Page 22 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

Lucy picked up her skirts and jogged in the direction of the carriage. The driver tipped his hat just before the door flew open. A strong hand took her arm, hauling her inside.

“Not subtle in the least. I was hoping this could be accomplished with a great deal more discretion.” Estwood shrugged as he shut the door. Rapping on the carriage roof, he said. “Go. Now.”

A scream echoed through the alley as the carriage jerked forward. “Help. My daughter has been kidnapped,” Sally wailed into the morning air. “Someone. Help.”

“Good lord.” Estwood waved a hand. “I didn’t expect her to be so dramatic. Does she run very fast?”

“W-what?” Lucy was rather shocked at the sight of him. She’d expected Romy, given the carriage.

“Your stepmother. Do you think she can overtake the carriage in heels?” He looked over at Lucy, one side of his mouth twitching. “Not expecting me, were you? I thought the sight of the ducal carriage might buy us some additional time. Mrs. Waterstone will assume you’ve gone to Granby’s.”

Lucy stared at her future husband. He appeared so much larger in the confines of the coach, his eyes flashing at her like bits of early morning mist. Pulling out a pocket watch, he consulted the time with a grunt.

“Running late.” Estwood looked back at her.

“What is it, Lady High and Mighty? Changed your mind?”

She blinked. Her lips tightened. “Don’t call me that.”

Estwood leaned forward. “Miss Snobby Skirts?”

“You—” Lucy slapped the leather seat. “I’m not—I have not changed my mind.”

“Oh, good. I’ve already paid the vicar.” He stuck his head out the window. “I think we’ve lost her for now. She isn’t very fast.” Estwood sat back once more. “Did you know that Lady Blythe and Lady Dufton are acquainted?”

Confused at the abrupt change of subject, Lucy shook her head. She looked down at his hands. No gloves. And remembered the way his fingers had stroked along her throat.

“Words, Lucy. I prefer them.”

“No.”

The broad shoulders rolled a bit. Tilted back.

“Neither did I. Not friends, exactly. More rivals.” He turned one ear towards the door.

“Good lord. Mrs. Waterstone is still screeching. We’ve turned the corner, and I can still hear her.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Lady Blythe. I escorted her to Blythe’s wedding at her request. That is when she informed me of the absolute insult she’d been dealt by Lady Dufton. ”

This was not the conversation she’d expected upon entering the carriage. Estwood was…smiling. Mildly flirtatious. Not the least chilly. Preferable to his previous anger, she supposed.

“ Inthult? ”

“No invitation to the dinner Lady Dufton is hosting two days hence, at which, it is rumored, she’ll announce the betrothal of her son, Lord Dufton.

The dowager countess has kept things quiet, I suppose in an effort to keep the talk about Dufton to a minimum, given the circumstances of his first marriage.

Rumors abound at all and sundry having seen the two of you in the park. ”

Lucy clasped her hands, waiting for him to continue, thinking how lovely she found him, with the sun bringing out bits of copper in his close-cropped beard and mustache.

“I assured Lady Blythe that Lady Dufton’s table was sure to disappoint.” He raised a brow. “Dufton’s chef, though he’s from Paris, isn’t terribly skilled, I’ve heard.”

A quiver ran through her at knowing how close she’d come to being trapped with Dufton. If Lady Blythe hadn’t been so incensed over a dinner party, Estwood wouldn’t have known to come today.

“My father?—”

“Had an appointment this morning. One that will be cancelled at the last moment. I don’t suppose that will stop him from barging into Granby’s house to demand your whereabouts once—what is her name, Mrs. Waterstone?”

“ Thally.” Lucy shut her eyes against the sound of her lisp, horrified Estwood could hear it.

A warm finger trailed along her bottom lip, startling her so much Lucy’s eyes snapped open once more. “Take a deep breath, Miss Waterstone.” He waited. “Before continuing. I am unsettled as well by having seen that harpy chase us down the alley.”

Compose yourself .

“ Once Sally informs Waterstone that you ran into the ducal carriage—because you can’t miss Granby’s crest—your father will visit the duke. But don’t worry, he won’t find them at home.”

“Why?” she dared.

“Witnesses. The duke and duchess have gone to fetch the vicar. He’s an old friend of Granby’s and the nephew of the archbishop.

Waterstone will find it difficult to declare a marriage invalid under such circumstances, especially since no marriage contract between you and Dufton has yet been signed. ”

Father. Panic flared once more at the mere mention of him, threatening to clog her throat. Her breath caught in her lungs, refusing to release. What if he found her before?—

“Everything is well in hand, Miss Waterstone.” Estwood reached across and gently stroked the tips of her fingers.

Lucy’s skin warmed at the gesture. She wanted to ask him about his mood, which was far more pleasant than the last time they’d spoken, but she was too afraid her tongue and teeth wouldn’t allow it.

“Now, as to why there is no marriage contract, Waterstone’s greed got in the way, which is unsurprising. He’s got the duns beating at his door, and he still wanted more from Dufton.”

Of course he had. It wasn’t enough for Father to merely barter his only child.

Resentment stiffened her spine, and anger helped push aside the dreadful panic that wanted to suffocate her. Lucy had been powerless her entire life. Never allowed her own choices. Deciding to defy her father and marry against his wishes was terrifying.

Also…exhilarating.

Estwood’s touch retreated, but his eyes on her burned with something intense and undefinable. Annoyance, possibly, at having to be stuck with her when all he really wanted was Marsden.

Difficult for Harry to keep his guard up when Lucy looked so…panicked. His first inclination was to comfort her. His second?

Kiss her. Possibly a bit more than that. Lift her skirts. That might calm her.

Perhaps she was not afraid of Waterstone, only worried her father’s little scheme had gone too far and she had no intention of wedding Harry. At any moment, that pompous windbag might appear and burst into laughter. Point at Harry with his walking stick, as he had the day he’d taken Pendergast.

Mongrel . Learn your place.

Harry studied her profile as she gazed out the window, trying to decide if his suspicions had merit, unable to conclude one way or another.

If this was a scheme, he could not yet see what Waterstone might gain, save Harry’s humiliation.

Outbidding him for Pendergast, at the very last moment and at twice the price, had not been the first or last time Harry had suffered Waterstone’s interference.

But Pendergast—well, that had been more than a snobbish gentleman’s offense at Harry’s birth origins.

Taking the ironworks had been personal. Intentional.

Waterstone had found out what the ironworks meant to Harry.

That will teach you to overstep, mongrel.

Harry had considered, many times since then, that he might simply slip behind Waterstone one night in the darkness and?—

His thumb flicked over the missing tip of his pinky finger. Not only a habit when Harry was thinking, but a useful reminder of his tendency for violence. There were things Harry had done to find his place in the world that weren’t the least gentlemanly.

Lucy’s breath hitched as the carriage arrived at Harry’s house. Her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap, pulling at her skirts. Distressed.

Harry studied her for a moment, hating that his suspicions refused to stay silent.

Because there were parts of him that were overjoyed at the idea of Lucy Waterstone as his wife.

The knowledge that he would be able to touch her anytime he wished.

That she belonged to him. And it had nothing to do at all with Marsden.

Unsettling, to say the least.

“Shall we?” He flung the door open and hopped out. “I expect Vicar Randall is waiting.”