An Unwilling Conquest (Regencies 7)

“I’ll escort you back to town tomorrow afternoon.”

Lucinda blinked. “Tomorrow afternoon?”

Harry raised his brows. “As I recall, we’re all promised to Lady Mickleham on the following evening. Em, I suspect, will need the rest.”

“Yes, indeed.” Lucinda had forgotten Lady Mickleham’s ball entirely. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued, “I sometimes wonder if Em is overtiring herself in our cause. Heather and I would never forgive ourselves if she ran herself aground because of us.”

Harry’s lips twisted in a reluctant grin. “Fear not. She’s a seasoned campaigner; she knows how to pace herself. Moreover, I can assure you the prospect of playing hostess to you both for the rest of the Season is currently providing her with expectations of untold enjoyment.” That, he knew, was the unvarnished truth.

Lucinda shot him a glance from beneath her lashes, then looked ahead. “I’m relieved you think so, for I must confess I’m looking forward to rejoining the throng. It seems an age since I was swirling around a ballroom, held in a gentleman’s arms.”

The look Harry sent her was distinctly dry. “Indeed—I’m quite looking forward to your return to the ballrooms myself.”

“Oh?” Lucinda bestowed on him a smiling glance. “I hadn’t thought you so enamoured of the balls.”

“I’m not.”

Wide-eyed, Lucinda looked up at him. “What, then, lures you there?”

A siren. Harry looked down into her soft blue eyes—and raised his brows. “I dare say you’ll understand once we’re part of the crush again.”

Lucinda’s answering smile was weak. She looked forward—and concentrated on not gnashing her teeth. It was all of a piece—she wondered if he was actually trying to drive her to some rash act. Like visiting his room late tonight.

It was a measure of her frustration that she actually considered the idea before, regretfully, setting it aside. The initiative was no longer hers; he had claimed it when he’d brought her here. She wasn’t at all sure how to wrest it from him—and even less certain that he would let it go.

“Here we are.”

Harry gestured ahead to where the path apparently disappeared into a hedge of greenery. They approached; he put out a hand and held aside a curtain of vines and creepers—blooming honeysuckle among them—to reveal white marble steps leading upward into a cool, dimly lit cave.

Enchanted, Lucinda ducked under his arm and went ahead, climbing the steps to emerge onto the tassellated floor of a mock-temple, formed by four marble pillars separating a rockface on one quadrant, with the lake on the other three. The pillars supported a domed ceiling, covered in blue and green tiles, highly glazed, reflecting the sunshine glancing in off the lake in myriad hues from turquoise to deep green. Leafy vines and the apricot blooms of honeysuckle wreathed the arches looking onto the lake, the gentle breeze stirring their shadows.

The temple was built out over the water, the central arch giving onto steps which led down to a small stone jetty. Wide-eyed, Lucinda halted in the very centre of the temple—and discovered one of its secrets. Each of the three open arches gave onto a different vista. The one to her right led the eye over a short stretch of lake then straight down a glade thick with ferns and shrubs. To her left lay a view over a long arm of the lake to a distant shore lined with willows and beech. Straight ahead lay the most charming vista of all—Lester Hall itself lay perfectly framed within the arch, glinting water in the foreground, manicured lawns leading up to the imposing façade, flanked by the shrubbery and wilderness to the left, the rose garden, just coming into bloom, and the formal gardens on the right.

“It’s beautiful.” Lucinda went to stand by one of the pillars to better appreciate the view.

Harry hung back in the shadows, content to watch the play of sunlight across her face. When she leaned back against the pillar and sighed contentedly, he strolled forward to stand beside her. After a moment, he asked, “Have you enjoyed your Season? Do you look to become a devotee—enamoured of the ton in all its glory, the crushes, the never-ending carousel of balls, parties and yet more balls?”

Lucinda half turned to look into his face. She searched his eyes, but neither they nor his expression gave any hint of his feelings. She considered, then answered, “By and large, I find the ton and its entertainments amusing.” Her lips curved in a self-deprecating smile, her eyes reluctantly twinkling. “But you will have to remember that this is my first exposure to ‘the carousel’—I’m still enjoying the novelty.” Her expression growing serious, she put her head on one side the better to study him. “But the ton is your milieu—have you not enjoyed the balls this Season?”

Harry’s gaze touched hers, then he looked down. He took one of her hands in his. Small, slender, her hand nestled in his much larger palm, confidently trusting. Harry closed his fingers about hers, his lips twisting. “There have been…compensations.”

His lids rose; he met Lucinda’s gaze.

Slowly, she raised her brows. “Indeed?” When he offered nothing more but simply looked away across the lake, she followed his gaze to Lester Hall, basking in the afternoon sun. As at Hallows Hall, Lucinda felt the tug of old memories. She sighed. “However, to answer your question, despite my fascination, I seriously doubt I could stomach a never-ending round of tonnish life. I fear I would need a steady diet of country peace to enable me to brave the Season on a regular basis.” She slanted a glance at Harry and found him watching her. Her lips quirked. “My parents lived very retired in a rambling old house in Hampshire. When they died, I removed to the Yorkshire moors, which, of course, is as retired as it’s possible to be.”

Harry’s features relaxed, subtly but definitely. “So you’re a country miss at heart?” He lifted one brow. Slowly, his eyes on hers, he raised her hand. “Naïve?” He brushed his lips across her fingertips, then turned her hand in his. “Innocent?” His lids fell as he pressed a kiss to her palm.

Lucinda shuddered; she made no effort to hide it. She couldn’t breathe, could barely think as Harry’s lids rose and his eyes, green and direct, met hers.

His lips twisted; he hesitated, then shifted closer and bent his head to hers.

“And mine?”

He breathed the question against her lips, then captured them in a long, commanding kiss.

Lucinda answered in the only way she could—she turned to him, sliding her arms up and wrapping them about his neck, then kissed him back with a fervour to match his own.

Instinct prompted Harry to edge back, drawing her around the pillar to where the shadows shielded them from inadvertent eyes.