The Return of Lord Conistone (15 page)

Lucas tried to stop her. ‘Verena. What are you doing?’

She tugged at her dishevelled hair. ‘This is a mistake, Lucas. I must go…’

‘No. Stay a moment’. He stood up quickly, enfolding her in his arms again and pressing his lips to her forehead.

‘Please do not stop me!’

‘I thought,’ he told her softly, ‘that I heard someone out in the hall. A servant, perhaps. Or one of your inquisitive
sisters. You don’t want anyone to see you coming out of my room looking as you do, do you?’

She twisted to glance at herself in the mirror and saw her flushed cheeks, her disordered hair, her reddened lips. She looked anguished. ‘People will say your grandfather was right to call me a—harlot, Lucas!’

‘I know that he is wrong,’ he said. He pressed a finger against her lips. ‘And, believe me, I have dealt with him’.

Her eyes flew up to his, wide with alarm. ‘You have—
how?’

‘You look exhausted,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, we will talk properly. About your family and Wycherley, and you, Verena’.

‘Yes. Tomorrow’. She let out a little sigh. ‘Oh, Lucas, I’m so tired, so very, very tired…’

He drew her close. Guiding her with his free arm, he led her to the bed and sat gently beside her. Her eyelids were heavy. To sleep safe in his strong arms was all Verena wanted. To forget all her cares.

She snuggled into the crook of his arm again. So tired.

This was bliss. To be here, safe, with him. ‘I will stay for just one minute,’ she whispered. ‘Then I will go. Poor Miss Bonamy, I always was her worst scholar…’

‘What?’ He thought she was rambling.

‘Miss Bonamy’. She almost chuckled. ‘She wrote
Young Lady’s Guide to Etiquette’.

He smiled. ‘The book you threw into the haystack’.

‘Exactly,’ she said rather faintly. ‘Tomorrow, Lucas, as you say, we will talk’. And she curled up against the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut.

‘We will indeed,’ he said steadily. His hand was on hers as he gazed down at her. ‘Verena, my brave, sweet, amber-eyed girl, I want to marry you’.

The wine had fogged her senses, but for an instant her eyes shot open. ‘Ridiculous man,’ she murmured.

‘But, Verena—’

She nestled closer to him, with a little smile. Soon her breathing steadied. She lay asleep, her hand still curled with trust in his.

* * *

After a while Lucas eased himself away from her and got up very carefully to unbolt the door.

Then he went back to pull the sheet to her shoulders. His heart was full. He felt as if he had something infinitely precious in his care. She was passionate, beautiful and brave—and he had the power to shatter her life into tiny pieces.

The door opened softly and Bentinck padded in, only to pull up in horror when he saw Verena’s sleeping figure.

‘Oh, my saints,’ he hissed. ‘You said she was away. Have you taken leave of your wits, milord?’

Lucas answered in a low voice, ‘No. Clear away that broken glass, will you? As quietly as possible. There’s some outside as well’.

‘But wot the devil’s happened? I’ve only been to the alehouse, like you said, and—’

‘Someone fired at me, from the garden’.

‘Don’t you want me to—?’

‘No point now in pursuit. Please do as I say’.

Bentinck pursed his lips, scratched his head, then went for a broom. When his task was completed, he left the room in a way that expressed utter bewilderment and total despair.

The candle went out. The fire went out. Lucas settled his tall frame in the armchair and slept fitfully, prey to uneasy dreams. Like Jack Sheldon, he was falling down, down to damnation. He heard Wild Jack’s voice, calling out,
‘Tell her I did it for Wycherley. For all of them…’

He woke, perspiring.

Now was the time to conclude. To give up on the diary, to deliver what he had found and to walk away.

He cursed softly under his breath. It would have been so easy, if it weren’t for the damnable fact that two years ago he’d fallen in love with Verena Sheldon. And try as he might, he could not kill that love.

Marriage was the only way now to protect her. For soon, somehow, the truth would come out about Wild Jack Sheldon.

Soon he would have to tell her, before anyone else did. But how in God’s name was he going to break the news to her that her beloved father was—a traitor?

V
erena woke in the cold grey light of dawn. In Lucas’s room. In Lucas’s bed.

He was standing by the window with his back to her, clad in shirt and breeches and riding boots. He was opening the shutters, letting the daylight pour in.

She pulled herself up, blenching as she remembered.
Last night she’d allowed this man to caress her into bliss, then had fallen asleep in his arms.…

Her cheeks burned. Just as her body still burned, to be in his arms again. She remembered his strong hands, so skilfully stroking her into surrender as she clutched at him and begged for… ecstasy.
Dear Lord, Verena
. She started struggling into the clothes that lay on the chair beside her, her fingers shaking.

He turned round. Began to come towards her slowly, with a light smile on his face. ‘Good morning, Verena. Did you sleep well? ‘

He looked stunning. His loose shirt was tucked into those close-fitting buckskin breeches that enhanced rather than concealed his superb physique. His lean, strong-jawed face,
framed by that mane of black hair, was all taut planes and shadows in the morning light.

She wanted to touch him. Wanted to kiss him, hold him.

‘Lucas. Lucas, I must go, before anyone finds me here!’
Oh, God. He must think me such a fool
. In a state of near panic, she was fumbling with her buttons.

‘Why worry?’ His finger traced a line up to the fullness of her lower lip. ‘Last night, Verena, I asked you to marry me’.

She froze. ‘You—you did?’

‘Don’t you remember?’

Yes. Yes, but he could not mean it, he could not
. She said in a low, hurried voice, ‘Lord Conistone, last night we made a mistake, and I am as much to blame as you…’

‘A mistake?’ He caught her close, his grey eyes smouldering. So close that his thigh was pressed against her hip, a reminder of masculine potency that set all her hidden longings pulsing down
there
. ‘If it was a mistake, I’m happy to make it again, and again. Do you want me,’ he went on ruthlessly, ‘to prove to you just how much I desire you, Verena?’

She pushed at his shoulders. ‘I do not want you to feel forced into something you can only regret later!’

He stepped back. This time his voice held a cutting edge. ‘No one forces me into a damned thing. As I told you last night—I want you to be my wife’.

She was slowly shaking her head.

‘Your mother, at least, will be delighted,’ he went on drily. ‘The rest of them can go hang if they don’t like the prospect’.

She lifted her face to his. His smile lingered, but his grey eyes were unreadable now.

‘What about your grandfather, Lucas?’ she whispered.
‘He’s tried to ruin us. And you know what he thinks of
me
…
’

His expression grew harsher. ‘Leave my grandfather to me. Verena, I need to have your answer before I leave today’.

Today
. ‘But you must not ride yet!’ she cried.

‘I thought I had my marching orders’.

She blushed. ‘Your arm…’

‘Is almost mended. I’m quite fit again’. He grinned suddenly. ‘Didn’t I prove that to you last night?

The colour flooded her face anew. ‘Lucas’. She drew herself up. ‘Lucas, you must give me time. You must give
yourself
time, to think this through. And—I must apologise, because my behaviour last night was quite unforgivable!’

‘Really, Miss Sheldon?’ he murmured, a wicked gleam in his eye. ‘What particular aspect of it? Would you remind me? I found it rather delightful’.

She bit her lip. ‘You will find that you regret your proposal. Due to ill luck, we have been thrown together—’

‘Ill luck? Then I could wish for more of the same’. He went, quite casually, to pull his coat on. Then he turned back to face her. ‘No necessity for panic, Verena. You need say nothing at all about what has passed between us until I return. And while I’m away, I’ll leave Bentinck here’.

Her face clouded.
Oh, no
. ‘Why?’

‘I just feel you might have enemies’.

‘Those men on the path…’ Her fingers flew to her throat. ‘Lucas! You knew they were Frenchmen, didn’t you? And I did not tell you before—but I was afraid they were after
me
. Do you think that’s possible? And—why?’

She saw a shadow cross his face; but his voice was still gently reassuring. ‘It’s something I’m hoping to resolve very soon; it might be nothing. But in the meantime, Bentinck stays here. I’m taking no risks with your safety,
querida.
Or your future. Verena, do you remember that last night I told you I wanted to help Wycherley?’

She whirled to face him, her amber eyes burning in defiance. ‘And I told you I would never accept charity!’

‘This is not charity. It’s justice. Twenty years ago the Earl diverted a stream from Wycherley lands to power a new corn mill on his estate’.

‘You asked me about this stream yesterday…’

‘Yes, indeed. And now I’m sure that my grandfather never got your father’s permission to divert it, and he owes your family compensation, Verena’.

She blinked. ‘But the Earl hates us! He will never give us anything!’

‘He has no option. He’s been profiting, basically, from a resource that he stole from you’.

‘I had no idea…’

‘How could you have known? There’ll be a generous settlement, because what my grandfather did could be construed in a court as unlawful, and he will not want trouble. The money you get could be several thousand guineas’.

Her eyes widened.
Enough to pay their debts. Enough, at last, to enable them to live within the income of the estate, and more.…

She pressed her fingertips to her temples. ‘So—our villagers will be safe, and Wycherley will remain ours?’

‘Exactly. I’m only sorry I didn’t uncover this earlier. It would have saved you the harrowing business of losing so many of your family’s possessions at the dispersal sale’.

She clasped her hands together. ‘Forgive me, but this will take a moment to absorb. I—I will have to speak to Mr Mayhew about all this…’

‘He already knows’.

‘You have certainly been busy’. Her voice was tight.

‘To make up for lost time. And I’ll get him to hurry
matters along, just in case my grandfather should prove awkward. Or in case anything were to happen to me’.

Verena jumped. He said the last words so lightly that she wasn’t sure she heard them.
That dreadful scar…
. ‘What do you mean, if anything happens to you?’

Lucas pulled a wry face, then grinned. ‘Oh, you know. Anything could put me out of action. Taking a tumble from my horse and breaking my leg. A dose of the migraine after staying up too late drinking and gaming at Watier’s. There’s all manner of things a wastrel like me can get up to’. He was buttoning up his coat awkwardly, his injured arm still hampering him. ‘I might be away for a week or so, I can’t be sure’.

She nodded, biting her lip.
Compensation
. Wycherley could be restored. Deb and Izzy could have their come-outs. Oh, wretched Deb, for not giving her Lucas’s message and telling her falsehoods instead!

But marriage! No, he could not mean it. This was a dream, an illusion.
Best to put her own truly disgraceful behaviour last night from her mind and hope that Lucas would do the same
. Yet.

She heaved a deep breath. ‘There’s an annual fair up on the Common, in September. Now it can also be a cause of celebration,’ she told him almost shyly, ‘for Wycherley is safe at last’. She could still hardly believe it. ‘Will you be back in time for it?’

‘I’ll be back before then, be sure of it,’ he said quietly. He held her and kissed her lightly on the cheek; though she had not needed that kiss to set her whole body yearning for him. Even his lightest touch did that to her. ‘And when I return, I want you to say, “Lucas, I will marry you”. Apart from that I want nothing—nothing at all about you—to change’.

She tried to smile, even though her heart was thudding so rapidly she felt faint. ‘You mean, you want me to remain a country nobody, with patched dresses?’

‘I want you to be—Verena. I want to roam around the country lanes with you, talking about turnips and clover’.

‘And what would the Prince and his set think of you then?’ she teased. Her voice suddenly altered. ‘What would they think of
me
, Lucas?’

‘They will be charmed,’ he’d told her. ‘They will fall utterly in love with you, as I did. Now, off you go. I can hear my tormentor on his way’.

‘Your—?’

He pointed towards the door; she could faintly hear the off-key whistling of ‘The British Grenadiers’. ‘Bentinck’. He grinned. ‘He’s like an old mother hen’.

She gazed up at him earnestly. ‘Lucas. I will wait for you,’ she whispered. ‘And please—take care’. Then she hurried away, leaving behind the faint scents of silk and lavender, and of soft, gleaming hair.