England's Perfect Hero (15 page)

He yanked open the door. "Go aw—"

A bucketful of freezing cold water dumped full into his face.

The shock of it stunned him for a bare second. Acting on instinct, he knocked the bucket out of his attacker's hands and shoved him hard against the opposite wall.

"Bit! Robert! It's me!" Tristan was bellowing at him, pushing at the hands Robert had locked around his throat.

Robert blinked water from his eyes. "I know it's you," he grunted, letting go with what he hoped looked like disgust. "Don't do that again." He shook cold wet from his hair, backing away. His clothes down to his trousers were soaked, and he swore water had even managed to seep into his boots. "Damn it, Tristan."

"I told him not to do it," Georgiana said, wringing water from the edge of her shawl. "Let's at least get you out of those wet clothes."

He evaded her reach. "I'll take care of it."

It had begun to dawn on him, though, that while his heart still raced and his breath came in short gasps, it felt… normal. For Lucifer's sake, he'd just nearly drowned. And it seemed to have worked. The black panic still lurked at the edge of his mind, as it always did, but something had sent it into a hasty retreat.

Robert lifted his eyes to Tristan, who stood looking out of breath himself, his cravat soaked and wilted from where he'd been choked half to death. The viscount didn't look the least bit angry, however; rather, he looked concerned, and a little amused.

"I take it back," Robert said slowly.

"Take what back?"

"When I told you not to do that again. I changed my mind."

"Oh. Well, I thought it might help you't—"

"I'm going to change." Backing into his room, Robert slammed his door again.

Slowly he shrugged out of his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, dropping them to the floor. This morning had made two things clear, anyway, he decided, as he dug into his wardrobe for a clean shirt. One, he had a great deal of work to do if he meant to dance with Lucinda tonight. And two, he'd learned a second way to distract his mind and keep hell at bay. Thinking of Lucinda and rose gardens was certainly less damaging to his wardrobe, but he supposed a bucket of water would work in an emergency.

"Wonderful," he muttered, stripping off his ruined cravat and tossing it on the growing stack of wet clothes. "Now I just need to figure a way to carry buckets with me at all times."

"… and so I decided it might be prudent to withdraw."

Lucinda chuckled. " 'Might be prudent,'" she repeated.

Lord Geoffrey lifted an eyebrow. "I could have been in error."

"A hundred French cavalry make camp twenty feet from where you've set out your luncheon. I would say, with confidence, that withdrawal was without a doubt
extremely
prudent."

The sedate walk they'd been forced to observe in the midst of the crowds had finally brought them back to the east end of Hyde Park. And Lucinda had to give Robert Carroway credit for keen insight once more—Geoffrey had barely looked away from her long enough to choose their riding path.

She'd done her own part to encourage his interest, of course, having decided to wear her crimson military-style riding jacket and skirt. Being charming and attentive in his presence was simple, and unless she was greatly mistaken, his own attention was based on more than mere manners.

Entertaining as the morning had been, one small part of it troubled her. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but a sedate walk in Hyde Park couldn't quite compare to a hair-tangling gallop in the countryside. And being charming, while she liked to think it was a natural part of her character, made her feel a little self-conscious. With Robert she didn't even need to speak if she didn't feel like it.

Lucinda blinked. That was silly. Galloping and a comfortable silence did not an acceptable beau make. She needed to concentrate. She had a respectable family name and a respectable fortune, but Geoffrey came from the most auspicious of families. A union would bring honor to everyone concerned. In addition he was as charming as he was handsome, and it seemed as though a hundred other young ladies were also in close pursuit of his hand.

"Do you attend the Montrose ball tonight?" he asked.

"I intend to, yes."

"Say you'll save a waltz for me, Lucinda."

She smiled. "I will save a waltz for you."

"And a quadrille."

Two dances in a single evening with the same gentleman wasn't uncommon, though it would send a message to the
ton
at large that he held her in high regard. "And a quadrille," she repeated.

"And a country dance."

"You're in danger of depriving everyone else of your company," she returned, hiding a frown. Three dances could damage her reputation.

"I've stepped too far," he said. "I apologize."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Geoffrey. You knew I'd say no, and you're only trying to flatter me."

Geoffrey laughed. "At least tell me I succeeded."

"You've succeeded—if you haven't made me late for my luncheon engagement."

He pulled out his pocket watch, scowled, then gestured at his groom, whom he'd brought along as their chaperone. "I don't suppose you'll allow me to send Isaac ahead to inform your party that you'll be a little late?"

"I don't think so."

"Ah. Perhaps I'd best get you home, then."

She laughed again. "Yes, perhaps you should."

At her front door he insisted on helping her down from Isis himself. If she'd been an eighteen-year-old debutante she probably would have swooned from the attention by now, except that she'd never been the type of woman who fainted. Six years past that, she
did
feel flattered, but more than that, she was aware of an almost smug satisfaction.

This was progressing exactly as she planned: The general approved of Geoffrey, she liked him; he definitely seemed interested in her; and no betrayal, heartache, or undue excitement looked to be in the offing. If not for one cool-eyed distraction, everything would be perfect.

"I had a wonderful time, Geoffrey," she said. "Thank you."

He drew her gloved hand to his lips. "Thank
you
, Lucinda. I hope this may be the first of many mornings we spend in each other's company."

She only smiled. For heaven's sake, she wasn't going to succumb to a glib tongue, though his efforts were certainly appreciated. It was nice to hear, but it wasn't why she'd selected him. "I'll see you tonight."

"Until then."

It wasn't until she entered the house that she realized her luncheon companions were already there, waiting for her. "Am I late?" she asked, following the butler into the morning room.

Evelyn came forward, her eyes dancing. "We're early."

"And we hope this will be the first of many times we are," Georgiana added, her own expression far too bland.

"Very amusing," Lucinda grumbled, blushing. "Next time I'll have Ballow close the windows in here."

"Things do seem to be going well," Evie said, kissing her on the cheek. "Shall we go? I brought the barouche."

"Do you mind if I change first?" Lucinda asked. "I won't be a minute."

"Of course not. We'll be down here gossiping about you."

Lucinda hurried upstairs, summoning Helena as she went. Inside her bedchamber she threw off her hat and riding jacket. The gown she'd chosen to wear at luncheon lay on the bed already, waiting for her.

When someone tapped at her door and pushed it open, though, it wasn't her maid. Georgiana stood just inside the room, looking uncomfortable. "Let me help you with that," she said after a moment.

"Helena's on her way—"

"No, she isn't. I'm substituting."

"Ah. Why?"

"Because I want to talk to you, and I don't want anyone else to overhear. Not even Evie."

Lucinda immediately knew it was about Robert. Slowly she set her hairbrush aside. "I like Robert," she said quietly. "As a friend. But with the general my life is… complicated enough. It sounds selfish, but I want a husband who will make things easier. Not more difficult."

Georgiana took a deep breath. "That's not selfish, Luce. It's practical.
You're
practical. And I'm not trying to do any matchmaking. But Bit's been hurting for a long time, and he seems to see you as someone he can talk to."

"I argue with him," Lucinda said. "Or I should say, I don't back away from arguing with him."

Georgiana nodded. "Maybe that's the secret. We're all so worried we'll push him farther away if we say the wrong thing."

"Georgie, I'll be happy to fight with him whenever he wants."

"Thank you." She smiled a little. "All right. This is extremely complicated, and I won't involve you if you don't want it that way."

Ah, guilt
. If it had just been that, she would have simply changed the subject. If he hadn't kissed her, and if that kiss and his presence hadn't been more interesting than she felt comfortable admitting, she wouldn't have said anything more. Lucinda sighed. "I
have
been wondering why I've seen more of him in the past ten days than I have over the past three years."

"I think he's trying to come back," Georgiana said, helping Lucinda into her blue muslin gown. "I only know a little of what happened to him, but…" She stopped, swallowing. "It was terrible, Luce. So anything you can do to help him, I would appreciate."

Deep down, Lucinda badly wanted to know what terrible things he'd been through. If she asked, though, if she found out, everything would change. Things had begun to change already, but she could certainly manage to keep her interest in check around Robert. "I'll do what I can," she agreed.

Andrew was walking past the library when Robert grabbed him by the arm and hauled him through the door. "What the dev—"

"I need your help," Robert said, speaking quickly, before he could change his mind. "But if you tell anyone, I'll—"

"I won't say a word," Andrew stated, stumbling to catch his balance.

"Hold out your arms."

Looking baffled, Andrew complied. Not giving himself time to wonder whether he would succeed or fail, either prospect of which he found troubling, Robert grabbed one of his brother's hands, and attached the other to his shoulder. Snagging Andrew's waist with his free hand, he clomped into a waltz.

"Get off my foot," Andrew blurped, stumbling again.

Robert closed his eyes, trying to conjure the music and remember the steps. "Stop trying to lead."

"Oh. Right."

Though he couldn't possibly mistake Andrew for a female—one of the main reasons he'd made the selection—his brother made a fair partner. Within a few moments Robert could feel himself relaxing, the steps coming easier and more smoothly. His knee ached, but no worse than it generally did, and it felt sturdy enough. The unsteady, boneless feeling from his earlier attack remained, but he knew how to hide that.

He opened his eyes again as Andrew began humming something in the correct meter but horribly off-key. "Did it seem… stupid?" he asked, coming to a halt and releasing his brother.

"Other than the sensation that I was going in the wrong direction, I didn't notice anything untoward." His brother offered the easy, charismatic Carroway grin. "You're not a bad dancer, actually."

"Thank you."

Abruptly the smile collapsed. "You're not going to make me dress up like a chit tonight to dance with you, are you? Because really you were quite good, and I don't think any girl would have an objection to—"

"No, I'm not making you wear a gown," Robert returned, relief at his success making him smile. "I just wanted to be certain I remembered the steps."

"Oh. You do. And—" Andrew looked over his shoulder, toward the closed door. "I'm actually supposed to meet a few of my friends for lun—"

"I'm finished with you," Robert said. "Go away now."

"Right. Thanks."

Closing the door again behind his brother, Robert practiced a few quadrille turns and bows on his way to the window. He could do it, though despite Andrew's approval he could feel a certain rustiness in his steps. But considering how he'd begun the morning, he couldn't help feeling somewhat satisfied.