Читать книгу The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia - Raven McAllan - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Harry stood in the shadows and watched as Lady Lydia Field glanced around the ballroom and limped in a roundabout route towards an anteroom he knew would be empty. Her usual slow and apologetic gait was purposeful, albeit uneven. Had she injured herself somehow? That apart, she seemed… he hesitated in his thoughts. All he could pinpoint was that somehow her persona had changed.

What had he stumbled upon? Harry decided he’d been sadly misled by his peers and deceived by his own eyes, and that flash of something fiery he thought he had spotted a few nights before was real. Once you looked past her unassuming, disappear-into-the-background attitude and usually lacklustre response to anyone’s comments, Lydia Field was stunning. He could well imagine his heir in lust with her; he was halfway towards that condition himself. Nevertheless, she did not conform to his criteria for a lover – widowed or someone who knew the score – and although she was said to be biddable and make that sort of wife, he wasn’t on the lookout for one of them at that moment in time, either. However, he could still look and admire, surely.

Her skin was clear and a soft shade of pearly pink, her blue eyes sparkled and her blonde hair shone like spun silk. He mentally rolled his eyes at his silly, poetic words. Since when had he thought of a woman’s attributes in such a way? Or noticed how this particular woman curved in all the right places. What had he been missing? Obviously he’d walked around with his eyes shut, or his mind on other things. This lady had no need to be ignored. Why had no one seen what he now saw? Then, to his amusement, she blinked, swallowed and almost faded into the background before him. Lady Lydia Field was a conundrum he was now determined to solve.

Or maybe, he pondered, as he remembered that recent, impassioned plea from Jeremy Mumford, it seemed Lady Lydia Field was clever and only showed a certain part of her personality. And figure. But why? And how, therefore, had she come to Jeremy’s attention? Harry remembered a half-listened-to conversation from earlier in the evening. Something about a fortune if you overlooked her banality? Was it Lydia his peers had been talking about and her wealth known? Damn, now he wished he had paid more attention but, as trivia bored him, he’d ignored it, and concentrated on his cards. Two threes and a five wasn’t going to win the pot.

Now he stood transfixed as the lady hesitated by the antechamber door, glanced around furtively and then swiftly went inside. Intrigued, he followed her. Was she meeting someone? Was he about to break up a romantic tryst? Maybe even with Jeremy, who he hadn’t as yet spied at the ball. So be it. Harry opened the door and stepped inside the tiny chamber. It was empty apart from the lady he followed.

Lydia looked up from the chair she occupied. As he closed the door behind him, she closed her eyes and sighed. ‘My lord? You should not be here, and please not with a closed door. You will ruin us both.’

Harry leant back on the door and surveyed her thoroughly as she lifted her lashes and stared at him with her deep-blue orbs. ‘Not me, I am already ruined in many eyes, and care nothing about the rest.’

Her luscious breasts heaved under her low-cut dress and a pretty, rosy hue began to spread upwards from them. ‘I, however, am not nor wish to be. Go away and leave me alone. I reiterate you should not be here.’

‘Why not? You are.’

‘That is why.’ Again the flash of something other than docility showed briefly in her eyes, before she blinked and the illusion, if that was what it was, disappeared. Harry studied her absently. What the hell had Jeremy got himself into? Who was this woman, or more to the point, what was this woman?

‘My lord?’ a hesitant voice said. ‘Are you well? You seem troubled.’ Good God, he’d forgotten the woman sat before him. Never mind him, she was obviously in pain; he’d noticed the wince and the way she had trouble formulating her thoughts. Heavens, she’d sounded almost animated for a split second.

Nevertheless, fine blonde hair twisted into a complicated knot, with delicate wispy tendrils loose around her creamy cheeks, blue eyes and an hourglass figure made his body and his mind sit up and notice. He had a weakness for those attributes in a female. That half-formulated plan of earlier began to niggle him again.

Jeremy must be saved from his own impetuousness. After all, hadn’t he finished his diatribe by saying sullenly that, whatever happened, he would have his own way? And admitted love didn’t come into it, even though he had refused to explain why he was so intent on marriage to Lydia and flounced out with the threat that he would get what he wanted come what may. To say Harry was concerned was an understatement. The sooner they got to the bottom of it all, the better for everyone. Even, he supposed, Jeremy.

What had happened to his intention never to get involved with anyone who might have marriage in mind? Until it was the shy, biddable wife he intended many years hence. Disappeared, it seemed. He still had no intention of marriage, but a little dalliance, without breaking his own rules of no virgins, no innocents and no one who wasn’t up to snuff, would remain in place. For if it solved the problem of Jeremy he would pay attention to Lydia and see what happened.

‘I wondered how you have hurt yourself,’ Harry said slowly as a plan began to simmer in the back of his mind. ‘You were limping.’

‘Oh.’ She bit her lip and the rosy crescents increased in colour. ‘I turned my ankle as I stepped over the lintel. So silly of me. I thought to rest if for a few minutes.’ Alone, her tone implied.

‘And get a respite from the rabble?’ Harry said teasingly.

She chuckled and broke it off abruptly. ‘I would not be so rude, my lord. But yes, it is pleasant to sit quietly for a while.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘Alone.’

‘Alone, I cannot allow. And do not say it is not up to me, for we both know it is.’ To his secret amusement she shut her mouth with a decided snap. So the lady had been going to argue.

‘Will you give me the pleasure of your company on the terrace for a short while?’ Harry asked his companion, urbanely. ‘If your ankle will stand it. We can be alone but not alone there, if you understand me. Perfectly acceptable, whereas here…’ He let his voice quieten.

Lydia jumped. ‘Oh, my goodness. Yes, I understand.’ She looked up at him from under impossibly long, honey-gold lashes. ‘But why?’

Two words full of suspicion. He couldn’t blame her; he’d never, ever indicated by so much as a wink or a nod that he had even a flicker of interest in her. Now it seemed Lady Lydia Field had more to her than those limpid pools of blue, otherwise known as her eyes, the hair of spun silk and a figure to hold and caress indicated. Good God, now he sounded like one of those awful books he’d heard women loved to read and accused Jeremy of behaving like a character from. Why had nobody brought the lady’s delicious attributes to his attention before?

Probably no one looked closely enough to see them. Including me.

‘The cooler air might help your pain. Plus, it had been remiss of me to neglect you,’ he said smoothly, every inch a gentleman of the ton. ‘I feel behove.’

‘Why? You have never shown the need before,’ she said bluntly, and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, my lord, I do apologise at my rudeness.’

Harry laughed. ‘No, don’t go and spoil it. I like this side of you.’

Did she really say ‘I was afraid of that’?

Lydia shook her head. ‘My mama would be aghast at my lack of respect. Perhaps I best return to her side before I totally blot my copybook. If you would excuse me, my lord.’ She curtsied and began to turn.

Harry stopped her by dint of taking hold of one wrist. ‘To my certain knowledge, you, my dear, when you forget yourself, show you have spirit,’ he replied amiably. ‘It intrigues me. Perhaps we should further our acquaintance. Here, where so many other people are milling around, will attract attention. The terrace is within view and will cause less interest than anywhere else.’

‘If you think that, you are deranged,’ Lydia said bluntly. Evidently she had forgotten her need to efface herself. Harry hoped she would continue to do so.

‘I’m not your type, my lord,’ she continued. ‘Everyone knows a man like you would have no interest in me. Even thus far will have people wondering how much brandy you have taken. So, again, why?’

That was much too complex to reply there and then, and to be honest he wasn’t sure he could answer. He was no longer sure of his motives. Originally he had thought to be unethical and divert some of her attentions from Jeremy to himself. Thence to try and get to the bottom of why Jeremy thought it necessary to wed her. But now, he understood that there was more to it than that. Exactly what more he wasn’t going to try to discover. Not yet.

Now he accepted he wanted to get to know the lady… just because…

‘Are you promised to anyone?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Have an understanding?’ If she had he might need to rethink his tactics.

‘Good lord, no,’ she said, startled. ‘Why on earth would I? I am single by choice and intend to stay that way… Ah.’ She went red and shut her eyes briefly. ‘I mean, my lord, who would want me? I’m past the age of men offering for me.’

‘But you would like some air; I’ve seen you look longingly towards the gardens.’ He hadn’t, but it was a calculated guess. ‘I’ll say Lady Raith asked me to, if you like,’ he said with the lazy smile he was aware usually made a woman turn into a simpering imbecile.

Lydia Field was made of sterner stuff, it seemed. She ignored it.

‘But she hasn’t,’ she pointed out. ‘And that doesn’t answer my question.’ Lydia paused and he swore she counted to three and did her best to compose herself.

Curious.

‘Truly, my lord, you are most kind, but there is no need.’ Her voice had no animation, no expression and again he wondered at her chameleon-like abilities.

Harry grinned. ‘Yes I am, and yes there is. Go into the ballroom and give me five minutes.’

He stared at her until she inclined her head, smiled oh so sweetly, and curtsied. ‘You are too gracious, my lord.’ She somewhat spoiled the meek and mild persona by muttering under her breath. Something along the lines of, God save me from high-handed men?

Really? Surely not? Truly, Lydia Field needed investigating. Harry turned on his heel and went in search of his godmother.

‘You want what? Why?’ Lady Raith asked suspiciously three minutes later, as Harry ran her to ground as she swept up the stragglers in the dining room and shepherded them towards the ballroom. ‘What do you want with her? Hold on.’ She pointed at a young lady who stared longingly at Harry. Lady Raith raised her voice. ‘Miranda Forrester, go on into the ballroom now. Your mama is waiting for you.’

The young deb, in a dress that Harry considered was first cousin to a meringue, blushed, curtsied and left the room.

‘Silly chit,’ Lady Raith said with a chuckle. ‘What do they see in you?’

‘My charm? Wit?’ He shook his head. ‘Lord only knows, I do nothing to encourage them. They just keep appearing in my vision like flies.’

His godmother snorted. ‘Really? Poor deluded things. As you insist you give them no encouragement, it’s more likely your fortune. Now, where were we? Lord, Harry, you do confuse me.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Stop changing the subject.’

Harry laughed. ‘Of course, my dear, and of course I would never cast aspersions on your summing up of the situation.’

Lady Raith guffawed. ‘Bad boy. Ah yes, Lydia Field. Why her and what are you up to?’ She narrowed her eyes and stared at Harry with suspicion. ‘She is not for you.’

‘I’m up to nothing, Rosie, not a thing.’ Harry spoke soothingly. His intended dalliance was for only him – and, when it happened, Lydia – to know about. ‘The lady in question turned her ankle on the way in. I thought a breath of air might help. Especially after the last ball she was at, where Donkin hit her accidentally on the cheek and was sent home bosky. Him not her. She seems to be accident prone.’

‘I should hope she wasn’t bosky,’ Lady Raith said indignantly. ‘We women do not get bosky. And you can hardly call her accident prone if it was Donkin’s fault,’ she pointed out acerbically. ‘And, do not call me Rosie – I feel like an apple if you do. Rosemary,’ Lady Raith said automatically, as she patted Harry’s cheek. ‘Always Rosemary and you know it. You are a good boy.’

The ‘boy’, well into his late thirties, grinned and ignored the niggle of remorse for not owning up to his true intentions. How could he, though, when, all of a sudden, he wasn’t totally sure of them himself? ‘I try.’

‘Hmm. Very well, where is she?’ Lady Raith asked as Harry bussed her cheek. ‘No need for that. I know damned well you’re up to something, and no doubt you’ll tell me what in your own good time.’ She patted his arm. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find young Lydia for you.’

‘I believe she is sitting outside the antechamber to the right of the ballroom. The one you call the blue room,’ Harry said. ‘For the love of God, Rose… Rosemary, do not intimate I asked for the introduction. It might make her faint on the spot. I rather think the lady in question would prefer not to be the centre of gossip. If people think it’s you being your usual medd… oh, you know what I mean.’ What a load of twaddle he was spouting. Not the meddling bit – that was oh so true, as he had often found out to his detriment in the past – but the rest.

‘I never meddle,’ Lady Raith said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Harry snorted.

‘Bad boy. Not unless I deem it necessary, anyway. Now, promise me something. Be gentle, Harry, she’s not the sort who understands innuendo and the badinage you men enjoy with ladies of a more robust nature. Lydia is a quiet, biddable, sweet young thing. She’d make any man a dutiful wife.’

He nodded. ‘I hear you.’

‘But are you taking heed, I wonder?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘All I’ll say is remember your rules. Shy and biddable is not for playing with.’

His godmother sounded so certain about Lydia’s mindset, Harry wondered if he had imagined those few times of vivacity. Maybe it was down to her situation at that moment? Although the thought of that young lady, naked, and writhing under him in ecstasy as he discovered the true woman beneath the prim and proper and boring persona she presented, was enough for him to rue how tight his clothes were.

Harry smiled vaguely, discreetly adjusted his now more than interested cock, and ran his finger around the top of the immaculate cravat that threatened to choke him.

Whatever, he still intended to go on with his plan. She was a puzzle he aspired to solve.

‘You don’t need to worry, love,’ he said emphatically. ‘I have no intention of getting leg-shackled any time soon, and as for setting up my nursery? Really, can you see me willingly with a hoard of scrubby offspring?’ The mental picture that conjured up – of blond-haired, blue-eyed moppets – struck an uncomfortable chord he couldn’t define in his mind.

Harry shuddered theatrically, and Lady Raith shook her head at him, before kissing him resoundingly on the cheek with a flourish. ‘Incorrigible.’

‘Oh, yes.’

He perceived the exact moment Lydia noticed he’d carried out his promise – he preferred it not to be thought of as a threat – and he and Lady Raith were about to approach her. Harry could almost see her straighten her shoulders and tense up, waiting for what no doubt she perceived as the instance the axe was to fall.

Goodness knows why she was so worried, he thought, as Lady Raith acknowledged Lydia’s curtsey with a kiss to her cheek. Lydia’s expression was wary, and she twisted her fingers together.

‘Now, Lydia, my dear, I see your cheek is fine from the other night. Young idiot. Him, not you. Mind you, Harry fixed him, I believe. Good sort is Harry, especially for things like that. And now my lintel caused you injury. You’ll hate all things to do with the ton before long at this rate. Let’s hope Harry can relieve your worries and show that we’re not all bad. I’ve given him all the usual warnings.’ Lady Raith tempered her generally booming voice to what she fondly thought of as a whisper.

Well, Harry mused with a grin, to her it probably was. To everyone else it was a normal tone of voice.

‘Yes, thank you, my lady, he did all that was necessary,’ Lydia said in a soft, colourless, almost not to be heard voice. ‘He was most kind.’

‘No need to thank me as well,’ Harry murmured and felt instantly ashamed as she reddened and bit her lip.

‘Lydia, my dear, I think you and Lord Birnham could do with a stroll on the terrace,’ Lady Raith said before anyone else could comment. ‘It’s hot in here.’

Harry agreed. His cravat was too tight, his shirt stuck to his body, and, as for his evening breeches, he daren’t hazard a guess. He’d just caught a proper glimpse of Lydia Field’s silhouette and it promised so much. His body as ever showed its interest in her, and he willed his staff to quiescence. He was doing a lot of that lately, and with no interest in finding someone to soften it in a more earthy and pleasurable manner. He smiled wolfishly, and Lydia gulped, apprehension writ large on her face.

Am I being fair? He refused to answer himself.

Rosemary beamed at him and gave a discreet nod in Lydia’s direction. Harry recollected his plan and bowed. ‘My dear Lady Lydia, shall we?’ He held out his arm.

Now why did Lydia look at it as if it were an adder about to strike?

****

A gentle cough from Lady Raith brought Lydia out of her reverie, and she wondered why on earth she had such an uncomfortable sense of disquiet, and butterflies in her stomach. Those she could perhaps put down to the length of time since she had last eaten. However, the unnerving impression that, once she took hold of the proffered arm, her life would never, ever, be the same again had nothing to do with food, or the lack of it. She had never thought herself fanciful before, but now?

Ah well. Fatalistically, Lydia took his arm. After all, what else could she do? No thunderclap rent the air. She didn’t fall down in a faint. No one turned to stare or point the finger at them. The musicians still scraped away in the ballroom. Muffled sounds from the card room, and an odd thud or two as the dining room was tidied, could be heard. Everything carried on as it should. Thank goodness. She might not be quite as biddable as people thought, but nor was she the sort of person to create a scene. Unless, of course, it was warranted. Fleetingly, she wondered just what would warrant such an action and hoped she would never have the need to find out. She loved her mama and, even if she wasn’t enamoured with ton-ish life, Lydia was dutiful enough to never unintentionally upset her parents by acting in an uncouth or uncivilised manner. Or so she prayed. For although she thought she had conquered her childish temper, Lydia understood herself well enough to know she would never want to put that to the test.

Harry glanced at the arm she held, and Lydia realised she had tightened her hold. Deliberately, she relaxed her fingers, cursed at the deep creases she could now see in what had been immaculate cloth, and smiled tremulously. ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’

She chose not to say why and hoped as an aristocratic gentleman he wouldn’t ask what for. That was her intention anyway, although knowing her luck, her expression would appear to indicate she was in pain or constipated.

‘Now then, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Harry asked in a teasing voice as they left the room together. ‘No apology needed. This way.’ He pointed to the French windows that led out onto the long, wide terrace that ran the length of the house and edged the landscaped gardens beyond. ‘We have left the protection of Lady Raith and nothing has befallen us. No clap of thunder and no one struck dead.’

‘No, my lord.’ She smiled as if she had just understood she was supposed to do so and wished he wasn’t so appealing in this mood. It was the last thing she needed. Any vague ideas that she looked on him even the slightest bit favourably would help her mama to disrupt the plans Lydia had formed to escape the ton. Not that anything would come if it – she knew enough about rakes to understand that – but her mama would work whatever transpired for all it was worth. Drat the man. Why him of all people. Harry Birnham was not noted for altruism, so why start now?

‘No dragons I need to slay and mess my evening coat?’ he said in a teasing voice. ‘No puddles to put it over and ditto?’

She giggled and bit her lip. Giggled? Oh, for goodness sake. Grow up. I am no longer a young, impressionable deb, so I need to act like it. ‘It has not rained for days, my lord. I believe you are safe,’ she said composedly. ‘We are indeed fortunate. We can just enjoy ourselves and the surroundings.’ However hard she tried, she couldn’t raise enough enthusiasm to make that sound appealing.

One male eyebrow lifted and it was no hardship to colour up and look at her toes. It was that or match his quip with one of her own. They walked on for several paces until, beside her, Harry sighed. ‘They are lovely slippers, my dear Lady Field, but I’d prefer you to look at me, not your shoes. Unless they have something I do not?’ He paused and waited.

Lydia slowly glanced at his face and he raised the other eyebrow.

The question seemed harmless enough, but… ‘Or the other way around?’ he added.

‘No, my lord.’ The stupid milksop act was so hard. Especially when she wanted to act normally with Harry, and show him she did have a brain. She thought he was the sort of man who would appreciate it.

****

It had been the most unusual evening, and for once he hadn’t been at all bored, Harry decided, as several hours later he took out the elegant jewelled pin he favoured, unwound his cravat and threw it over a chair. Foster, his valet, helped him out of his form-fitting coat, stroked the lapels lovingly, and carried it and the long neck cloth away. It didn’t matter how many times Harry informed the man that he was well able to manage and there was no need to stop up for him, Foster would silently appear, help him out of his boots and top clothes and leave him to finish undressing in peace. When Harry remonstrated, Foster had smiled.

‘My lord, it is my duty and honour to help you,’ Foster said earnestly. ‘Plus, if I may be so bold to say so, over my dead body will you use a book jack on your Hobys unless it is an emergency.’

‘I’ll have evening shoes on,’ Harry pointed out. ‘Not boots.’

‘That’s as maybe, but your jacket now,’ Foster said stubbornly but politely. ‘You need my help to get out of it.’

‘I’m a rake. Rakes can undress and dress themselves.’ And their ladies.

‘If you were in rake mode, my lord, undoubtedly you would not be here,’ his valet said, stating the obvious. Harry nodded, resigned to the fact that Foster would indeed wait up. He stripped slowly and stretched as he ran over all the events of the evening. It had proceeded as he expected until his unexpected encounter with Lydia Field and then, well, it had been very different to any other ball he’d attended.

His jaded palate had un-jaded – if that was indeed a state of mind – very quickly. With a self-satisfied grin, Harry turned down the covers on his bed, rolled onto the mattress, stretched out on his back and put his hands behind his head. Over the last few hours his plans for the immediate future had dramatically changed. Instead of pursuing his usual practice of his clubs, Jackson’s salon, and Tattersalls, he intended to pursue Lady Lydia Field and discover what she was all about. Oh, not to take any dalliance outside the realms of polite and acceptable behaviour, but just to find out what made her tick. One thing he was certain of was that she would never do for Jeremy, whatever the reason Jeremy had in mind. That young man would sulk for days if thwarted and, even on such a short acquaintance, Harry understood enough about Lydia to realise she would never stand for such nonsense as Jeremy was wont to indulge in.

She would suit me perhaps? Many years hence. What on earth had she done to him? To even contemplate the wedded state for many years hence brought him out in goosebumps. He knew the day would have to come eventually, but please God, not yet.

However, something had to be done. If Harry had thought Jeremy truly in love, he would stand to one side, even if he couldn’t condone a marriage with his heir still being so immature. Strangely, Harry understood Lydia didn’t fit the idea he had always had of a biddable wife. Those sparks of temper she showed him indicated that. So why was his mind flirting with the idea of marriage to her, one day?

One day was not now. He put the idea out of his mind and turned it to the knotty problem of Jeremy and her, and her idea of what was pleasant and what was not.

‘You mean you really do not like the gaiety and activities of London?’ he had asked after a decorous turn along the terrace during which slowly their footsteps matched. ‘Not the tea parties or theatres?’

‘Definitely not, my lord. Apart from the proximity of Hatchards and its shelves of books, I prefer walks in the country and the comfort of my own home, and friends, not sycophants,’ Lydia said with certainty. ‘That makes me an oddity in our world, I know.’ She looked over the edge of the terrace wall towards where tiny candles flickered in the garden. ‘Perhaps we should go back now.’

‘Is my company so bad?’ he asked in a humorous tone to show he was jesting and not serious. ‘I am devastated.’

She looked up at him. He knew she would see a shadowy figure in the semi-darkness. No one else was around them, and he thought her reply would be along the lines of they were too secluded. Instead she surprised him.

‘Coming it too brown, my lord. You know your worth, and I am not going to fall for that. My reason is much more mundane. I know our stroll will get back to my mama sooner or later, but I prefer later,’ she said with a ladylike chuckle. ‘After all, once I leave the capital it will not matter. Before then, if she catches wind of your kindness, she will turn it in her mind to interest, and neither of us will have a moment’s peace.’ She began to walk back towards the house. ‘I do not desire that and I am sure you feel the same.’ Her tone told him that she neither wanted nor expected him to reply.

‘Leave the capital?’ Was she going on a journey?

‘It is of no consequence.’ She firmed her lips. ‘I intend to go to the country very soon. I’m sure you have other places to be.’

As it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything else, Harry very properly escorted her inside and left her before her mama or any of her parents’ cronies spotted them. Then he spent another half an hour or so chatting to his peers, and departed before his godmother decided it was time to insist he danced with some young woman or other.

Once he retrieved his hat and cane, he ambled along St James’s and dropped into his club, saw no one he wanted to spend time with, and eventually strolled home.

As the watch called four outside his window, Harry punched his pillow and turned out the lamp. Was he ready to be subjected to the sort of interference pushy mamas could try to inflict? He was an old hand at ignoring or distracting them, and much too wily to be entrapped by any schemes thought up, but even so, it could become wearing if he had to always be alert and aware of anything of that kind all the time.

Nevertheless, he intended to get to know Lydia Field better.

Much better.

Even that thought hardened his cock and made his muscles clench so tightly he had to force himself to relax. Some of his firmly entrenched rules had, he decided, just melted away. He couldn’t carry on like that. After all, if Lydia was ready for a little intimacy, with no strings, who was he to deny her? Better him than anyone else.

And if she wasn’t, he thought uneasily, what then? Harry made a conscious decision. If he was to get any peace he needed to quench his desire for her, and to that end seduction might be necessary.

Bed her and not wed her. That was what rakes did; he might as well live up to his reputation for once.