Dangerous to Love Page 11

  His eyes glittered like sapphires. "If I decide I want Lady Valerie, I assure you, I can make her want me too."

  Just like I made you want me.

  He didn't have to say the words out loud for them to reverberate in the silence of the library. And like oil thrown ' on a banked fire, they ignited her temper beyond its exploding point.

  "Lady Valerie is not for the likes of you and she never will be. I'll see to that!"

  That only drew a mocking laugh from him. "Are you challenging me, Lucy? Do you really think you can protect a girl like Valerie, one of three daughters, from the ardent pursuit of a man with my means? With my titles? Even were I a crude, slobbering pig, her family would never turn down an offer, should I make one. It's the way of the ton. It's what the marriage mart is all about. Surely you know that."

  Unfortunately she did know it. But she would never admit as much to him. "You are a bully," she bit out. "Just like my nephew. You act as if you disdain the ton and your place within it, but you rely on your title and fortune to get exactly what you want."

  His expression hardened and his jaw tensed. He lifted his hand and she flinched. But he only ran his knuckles lightly down her left cheek. "Was it my title or my fortune you were after when you came in here with me? Or was it both you had designs upon when you pressed yourself so passionately against me? When you opened your mouth to me?"

  Lucy sucked in a painful breath. In that moment she despised him. She truly did! She swallowed hard. "I was merely curious, my lord. I wanted to know whether you would live up to the gossip circulating about you."

  He smiled. "And do I?"

  Her eyes spat daggers at him. "Oh, yes. You are in every sense the bastard earl." Then not waiting for his response, she whirled and fairly ran from the room, for the safety of the ballroom and the security of other people around her.

  But she was neither safe nor secure, she feared as she searched out Valerie, who was dancing a schottische now with a Mr. Clarence Hopkins. For the moment she might have had the last word, but she was not done with Ivan Thornton. Nor he with her, she fretted.

  The rest of the evening proved to be exhausting. She was asked repeatedly to dance—an unheard-of occurrence for a woman who was supposed to be chaperoning one of the season's young ladies. She was hard-pressed to turn the offers down—as Ivan must have known. It was he who'd engineered the offers, she quickly realized. For whenever she was occupied, he made it a point to pay court to Lady Valerie. He and his friends kept a constant circle around her, monopolizing her attention and discouraging any others from approaching her. And every time Lucy tried to get to her young charge, she was intercepted by one or the other of Ivan's cohorts.

  First the rake claimed a dance, Alexander Blackburn, who was rumored to be one of Prinny's bastards. He was charming and a very good dancer, but she could not enjoy his company when Ivan was across the way, working his wiles on poor Valerie.

  Giles Dameron whirled her around the floor next. He was not so easy a conversationalist, and a trifle less graceful at the waltz, but oh, he was a handsome man. But not handsome enough to erase her worries. As she watched, Valerie actually smiled at something Ivan said, and her heart sank.

  She glanced desperately around for Lady Westcott, hoping she would intercede. She spied the older woman sitting with Lord Dunleith and Lady McClendon, watching the gaiety, and that caused her heart to sink even further. She'd been correct in her suspicions about Lady Westcott, to her bitter disappointment. The countess was observing the little circle that included Ivan and Valerie, and she did not look in the least displeased.

  So why had she told Lucy to protect Valerie from Ivan? The answer was so obvius Lucy groaned. To provoke his interest, of course. To create a challenge he could not resist. Obviously it had worked.

  But why had he bothered to kiss a chaperone?

  Because he saw every woman as a challenge, she decided. Because he'd had a miserable childhood and was taking it out on everyone.

  Or perhaps it was because he'd had so little love all those years that he sought it now in the arms of every woman he met. That was not really love, however. Only how could he know that?

  She frowned, unsettled by this new possibility. She refused to feel a moment's sympathy for him. He certainly felt no sympathy for anyone else. Still, she could not shake the image of a frightened dark-haired little boy from her mind. How would Stanley or Derek withstand the fear and sorrow of being so unceremoniously thrust into a strange place and left there for over ten years? How would anyone be expected to react?

  She was grateful when the dance ended, but when she looked around, Valerie was nowhere to be seen. Then the music started up again and the final third of Ivan's dubious friends showed up, requesting a turn about the floor with her.

  "Thank you, Mr. Pierce. I'm flattered. But I fear I'm sadly out of practice with such exercise. I'm quite out of breath after my dance with Mr. Dameron."

  "I assure you, Miss Drysdale, that you will not have to work nearly so hard at dancing with me as you did with Dameron."

  "He is a more-than-competent dancer."

  "I am better," he stated with a roguish grin. "Though perhaps not so talented as is Thornton."

  Just then Lucy spied Valerie—with her head bent close to Ivan's—and she gritted her teeth.

  Following the angle of her gaze, Mr. Pierce laughed. "You worry overmuch about your young charge, at least insofar as Thornton is concerned."

  Lucy slanted him a look. Next to Ivan, he was the one of the four bastards, as they were beginning to be called, who most unsettled her. Mr. Dameron was unnervingly handsome; Mr. Blackburn was unnervingly wry. Neither of them, however, frightened her. Not that Mr. Pierce frightened her precisely. It was more that there was an aura of danger about him, as if dark undercurrents churned beneath his suave, smiling exterior. At least she knew something of the past that had molded Ivan. Of Elliot Pierce she knew nothing.

  "Why shouldn't I be worried?" she asked, forcing her self back to the subject of Valerie.

  He shrugged. "He will pursue her. Catch her. Then throw her back, as he has all the others."

  "Yes. And she will have a broken heart by then. I prefer to protect her from such unnecessary pain. He does it only to feed his monstrous ego," she added, though she suspected it was more likely a monstrous vulnerability he was protecting. No matter which it was, however, Valerie would be the one hurt. Her duty was to see that didn't happen.

  "He is a good man," Mr. Pierce said, surprising her with the simplicity of his words.

  "I'm sure he treats his friends well," she conceded. "It's his behavior toward women which concerns me. In particular his behavior toward Lady Valerie. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Pierce, I must go to her before he deliberately ruins her reputation."

  But he caught her arm before she could leave. His face was intent when he spoke. "What if his intentions were sincere? Would you object to him then?"

  Lucy paused. "If he were sincere, not only in his intentions but also in his affections for her, then no, I would not object. But that is all conjecture, for we both know he's not sincere. Nor does he feel a jot of true affection for her." She thought that would anger him, but his expression revealed nothing. "What if I or one of the others of our group paid suit to her—untitled bastards all. How would you react if one of us felt true affection for her?"

  His eyes fairly burned into hers, and again she hesitated. Was he declaring his own intentions toward Valerie? Somehow she didn't see the two of them together.

  She cleared her throat and picked her words carefully. "I could not in all fairness encourage the suit of a man — even a man I personally approved of — knowing that her family would turn him away. I am only her chaperone. It falls to her godmother and her parents to give their consent."

  "And they would never agree to an alliance with me or Alex or Giles."

  She gave him an apologetic look. "I rather doubt it."

  "But they wouldn't mind Thornton for a son-in-law
."

  "I suspect that they would be ecstatic," she answered honestly.

  "And yet you would discourage his intentions, even though they would approve." He shook his head. "Let me be sure I understand. You will go along with them when they disapprove a suitor, but you countermand them with a suitor they do approve of. It appears you attend to only one half of your responsibilities, Miss Drysdale."

  Lucy shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the truth of his words. She tried to explain. "I take my duties very seriously, Mr. Pierce. I am well aware that while two people may appear eminently suitable, they may, in truth, be terribly mismatched. I am also well aware of the limits to my sphere of influence. Though I am reasonably certain I can sway Valerie should she venture in an unwise direction, I am hardly optimistic about my abilities to do the same with her family." She frowned at him, frustrated by the situation she was in, and frustrated, as well, at having to explain herself to him. She squared her shoulders and met his amused gaze. "To put it plainly, I do my duty to Valerie first, then to her family. Now if you will excuse me, I must find my charge."

  Ivan sauntered into the ballroom at the same moment Lucy tore away from Elliot. She was in high dudgeon, he noted, if her color was any indication. She and Elliot hadn't been dancing, for the music yet continued and anyway they hadn't been on the dance floor. So why had they been together? And what had he said to her to put that hot stain on her cheeks?

  Ivan's fists tightened. Had he embarassed her with his attentions, or even insulted her? The fact that Elliot's eyes followed her troubled Ivan even further. Elliot Pierce was not the right man for a woman like Lucy Drysdale. Elliot Pierce was not the right man for any woman, if his past history was any indication.

  He tore his eyes away from his friend, and watched Lucy make a circuit of the room, obviously searching for Valerie. Perhaps he should go and put her mind at ease. Why he would want to do that he did not want to examine too closely. Not five minutes ago he'd stolen a very chaste kiss from his pretty cousin. If there had been even the least chance he was interested in her, that brief kiss had killed it. For he'd contrasted that kiss to the ones he'd shared with her spinster chaperone and Valerie had lost out sorely in the comparison.

  He caught up with Lucy near the punch table. "She is closeted in an upstairs bedroom," he whispered in her ear. "You'd better get there before she comes to any serious harm."

  She whirled about so fast he had to catch her by the shoulders lest she be completely overset. Her green eyes blazed, shooting sparks of absolute fury at him.

  "What have you done to her?" she hissed, pulling him away from the table, to a more private spot in the hall. Her grip on his wrist was strong and determined, and warm. Very warm. "If you have hurt her in any way—"

  "She is not hurt—though I would not put it past the old witch to threaten her with bodily harm."

  He grinned when his words began to sink in. Her expressive features lost their fury and turned wary instead.

  "Lady Westcott has her? But why?"

  He shrugged, but he was vitally aware her hand still circled his wrist. "She has a nasty habit of manipulating other people's lives. Unfortunately, it seems it's Valerie's turn."

  "Blast," she muttered. Then, as if just then realizing she still had a hold on him, she yanked her hand away.

  "Burns, doesn't it?"

  He had his answer when her cheeks turned bright pink. "Where are they?" she demanded to know.

  "Are you asking me to escort you upstairs, Miss Drysdale? Perhaps you don't understand the seriousness of such an action, for I would most certainly be pressured to marry you were we to be discovered slipping away from the party to go abovestairs together."

  If possible her cheeks burned even more scarlet. The fact that she wore her emotions so near the surface pleased him to no end. But despite those emotions she was like a determined dog with a bone she refused to let go. "Just tell me where she is."

  He grinned. "Take these stairs and try either of the two wings. I expect the old bag's voice will guide you to them."

  She turned and hurried up the steps, not bothering even to thank him. Ivan stood at the base of the stairs, watching her anxious departure, especially the way her hips swayed with each step.

  He wanted to follow her up those stairs and into one of those rooms, then lock the door and lose himself in her.

  "Bloody hell," he swore when he felt the unseemly rise of his manhood. It had been a good while since he'd reacted so strongly to any female—and never to one who disliked him so much.

  But it wasn't really dislike, he told himself. They'd just started off on the wrong foot. He'd gone a long way today toward correcting the poor first impression she'd had of him, if her reaction to their kiss was any gauge. Perhaps later tonight he would find out if he could go all the way and reverse her opinion of him entirely.

  Why he would want to do that gave him pause. He didn't need her to approve of him. He didn't care whether she liked him or not. The fact that she desired him should be enough, for of all the emotions women were said to possess, lust was the only one he trusted. Lust could not be long hidden, nor could a woman pretend to desire a man when she did not. She might moan and groan and wriggle about in a show of enthusiasm, as prostitutes were wont to do. But a discerning man could tell the difference. And he was a discerning man.

  Miss Lucy Drysdale had experienced lust for him tonight, and that was enough for him. Love, honor, honesty. Those emotions existed rarely in the human soul—and never in a female's. A mother's love was easily traded for gold coin. A grandmother's caring was no more than despicable self-interest.

  His face darkened in a frown as he watched Lucy disappear into the second-floor hall. No, he didn't care at all what the tart Miss Drysdale felt for him, save for lust. And he meant to explore the depths of that lust during the coming weeks. He meant to explore it in great detail.

  Lucy felt the weight of Ivan's stare as she hurried up the stairs. Impossible man! What was he up to now? Then, as he'd said she would, she heard their voices—or rather, Lady Westcott's voice. It was clear, when Lucy burst into a green and burgundy sitting room, that Valerie had not uttered even a word during her godmother's tirade.

  "... they are bastards, and worse than that, they are penniless!" the old woman ranted. Then she spied Lucy and her invective turned from cowering girl to errant chaperone. "What are you thinking, Miss Drysdale, to allow her to be surrounded by that swarm of unsuitable young men?"

  Lucy had been besieged all evening. First by Ivan. Then by his friends, one by one. Lady Westcott's unfair criticism snapped the fragile limits of her control.

  "Those unsuitable young men, as you describe them, are your grandson's friends. And while they are indeed bastards, they are not without prospects. One could very well be recognized as a prince someday. Another, though of the merchant class, was raised a gentleman and, I am told, has amassed a considerable fortune of his own." She'd learned those facts about Mr. Blackburn and Mr. Dameron through the grapevine. Of Mr. Pierce she knew nothing, save that he spared no expense on his clothing and horses. But there was Ivan too, and she decided it was time to end this game of cat and mouse her employer had been playing.

  "The fact is, Lady Westcott, if you wish to pair Valerie with Ivan, she will have to be pleasant to his friends."

  Lady Westcott straightened to her full height and glared at Lucy. "Perhaps you heard my instructions incorrectly, Miss Drysdale. I told you to prevent a match between Ivan and Valerie."

  Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, I am quite clear on what you said. I'm referring, however, to what you meant."

  Across the span of the overdone room their eyes held as they each took the other's measure. Lady Westcott, ever the shrewd manipulator, grasped the head of her cane and sniffed. "I would have an audience with you tomorrow, Miss Drysdale. Ten o'clock in my private quarters. Meanwhile I encourage you to decline vigorously any further offers to dance and keep a closer watch on Valerie." Then she
turned and stalked from the room, regal even though Lucy had just trounced her.

  Of course, this had been merely a skirmish. As anger fled and more rational emotions returned, Lucy realized that Lady Westcott could very well dismiss her in the morn ing—and probably would. Then who would have trounced whom?

  Feeling suddenly quite defeated, Lucy looked over at Valerie. Tears streamed down the girl is face, but instead of sympathy, Lucy felt only annoyance. If Valerie was to survive in society—both the duration of this season, and the rest of her life as some lord or another's wife—she had better stiffen her backbone.

  "Dry your tears," she instructed, though more charitably than she actually felt. "You will find weeping a poor defense in life. Strong will and a determined direction will serve you far better. Come," she added. "Sit down a moment and compose yourself."

  "But I don't understand," Valerie wailed. "I was having a rather nice time. I know they are not the sort of fellows my parents want for me, but this is my very first dance. I didn't know—" She broke off and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "And what of Lord Westcott? Does she wish to pair us? You know I cannot, not with him, Miss Drysdale. You must help me!"

  She began to cry again, this time in great hiccuping sobs that tore at Lucy's heartstrings and made her feel horribly guilty. Valerie was a middle child, she reminded herself. She'd been shaped into the timid creature she was by her demanding siblings and overwhelmed parents. It did no good to berate her for being the way she was. Better for Lucy to put her energy toward helping the girl develop her own strengths.

  But as she comforted Valerie, reassuring her and helping her to repair her ravaged face, Lucy was mindful of her own plight. Tomorrow's interview with Lady Westcott could very well signal the end of her sojourn in London. She had better think fast or she would be back in Somerset before the week was out.

  Then what would happen?