dismounting with a lazy sort of grace to stand, wide-shouldered and imposing, at the head of his big roan mare.
She froze. She tried to speak, but the words would not come out.
The tall newcomer turned to his companion, who was also dismounting, and said languidly, ‘Hold the horses, Alec, will you?’ The fading beams of the setting sun drifted over his aristocratic face and figure, highlighting the slightly overlong thick black hair; the cold dark eyes with those deceptively hooded lids, the sharply defined, almost over-handsome features.
Oh, no. Please God, no.
What must he think? And why should she care any more?
She cared because this was Viscount Conistone, grandson and heir to her family’s enemy, the Earl of Stancliffe. This was Lucas. The man to whom she had, almost two years ago, given her heart, only to have it smashed into a thousand pieces.
Chapter Two
Lucas Conistone’s first impulse had been to knock the foolish fellow he’d seen mauling Verena Sheldon to hell and back; his next, to crush her full and passionate lips beneath his own. Dear God, Alec was right. He was an utter fool to have come here. That gown. The glimpse he’d got, of those sweet, full breasts…. And his memory had not played him false; her heart-shaped face was still as exquisite as ever. Yes, her chestnut-coloured hair had slipped from its pins in some disarray; but only to fall in utterly tantalising curls round her neck and throat. Her smooth, creamy skin was still flawless, and her almond-shaped eyes were just as he remembered, amber in some lights, gold in others.
The army fellow was about to say something, but Verena Sheldon spoke first. ‘My lord!’ She tilted her chin in unspoken defiance. ‘Some warning of your arrival would not have gone amiss. You were not—expected!’
Not invited. Not wanted, anywhere near Wycherley, she might as well have declared. Her arms were still folded tightly across her breasts as her eyes burned darkly up at him. She had lost weight. There were shadows beneath those beautiful eyes, as if she had been grieving…. What the deuce had been going on here just now?
‘Alec and I were just passing,’ Lucas said expressionlessly, ‘on our way to Stancliffe Manor’. He was pulling off his riding gloves and thrusting them into his deep pockets. ‘As my grandfather’s still in Bath, I promised him I’d visit the house to see that all was well. But then we saw the carriages. And decided to—investigate’.
‘Oh, you mean the sale!’ Her amber-gold eyes were wide and innocent. She even endeavoured to smile. ‘Yes, it really is so entertaining! We thought we’d have a clear out—one gets bored, Lord Conistone, with the same old pieces of furniture—’
Gammon. Lucas cut in, ‘I heard from your attorney that you’re selling Wycherley, Verena’.
He saw the colour draining from her face. She whispered, ‘You have no right to discuss our family’s affairs with anyone! No right at all, do you hear?’
A warning glance from his very good friend Captain Stewart, resplendent in the blue of the Light Dragoons, flashed Lucas’s way. I told you, Lucas, that this was a bad idea….
The young army fellow nearby stepped forward like an angry turkeycock. ‘You heard what Verena—Miss Sheldon—said, Lord Conistone! I think you would be doing her an enormous favour if you and your friend left immediately!’
Lucas let his gaze rake his bright uniform. Then he blinked. ‘I’m sorry? Have I had the pleasure?’
‘I am Captain Bryant, of the 11th Regiment of Foot!’
‘My congratulations,’ drawled Lucas. ‘No doubt your duties call. Off you run, now, Captain, there’s a good fellow’.
Some spluttering ensued, and a further reddening of those already pink cheeks. ‘Don’t you give orders to me, you—you—’
‘Let’s call it a polite suggestion, shall we?’ said Lucas softly. ‘After all, we’re not on the army parade ground now, are we?’
‘So you actually remember the parade ground, do you?’ retorted Martin Bryant bitterly. ‘My God, you got out of the army just about as quickly as you could, didn’t you, Conistone? Before the bullets flew too close?’
‘Martin!’ cried Verena.
Alec Stewart, at Lucas’s side, had taken a step forwards, muttering, ‘Too far, that, Lucas. Pray, let me sort the blackguard!’
But Lucas stopped him with a calm, restraining hand, and said directly to Martin, ‘Perhaps I left the army because I became weary of idiots like you’.
Martin lunged. Verena let out a low cry. Alec Stewart was swearing. But Lucas had already moved swiftly to one side, and his right fist flew. Martin staggered, then pulled himself up dazedly, wiping at the blood on his lip. ‘Damn you, Conistone!’
Lucas towered over him, powerful shoulders still braced, his eyes hard as iron. He said curtly, ‘That was just a warning, Bryant. Stop being a damned idiot. You’d best go and clean yourself up, before someone—and I assure you it won’t be me—receives a more serious injury’.
Still Martin hesitated. ‘Captain Bryant,’ Verena pleaded. ‘Do as he says. Please’.
‘I’m not leaving you alone with—’
‘Lord Conistone and his friend are going,’ interrupted Verena quietly, wretchedly. ‘Now’.
Alec said tersely to Lucas, ‘I’ll get someone to see to our horses. Then—I think you’ll now agree—we’d best be on our way’.
Martin Bryant had already hurried off, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding lip after shooting a look of hatred at Lucas. Alec turned to Verena, saying, ‘Do you still have your man Turley, Miss Sheldon? The horses need water and I must adjust my mare’s curb chain. Then we can ride on’.
She was fighting back the bitter mortification. What could she do? What could she say, that would not make things a thousand times worse than they were already?
Nothing, except speed their exit.
‘I will find Turley for you, Captain Stewart!’ she said. ‘We wouldn’t want you—detained for any longer than necessary!’
Alec hesitated. ‘Very well. I’ll take the horses to the stables, if I may?’
She nodded and turned for the house.
But she was too late. As Alec disappeared, a strong hand stretched out, almost casually, to grip her. ‘Wait,’ Lucas commanded.
This was—intolerable. Her whole body trembled with rage. With shock. With the longing—the treacherous longing—to be in his arms again, to feel his body pressed against hers, his warm lips caressing her skin.
Harlot. Fortune-hunting harlot, that letter had said. She spoke in a tight voice, staring into the distance. ‘Will you please let go of me, my lord?’
‘Oh, Verena,’ Lucas said tiredly. He had turned her to face him. She would not, she would not meet his eyes! But his long coat had fallen open, so she could see all too clearly how his cream shirt moulded itself to his powerful shoulders and chest, against which he had once cradled her so close that she could hear his heart beating….
‘Turley,’ she said blindly, ‘I must fetch Turley’.
‘Alec will sort all that’. Lucas Conistone’s voice was harder now. ‘Deuce take it, Verena, if you’re in difficulties of some kind, why didn’t you ask me for assistance? Why didn’t you write?’
‘Oh, pray forgive me, my lord!’ Her eyes flashed up to his now. ‘But, absurd as it seems, I did not once think, “Dear me, we