Читать книгу The Return of Lord Conistone - Lucy Ashford, Lucy Ashford - Страница 10

Lucas Conistone’s first impulse had been to knock the foolish fellow he’d seen mauling Verena Sheldon to hell and back; his next, to crush her full and passionate lips beneath his own. Dear God, Alec was right. He was an utter fool to have come here. That gown. The glimpse he’d got, of those sweet, full breasts…. And his memory had not played him false; her heart-shaped face was still as exquisite as ever. Yes, her chestnut-coloured hair had slipped from its pins in some disarray; but only to fall in utterly tantalising curls round her neck and throat. Her smooth, creamy skin was still flawless, and her almond-shaped eyes were just as he remembered, amber in some lights, gold in others.

The army fellow was about to say something, but Verena Sheldon spoke first. ‘My lord!’ She tilted her chin in unspoken defiance. ‘Some warning of your arrival would not have gone amiss. You were not—expected!’

Not invited. Not wanted, anywhere near Wycherley, she might as well have declared. Her arms were still folded tightly across her breasts as her eyes burned darkly up at him. She had lost weight. There were shadows beneath those beautiful eyes, as if she had been grieving…. What the deuce had been going on here just now?

‘Alec and I were just passing,’ Lucas said expressionlessly, ‘on our way to Stancliffe Manor’. He was pulling off his riding gloves and thrusting them into his deep pockets. ‘As my grandfather’s still in Bath, I promised him I’d visit the house to see that all was well. But then we saw the carriages. And decided to—investigate’.

‘Oh, you mean the sale!’ Her amber-gold eyes were wide and innocent. She even endeavoured to smile. ‘Yes, it really is so entertaining! We thought we’d have a clear out—one gets bored, Lord Conistone, with the same old pieces of furniture—’

Gammon. Lucas cut in, ‘I heard from your attorney that you’re selling Wycherley, Verena’.

He saw the colour draining from her face. She whispered, ‘You have no right to discuss our family’s affairs with anyone! No right at all, do you hear?’

A warning glance from his very good friend Captain Stewart, resplendent in the blue of the Light Dragoons, flashed Lucas’s way. I told you, Lucas, that this was a bad idea….

The young army fellow nearby stepped forward like an angry turkeycock. ‘You heard what Verena—Miss Sheldon—said, Lord Conistone! I think you would be doing her an enormous favour if you and your friend left immediately!’

Lucas let his gaze rake his bright uniform. Then he blinked. ‘I’m sorry? Have I had the pleasure?’

‘I am Captain Bryant, of the 11th Regiment of Foot!’

‘My congratulations,’ drawled Lucas. ‘No doubt your duties call. Off you run, now, Captain, there’s a good fellow’.

Some spluttering ensued, and a further reddening of those already pink cheeks. ‘Don’t you give orders to me, you—you—’

‘Let’s call it a polite suggestion, shall we?’ said Lucas softly. ‘After all, we’re not on the army parade ground now, are we?’

‘So you actually remember the parade ground, do you?’ retorted Martin Bryant bitterly. ‘My God, you got out of the army just about as quickly as you could, didn’t you, Conistone? Before the bullets flew too close?’

‘Martin!’ cried Verena.

Alec Stewart, at Lucas’s side, had taken a step forwards, muttering, ‘Too far, that, Lucas. Pray, let me sort the blackguard!’

But Lucas stopped him with a calm, restraining hand, and said directly to Martin, ‘Perhaps I left the army because I became weary of idiots like you’.

Martin lunged. Verena let out a low cry. Alec Stewart was swearing. But Lucas had already moved swiftly to one side, and his right fist flew. Martin staggered, then pulled himself up dazedly, wiping at the blood on his lip. ‘Damn you, Conistone!’

Lucas towered over him, powerful shoulders still braced, his eyes hard as iron. He said curtly, ‘That was just a warning, Bryant. Stop being a damned idiot. You’d best go and clean yourself up, before someone—and I assure you it won’t be me—receives a more serious injury’.

Still Martin hesitated. ‘Captain Bryant,’ Verena pleaded. ‘Do as he says. Please’.

‘I’m not leaving you alone with—’

‘Lord Conistone and his friend are going,’ interrupted Verena quietly, wretchedly. ‘Now’.

Alec said tersely to Lucas, ‘I’ll get someone to see to our horses. Then—I think you’ll now agree—we’d best be on our way’.

Martin Bryant had already hurried off, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding lip after shooting a look of hatred at Lucas. Alec turned to Verena, saying, ‘Do you still have your man Turley, Miss Sheldon? The horses need water and I must adjust my mare’s curb chain. Then we can ride on’.

She was fighting back the bitter mortification. What could she do? What could she say, that would not make things a thousand times worse than they were already?

Nothing, except speed their exit.

‘I will find Turley for you, Captain Stewart!’ she said. ‘We wouldn’t want you—detained for any longer than necessary!’

Alec hesitated. ‘Very well. I’ll take the horses to the stables, if I may?’

She nodded and turned for the house.

But she was too late. As Alec disappeared, a strong hand stretched out, almost casually, to grip her. ‘Wait,’ Lucas commanded.

This was—intolerable. Her whole body trembled with rage. With shock. With the longing—the treacherous longing—to be in his arms again, to feel his body pressed against hers, his warm lips caressing her skin.

Harlot. Fortune-hunting harlot, that letter had said. She spoke in a tight voice, staring into the distance. ‘Will you please let go of me, my lord?’

‘Oh, Verena,’ Lucas said tiredly. He had turned her to face him. She would not, she would not meet his eyes! But his long coat had fallen open, so she could see all too clearly how his cream shirt moulded itself to his powerful shoulders and chest, against which he had once cradled her so close that she could hear his heart beating….

‘Turley,’ she said blindly, ‘I must fetch Turley’.

‘Alec will sort all that’. Lucas Conistone’s voice was harder now. ‘Deuce take it, Verena, if you’re in difficulties of some kind, why didn’t you ask me for assistance? Why didn’t you write?’

‘Oh, pray forgive me, my lord!’ Her eyes flashed up to his now. ‘But, absurd as it seems, I did not once think, “Dear me, we are in trouble, I must ask Viscount Conistone for help!‘”

He had always been stunningly handsome. But now there was something different, a dangerous cold light in those inscrutable grey eyes. Only perhaps it had always been there, and she’d been too much of a lovesick fool to see it.

He said in a quiet voice, ‘I suppose I cannot blame you if you have come to hate me’.

She swallowed hard, suddenly aware that the air out here was oppressive with heat. As the shadows deepened, she heard a rumble of ominous thunder. And his eyes were already as dark as night. ‘Hate you?’ she replied, summoning false brightness. ‘No such powerful emotion, my lord; you see, the thought of you simply never crossed my mind! Though, may I say, I do not warm to your idea of arriving here, unannounced, to gloat over our misfortune’.

‘Verena. Stop it. Stop it,’ he grated out, so savagely that she flinched. Then he raked his hand through his dark hair and said, almost tonelessly, ‘I’m sorry if I ever gave you cause to think that I might find your plight—amusing’.

His hands. His long, beautifully shaped fingers. The way he used to caress her….. ‘No apology needed, my lord!’ Somehow she managed to keep a smile fixed to her lips. ‘You see, you never gave me any cause to think of you at all!’

She turned resolutely back to the house; but again he caught her, swinging her round to face him. ‘Verena’. His voice was almost a growl. ‘Wait. Please, I beg you. You must speak with me’.

She stood, unable to ignore the pressure of those warm fingers on her shoulders—a pressure that cruelly awakened feelings she’d thought long since dead. ‘What is there to say?’ she whispered. The thunder rolled nearer. A heavy drop of rain splashed on the ground by her feet.

‘Verena,’ he murmured, his fingers tracing tiny circles on her bare skin just above her collarbone—oh, no, she could feel her pulse racing at his merest touch. ‘You haven’t really forgotten me, Verena. You can’t have…’.

She jerked herself away from his treacherous hand and crossed her arms over her bosom. Dear God. Less than two years ago this man had walked out of her life, leaving her utterly bereft, and a target for the sneers of the whole county. Now he was here again. Why? She said with passionate defiance, ‘I have succeeded in forgetting you completely, my lord! And as for your sympathy—I can live without it, I do assure you!’

‘I was hoping to offer more practical help,’ Lucas Conistone said flatly. He looked up at the dark clouds, and a flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the hard line of his jaw. ‘Perhaps we could go inside and talk?’

‘Inside? The house?’ She looked as though he’d suggested they torch the place. ‘But—my mother is in there! Deb is in there!’

‘Deb?’ Lucas repeated the name almost blankly. Then he remembered that Deb was one of her three younger sisters, the foolish blonde one, the one he had least time for. He frowned. ‘Of what account, pray, is she?’

And Verena’s face, where before it had been anguished, was frozen into first shock, then shuttered coldness. ‘Oh, Lucas,’ she whispered. ‘Enough of this. I never expected to see you again. I never wanted to see you again. Please. Just go’.

So that was it, thought Lucas bleakly. She hated him. Just as well, he reminded himself. Yet she was so beautiful, with her hair tumbling now to her shoulders. And as for that damned gown, what buttons were left were barely managing to contain her luscious breasts; dear God, his blood surged with wanting her…. Grimly he fought down his arousal. ‘Verena,’ he said. ‘Verena, at least tell me why you are on the brink of losing your home’.

She stared. ‘Are you really going to pretend you don’t know? But of course, our activities are of no account in the kind of circles you move in…’. She gave a brittle laugh, but could not disguise the pain in her eyes. ‘It’s really quite simple, my lord. All our creditors have withdrawn their loans. And as the house is mortgaged, we must sell—everything’.

‘Everything?’ he echoed harshly. ‘Have you put everything up for sale?’

She gave a little shrug, then her fingers flew instinctively to secure her gown. ‘All that my family can survive without, yes. Furniture, paintings—the dealers have been through the house room by room’.

He drew a sharp breath. Here goes. ‘You might have other items of value, without realising it,’ he said quickly. ‘Have you thought of that?’

She looked shaken. ‘Such as?’

‘Such as your father’s personal possessions. Some people would pay good money for things you consider almost worthless. His papers, for example’.

‘His papers?’

He’d taken her by surprise, he could see. Her bewildered eyes—amber-gold eyes, dark-lashed, beautiful—met his again in shock.

‘Yes,’ he went on swiftly. ‘All his records of his travels abroad. Letters. Maps, perhaps. And—he kept some kind of diary, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she whispered, ‘he was always writing, about everything. But who would pay for such trifles?’

‘I can think of several people. In London, for example, there are Portuguese exiles from the war, rich men who would dearly love any descriptive mementoes of their homeland’. You liar, Conistone, he rebuked himself bitterly. You deceiver.

She jerked her head up, her eyes over-bright. ‘Then I’m sorry, my lord, to have to inform you that, firstly, I would never dream of parting with my father’s private letters to me. And, secondly, he always kept his diary with him’.

That was true, thought Lucas grimly. His latest diary. But…. ‘What about his older diaries? Weren’t there any he’d completed, and left here?’

‘No! And if he did, I would never, ever sell them!’ Her voice trembled, then recovered. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but I find your pretended—interest in our plight nothing short of humiliating!’

She tossed back her head in defiance, just as she used to; the gesture afforded him yet another glimpse of those creamy-smooth breasts. His anger boiled. Damn it, had that fellow Bryant really been kissing her? The thought of it tipped him over the edge; desire lurched at his groin as she struggled to cover herself. That was the kind of trick used by whores in London.

And she was daring to play high and mighty with him?

‘Humiliating?’ he grated. ‘You speak of—humiliation, when, good God, the moment I arrived, you were outrageously flirting with that witless army boor?’

Her eyes flew up to clash with his. ‘I was not flirting! And do not speak of him like that!’

‘I’ll speak of him exactly as I like! What is that man doing here? Why isn’t he with his regiment?’

‘You may as well ask the same of your friend Captain Stewart!’ Verena cried. ‘For his—reputation leaves a deal to be desired!’ It was true; she knew it was a long-standing joke that Alec Stewart, a year or so younger than Lucas, spent a good deal more effort on hunting heiresses than he did on hunting the French. ‘Besides,’ she went on furiously, ‘Captain Bryant is not a boor, he is our friend! He was injured at Talavera, and his wound is not yet completely healed. So he makes himself useful. He helps the Revenue men watch this part of the coast for smugglers and—French spies!’

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 case, I’m glad, for her sake, that she’s over you’.

Lucas watched him ride off towards the Chichester road before mounting his own horse. Alec was right. But for her to throw herself away on Bryant….

Something inside him twisted like a knife as he remembered the Verena he’d known. She’d been young and beautiful, and full of hope and, yes, love, for him. And he’d thought, this is the one.

But now, she hated him. And, by God, it was as well.