Unmasking Miss Lacey Page 7

  ‘He may have done,’ she said soothingly while knowing in her heart that it was almost certain. ‘But I have the matching pistol from the wall in Rupert’s chamber.’

  And she tripped across the room to a large walnut chest which sat sturdily beneath the window. ‘See here, it is safely hidden within my underwear. I defy anyone, even a wealthy earl, to find it there!’

  * * *

  The evening meal was a trial she could not escape. And she must move swiftly for Sir Francis could not bear to be kept waiting, least of all for the six-course dinner he favoured. Molly had disappeared to her attic room with a sewing box and Rupert’s shirt and, without waiting for her return, Lucinda dragged the nearest gown from her wardrobe. It was a white satin matched with an overdress of jonquil gauze. With white satin slippers on her feet and a single string of pearls around her neck, she hoped the ensemble would pass her uncle’s scrutiny. A brush pulled roughly through her hair and a modest aigrette to pin back the unruly blonde curls and she was ready as the first stroke of the gong sounded.

  Its chime was like the summons to an execution. Her execution. She tried to steady her breath and still her nerves. She must behave as though nothing untoward had occurred; bluff it out until the earl drove away. That could not come soon enough, she told herself, trying hard to ignore the whisper of regret.

  The first course was being laid when she arrived—soup à la Flamond, glazed sweetbreads in sorrel sauce, a raised pie and a chine of mutton with removes of fish and veal. Her uncle was happily tucking a napkin around his neck and greeted her jovially. He seemed to have forgotten the morning’s disagreeable interview.

  ‘Lucinda, come and sit down. I have some good news. Our guest is to do us the honour of staying a little longer. Will that not be pleasant?’

  If it were possible for spirits, already abject, to dip further, then Lucinda’s did. ‘How is that?’ she asked in a voice so brittle it almost snapped.

  In leisurely fashion her uncle began to spoon soup from a huge silver tureen, and it was the earl who answered. ‘My coachman has been unable to find a saddler willing to do the work immediately, Miss Lacey. I must postpone my departure until Monday next.’

  Monday! She looked fixedly down at her soup dish, crushing disappointment leaving her unable to playact. If Molly’s mother brought new information, she would have to run the gauntlet of this man’s suspicion. In addition the Runner from Bow Street might well arrive before the earl left and she would then have two enemies with which to contend. Everything was going wrong and it was all Jack Beaufort’s fault.

  ‘Will that not put in jeopardy your visit to Lord Merrington?’ In desperation she hoped he might be urged to hire another vehicle.

  ‘It means only a small change to my plans,’ he said easily. ‘I may arrive in Hampshire a little late, but think how much I have gained.’

  His hosts looked nonplussed. ‘I will have even more time to discover the delights of Verney,’ he said helpfully, his smile guileless.

  Was he playing a game with her? What other discoveries was he hoping to make? But perhaps the remark was innocent and her surmises wrong. Perhaps he harboured no suspicions and had told the truth when he’d said that he was in Rupert’s room to enjoy the downland views.

  ‘We are sorry for the inconvenience to your good self, but delighted to have your company a little longer,’ Francis oozed. ‘What say you, Lucinda?’

  Her uncle’s minatory look demanded only one answer. ‘Indeed, yes, it will be delightful.’

  The baronet puffed out his chest expansively. ‘You will have the time to explore a little farther afield, my lord, and Lucinda will be happy to act as your guide for she knows every country lane for miles around.’

  ‘I imagine she does.’

  The slightly crooked smile told her everything she needed to know. She had not been wrong—he suspected her! But surely he would not denounce her at the dinner table; he would wish to be private with her uncle. She took a quick glance at him. The smile was still there. Could it suggest something else—that Jack might just keep her secret? She could not be sure. If only he had kept from prying, she would have been safe, for he had not recognised her as his assailant. But now, she thought wrathfully, she was to dance to his tune.

  ‘Yes, Lucinda will be able to ride with you most days,’ Sir Francis said smugly, busily making new plans for a niece who had so far proved unsatisfactory.

  ‘You are too kind,’ Jack murmured.

  The second course had now made its appearance. Two chickens, a duck, French beans à la crème, fried artichokes, macaroni and a ratafie pudding slowly filled the table. The earl looked stunned as his host slowly ate his way through this bounty. A few more of Uncle Francis’s prodigious meals and perhaps he might be persuaded to walk to Hampshire, Lucinda thought tartly.

  ‘The voting system in Sussex is entirely corrupt, you know,’ Francis Devereux droned. He had exhausted land reform and farming techniques and was now embarked on his bitterest hobby horse. A final course of nuts,

  jellies, creams and small cakes had made its way to the table and though her uncle’s consumption had slowed, what passed for his conversation had not. She wondered how long it would be before he talked himself to a standstill.

  ‘The Pelhams are very powerful landowners and they make sure that a family member is always returned to Parliament.’

  Sir Francis was constantly made miserable by the knowledge that he could never bribe as well as his neighbours and therefore never sit as a member. Surreptitiously she stole a glance at Jack. He was finding it difficult to stifle a yawn but somehow he managed to rouse himself to say, ‘It is a sad fact of life that representation is still dependent on deep pockets.’

  ‘Indeed, your lordship, that is just my point. If I could tell you how much money the Pelhams have expended on buying up local votes. But then they have the resources to do so. And those men who have their own ideas for the betterment of the country will never have the chance to bring them into being. And why? Because by a quirk of fate they were not born to inherit an immense fortune.’

  This time his guest did not respond and began idly to pick at the sweetmeats. Francis sniffed in annoyance and, as if to puncture the earl’s indifference, he abruptly changed tack.

  ‘You know, Lord Frensham, I have this minute had a splendid thought. Our entertainments are modest in this small corner of Sussex, but we do boast the occasional public assembly. I happen to know that such a one is to be held tomorrow evening in Steyning. As you are staying with us a little longer, we should all attend. What do you say, Lucinda?’

  She was furious with her uncle. His unwelcome suggestion would drive a coach and horses through her plan to keep the earl at arm’s length. But she found her anger draining away when she saw their guest’s expression. Suave gentleman though he was, he could not conceal his anguish at being dragooned into attending a rural romp.

  She wanted to laugh aloud, but instead said in the coolest voice she could muster, ‘What a clever idea, Uncle! It should prove a most entertaining evening.’ And a satisfying one, she added silently to herself. Seeing Jack Beaufort discomfited at a public ball might provide her with some small revenge.

  He was glaring across at her and she could not resist a further provocation.

  ‘I imagine public assemblies are not much in your line, Lord Frensham.’

  ‘It is some time since I attended one certainly. But I am sure that it will prove another interesting addition to my visit.’ His smile was sardonic and she quaked. She should have kept silent, should have kept her head well below the parapet.

  ‘I am delighted that you are enjoying your sojourn with us,’ her uncle interjected. ‘I must confess that I had a concern you might find it a trifle flat here—after the diversions of London, you know,’ he added condescendingly. ‘But Verney is a beautiful village and the Tower
s a most historic house in which to stay.’

  The earl’s stupefaction was a delight to behold but she must not laugh, must not even smile. He had not yet finished with her.

  ‘You are right, Sir Francis, my stay has been fascinating. In my ignorance, I had thought the Sussex countryside a tranquil haven where little happened.’ He looked pointedly in her direction.

  He was intent on a game of cat and mouse, she thought, but she had no intention of indulging him. This was the moment to make her escape. Rising from the table, she pinned a gracious smile on her face. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will say goodnight and leave you to your port.’

  The earl’s answering scowl was some compensation for one of the most uncomfortable meals through which she had ever sat.

  * * *

  Jack Beaufort awoke feeling at odds with the world. The rain had been hammering at his window throughout the night and now he was looking at grey skies and sodden lawns. Another day to be got through and the prospect of an appalling evening. He shrugged himself irritably into the coat that Lynton was holding. Only good manners had secured his agreement to this travesty of a ball. As a guest he could not gainsay his host, but last night’s dinner had left him severely ruffled, unable to escape an event that in other circumstances he would have laughed at. A public assembly! He couldn’t remember the last time he had submitted himself to such a trial—the world and his wife lumped together in the hot stickiness of a crowded dance floor.

  He had been made angry, too, that Lucinda had so readily agreed with her uncle’s suggestion. That had been done quite deliberately, he thought, simply to spite. She had not forgiven him for the trespass in her brother’s room, but surely he deserved credit for his forbearance. Where was her gratitude? Over the dinner table he had signalled as clearly as possible that he had no intention of revealing what he knew of her nefarious conduct. There would be little point: she had succeeded in delaying his journey, nothing more. Not one penny had she gained from her ambush, nor one injury inflicted. He had no idea why she had been driven to engage in such madness, but it was none of his business. As an older and presumably wiser head, he could have offered advice, suggested perhaps that she find elsewhere the excitement lacking in her life. But that would have tasted too strongly of hypocrisy—he had never been a pattern of good behaviour himself and, right now, the less-than-honourable feelings she evoked placed him on even shakier ground.

  Impatiently he turned to the window once more and looked out on the dripping landscape. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he grabbed his benjamin and beaver hat and made for the door. He was decided. He would miss the ritual of breakfast and go walking. The inclement weather would ensure that he was on his own and as far away as possible from the risk of meeting either Sir Francis or his wretched niece.

  * * *

  In minutes he was splashing through puddles and beginning to descend the first of many flights of stairs. Most of the garden was meticulously arranged in levels, each sculpted geometrically with clipped hedges growing as straight as a yardstick and interspersed with assorted circles and squares of flowerbeds set at precise intervals. It was the brainchild of a man intent on imposing rigid order on his world. Only when Jack had negotiated at least a mile of steps, or so it seemed, did he come to the rolling lawns which were his goal. The rain continued to slice down, silver shards in a colourless world, and the grass squeaked beneath his boots. He must have taken leave of his senses, he thought. But there was not a breath of wind and the air arrived fresh and cool on his face. He felt oddly intoxicated—a sense of freedom, a sense of liberation from an almost malign presence. What was it about Verney Towers that cast such a long shadow?

  He had squelched his way downhill for some while when he saw a belt of trees in the distance and, between their half-covered branches, the narrow reaches of a river. The water evidently marked the boundary to Sir Francis’s property. The line of ash trees offered little more shelter than the open parkland, but the river flowing beneath them was a lure. The sight of its pristine waters, glittering diamonds of light even beneath the overcast skies, filled him with a quiet satisfaction. He stood for some time on the river bank, watching small fishes playing chase in and out of the curled pond weed, when the sound of a female voice came to him. It was a curse, a mild curse, but most definitely female. He peered round the wide trunk of the tree and saw a flash of olive kerseymere. The owner of the dress seemed impaled on a large bramble and reluctantly he went to help.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Lacey. May I assist you?’

  It was clear from her face that he was not the knight errant she sought, but her present circumstances could only dictate surrender.

  ‘Good morning, Lord Frensham. I would be glad of your aid,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I appear unable to escape.’

  He unhooked the bramble with ease and she stepped to one side and almost into the river. His arm shot out and grabbed her by the waist; for a moment she teetered on the edge of the water and then landed safely by his side. Her scent, her softness, the warm curves so close—for a crazy moment he tightened his arms around her, wanting to feel the answering melt of her body. Her bosom was pressed against his chest, tilting towards him it seemed, seeking the solace of his hard form—or was that imagination? He felt his heart beat more quickly, his breath grow more jagged. The shawl which had been protecting her head tumbled around her shoulders, leaving her curls exposed. He felt an overwhelming urge to bury his face in that hair, to caress the soft white neck with the most delicate of kisses. When he dared to look down into her face, sapphire eyes glowed entrancingly and a pair of full lips formed themselves into a sensuous curve. For an instant his mouth hovered over hers, but only for an instant. Then good sense prevailed. He swiftly withdrew his arm, leaving the air between them shivering with tension.

  ‘I wonder to see you out and about on such a day, Miss Lacey.’ His was a poor attempt to cover an awkward moment.

  ‘Why is that? Do you think me such a hothouse flower that I cannot withstand a little rain?’ She had been as shaken as he by the sudden temptation, he thought, and had decided on attack as her best defence.

  ‘A little rain is something of an understatement.’

  ‘It could be worse and it does wonders for one’s complexion.’

  The tone was deliberately flippant, but she was the living embodiment of her words. Her skin, gently flushed and shimmering almost to translucence in the rain, was beautiful to behold.

  ‘Then I must be grateful that ruining my second-best pair of boots will be worthwhile.’

  ‘This is the countryside. It is frequently wet and muddy. Why venture out on such a day if it displeases you?’

  ‘For much the same reason, I suspect, as you,’ he said shrewdly. ‘To pass the time and forget what lies ahead.’

  She took some time to decode this cryptic remark while the rain fell steadily through the branches above, tumbling and tripping from the few remaining leaves. ‘You refer to this evening, I collect. You are not anticipating pleasure from the dance?’

  ‘From a public assembly? That would be a little too optimistic.’

  ‘Of course, you would say so. It is not a setting in which James Mountford Gillespie Beaufort would ever find himself at ease!’

  ‘You think me snobbish and I am not.’

  ‘I think you spoilt, your lordship. The world must be arranged to your liking or you will take no part in it.’

  ‘I shall be playing my part this evening.’

  ‘Unwillingly,’ she said crisply.

  ‘But playing it nevertheless and saving you from unpleasantness.’

  She was taken aback and stared at him. ‘And how is that?’

  ‘If I were to tell your uncle that we have no intention of marrying, I doubt not I would be excused from this evening’s expedition, but you—you would suffer a painful scolding, I imagi
ne.’

  ‘I had not realised how much I have to thank you for! But please do not hesitate on my behalf—tell my uncle the truth. I will suffer reproach in any case, so why not spare yourself the ordeal.’

  ‘I have agreed to your uncle’s proposal. I do not go back on my word.’

  ‘Naturally not—you are a gentleman. As a woman, of course, I can go back on my word at any time. It is well known that we are without honour.’

  ‘I was not...’

  But he never got to say what he was not, for she swished her skirts to one side and stalked past him, walking swiftly away in the direction of the house. He was left fuming. She was impossible—and she knew no shame. He had kept silent, protecting her from the consequences of her insane actions, but all she could do was rail against him. It was infuriating that he continued to feel strongly attracted to her. Whenever she came within inches of him, he seemed powerless to stop his body flaming with a desire he was unable to satisfy. That stuck in his throat. He was not accustomed to being any woman’s puppet—he was the one who operated the strings. He brooded a while by the river before turning back to the cold comforts of the house. He needed to strike a blow, if only for his own pride. Perhaps after all he might rescue something from this evening; perhaps he could use it to turn the tables on her. He could fascinate as well as she: she was not as indifferent as she liked to pretend. He had not imagined the softening of her body in his arms or the lips tantalisingly parted. He would hit her with every ounce of charm at his disposal, enchant her until she was unable to pretend any longer. He would send Lucinda Lacey spinning with passion before the night was out.

  Chapter Five

  Molly began opening and shutting cupboards and drawers a good hour before her mistress was due to leave for the dance. She was enjoying herself hugely, casting a professional eye over Lucinda’s wardrobe, suggesting one gown after another, only to reject each in turn. Her mistress took no part in the foray. She was in a state of the greatest uncertainty, with no idea how she was to get through the evening. Stupidly she had allowed herself to fall into a pointless quarrel with the man who could denounce her at any time. Whether Jack chose to or not, she was going to have to spend the next few hours in his close company.