Beauty and the Baron. Deborah Hale

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      “Not those who must always play the blindman.” She had good reason to know.

      To her astonishment, his lordship laughed.

      Once, Angela had run her hand over a sable collar her cousin Clemmie had received as a Christmas gift. She’d never forgotten the lush texture of it. His lordship’s laughter reminded her of that fur—rich and deep, with a provocative whisper of darkness lurking beneath.

      “Touché, Miss Lacewood! I begin to see why Grandfather cherishes your acquaintance so.”

      Cherish. Surely she’d heard that word before. Angela knew what it meant…in an abstract fashion. Hearing it spoken by Lucius Daventry, caressed by his tongue and lips, was to hear it for the first time as Nature had intended it to be uttered.

      A chill, part dread, part reluctant anticipation, quivered through her, for suddenly she glimpsed the reason behind Lord Lucifer’s visit. Like his namesake had to other mortals throughout the ages, he had come to make her a bargain.

      And to steal her soul.

      He was making a botch of it.

      The knowledge put Lucius Daventry in a vile temper, though he flattered himself that he hid the fact from Miss Lacewood, the way he hid most of his emotions. Few things vexed him worse than performing poorly at any task he set himself. This one more than most, for so much depended upon his success.

      The young lady wanted to know why he’d come. The longer he delayed telling her, the less likely she would be to oblige his request. And he must win her cooperation.

      If only he could secure his own!

      Lucius Daventry was not accustomed to being of two minds about anything. He’d always prided himself on setting high goals, then committing all his energies to achieving them…until today.

      Miss Lacewood was the problem. He had come to Netherstowe expecting to find the poor little pudding of a child he remembered, grown into stout, dowdy womanhood. Such a creature would surely have been eager to accept his offer without placing his heart in jeopardy.

      Instead he’d found the dumpy little caterpillar transformed into an exquisite Regency butterfly. When she’d fallen into his arms, Miss Lacewood had reminded him of how long it had been since he’d held anything so soft and fragrant. Her tantalizing beauty and her charitable nature posed a grave threat to his lordship’s hard-won peace. Though it shamed Lucius to admit it, even to himself, the lady frightened him worse than a unit of French cavalry at full charge.

      For the sake of his grandfather, Lucius was prepared to brave his worst fears. Though perhaps he might not have to…

      “No doubt there are gentlemen much younger than my grandfather who also value your acquaintance, Miss Lacewood. I hope you will pardon my curiosity for inquiring if there is any one in particular paying you his addresses?”

      For a moment she made no reply. Lucius wondered if he had trespassed too far on her privacy.

      When it came, her answer held none of the indignation he’d armed himself to repel. Instead, Miss Lacewood spoke in a tone of gentle reproach that slid beneath his defences.

      “Must you mock me, sir?”

      “Indeed, I do not!” Lucius sprang from his chair, retreating to the deepest shadows of the drawing room, where he paced in the restless manner of a wild beast caged. “Why would you suppose I mock you?”

      “Why would you suppose I might have an admirer?”

      Pulling off her bonnet, Miss Lacewood set it on the footstool that had launched her into his arms. Then, she rose from her chair and withdrew to the opposite side of the room, where a few stray sunbeams had pierced small gaps in the closed curtains. One lit on the crown of her head, like the magic wand of a fairy godmother, gilding her tawny tumble of curls.

      The answer to her question was so manifestly obvious Lucius could only stand dumb and gaze.

      If he’d had to choose a single word to sum up her appearance, it would have been generous. Eyes large and luminous, the warm brown of a yearling fawn dappled with golden sunshine. Lips so lush they fairly demanded to be kissed. Features with a rounded softness that put him in mind of peaches ripe for the plucking.

      Her beauty cast a spell over him, lulling to sleep the stern guard he had set to govern his tongue.

      A bemused whisper of his true thoughts escaped. “I only wonder that you do not have a hundred.”

      Her eyes fixed on him then and something stirred in their russet depths, a power that made him fear for his cherished self-control. “I would say you flatter me, sir, but I do not think you are much given to flattery. Unless there is something you want from me?”

      Her wariness called to his own, whispering vain promises of sympathy. Promises Lucius knew he dared not trust.

      “I do want something from you, Miss Lacewood.”

      He had roused the slumbering censor. No further word, inflection, gesture or look of his must convey to this woman any more or less than he wished to convey. The thoughts that sang like cold steel in his mind and the emotions that seethed in his heart must be his alone to know.

      “I want something, and I am willing to compensate you handsomely for it.”

      “Indeed?” She tensed. “I suspected as much. What is it you desire?”

      Her alarm was so palpable his lordship’s nostrils flared as though greedy to catch the subtle redolence of it. Try as she might to hide behind a mask of bravado, she feared him.

      What woman wouldn’t?

      Better fear than pity. Since Waterloo, that had become Lucius Daventry’s creed.

      “Let us first speak of what I will give you in exchange.”

      “As you wish.” Miss Lacewood took a step nearer the window. Perhaps she planned to blind him by ripping the curtains open if he menaced her. “I must warn you, though. My situation may be modest, but so are my needs. I doubt you have anything with which to tempt me.”

      I wish I could say the same of you. The words prickled on his tongue like lemon juice, demanding he spit them out. By an act of will, Lucius managed to swallow them, only to find they had a seductively sweet flavor.

      “Judge for yourself, my dear.” The latter word had a toothsome taste as well. If he did not exercise some restraint soon, he might become a glutton for such dainties. “I believe your brother wishes to take up a commission in the cavalry.”

      A tremor ran through Angela Lacewood such as his lordship had seen soldiers give when they tasted cold steel in the belly. She managed to answer with a steady voice, however, which Lucius could not help but admire.

      “Your information is correct, sir. Ever since he was a young lad, Miles has longed to return to India, as an officer in our father’s old regiment.”

      “Commissions are costly.” Lucius leaned against the back of the chair on which he’d been seated earlier. “As is the proper kit to outfit an officer bound for India.”

      “So СКАЧАТЬ