Читать книгу Snowbound Surrender - Louise Allen, Christine Merrill - Страница 14

‘He is here!’

As he rode up the front sweep of Clifton Manor, Jack could hear Frederick Clifton announcing him from inside, even before the servants had fully opened the door. Now his host was beaming in the doorway as if the Prince Regent, himself, was favouring the house with a visit.

Jack had chosen to forgo his carriage and ride alone to Clifton Manor, complaining of a megrim to his manservant and insisting that he needed fresh air after the stifling atmosphere of London. In truth, his headache had started after he’d spoken to Fred and grown stronger as the holidays neared. To ride north on horseback required that he stop frequently to rest his gelding. It gave him an excuse to put off the inevitable arrival at a party that he was a fool to attend. As each mile passed, he prayed that something would occur to prevent the future he feared. Now that he had arrived, he was hesitating as the groom reached for his reins to lead the horse to the stable, still trying to stall.

Perhaps she would not be as lovely as he remembered. Maybe he would discover that the feelings he had for her were nothing but the memory of what might have been. One last look at her might be all he needed to free himself from the past.

Since she’d made no effort to contact him in all this time, it was clear that she had forgotten about him. Or perhaps she hated him for the liberties he had taken on the last night they’d been together. If she was about to marry, she had moved on, just as he’d known she would. But, apparently, he needed to see the truth to believe it.

‘Stop dawdling with that horse, Gascoyne, and come inside!’ Fred was still standing in the open door, smiling at him as if Christmas had arrived early. So, he did as he was told and went into the house.

For a moment, it was just as he remembered from a dozen Christmases of his youth. When he crossed the threshold, there was lambswool ale waiting for them along with a hearty clap on the back, shouts of welcome from Fred and friendly enquiries as to the difficulty of the journey and the state of the weather.

Everything was normal except Jack, himself. He did not belong here any more. His presence would be a blight on the season.

Then he heard her.

‘Jack.’ His name escaped her lips in a breathy rush of joy and relief, sounding too much like it had on the last night they’d spent together. He turned from her brother, searching the room for the source of that single word, making sure that his face was schooled to a socially acceptable level of affection and his posture showed no trace of the urgency he really felt.

‘Lucy?’ She was standing in the archway to the dining room and the light from its tall windows made a nimbus around her gold hair that blinded him for a moment. Or perhaps it was her smile that had caught the breath in his throat, just as it had when he was a schoolboy. Her face was as perfect as ever it had been, with the same slightly crooked smile that balanced the too-sombre light in her brilliant blue eyes. There was still a smattering of girlish freckles across her upturned nose. As a child, they’d made her look ready for mischief. As a woman, they called attention to her kissable, pink lips. But it was his own imagination that made him wonder at the body hidden beneath a rather drab and serviceable day gown. Despite the high neckline, he could see that time had filled out the gamine angles into soft, huggable curves.

He was across the room in two steps before remembering that she could never be more than the best part of his youth. The man worthy of her hand had disappeared somewhere on the way to Waterloo. Before he could stop himself, he had caught her by the waist, lifting her high into the air and saying again, with even more fondness, ‘Lucy.’ He spun her once, making her laugh.

For a moment, he imagined letting her slide slowly down his body, until her lips were level with his so he might take the kiss he wanted from her. Then, common sense returned, and he set her back on her feet again and kissed her quickly on the cheek before taking both her hands in his. ‘You are lovely as ever.’

She laughed, dropping into a curtsy. ‘And you, Major Gascoyne, are just as handsome.’ It was just the sort of greeting he had been hoping for, yet it was not. There was no sign in it that she was any more serious than she would have been to another old friend. Nor did it make him think she had felt the loss of him as strongly as he had of her.

‘Do not be so formal,’ he muttered, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Call me Jack, just as you used to.’ He forced a grin to take away the hint of desperation in the request, then added, ‘And I believe the term you are searching for to describe me is dashing.’

‘Incorrigible, more likely,’ she said, pulling a hand free and giving him a playful slap on the arm. ‘Women are supposed to be the vain ones, not men.’

There was a moment of silence between them as their casual greeting ran out of words. Perhaps she was sincere in her superficiality. But if he was not careful, he would take her by the hand and lead her away, to a place where he could unburden his heart of things that could not be said in front of her overprotective brother.

As if he noticed the awkwardness, Fred interrupted it. ‘Speaking of women, there is one here that you have not met.’

‘Your fiancée,’ Jack supplied, turning away from Lucy to look for her. The other woman had been standing next to Fred all along and he had swept past her as if she had not existed.

‘Major Gascoyne, may I present Miss Millicent Forsythe,’ Fred announced, nudging her forward to accept the introduction.

Jack stepped forward as well, to take her hand and bow over it. She was a pretty enough girl, he supposed, with plump curves, dark eyes and shiny brown hair. ‘Miss Forsythe,’ he said, kissing her hand. ‘How nice to see that Fred has provided me with a such a delightful Christmas present.’ He steeled his nerve and looked back at Lucy with an expression that betrayed none of his true feelings. ‘Lucy and I played together as children. She is like a sister to me.’ He looked back to the other woman. ‘I hope, in time, you will come to view me like a brother as well.’

Finally, he felt some sign of the past between them for he heard a soft intake of breath behind him, a hissing of air between clenched teeth. But when he turned back to Lucy, she was smiling, just as she had been. ‘Surely these introductions do not have to be made in a draughty entrance hall. Come into the house proper, Jack. There is a storm brewing outside and I will not have you catch your death on our doorstep.’

He glanced outside, where the slate-grey sky had begun spitting snowflakes. ‘You are probably right. And it appears you have other guests arriving.’

‘You are the first of many,’ Fred announced. ‘The Manor will be full to the rooftop by the time they are all here. We are having a proper house party to celebrate your homecoming.’

Jack had no desire to be anyone’s honoured guest. But it was probably for the best that this house was to be crowded. Jack and Lucy had been together for only a few minutes, but the two of them had already begun to feel the strain of each other’s uninterrupted company. Then Jack realised that the next man through the door was to be the local Vicar.

Since Jack had no right to designs in her direction, Mr Thoroughgood could not really be considered a rival for Lucy’s affection. All the same, he felt a slow burning jealousy at the man’s pale good looks and perfect manners. There was something a little pompous in the way he went directly to Lucy, favouring her with a deep and respectful bow and enquiring after her health. Then he offered any assistance she might require in the settling of the guests, reminding her that he was ever at her service. His confident smile and quiet voice were exactly the traits that would win her brother’s approval when the offer finally came. Mr Thoroughgood would be the perfect husband.

For most young ladies, at least.

Jack’s insides clenched. He wished he were back on the battlefield. There he could strike out against this interloper, removing him from the field with a single blow. This was not the man for Lucy. Not for his Lucy. She needed someone with spirit, someone who could make her laugh, hard and often. Someone who could make her happy.

The Vicar was not that man. But then, neither was he. Jack was the last man on earth to give a woman a joyful future. So he turned away from her, just as he had once before, and went to find his room.