Page 33 of Everything a Lady is Not
He braced for what would surely be a hot outburst from Lucy. Instead, she gazed at him with astonishment. Then her eyes softened, and a warm smile curled her lips.
“Why, Mr. Beaumont,” she said sweetly. “I thought hysteria was more the realm of weak women than of strong men? Clearly, I was mistaken.”
He stormed from the room without another word. Before long, he was on the street and walking swiftly, mumbling with annoyance as would a madman. Words rumbled through his mind of how he might explain to the duchess that he was rejecting her money and abandoning the job. After a time though, his flush of anger began to fade. A single word found his lips.
“Hysteria.”
He chuckled softly as he recalled what Lucy had said to send him racing from her presence. Truthfully, her clever retort had been amusing. He considered how this entire situation must appear to her. One day, she was living a secluded life as the prisoner of a criminal, and the next day she was an heiress in a world she did not remotely understand. Despite the challenge, she possessed a keen ability to cut through the clutter of regulations to the absurdity beneath. Reluctantly, he admitted admiration for that quality.
When Henry finally returned to his quarters, he had already recommitted to his task. Abandoning his mission would only chip away at his already sullied character. He could not live with such a feeble outcome. Despite Lucy’s resistance, the likely failure of the charade, and his ongoing participation in covering up a crime, he decided to pursue the next ten days with every fiber of his resolve. He was stubborn that way. Besides, a loyal Friday would never abandon his Robinson Crusoe in a time of need, even if that Crusoe was an enticing honeypot that had become the source of his moral unraveling.
Chapter Ten
When Henry met Lucy the following morning in the breakfast room, her disposition seemed different from a day earlier. Absent was her former glibness, replaced by a wary resolve. Although their previous interactions had been combative, flow of conversation had never proved strained—until this meeting. After failing to break through her wall of curt replies, he opted for bluntness.
“Surely, you are not angry with me for yesterday. After all, it was you who disparaged my sister. I merely defended her honor.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “You knew.”
“Knew? Knew what?”
She folded her arms and glared. “In fewer than ten days, I will be sent before a social firing squad. You knew of this and yet failed to warn me.”
Her accusation took him aback. “How did you…”
“Her Grace told me. Why didyounot tell me? After these past days, I thought perhaps…”
The statement died on her lips, leaving him immensely curious. “Please say what you mean.”
The clench of her jaw softened and her chin trembled. “I thought perhaps you were actually devoted to my best interest. That perhaps you might even care what happens to me, if only a little.”
Vulnerability gathered around her, clinging closer than it had since that first day on the road. In the throes of doubt, she had never appeared more alluring. He nearly rose from his chair to hold her to his chest, to comfort her, to inhale the lavender scent of her hair. Propriety and fear pinned him where he sat.
“I care greatly about your best interest. Iamconcerned for you.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “Just how much has the duchess offered to pay you for your concern? Fifty pounds? A hundred?”
He remained silent, not wishing to admit the terms of the deal. What seemed so rewarding before now felt callous. She harrumphed, and the vulnerability faded abruptly.
“More than one hundred? For a fortnight’s work? No wonder you suffer my slings and arrows so willingly.” She paused briefly to smile. “I thank you for your frankness, sir. At least now I better understand your motivation.”
He wished to deny her implication but could not. The promise of reward was the sole reason he had agreed to the task initially. How could he explain to her that his interest in success now included more than just payment? How could he admit to Lucy that her beauty and fire had drawn him much deeper into her story than he’d ever planned? His courage faltered and he heaved a sigh. “I am sorry. I did not mean to cause hurt.”
Lucy laughed and waved a hand at him. “I am not hurt. And now, neither am I deluded. Please, let us continue the lessons so you might earn your lavish sum and I might diminish my certain humiliation.”
He remained silent, not knowing how to begin after such a crushing exchange. She appeared to sense his conflict and visibly gathered herself. “What shall we learn today, professor?”
He swept his eyes over her familiar yellow dress, noting for the hundredth time how well it looked on her. “Let us speak of your dress.”
She picked at her garment. “You mean this old thing? The very one you purchased for me to impress the duchess?”
“Yes. The very one. Although it served that purpose, the dress is not at all suitable for your first social outing. Your wardrobe in such company is of utmost importance. Improper dress may be construed as an unforgivable sin.”
“Unforgivable? Forever and ever?”
“Forever as far as thehaute tonis concerned.”
Her face grew sad. “I see. I do not wish to remain unforgiven for all eternity.” She paused. “By the duchess, that is. The rest of thetoncan rot.”
