A Lady in Name (32 page)

‘What do you wish to discuss?’

Stefan’s eyes became serious, and apprehension leapt in Lucy’s chest. ‘The date of our wedding.’

Her heart jolted.
‘Oh.’

He raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh? Is that all you have to say?’

Suddenly shy, she looked away from him, acutely aware of her hand resting in his.
‘You took me by surprise.’

Stefan got up and came around the table, drawing her to her feet.
He took both her hands in his and brought her close so Lucy was looking directly into his eyes.

‘I am about to surprise you further.’

She could not speak. The consciousness of his proximity had awakened the little snakes rippling along her veins.

Stefan’s voice softened to a caressing murmur.
‘Lucy, I don’t want to wait to wed you. Oh, I know there are banns to be read or licences to be acquired. But unless you have an unshakeable fancy for all the trimmings of a society wedding, I would have you to wife in the shortest possible time: now, before we go home.’

Lucy wanted to ask him why such haste, but she read the answer in the depths of his eyes.
She blinked away sudden wetness from her own.

‘I had no expectation of being married at all, and I don’t care for any of that fancy stuff.’

Stefan drew her gently into his arms and pressed her head into his shoulder. His voice rumbled in her ears. ‘I am relieved you have no further objection to the idea of being married.’

Lucy drew away so she could look up at him.
‘Why should I? Now I have seen what my mother wanted me to see.’

Stefan’s quick frown made her realise what she had said.
‘What in the world are you talking of, Lucy?’

Haltingly, she told him of the strange sensations she had experienced in the vestry of St Bride’s church.
‘I am convinced it was Alice.’

Stefan looked sceptical, but indulgent.
‘Do you suppose her shade has been haunting the place for twenty-three years?’

‘Not that, no.’ Lucy pulled out of his arms.
‘I wish you will not laugh at me.’

‘I can’t help it, my love, if you will say such ridiculous things.’

‘How do you know it is ridiculous?’

‘Don’t rip up at me, I beg of you.’

At this inopportune moment, the door opened to admit the landlady bearing an overloaded tray, with her husband bringing up the rear similarly burdened. Lucy retired to her side of the table and took up her glass, feeling alienated and resentful.

After a flurry of activity, the landlady and her spouse retired, leaving the table groaning with covered dishes, which Stefan was investigating.

He cast her a tentative look. ‘I said a light meal. Our hosts have brought enough to feed a couple of pythons.’

A faint ripple of mirth crept in to lighten Lucy’s mood, and she tried to respond in kind.
‘Well, I am very hungry.’

Stefan lifted two of the covers with a flourish.
‘What is your pleasure, Lady Lucinda?’

Lucy started.
‘What did you call me?’

A wry look creased Stefan’s mouth.
‘You are the daughter of an earl.’

She looked at him, abruptly swept with the shock of realisation.
In all the ups and downs of sensation she had experienced, the essential fact had escaped her.

‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

‘You are. But I confess I am a little sorry to exchange Lucy Graydene for Lady Lucinda Ankerville.’

Lucy watched him serve out from the dishes on offer.
‘I am still myself, Stefan. I have not changed.’

‘Except in your willingness to become my wife.’

Lucy took up her fork. ‘I was unwilling to become anyone’s wife.’

‘With the exception of the very Reverend Mr Waley.’

The acid note stung Lucy. She dug the utensil into a portion of chicken with a savage motion. ‘I did not then know he was a deceitful wretch. And in any event, I was not willing to marry him.’

Stefan finished serving himself and sat down.
‘You said you would if he knew the truth about your past.’

‘Which he evidently did,’ Lucy snapped.
‘The real truth. Only he did not see fit to tell me of it.’

Stefan groaned and reached for his glass.
‘We are back to that, are we?’

Lucy fairly glared at him.
‘Of course we are back to that. Can you not see how it rankles with me?’

‘I’m not permitted to see anything else!’

Lucy regarded him, the baleful feeling giving way to puzzlement. ‘I cannot conceive why you should object to my talking of it. Every time I mention Mr Waley, you try to turn the subject.’

Stefan did not answer immediately, addressing himself to his meal by way of excuse.
He was obliged to concede the truth of Lucy’s accusation. Why he could not abide mention of the fellow’s name was unfathomable. Except for his having taken a dislike to the curate from the first moment of meeting him. Indeed, from the moment of hearing his name in connection with Lucy.

He looked up to find her watching him, in her eyes a faint echo of the tragic air that had first caught at his senses.
Stefan straight away forgot about the curate.

‘Don’t look at me so, Lucy.
’

She blinked, starting back a little.
‘I don’t know how I look.’

‘As if a world of tragedy lay in your bosom.’
He felt cut, wounded to the heart, and did not know why. ‘Are you not happy? Can you not put all the horrors of the past behind you?’

A spasm crossed her features, and Stefan saw remorse catch in her eye.
He threw out a hand.

‘Ah, don’t.
I didn’t mean to reproach you. Perhaps it is asking too much that you should share what I feel.’ She shook her head, and Stefan cursed himself to see the glistening at her eyes. His elation at winning her was overwhelming. He must remember Lucy had a whirlwind of change to take in. His impatience was out of place. ‘Forget what I said, Lucy, I beg of you. You must forgive me if I find it hard to partake of your sentiments. Life has been cruel to you, and I keep forgetting that.’

She made a gesture which might have been denial, but she did not speak.
He was disappointed, realising he had secretly hoped for a refutation, that she would tell him she was wildly happy and nothing was of importance save her affection for him.

He foresaw there was only one way to reconcile the matter. Striving
for the coolness of manner which had served him well these many years, he forced a smile.

‘
I can see that nothing will do for you but to confront Mr Waley in person. We will head for Upledon in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Stefan.’

The relief in her eyes should have rewarded him, but he felt only the more distanced. He gestured to her plate.

‘
Eat now, and we will talk only of indifferent things tonight.’

In fact they talked little and Stefan felt constraint mounting between them.
He saw a gulf opening up and knew not how to seek to cross it. The discomfort of this was surpassed only by a gnawing fear that he had deceived himself. Only once had Lucy admitted that she returned his regard. He had yet to see in her conduct towards him any evidence that this was true.

* * *

There was no point in turning again, Lucy knew. The covers were hopelessly disrupted and the only way she might derive any comfort was by remaking the bed altogether. But the knowledge did not prevent her from tossing yet again, as if she might be better settled from the other side.

Had she been able to weep, she thought sleep might have come, for it would have afforded a measure of relief.
But her eyes were obstinately dry, although her heart was full of sorrow.

She had wounded Stefan deeply.
Lucy had seen it in his eyes. She loved him. Yet she could not generate within herself the happiness he wanted her to feel. Why was she not happy? She had been granted more reason, far more, than she’d ever hoped to have. All the causes that grieved her had been eliminated at a stroke. Yes, she grieved for Papa, and so she would for some little time. But that feeling had not stopped her from experiencing pleasure in the moment, in the little triumphs of the day, such as they were. Then why could she not discard this well of despair that now threatened her happiness in Stefan’s deep affections?

Guilt racked her and she turned yet again in the bed.
The image of his features haunted her, all the light dissipating from within his eyes. Like a kaleidoscope, the many facets of his moods threw images across her mind. Remembrances: of wry humour and sudden bursts of mirth; of the steely glint of ice with the autocratic voice; of softenings to affection; and of that hateful time when he had all but annihilated her when she spoke of her preference for death.

It was u
nendurable. At the back of her mind floated the realisation Stefan had loved her even then, but Lucy was already throwing off the unravelled covers. Getting up out of the bed, she groped for the black shawl she kept by for the cold of night and flung it about her shoulders.

The night was dim, but her eyes were well accustomed from staring into the darkness for hours.
Lucy padded barefoot across to the door and carefully opened it. The inn was quiet, but for the inevitable creaks and breathings of darkness.

Stefan’s room was across the narrow passageway.
Lucy crept to his door and stealthily turned the handle. Her pulse began a rhythmic tattoo, beating in her throat. In the recesses of her mind dwelled a horrid fear that he would not welcome her. Be angry even.

She took a painful breath and pushed the door gently inwards
a little way, enough to slip soundlessly through.

The curtains round the bed were not drawn and the drapes at the window were open, letting in a stray beam of moonlight that just caught Stefan’s hand where it lay upon the coverlet.

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. Holding to the door as if her life depended on it, she began carefully to close it. At the last instant, her fingers slipped. The door escaped from her grasp and shut to with a click that sounded like a pistol shot in the dead quiet of the night.

Lucy froze, staring at the bed, her heart jumping.
A shadow shifted and she saw the outline of Stefan’s head rising, his face a pale gleam of whiteness in the gloom.

‘Lucy?’

It came to her she was standing just behind the hazy square made by the moonlight on the floor and must be near visible to him. Without thinking, she stepped into the light, feeling it hit her, although her eyes were fixed upon the shadow in the bed. Her tongue did not wait for her command.

‘I could not sleep.’

In the pause, Lucy became aware of the thudding of her heart within her breast. Somewhere on the edges of her consciousness she knew she was about to cross an invisible line towards the irrevocable.

Without a word, Stefan took hold of the covers and opened them to expose an empty space beside him.

Lucy’s hesitation lasted but seconds. Then she scurried to the bed and scrambled in. The covers closed over her and next moment she had been dragged close into Stefan’s warm embrace.

For several moments, Stefan kept her wrapped against his length, holding her captive while a riot of surmises rolled around his mind.
Had he distressed her with his fumbling complaints? He was an oaf and a fool. Why could he not have kept his mouth shut? His own sleep had been fitful, interrupted with remembrance and futile self-blame in between snatches where he dozed. When all he wanted was Lucy’s happiness, he had only added to her burdens.

It was inexpressibly heart-warming
that she had come to him. But as the scent and feel of her invaded his senses, he began to realise his danger. The last thing he must do was to break her trust by seducing her.

He felt Lucy nestle, making herself more comfortable.
Stefan could feel her soft breath against his neck as she moved her head to rest upon his arm.

‘I love you, Stefan, so very much.’

The murmur reached him through a haze, but his heart contracted nevertheless and his arm about her briefly tightened.

‘That is good to hear,’ he whispered.

A sleepy chuckle answered him. ‘Then I shall make a habit of saying it.’

‘Even better,’ he said, and turned his head to rest his lips against her hair.

Lucy’s arm stole about his chest and her mouth grazed the exposed skin at his neck. Stefan drew in a silent breath and held it, willing the ache in his loins to subside.

‘I love you, love you, love you…’

The words faded on a sigh and Lucy’s body softly sagged so Stefan felt more of her weight. He waited a moment.

‘Lucy?’

Her even breathing answered him. She was asleep. Stefan threw his free hand under his head and stared into the darkness, resigning himself to hours of wakeful discomfort.