An Unwilling Conquest Part 46

He watched it slowly fade.

She blinked, then slowly settled back in her chair, her face composed yet inexpressibly sadder than before.

Harry's heart twisted painfully. This time, he didn't try to shut it away, to blot out the emotion. But as he turned and moved silently to the door along the wall, he acknowledged the joy that came in its wake.

He hadn't been wrong about Lucinda Babbacombe. The d.a.m.ned woman was so ridiculously sure of herself she hadn't even considered the danger in loving him. Stepping out of the darkness of the pit, he smiled.

Two floors above, in the crowded gallery, Earle Joliffe was very far from smiling. In fact, he was scowling--at Lucinda, and the party in Amberly's box. "Deuce take it! What the devil's going on?" he hissed.

Beside him, Mortimer Babbacombe returned an uncomprehending look.

Disgusted, Joliffe gestured at the box opposite. "What's she doing to them?

She's turned a whole gaggle of the worst wolves in London into p.u.s.s.ycats!"

Mortimer blinked.

"p.u.s.s.ycats?"

Joliffe all but snarled.

"Lap-dogs, thenl She is a d.a.m.ned witch--just like Scrugthorpe said."

"Quiet there!"

"Ss.h.!.+" came from all around them.

For a moment, Joliffe contemplated a mill with positive glee. Then sanity intruded; he forced himself to stay in his seat. But his eyes remained fixed on his sacrificial lamb--who had transmogrified into a wolf tamer

After a moment, Mortimer leaned closer.

"Perhaps they're softening her up--pulling the wool over her eyes. We can afford to give them a little time--it's not as if we're that desperate for the money."

Joliffe stared at him--then sank his chin in his hands. "Rakes don't behave as they are to your aunt-by marriage when they're hot on a woman's trail," he explained through clenched teeth. His jaundiced gaze rested on Amberly and Satterly.

"They're being nice, for heaven's sake! Can't you see it?"

Frowning, Mortimer looked across the theatre, studying the silent tableau.

Joliffe swallowed a curse. As for not being desperate-they were--very desperate. An unexpected meeting with his creditor last night had demonstrated to him just how desperate they truly were. Joliffe quelled a s.h.i.+ver at the memory of the odd, disembodied voice that had floated out of the carriage, stopping him in his tracks on the mist-shrouded pavement.

"Soon, Joliffe. Very soon." A pause had ensued. Then, "I'm not a patient man."

Joliffe had heard tales enough of the man's lack of patience--and what usually-transpired because of it.

He was desperate all right. But Mortimer had too weak a head to be entrusted with the news.

Joliffe concentrated on the woman seated across the darkened pit.

"We'll have to do something--take an active hand." He spoke more for himself than Mortimer. But Mortimer heard.

"What?" He turned to Joliffe, a shocked, somewhat stupid expression on his face.

"But... I thought we'd agreed there was no need to be openly involved to actually do anything ourselves!"

His voice had risen.

"Shh!" came from all sides.

Exasperated, Joliffe grabbed Mortimer's coat and hauled him to his feet.

"Let's get out of here." He sent a venomous glance across the theatre.

"I've seen enough." He pushed Mortimer ahead of him to the exit.

Immediately they gained the corridor, Mortimer turned on him, clutching his coat.

"But you said we wouldn't need to kidnap. her."

Jollife eyed him if I disgust.

"I'm not talking about kidnapping," he snapped, wrenching his coat free. He looked ahead, his features hardening.

"For our purposes, there's a better way."

He glanced at Mortimer, contempt in his eyes. "Come on--there's a certain party we need to see."

CHAPTER TEN.

BY THE time Em took her seat at the breakfast table on Friday morning, she was considering visiting Harry herself. Not that it would do any good--but she felt so helpless every time she looked at Lucinda's face. Calm and pale, her guest sat toying with a piece of cold toast, her expression distant.

Em swallowed her snort. Feeling dejected herself, she poured a cup of tea.

"Are we going anywhere today?" Heather, seated further down the table, fixed big hazel eyes almost pleadingly on Em.

Em slanted a glance at Lucinda.

"Perhaps we'll just have a quiet day today. A drive in the Park in the afternoon. We've Lady Halifax's ball tonight." Lucinda's smile was perfunctory.

"Greenwich was such fun." Heather struggled to invest her words with conviction. Lord Ruthven had arranged an outing yesterday to the Observatory, hoping to lift Lucinda's spirits. He and Mr Satterly, who had made one of the party, had battled valiantly but to no avail. Lucinda s.h.i.+fted in her chair.

"It was very kind of Lord Ruthyen to arrange it. I must send a note around to thank him."

Em doubted Ruthven would appreciate it. The poor man had pulled out all stops but it was clear Lucinda barely saw him. Not that she made reference to what was occupying her mind. Her composure was faultless; those who did not know her would detect nothing amiss. Those who did saw the superficiality of her smiles, which no longer reached her eyes, mist let than ever and distressingly remote. She was naturally reserved; now, despite going amongst them, she seemed to have withdrawn from real contact.

"Perhaps," Heather ventured, 'we could go to the museum? We haven't seen Lord Elgin's marbles yet.

You said you'd like to. "

Lucinda tilted her head.