For a moment she made no reply. Lucius wondered if he had trespassed too far on her privacy.
When it came, her answer held none of the indignation he’d armed himself to repel. Instead, Miss Lacewood spoke in a tone of gentle reproach that slid beneath his defences.
“Must you mock me, sir?”
“Indeed, I do not!” Lucius sprang from his chair, retreating to the deepest shadows of the drawing room, where he paced in the restless manner of a wild beast caged. “Why would you suppose I mock you?”
“Why would you suppose I might have an admirer?”
Pulling off her bonnet, Miss Lacewood set it on the footstool that had launched her into his arms. Then, she rose from her chair and withdrew to the opposite side of the room, where a few stray sunbeams had pierced small gaps in the closed curtains. One lit on the crown of her head, like the magic wand of a fairy godmother, gilding her tawny tumble of curls.
The answer to her question was so manifestly obvious Lucius could only stand dumb and gaze.
If he’d had to choose a single word to sum up her appearance, it would have been generous. Eyes large and luminous, the warm brown of a yearling fawn dappled with golden sunshine. Lips so lush they fairly demanded to be kissed. Features with a rounded softness that put him in mind of peaches ripe for the plucking.
Her beauty cast a spell over him, lulling to sleep the stern guard he had set to govern his tongue.
A bemused whisper of his true thoughts escaped. “I only wonder that you do not have a hundred.”
Her eyes fixed on him then and something stirred in their russet depths, a power that made him fear for his cherished self-control. “I would say you flatter me, sir, but I do not think you are much given to flattery. Unless there is something you want from me?”
Her wariness called to his own, whispering vain promises of sympathy. Promises Lucius knew he dared not trust.
“I do want something from you, Miss Lacewood.”
He had roused the slumbering censor. No further word, inflection, gesture or look of his must convey to this woman any more or less than he wished to convey. The thoughts that sang like cold steel in his mind and the emotions that seethed in his heart must be his alone to know.
“I want something, and I am willing to compensate you handsomely for it.”
“Indeed?” She tensed. “I suspected as much. What is it you desire?”
Her alarm was so palpable his lordship’s nostrils flared as though greedy to catch the subtle redolence of it. Try as she might to hide behind a mask of bravado, she feared him.
What woman wouldn’t?
Better fear than pity. Since Waterloo, that had become Lucius Daventry’s creed.
“Let us first speak of what I will give you in exchange.”
“As you wish.” Miss Lacewood took a step nearer the window. Perhaps she planned to blind him by ripping the curtains open if he menaced her. “I must warn you, though. My situation may be modest, but so are my needs. I doubt you have anything with which to tempt me.”
I wish I could say the same of you. The words prickled on his tongue like lemon juice, demanding he spit them out. By an act of will, Lucius managed to swallow them, only to find they had a seductively sweet flavor.
“Judge for yourself, my dear.” The latter word had a toothsome taste as well. If he did not exercise some restraint soon, he might become a glutton for such dainties. “I believe your brother wishes to take up a commission in the cavalry.”
A tremor ran through Angela Lacewood such as his lordship had seen soldiers give when they tasted cold steel in the belly. She managed to answer with a steady voice, however, which Lucius could not help but admire.
“Your information is correct, sir. Ever since he was a young lad, Miles has longed to return to India, as an officer in our father’s old regiment.”
“Commissions are costly.” Lucius leaned against the back of the chair on which he’d been seated earlier. “As is the proper kit to outfit an officer bound for India.”
“So I have discovered, sir.”
“Lord Bulwick will not support your brother’s ambition?” Lucius knew the answer well enough. He asked merely to enhance the value of his offer in Miss Lacewood’s eyes.
“His lordship is only a relation by marriage.” Clearly Miss Lacewood was parroting back the answer her entreaties to her uncle had received. “He feels He has fulfilled his obligations by taking my brother and me into his household after our parents died. He wishes Miles to find a post in the city.”
Lucius nodded. He’d expected no better from the odious Lord Bulwick. “I would purchase a commission for your brother and see that he is suitably outfitted for it.”
“And what would you expect from me in return?” Angela Lacewood squared her shoulders.
Lucius found himself wishing he could see those shoulders bare and admire their contours, for he had no doubt they would equal her graceful neck in beauty.
How might Miss Lacewood react if he approached her with slow, deliberate steps, then raised his hands to push down the brief sleeves of her gown?
Swoon dead away perhaps? Run screaming? It was a dangerous weakness for him to entertain such fancies.
Dangerous? Perhaps. But he had once courted Lady Danger and been seduced by her lethal charms.
“I would ask only one favor of you, my dear.” Emerging from behind his fortress of furniture, the baron approached Miss Lacewood with slow, deliberate steps. “A trifle, really.”
Some subtle cant of her posture and a rapid sideways glance told Lucius the young lady wanted to retreat from his steady advance. Yet, she managed to hold her ground. “One man’s trifle is another man’s treasure.”
“So it is.” Lucius halted his advance.
There was not much distance between them now. If he held out his hand and she held out hers, they might touch.
“Your words are most apt in this case,” he added. “What I require from you will cost only a little time and less effort on your part. But it will bring a treasure’s worth of pleasure to someone else.”
“To you?”
“No.” At one time it might have, but those days were past.
“To whom then?”
“Perhaps you will guess when I tell you what I want.”
“I shall be glad to hear…at last.”
Balancing on the balls of his feet, Lucius sank slowly to his knees. It was a ridiculous and unnecessary bit of ritual, but he felt compelled to it all the same. “Miss Lacewood, I am asking you to become my fiancée.”
The lady did not move, speak or even blink. She stood there like a golden statue, staring down at him.
Her eyes were alive, though. Alive with wariness and aversion and other things the baron could not so easily identify. It took every crumb of his considerable will to hold her gaze in his, issuing her a mute challenge to accept his offer.
At last she drew a deep breath and wet her bountiful lips with a dart of her tongue that made Lucius ache with sensations he struggled to ignore.
“I am sensible of the honor you do me by proposing, my lord.” She shook her head. “But I cannot marry you.”
Lucius heard himself laugh for the second time in half an hour. It must be some sort