's company, this morning Lucinda wanted nothing more than to cut the visit short and return home.

Aside from the fact that she wanted to spend a bit more time thinking about why Geoffrey hadn't kissed her yet when Robert had done so twice, her father had several journals she hadn't even begun transcribing. And unless she was mistaken, one of them mentioned something about a Chateau Pagnon. Lucinda suddenly felt like doing some research.

"Good morning, Miss Lucinda," Ballow said, pulling open the front door. "We didn't expect you back until luncheon."

"Is the general home?" she asked brightly, wishing she had Robert's skill at evading inquiry, subtle or otherwise.

"He was called to a meeting at the Horse Guards, miss. May I have Albert bring you some tea?"

"Oh, no thank you. I'm going to go through some… I'll be in the general's office," she said, handing over her bonnet and shawl.

"Very good, miss."

With a grimace Lucinda stepped past the butler and walked as casually as she could to her father's office. Just because she felt as jittery inside as if she'd drunk a dozen cups of coffee all full of sugar didn't mean she needed to make a spectacle of herself. It had just been a kiss—a kiss that should never have happened and one that had practically set her toes on fire, but only a kiss, nonetheless.

The journals her father hadn't yet edited for his book lay in date order on a side table. Depending on how fast-moving a particular campaign had been, his notes could be very sketchy—hence his use of Geoffrey's recollections—or extremely thorough. Several times his entries had hinted at some fairly gruesome incidents, but he never went into detail. A gentleman wouldn't, he always said.

She flipped through the top journal, looking for place names. Mostly she found towns where battles or sieges had been fought, like Cadiz or Burgos or Tarragona, or British officers like General Rowland Hill or Major General Galbraith Cole.

In the spring 1814 journal, she found what she was looking for. In the middle of a brief account of the battle of Bayonne in the Pyrenees, the general mentioned a chateau half dug into a mountainside just inside the French border. Pagnon Castle, he wrote, thankfully didn't overlook a main road or pass, because in his opinion it would take half the Peninsular army to get inside.

She turned another few pages and then went back again. Nothing more. From the brevity of her father's account of the Bayonne battle, he'd been extremely busy.

Lucinda sat back. So now she knew that Chateau Pagnon was just north of the town of Bayonne, and that it was highly defensible. And she knew that Robert Carroway had spent several months inside. Was that where he'd been sent to recuperate after he'd been wounded? The way her father wrote about it, the chateau didn't sound as though it was under British or Spanish control. And his wounds had been fresh when he'd returned home, not nearly healed at some monastery or other.

"Well, you've made a mess."

She jumped. Her father stood in the doorway, arms folded across his barrel chest.

"I was just… looking for something." Half the journals lay open across the credenza and his desk, and she busied herself closing them and putting them back in order.

"Military secrets?" he asked, strolling into the room and closing the door behind him.

Lucinda forced a smile. "As if you would put any of those in writing." Clearing her throat, she vacated his chair. "You mention a place called Chateau Pagnon. Was it a military hospital or something?"

His expression cooled as he crossed the floor. "Why?"

She slipped toward the door. "It's just a question. Your notes are fairly sketchy during the Bayonne battle."

"Yes. It was a confusing campaign." With a scowl he sank into his chair. "Not the British army's finest moment. Or mine."

She paused, one hand on the door handle. "I've never heard you talk like that before," she said quietly.

He blew out his breath, opening the Bayonne journal again. "Chateau Pagnon. I remember some of the foot soldiers mumbling about it." The general snorted. "From the way they talked about it, you'd think it was where Mary Shelley got the idea for that monster book of hers."

"
Frankenstein}"
she asked, her hands beginning to shake.

"Yes, that's the one. Just rumors flying about." He looked at his notes again. "Yes. All I wrote is that from a military standpoint, it would have been a nightmare to storm. So who mentioned it to you, my girl?"

He knew more than he was saying. She wanted to ask, but she had given her word to Robert, and was pushing it as it was. If she pursued her inquiries further, her father would start asking questions of his own. "Just a friend," she returned. "In passing. And thank you."

He stirred. "You're welcome."

Distracted as she was by what she was hearing, something in her father's tone caught her attention. She released the door handle, coming toward him again. "Is something wrong, Papa?"

"Eh? No, no. Just some things went in… Just a few entanglements at the Horse Guards."

"Anything you can tell me?"

The general smiled. "Nothing that important. Anything you'd care to tell me? About your sudden interest in Chateau Pagnon, for example? Which friend were you talking with?"

"Oh, I don't remember," she returned, uncomfortable. She had always been able to speak freely with her father. But Robert had made it clear that the general was not to be included in any of this. "It just caught my attention, and the name seemed familiar."

"I see." From his expression he already had a good idea which friend she'd been speaking to, but to his credit he didn't say anything. "You have interesting conversations, my dear," he continued instead. "Now go on, and let me get some work done."

Lucinda left the office with more questions than she'd found answers. She always did her best thinking when she was out working in her rose garden, so she went upstairs to change. As she sat to fix her hair, though, she found herself examining her own reflection in the mirror.

What was she doing, digging through her father's things? Her lessons weren't about Robert. His whole involvement had been an accident, anyway. And yet seeing him to thank him for his efforts at the ball had been her first thought this morning. Discovering the importance of Chateau Pagnon had consumed her afternoon, and in between had been that kiss. Lucinda sighed. She desperately needed to re-assess her plan of action. For goodness' sake, she'd argued with her chosen potential future spouse last evening, and had scarcely given it a second thought.

But what Robert had told her—what he'd begun to tell her—how could she ignore that? How could she forget it? And how could she keep from wanting to know more about what had happened to him?

"No," she said, looking sternly at the figure in the mirror. "Do what you set out to do."

However arousing his kisses, Robert was trouble. Nothing about him could possibly make her life any easier. He wouldn't—couldn't—banter or trade stories with her father. If St. Aubyn and her own growing suspicions were correct, Robert didn't even like her father. Nor did she think he could be the kind of man to offer her comfortable companionship.

Someone scratched at her door, and she quickly finished putting up her hair. "Come in."

Ballow cracked open the door. "Miss Lucinda, you have a caller." He held out his silver tray, an elegant embossed calling card set in its middle.

She picked it up. Lord Geoffrey Newcombe. And there she was dressed in her old gardening gown. "Drat."

"Shall I inform him that you're out, then?"

"No, no. Please let him know I'll be down in a few minutes. And send Helena up to me, will you?"

"Yes, miss." The butler nodded, pulling the door closed again.

Quickly she chose another gown. When her maid arrived, Helena helped her throw on the blue muslin and fix her hair for the second time. In less than five minutes she was ready, and hurried down the stairs.

Ballow caught her attention as she headed for the morning room. "Lord Geoffrey has joined your father in his office."

Of course he had. If anything, Geoffrey seemed more interested in bonding with the general than with her. Well, that served her right; she'd spent her morning with Robert rather than trying to find a way to make amends with her supposed student.

"Hello," she said, stepping into the office.

Immediately the two men stopped their discussion and Geoffrey came to his feet. "Lucinda. I'm so pleased to find you at home."

"I returned early from a visit."

Geoffrey glanced toward her father and back again. "I was hoping I might convince you to join me for luncheon."

That was bold of him, if he expected to simply drop by and find her schedule free. And it was lucky of him, because she did have nothing planned for the remainder of the afternoon. "Consider me convinced, then," she said, smiling.

They left in his curricle, Helena seated behind them, as soon as Lucinda put on her walking bonnet. For a few minutes she could almost believe she was riding with Robert Carroway, since Lord Geoffrey sat in silence beside her, his jaw working though he made no sound.

She supposed she was expected to start the conversation, chat about the weather or Edmund Keane's latest performance at Drury Lane Theatre, but the image of a fog-shrouded stone castle with Robert inside pulled at her. Damn it, she wanted to know why he'd been there, and obviously no amount of pondering on her part would answer the question. Only Robert could do that.

"You're still angry with me, aren't you?" Geoffrey asked abruptly, glancing at her and then back at his team.

"I apologize again, sincerely," he interrupted. "Name what it is I need to do for you to forgive me, and I'll do it."

She started to tell him that none of this groveling was necessary. Being General Augustus Barrett's daughter, however, gave her good instincts. Perhaps it was time to have Geoffrey at least answer some questions, since no one else seemed willing or able to do so. "Clarify something for me," she said.

"Anything."

"Why are you and I here?"

His familiar grin flashed. "Do you mean why are we in my curricle? Because I made you angry at—"

"You know what I mean."

"A lady really isn't supposed to ask such questions, Lucinda."

Probably not
. "Indulge me, Geoffrey. It's important. And please be honest."

A slight grimace twisting his handsome features, he nodded. "Very well. We are here for two reasons. The first is that you're lovely and pleasant and practical, and familiar with a military lifestyle, and I desire you."

"And the second reason?" she prompted, though she had a fairly good idea.

"The second reason." He glanced around the curricle as if to make certain no one else approached closely enough to overhear. "The second reason could be somewhat… embarrassing, and I would appreciate your discretion."

"Of course."

He smiled at her again. "You are your father's daughter. And I am my father's son. The fourth son, to be more specific." Geoffrey cleared his throat. "I'm still with the Army, you know."

"My father mentioned it."

"I'm on extended voluntary leave, at half wages. My commanding officer suggested it. As you're no doubt aware, during the Peninsular War His Majesty had a great need for large numbers of soldiers, and officers. The war, however, is over, and I find myself… in a predicament."

Lucinda nodded. "Pay and advancement, I presume?"

"You presume correctly. My funds through my family are limited. I was expected to make my fortune through my career, and though my prospects were good, the war ended before my promotion could be processed. Not even taking a ball at Waterloo could do the trick. And as you know, military advancement during times of peace is nearly impossible. Your father, though, is a senior member of the Horse Guards. If you and I were… allied, my chances of becoming a major with a command posting in India would be increased a hundredfold."

So there it was. Lord Geoffrey had found himself in the unenviable position of needing either a war or an influential mentor. She'd been right; he
was
courting her father as much as he was pursuing her. For the moment she put aside the news that he wanted to serve in India. Husbands frequently left their wives behind to maintain their social status in London—but that was for later consideration, anyway.

"And now you're even angrier," he said, sighing. "You asked me for honesty."

"I know I did. And—"

"Please know that I intend to win your heart, Lucinda."

"Geoffrey, I suspected your motives from the beginning," she said. All of his protestations of… whatever it was he was protesting were actually just what she expected to hear. "I can't fault you for being practical, when it's a trait you say you admire in me."