An Unwilling Conquest Part 33

"I.

feel rather warm. "

The lie brought a helpful blush to her cheeks. Harry's eyes narrowed as he studied hers. She was a hopeless liar; her eyes clouded over whenever she so much as prevaricated.

"Perhaps," Lucinda continued, trying for an airy tone, 'we could stroll the terrace for a while. " She pretended to peer through the windows.

"There are some others outside--perhaps we could investigate the walks?"

It was at times like this that she most felt the deficiencies of her upbringing. Being married at sixteen had ensured she had not the smallest clue how to flirt or even encourage a man. When her escort made no response, she warily peeked up at him.

Harry was waiting to capture her attention, his expression that of a deeply irate man aware of the need to remain civil.

"My dear Mrs Babbacombe, it would please me immensely if you could get it fixed in your pretty head that I am here, in London, braving all manner of dangers, for one--and only one- reason." Her eyes genuinely wide, Lucinda blinked at him.

"Oh?"

"Indeed." With restrained calm, Harry turned her up the room and started to stroll. His fingers, curled about her elbow, ensured she accompanied him.

"I am here to ensure that, despite my inclinations, your inclinations and certainly despite those of your besotted court, you end this Season as you began it." He turned his head to capture her gaze.

"As a virtuous widow." Lucinda blinked again, then stiffened.

"Indeed?"

Looking forward, she lifted her chin

"I wasn't aware, Mr Lester, that I had appointed you to the post of protector of my virtue."

"Ah--'but you did, you see."

She glanced at him, denial on her lips--and met his green gaze.

"When you took my hand and let me pull you out of your carriage on the Newmarket road."

The moment leapt to her mind, that instant when she had knelt on the side of the carriage, locked in his arms.

Lucinda quelled a s.h.i.+ver--and tilted her nose higher. "That's nonsense."

"On the contrary." The rake beside her appeared unperturbed.

"I.

recall reading somewhere that if a man rescues another, then he takes on the responsiblity for that rescued life. Presumably the same holds true if the one saved is a woman. "

Lucinda frowned.

"That's an eastern philosophy. You're English to your bones."

"Eastern?" Harry raised his brows.

"From one of those countries where they cover their women in shrouds and keep them behind locked doors, no doubt. I've always put such eminently sensible notions down to the fact that such civilisations have apparently existed so much longer than ours."

On the words, they reached her court. Lucinda fought the urge to grind her teeth. If she heard one more of his glib excuses for being by her side she would, she felt sure, embarra.s.s herself and Em and everyone else by screaming in fury. She plastered a bright smile on her lips--and let the admiration of her court and their subtle compliments soothe her abraded pride.

Harry stood it for five minutes, then silently relinquished his position by her side. He prowled the room but at no great distarter, exchanging a few words with a number of acquaintances before retreating to a convenient alcove from where he could keep his self- imposed burden in view.

His very presence in the room was enough to keep the dangerous blades from her skirts. Those about her were all gentlemen at heart--they wouldn't pounce without an invitation.

His interest, of course, was an added deterrent; he was prepared to wager that not one soul amongst all the ton understood what he was about.

With a somewhat grim grin, he settled his shoulders against the wall and watched as Lucinda gave Frederick Amberly her hand.

Taking the floor in yet another waltz, an apparent fixation of Lady Hemminghurst's, Lucinda fitted her steps to Mr Amberly's strides, distinctly shorter than Harry's, and let the music take hold.

Three revolutions later, she met her partner's somewhat concerned expression--and sternly reminded herself to smile. Not a spontaneous gesture.

She was distinctly irritated.

Rakes were supposed to seduce women--widows, particularly. Was she really so hopeless she couldn't break down Harry's resistance? Not that she wished to be seduced but, given his natural flair--and her status-she had to face the fact that, for them, that might well be to remain civil.

"My dear Mrs Babbacombe, it would please me immensely if you could get it fixed in your pretty head that I am here, in London, braving all manner of dangers, for one-- and only one-- reason." Her eyes genuinely wide, Lucinda blinked at him.

"Oh?"

"Indeed." With restrained calm, Harry turned her up the room and started to stroll. His fingers, curled about her elbow, ensured she accompanied him.

"I am here to ensure that, despite my inclinations, your inclinations and certainly despite those of your besotted court, you end this Season as you began it." He turned his head to capture her gaze.

"As a virtuous widow." Lucinda blinked again, then stiffened.

"Indeed?"

Looking forward, she lifted her chin

"I wasn't aware, Mr Lester, that I had appointed you to the post of protector of my virtue."

"Ah--'but you did, you see."

She glanced at him, denial on her lips--and met his green gaze.

"When you took my hand and let me pull you out of your carriage on the Newmarket road."

The moment leapt to her mind, that instant when she had knelt on the side of the carriage, locked in his arms.

Lucinda quelled a s.h.i.+ver--and tilted her nose higher. "That's nonsense."

"On the contrary." The rake beside her appeared unperturbed.