Page 13

T he object inside the oilcloth missile turned out to be a sheet of foolscap wrapped about a stone, and tied securely with a string. Gilford used his pocketknife to cut the strings and unwrapped the page from the rock. He glanced at it and Lucy knew from his expression that its contents infuriated him. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.

“Stop meddling, you nosy—” Lucy broke off without speaking the vulgar word aloud as she read the message scrawled on the page. “Well, I suppose we know for whom this message was intended. Only one of us is appropriate for that particular insult.”

She was trying to lighten the mood, but clearly Gilford was unable to be cheered out of this particular mood.

“It isn’t amusing, Lucy,” he said, looking as if he could chew through steel. “You could have been killed if that cab’s driver had miscalculated by a few inches. And it doesn’t make me feel any better knowing that I was able to keep us out of the villain’s path only by the skin of my teeth. I should have been paying attention to the road rather than—”

Lucy was well aware what he’d been doing at the critical moment. They’d been arguing over whether that almost-kiss in the park should be forgotten. And Gilford clearly blamed himself for both incidents, which was absurd.

They’d retreated to a small parlor facing the garden, which was used mostly by Lucy for reading and needlework on those rare occasions that she thought to do it. The important reason she’d chosen the parlor instead of the drawing room was that her mother rarely came here, and she’d wanted a few minutes of privacy with Gilford so that they could examine the mysterious parcel.

Now, however, she was glad she’d chosen this room, because it would be easier to ring a peal over his head without an audience.

“You should have paid attention to the road instead of me,” she said, drawing herself up to her full, though not particularly impressive, height and putting her fists on her hips. “That is what you are saying, is it not, my lord?”

Gilford looked surprised by her vehemence but didn’t back down. “You know it is.”

Crossing to where she stood on the far side of the table upon which they’d unwrapped the rock, he hesitated for only a moment before he took one of hands from where it was fisted at her side. Unfisting it gently, he threaded their fingers together, and Lucy felt the warmth of their palms meeting in every sinew of her being.

“Miss Penhallow,” he said, looking both abashed and deadly serious. Then correcting himself, he said instead, “Lucy.”

She hadn’t realized until that very moment that she wanted to hear her given name on his lips with a vehemence she’d not even guessed at.

“It’s likely too soon to make any kind of declaration,” he said, his warm eyes filled with such sincerity she couldn’t doubt him. “In fact, I know it. But I also know this: If you’d been injured this afternoon, I’d never have been able to forgive myself.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she protested even as he’d begun to shake his head.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was. The result would have been the same.”

Still savoring the feel of his skin on hers, Lucy bit her lip.

“If you intend to continue looking into Vera Blackwood’s abduction, then you must promise me that you won’t do anything that will put you in danger,” Gilford said. “You mustn’t do anything without me. We must work together.”

Lucy disliked having restrictions put upon her. Especially since there were already so many that were required simply to live as a lady in polite society. Still, she supposed that near-miss this afternoon was reason enough to agree to his terms. And it would be no hardship to conduct an investigation in the company of the most handsome man she’d ever met. If anything, he’d grown even more appealing since their almost-accident.

“Very well,” she said with exaggerated reluctance. After all, she couldn’t appear to simply bow to his wishes without any protest. Otherwise, he’d think her utterly without a backbone. “But only because I don’t want you to fall into a decline.”

At her teasing words he broke into a grin. Then, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, he said softly, “I have one more request.”

Her heart was beating faster, and Lucy asked in a hushed tone, “What is it?”

“‘My lord’ and ‘Gilford’ and ‘Lord Gilford’ are so formal,” he said, his voice almost a caress. “I’d like for you to call me Will.”

And this time when their mouths gravitated toward one another, there were no interruptions to stop them.

Will’s first sensation when he brushed his lips lightly against Lucy’s was one of incredible softness. He’d anticipated she’d be sweet in his arms, but the reality of her lushness against him was better than he’d imagined. And to his surprise and delight, she welcomed the tentative touch of his tongue by opening her sweet mouth.

As a man of five and twenty, he’d kissed any number of women over the years, but there was some corner of his mind that whispered over and over that this particular woman—Lucy—was different. Because he felt different.

For what felt like hours but was in actuality only a few intoxicating minutes they held on to each other as if one kept the other from sinking into an imaginary flood surrounding them. Trading caresses with lips, tongues, and mouths.

It wasn’t until Lucy’s soft gasp when his hand stroked up her side to palm her breast, still chastely covered by her gown, that Will pulled back. He might have come to terms with the fact that he wanted her. But he wasn’t going to trap her into a marriage by compromise with him before she’d had an opportunity to decide for herself.

He needed her money, no question, but she deserved better than him, and he damned well knew it.

He stopped, slid his hand back down to rest on her hip, and kissed her eyelids and the tip of her nose, and finally gave her lips a gentle press.

When he pulled away, she looked at him with a slumberous smile.

“Well.” Her voice was a little breathy, and he couldn’t hide a pang of masculine pride at knowing he’d done that to her.

“Well.” He lifted a hand to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

“I don’t suppose we can cancel our appointments and spend the rest of the afternoon doing that.” The disappointment in her voice told him that she already knew the answer, as did he.

Deciding a hasty departure was needed to stop him from reaching for her again, Will stepped back. “I will take the note and the other items to your cousin. He should know that you were threatened today.” And he wanted to make sure Eversham knew the severity of what had happened. Will suspected Lucy might downplay things if she thought her cousin might restrict her investigation in any way.

She opened her mouth to object, but Will spoke before she could. “I have reason to be in that area anyway, and I suspect you’ll wish to tell your mama about what happened before he can.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose adorably at the mention of her mother. “I suppose you’re right, but Mama will fly into a pelter no matter who she hears the news of our near crash from.”

Mrs. Penhallow was like to be overset by a number of observations her neighbors in Brook Street might relate to her, but Will forbore from mentioning that.

Bowing over Lucy’s hand, he secured her consent for the waltzes at the Maitland ball that evening; then, feeling as puffed up as a jaybird despite the danger he and Lucy had nearly been unable to avoid, he collected his hat and walking stick from the Penhallow butler and went to claim his curricle.