She saw him almost sneer. ‘French spies? Things have been busy at Wycherley’.
‘Meaning?’ she snapped.
‘I also heard that four weeks ago there was a burglary here’.
She went very still. ‘How do you—?’
‘Gossip travels’.
She seemed to sag. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I, of all people, should know that…’. Her voice faltered, then recovered again. ‘Indeed, there was evidence of an intruder. But—’ again, that toss of the head ‘—nothing at all was taken, my lord! And even if it had been, what business is it of yours? Besides, Captain Bryant himself has offered us his protection’.
‘Protection!’ Now his scorn was rampant. ‘That spineless fellow couldn’t fight off a damned flea’.
Her eyes whipped up to his, flashing with defiance. The rain was starting to fall all around them in the courtyard, the thunder rumbling; she had to raise her voice to be heard.
‘You are wrong, quite wrong! Captain Bryant is not spineless! And—and he has asked me to marry him!’
He found himself horrified. Furious. ‘My God. You will not do so?’
‘Why not?’ she declared bitterly. ‘Does anyone have a prior claim?’
Damn it, me. I do. He wanted to crush her in his arms, and feel those sweet, full breasts against his chest. Wanted to drown his aching arousal in the slender lushness of her body. He wanted.
Look after her for me, will you, Lucas?
The words that haunted him, every minute, every day. His mouth set grimly. Easier to let her continue to hate him. Though—utterly abominable for him.
But Bryant—her suitor? ‘Very well,’ he said in an iron-hard voice. ‘Very well. I can see, Miss Sheldon, that your troubles are overwhelming. I can see the lure of any port in a storm’.
Her eyes blazed. She tilted her chin. ‘Lord Conistone. I would be obliged if you would leave our home this instant. Now’.
‘Oh, I’m going,’ he said. ‘But before I leave, I thought you might want this back’. He reached into the inside deep pocket of his coat. And pulled out—the little silver music box.
She gazed at him in utter disbelief.
‘I saw someone leaving with it’. He shrugged. ‘I gave him twice what he’d paid in the sale. Sell it again if you wish. But this time—’ and his lip curled ‘—ask more for it. You shouldn’t find it difficult. You’re on the way to becoming a mercenary creature, Miss Sheldon’.
And Verena felt that her heart was breaking anew as she took the box in hands that were as numb as her heart.
Her despairing eyes flew up to his. Dear God. He was still—Lucas. But he despised her.
Perhaps he always had. And now, she’d as good as told him she might accept Martin as a suitor…. ‘Lucas!’
‘Yes?’
‘I—I never believed you were a coward, Lucas,’ she whispered. ‘Never that!’
The falling rain intensified every feature of his starkly masculine face. ‘Ah. Playing hot and cold with me now, are you, Miss Sheldon?’ he said softly. Suddenly he cupped her chin with one strong hand. ‘Hoping, perhaps, that if your gallant Captain realises he has a rival, he might rush you to the altar?’
She gasped with fresh pain. ‘That is despicable—’
Before she could say more, Lucas had pulled her close. She felt the light caress of his hands on her back; then he touched her scalloped silk chemise, her half-exposed breasts, running one tantalising thumb over her tightening nipple so she arched yearningly, helplessly towards him.
‘I can see for myself,’ Lucas Conistone grated, ‘that as well as selling your house’s contents to the highest bidder, you’re also selling yourself. A pity that the best offer you can get is from an utter nonentity like Martin Bryant’.
For a moment she was too frozen even to move. Too numb even to hate him as she should. Then she pushed him away and ran inside, still clutching the little music box, as her life fell to pieces around her.
Lucas stood very still as he watched her disappear into the house. Desire, frustration and black despair surged through every muscle of his powerful body.
Parting after that sweet autumn almost two years ago was for the best, he told himself bitterly as he walked slowly in the direction of the stables. It was the only thing to do. You knew that.
And yet he hadn’t expected to still want her so badly. Hadn’t expected her to be so damned beautiful. And he hadn’t expected her to look up at him with those wide, beautiful eyes, as if he were the devil himself.
Who could blame her? He’d lied to her. Deceived her.
His visit to Wycherley had not been a matter of chance, far from it. Five days ago in London he’d seen the notice in the newspapers of the Sheldon family’s dispersal sale. And then he’d heard of the attempted burglary.
His good friend Captain Alec Stewart, in London also, had tried to warn him. ‘For God’s sake, man. She’s no fool. Why all this “passing by” pretence? Can’t you trust her with the truth?’
‘The truth?’ Lucas answered sharply. ‘How much of it—how little of it will she be able to bear? And why should I expect her to believe a word I say?’
Well, he’d lied to her and achieved—nothing.
Lucas Conistone was aware of the occasional whispers that he had left the army because he had no stomach for war. But most people gave no thought to his resignation. The fact that, since his father’s early death ten years ago, he was heir to his grandfather’s earldom, with all the responsibilities that entailed, meant that many people had thought him irresponsible to have joined the army in the first place.
Verena clearly thought otherwise. He just hadn’t expected her to actually despise him.
Now Alec was approaching from the stableyard, with the reins of both their horses in his hand. ‘Everything’s sorted, Lucas—horses watered, curb chain fixed—but other than that,’ commented Alec drily, ‘I’m saying nothing. Nothing at all’.
Lucas took the reins from him. ‘I know,’ he said tersely. ‘You told me. I’m not welcome here, and I should have realised it. I’ll go on to wait for Bentinck, at the place and time we arranged, and you—will you set off back to Portugal?’
Alec, already mounting his horse, nodded. ‘Portsmouth first, then Lisbon—I should be back there in ten days. Any messages?’
‘Yes. Let them know in Portugal, Alec, that I still believe what I’m looking for could be here’.
‘At Wycherley?’ Alec’s face creased in doubt.
‘At Wycherley,’ Lucas emphasised.
And it was true—he did.
The diary. A year and a half ago, Lucas had followed Wild Jack across the mountains in hopes of getting that diary. Thought he’d seen Jack clutching it, as he faced death.
But now the body had been found, the diary with it—and it was the wrong one. Which meant that what Lucas really wanted must be here, somewhere, at Wycherley.
And he cursed the fate that had brought him here.
‘The girl will have nothing to do with you,’ Alec warned as he started gathering up his reins.
‘There are other ways’.
Alec’s pleasant eyes narrowed just a little. He said quietly, ‘In that