Lyon's Bride: The Chattan Curse (10 page)

That the idea of marrying the silliest girl of the lot was ridiculous?
Absolutely!

He wanted children. What kind of sons would such an airy girl give him?

Yes, that was
the
argument. She would appeal to Neal’s intelligence, knowing he would want the same for his children. Certainly any of the other candidates would be better than Lady Sophie.

Of course, the whole debate she was having with herself could prove fruitless. Neal might not ask her opinion, and she would be stewing about nothing.

With an impatient sound, Thea tossed the covers back. She needed a book or something to take her mind off the subject. Throwing on a dressing gown, she left the room.

A footman sat at a chair next to a candle. “May I help you, ma’am.”

“Can’t sleep,” she murmured. “I need a book.”

“Would you like a candle?”

“Yes, thank you.” She took the candle holder he offered and went down the stairs. The library was in the back of the house overlooking the garden.

Thea crossed to one of the bookshelves lining the wall, holding her candle up so she could see the titles—

A movement outside the window caught her attention. Taking a step closer, she saw a man’s silhouette against the moonlit garden.

Neal’s shadow.

There was no one else awake except for the two of them.

He stepped forward into the moonlight. He was wearing a shirt, opened at the neck, riding breeches and tall boots. He stood alone, a romantic, contemplative figure. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

Neal turned toward her, and Thea’s immediate reaction was to blow out the candle. She stepped away from the window, moving far enough that he couldn’t see her but she could watch him.

A terrible yearning rose in her. One she did not want to identify. That summer years ago, she’d lived for their meetings.

And now?

Now, she was a woman who’d been married, who understood desire and lust. She knew what she yearned for. She knew what she wanted. Her body ached for his touch, for him.

Thea shook her head and crossed her arms tight against her chest. Their lives had gone down different paths. Besides, if Neal had wanted her, he would have pursued.

He hadn’t.

He
could
pursue now. He wouldn’t.

And if she walked out into the night to him? If he opened his arms, would she be willing?

Thea turned and walked back to her room, her quest for a book forgotten.

T
hea had been there in the library’s darkness.

Restless, feeling that the four walls of his room had been closing in on him, Neal had escaped out into the night garden, but he had not found any relief. He felt trapped. Closed in, even in the open air.

Then he’d caught sight of Thea in the library.

And he could breathe again.

She hadn’t lingered. He didn’t fool himself. He knew she had run from him. It was the right thing for her to do.

He’d run too if he could. Something was at work. Something over which he had no control and didn’t understand. He doubted if she understood as well.

This evening, he’d focused on Lady Sophie because she was simple and charming. She was also beautiful. The other young women were not only more competitive but also shrewder. He could feel them coveting him, his title and his money with their eyes.

But it was Thea he coveted. Thea, who effortlessly put the manners, the beauty, the personalities of these other women to shame. Thea, whose strength of character he admired.

Thea that he wanted to touch, to hold . . . to bed.

Margaret would tell him to leave now, but he couldn’t. God help him, he couldn’t.

There comes a time when every man must meet his destiny, and Neal realized his time was nigh.

Chapter Eight

“G
ood morning, Lord Lyon, I trust you slept well,” Mirabel said in greeting to Neal. She was sitting next to Sir James at the head of the dining table and had been the first to notice his presence. The room was busy with young women and their parents preparing their plates from the wide range of dishes set up on the sideboard.

The minute Mirabel issued her greeting, everyone turned to offer their own.

For a man accustomed to his privacy, it was a bit off-putting to have so much attention.

“There is a place to sit beside me,” Lady Lila offered. She was looking fetching in a dark blue riding habit trimmed in gold braid
à la militaire
. Neal knew it was the latest fashion, but he found it disconcerting to think of women dressed for military action rather than a pleasant ride in the country.

The plan for the day was a ride to an old church and picnic lunch. He thought of the work waiting for him back in London, the ledgers, the letters, the documents, and tried to smile. “Thank you,” he said.

“There is a place next to me as well,” Lady Cynthia said brightly.

“Thank you,” he replied, putting his attention to his breakfast.
Thank you, thank you.
Words that could keep him out of trouble. Of course, he’d noticed that one person wasn’t at breakfast yet—Thea. He thought to ask where she was, then stopped himself.

Such a request would not be appreciated by this audience.

Then, as if he’d conjured her, Thea appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t dressed for riding, and she appeared very tired. Her honey brown hair had been styled for simplicity, and her eyes were dark with concern.

And still, she was the most attractive, interesting, remarkable woman in the room. There was a presence about her, a character that none of the others had.

Her gaze met Neal’s for the briefest of moments, and then she announced, “I am so sorry, everyone, that I won’t be able to ride with you to the ruins today. Lady Sophie has taken violently ill, and I feel I must be here with her and her family.”

“Good heavens,” Mirabel said. “What is the matter with her?”

“We don’t know.”

“Shall we call for a doctor?” Mirabel asked.

“That might be necessary,” Thea said.

Neal carried a plate of food over to Thea. “Here,” he said. “Take a moment and eat. I’m certain Mirabel will see to the doctor.”

“That I will,” Mirabel replied and nodded for one of her footmen to come to her immediately.

“You can sit here,” Neal said, superseding a footman and pulling the chair next to Lady Lila out for her.

He sensed Thea’s first impulse was to refuse. “You won’t help anyone if you wear yourself out,” he added.

Her resistance vanished. She almost gratefully sank down in the chair with a murmured “Thank you.” He nodded for one of the footmen to pour a cup of tea for her.

Lady Lila cocked her head in reproof. “That chair was for you, my lord.”

“And how kind of you to hold it for me,” he answered. “However, I have put it to good use. After all, how can we enjoy a house party if one of our number is ill?”

“Perhaps something she ate didn’t settle well with her?” Mrs. Pomfrey said, buttering her toasted bread, a suggestion that made Mirabel’s eyes widen in alarm.

“If that were true, we would all be ill,” Mirabel said, looking to Thea for confirmation.

“Well, it’s unfortunate she won’t be able to ride with all of you today,” Lady Montvale said, no sadness in her voice at all.

Neal took his plate over to the empty chair next to Miss Cynthia Pomfrey. She gave him a pleasant smile before shooting a triumphant look at Lady Lila, and Neal felt like a bone being argued over by two dogs. Well, actually five dogs—while the one
he
wanted pointedly ignored him.

Thea didn’t linger over her meal but excused herself to see to Lady Sophie. Her glance had not come his way since he’d pulled out her chair.

Neal rose from the table, excusing himself, and caught up with her in the hall.

“Mrs. Martin,” he said, aware that anyone could be listening. “Is there anything I can do for Lady Sophie?”

She shook her head. “No, there isn’t, and I assure you I believe Lady Sophie will be fine, although it is quite worrisome.” She paused. “You are sorry she won’t be able to ride with you this morning?”

There was an edge to her voice, a sign of a sharper question being asked—and Neal realized that if he answered honestly, if he really didn’t have a concern about Lady Sophie, that it was Thea who drew his notice, no good could come of it. His sister Margaret’s worst fears would be realized, as would his own. “Of course,” he responded, shrugging as he did so to take any import from his concern.

“Then it is Lady Sophie you have chosen?” she asked.

Neal took a step back. “I’ve not made a decision.”

“But you singled her out quite often yesterday.”

“I was talking to her. She’s pleasant.”

“Is she the one, my lord?”

Neal frowned, not liking the way she worded the question. “I haven’t focused on any ‘one.’ Did you not tell me to become acquainted with the young women?”

“I did.”

“Then I was becoming acquainted with her.” He did not like the direction of this conversation. Thea was too eager to see him matched. Perhaps he was wrong in his assumption that deeper emotions were in play. “I have not made up my mind one way or the other.”

“I gained the impression you had, my lord,” she answered. “I was mistaken.”

“Thea, don’t go stiff on me,” Neal said, annoyed at her cool facade. “This is devilish hard. I’ve never been watched so much as I am now. Lady Sophie was very safe to talk to. She’s—” He paused for the right word. “Uncomplicated. If an impression has formed that I have made up my mind, then I’m sorry for it. It’s not true.”

If he’d thought his reasoning would placate her, he was wrong. If anything, the gleam in her eyes hardened and the furrows along her brow deepened. However, voices in the breakfast room warned that they were about to be interrupted.

“I appreciate knowing where you stand, my lord,” she said and started to walk away.

He caught her arm, the action forcing her to look at him. “What do you want from me?” he demanded, his voice low. “One moment you befriend me and in the next you are distant and barely polite.”

“And what do you expect of me, my lord?”

He frowned, uncertain of her meaning.

“You don’t know, do you?” she pointed out, and on that cryptic remark she turned and he had to let her go.

Within minutes, Neal found himself surrounded by the other guests. Lady Lila pulled his arm one way, Lady Cynthia another, and in the end, he escaped to his room, much to Sir James’s amusement.

An hour later, he found himself riding along on the most frivolous of ventures, a picnic—but his thoughts were not far from Thea.

T
he doctor said that Lady Sophie was suffering a stomach disorder of some sort.

“I wonder what good doctors truly are,” Mirabel grumbled. “They always state the obvious.” They, along with Lady Sophie’s mother, Lady Carpsley, had left the patient upstairs sleeping off the effects of her illness.

“Yes, well, at least she isn’t in danger of imminent demise,” Thea said. “She had me worried last night.”

“I’m sorry she missed the picnic,” Lady Carpsley said. “I had my husband go with the group so we would receive a full report. I told Sophie she’d best be on her feet and in her prettiest frock by this evening.”

“She may still not be feeling well,” Thea suggested.

Lady Carpsley bristled at the suggestion. “She can’t be abed when Lyon returns. I’ll see that she is up. We came here to win him, and we shall.”

“Are you so certain he is smitten?” Mirabel said, asking the question Thea hadn’t dared voice. “Men have an amazing ability to appear interested when they are not.”

“That’s why Mrs. Martin is here, is it not?” Lady Carpsley said. She looked to Thea. “With Sophie taking sick at such an inopportune time, we may need your help. Sophie was gaining ground over the others. We could all see that.” She folded her hands in front of her. “You wish for your son to attend Westminster School, do you not?”

“I do,” Thea said, surprised that she knew and suddenly cautious. “He has an interview there in a few weeks.”

“It’s a very exclusive school. They don’t allow just anyone to walk through their doors. My husband’s cousin is the headmaster. Your son’s interview will be with him. And, of course, recommendations from well-placed persons can be very important. The right word from my husband and your son will be admitted.” She paused and then added, “The wrong word and your son will
never
grace Westminster’s halls.”

Thea looked over at Mirabel, whose eyes had widened in outrage, an outrage Thea shared.

“Lady Carpsley, that is blackmail,” Thea demurred.

“Yes, well, one does what one can for one’s child. Lyon is the catch of any four seasons. The more we are around him, the more Lord Carpsley and I are convinced he is the perfect husband for our daughter. I shall expect your full assistance, that is if you wish your son to attend Westminster. There are so many bright lads from good, but modest, families. Westminster can’t take them all, so they must be very selective.” She smiled, the expression almost friendly, and left the room.

Thea sank down on the divan. Mirabel sat down beside her. “What are we going to do?” Mirabel asked.

“I’m disgusted that she would use my son as a bartering tool in this,” Thea said, her temper taking hold.

“I am as well, but that doesn’t change the fact that she is. How close do you think Lyon is to making up his mind?”

“I don’t know. He’s being very close-lipped. This morning when I talked to him, he seemed distant.”

“He
has
showed marked attention to Lady Sophie.”

Thea shrugged, a tightness settling in her shoulders. “He didn’t appear overly concerned about her this morning.”

“But isn’t that what he wants?” Mirabel pointed out. “A woman that he can’t possibly like? Once Lyon hears of this, I assume from what I’ve observed of his character, he will be disgusted.” She shook her head. “Frankly, Thea, I sat at the breakfast table this morning, watching faces as you said Lady Sophie wasn’t feeling well, and
no one
seemed concerned. In fact, a few acted quite pleased with the information. I found it unsettling.”

“Mirabel, this can’t be the first time you’ve realized how petty and selfish people can be.”

“I don’t live my life that way. Why should I notice?”

A new suspicion was brewing in Thea’s mind. “It is a bit too fortunate that Lady Sophie would take ill. She appeared the picture of health yesterday.”

“No,”
Mirabel said, drawing out the word as if to deny it. “Do you suspect someone made her sick? How could someone do that?”

“I don’t know. It does sound far-fetched. Poison?”

“But these people are the cream of the
ton.
Thea, they are respectable people.”

“Entitled? Yes. Respectable? Mirabel, don’t be naive. Marrying Lyon would be a boon to any of these families. You can never tell where a person is in life just by the surface. They could be in debt or wanting Lyon’s connections for their own use. His money will fill their coffers, his prestige will burnish their stars. You should have met some of the men my father wanted to marry me off to—codgers and his cronies—and he was galloping out the gate to do so. He had a number of schemes to draw me to the attention of the men he’d chosen. Of course, the thought of seeing any of them naked was enough to make me run into Boyd’s arms.”

“Lyon wouldn’t hurt the eyes naked.”

Mirabel’s droll observation brought an image to Thea’s mind that almost sizzled her brain and brought a flush to her cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d had a lustful thought. She’d been too busy trying to keep her small family fed and safe. Now, it was as if a part of her tamped down and kept dormant suddenly sprang to life. She rose from the divan and took a step away. “Stop this.”

“What?” Mirabel asked, her eyes rounding in innocence.

“Attempting to put us together. It won’t work.” Thea didn’t know if she was saying this for Mirabel’s benefit or her own.

“It could. You must let yourself believe.”

“There is nothing to believe,” Thea protested. And yet a part deep inside her wistfully wondered whether Mirabel’s claim was true.

“I think he likes you too much. He always stays an arm’s distance away from you.”

“And that means what?”

“That he is afraid to go closer,” Mirabel explained, as if it should have been obvious. “Truly, Thea, you can’t see the signs? Or are you so busy trying to stay away from him you don’t notice?”

“He treats me with polite respect. Nothing more; nothing less.”

“He likes you—”

“Mirabel, no more of that.” Thea walked off before her friend could toss in a final “He likes you,” something she might have heard whispered as she climbed the stairs. She went to check on Lady Sophie. She was not anxious to keep company with the Carpsleys, not after Lady Carpsley’s threat, but her curiosity had been piqued.

What if someone
had
given Lady Sophie something to make her ill?

The suggestion was worth a question or two.

Lord Carpsley was taking an afternoon snooze in a comfortable chair in a corner of the room. Lady Carpsley was reading to her daughter. Lady Sophie looked like a beautiful, pale waif resting in the middle of the feather pillows and downy comforters.

“Are you feeling any better?” Thea asked.

Lady Sophie turned mournful eyes to her. “They will all be crowding around him now. He was interested in me, and I lost him.” Her fingers twisted the sheets in her agitation.

“Your health is more important than this nonsense,” Thea said soothingly.

“Besides, Mrs. Martin is going to see that Lord Lyon doesn’t forget his interest in you, aren’t you?” Lady Carpsley finished, turning to Thea with a look that her ladyship expected to be obeyed.

“He won’t forget Lady Sophie,” Thea allowed without committing herself. “Have you had anything to eat? Would you like a bowl of broth?”