England's Perfect Hero (26 page)

"I'm not going. I don't want to hear all of that nasty muttering."

"Of course you're going. You can't become a hermit just because one of your friends did something wrong." He raised a hand before she could protest. "Is suspected of doing something wrong," he amended.

"Papa, you don't understand. Georgiana and Tristan will probably be there. You told me to stay away from them, and they won't have any idea why."

"If they've heard the rumors, which I suspect they have, they'll have a very good idea why you're keeping your distance. And they'll understand. Neither of them is a fool."

"You've always told me to stand by my convictions."

"I know. This time, this once, I'm asking you to stand by mine. Whoever did this is trying to begin a war."

"They are my friends," she said, as calmly as she could. He knew it as well as she did. This mess was desperately serious—but she was just as serious in her belief that Robert was innocent.

"Lucinda, I won't let you speculate over what might happen, but I won't let you lie to yourself, either. Yes, you may lose a friendship or two over this. I can't help that. But you haven't done anything wrong."

Yes, she had. Being the strategist and leader that he was, though, of course the information would matter to him more than where he—or she—had acquired it. Well, if she had to, she could play that game, as well. "I suppose even Wellington knows about this?"

"He's aware of the problem, but only the five senior officers are involved in the investigation."

Five men, then, including her father, would have known about Robert and Chateau Pagnon before the rest of London. Which left four men who might have told anyone. "This is awful," she muttered.

"It's more awful that someone is trying to free Bonaparte and start up more of this damned bloodshed. Now, you've had a bad few days. Go enjoy yourself tonight. Geoffrey's becoming quite fond of you, and if I'm not mistaken, you rather like him. Think a little of yourself, my sweet. In the long run, no one will blame you for any of this. You may even turn out to be quite the heroine."

"I don't want to be a heroine," she muttered. "You may take all the credit you like." Lucinda took a deep breath. "I need to finish tending my roses."

"I'll send Geoffrey your acceptance."

She nodded the back of her head at him. Arguing obviously wouldn't do any good; he expected her to be a good soldier and continue with her duties. At the worst, at least in Geoffrey's company she wouldn't feel completely alone at the soiree when she couldn't speak with her friends. At best, she would see Robert in the shadows and he would know that he had an ally in the room.

Lucinda and Geoffrey arrived just past fashionably late at the Hesterfield ball. Lord Geoffrey had actually driven up to Barrett House exactly on time; she was the one who had dawdled and fidgeted upstairs for nearly an hour before descending with Helena, who was serving as their chaperone. The delay had been completely intentional. If they were late, they wouldn't be announced, and she could slip in unnoticed and scout out the territory.

"We've missed the first two dances," Geoffrey said, standing at her side and taking in the guests, as well.

"My apologies," she said, flitting her fan in front of her face so she could search the crowd around its edges. "My maid couldn't find my green slippers."

He ignored the sound of Helena behind them clearing her throat, and instead swept his gaze down her figure and back again. "Don't apologize. It was well worth the wait. And your father and I had time for another nice chat."

"Did you?"

"Yes. He, ah, informed me that all of this gossip has upset you."

Lucinda hid a frown. Obviously her father wanted this match, but he had used to be much more cautious about passing along private confidences. She wished she could make him see that; if he would at least admit that the Chateau Pagnon rumors had come from someone he'd told, she would feel a little better about the whole disaster. A very little better, but she would take anything she could get.

"Did he inform you about anything else?" she asked.

"Only that he's requested you to stay away from the Carroway family."

Dash it all
. "That was his request," she stated, "not mine. Please do not repeat it."

"I had been about to make the same suggestion to you, anyway, though with Robert's odd behavior over the years, the rest of his family would probably not be hurt overmuch by news of his activities. Still, it's better to be cautious."

"Nothing has been proven," she snapped. "May we please discuss something else?"

"Of course, Lucinda. As the daughter of a respected army officer, though, I'm certain you know it's better to face facts than to ignore them."

"I will be happy to face facts," she retorted, wishing he didn't sound so much like a parrot of her father. "I haven't see any yet."

"I admire your loyalty to your friends. But I would still urge you to stay away from them."

Her jaw clenched. "Listen, a cotillion," she said stiffly, practically towing him toward the dance floor. "Shall we?"

The floor was crowded, which was both a blessing and a curse. She could hide easily among the swirl of gowns, but neither could she see anyone else who might be there. Of course Georgiana wasn't doing much dancing these days, but there were three Carroway males who
could
be dancing at the soiree, and that wasn't counting Robert. But after yesterday, no one in London was likely to ever see him at a social gathering ever again.

"They probably won't be here at all," Geoffrey said after a minute of silence. "They weren't at the fireworks last night."

"They weren't?"

"No. If St. Aubyn and his wife hadn't been in the box, I would have thought someone was playing a jest by inviting me."

Oh, dear
. She'd forgotten about that again. "Something came up last evening." Several somethings, as she recalled, at least one of them supremely memorable.

"You don't need to explain, Lucinda."

She hadn't even thought to look for Evie and Saint, and as the dance came to a close she spotted them, seated against one wall and deep in conversation. Evelyn looked collected to anyone who didn't know her well, but Lucinda saw the tight clasp of her hands and her pale skin. As dear friends of the Carroways, tonight had to be miserable for them, as well. Taking a deep breath, she excused herself from Geoffrey.

"Lucinda," Evie exclaimed, rising to take her hands. "You've heard, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have." She sat on the far side of Evie, though her attention was on the tall marquis. Saint undoubtedly knew far more about what was going on than anyone else in the room, except, perhaps, for her; he always seemed to. "I'm sorry Papa and I abandoned you at Vauxhall last night; he wasn't feeling well."

"I imagine he's been having a busy few days," Saint drawled. "Do they have a suspect, yet?"

"She couldn't tell you that, Saint, even if she knew," Evie countered, still twisting her fingers. "Could you?"

"No, I couldn't. I do know he's doing everything possible to sort this out."

"When the rumors of the theft came out, Georgie might at least have warned us that Robert could be considered a suspect," Evie went on in a low voice. "I nearly had to punch Melissa Milton yesterday for even mentioning his name in connection with this. We might have been downplaying his imprisonment, if we'd known about it."

Lucinda tried to keep her breathing steady and wished she could just sink through the floor. "The Carroways may have been surprised, as well. He doesn't say much, after all."

"He told someone, obviously," Saint put in mildly, meeting Lucinda's surprised gaze. "And if it's true that he was held at Chateau Pagnon, I'm not sure I would blame him for this, even if he
did
do it."

"He didn't!" Lucinda said, more sharply than she meant to.

"And I'm sure they'll appreciate your support," he returned, nodding past her shoulder. "I was wondering if they'd make an appearance."

As hard as she tried, Lucinda couldn't help flinching as she turned her head. They'd all come: Tristan and Georgiana, hand in hand; Andrew and Bradshaw bringing up the rear; and in the middle, surprisingly, Robert himself.

None of them looked particularly happy, and concerned as she was over Georgie's health, she couldn't turn her eyes from Robert. The haunted look deep in his eyes made her heart physically hurt, and she hoped no one else knew him well enough to see it. Other than that, he looked as strong and stoic as he always did, aloof and completely unconcerned with the buzz of voices rising around him.

She wanted to run up to him and throw her arms around him and just hold onto him. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers, and his hands on her skin. Her face warmed, and she knew she was blushing. And she knew she couldn't stay away. Not from him, and not from her friends.

At that moment, he turned his head and looked at her, as if he'd known exactly where she was all along. His family would have asked him how the news of his imprisonment had reached the ears of Society, and she wondered whether he'd told them. He had the power to destroy—or at least to badly hurt—her friendship with Georgiana, and probably with Evie as well. He hadn't seemed angry when he'd left her bed last night, but if she couldn't forget that she'd betrayed his trust and told her father one of his deepest secrets, she didn't see how he could.

"Come on, we can't leave them standing there alone," Evie said, and she and Saint rose.

Lucinda followed suit, then stopped, surprised, when Saint stepped in front of her. "Perhaps you should stay here," he said, just loud enough for Evelyn to overhear. "Your father's directly involved in the investigation, and your being seen with Robert could compromise that."

"But—" Evie stopped. "You're right, Saint. Stay here, Luce. I'll explain it to Georgie."

"No," she returned, not certain whether to be grateful or not for another voice of reason—especially after she'd made up her mind to be foolish. "I'm not losing friends over a rumor."
Especially not one she'd caused
.

She started across the corner of the ballroom behind Lord and Lady St. Aubyn. Before she'd gotten more than a few steps, a hand grabbed her elbow. "Don't do it," Geoffrey murmured, guiding her toward the refreshment table.

"Did my father tell you to supervise me?" she asked, pulling free as nonchalantly as she could.

"He asked me to keep an eye on you, yes," he returned. "But as I have an interest in you, and in your father's influence as well, I don't want either of you compromised."

At least he was honest. Lucinda sighed. "Everyone knows that we're friends. My staying away will only make things worse. My standing with them will hopefully help, if just a little."

"Until the cripple gets arrested, and the rumors start that you and your father were the reason he was able to get into the Horse Guards in the first place. There's more at stake here than your peace of mind, Lucinda."

"I realize that," she retorted, barely remembering to keep her voice lowered. "It's not only my peace of mind that concerns me, Geoffrey. It's about loyalty and friendship, as well."

He took her arm again. "I need you, Lucinda. Don't step into this mess."

"I'm already in it, I'm afr—"

"Miss Barrett," a low, soft voice came from beside her. "Have you already been claimed for this waltz?"

Robert stood two feet away, as if he'd simply materialized. His expression was cool and collected, but she knew that he was testing her, waiting to see whether she would cut him in public or not. "I—"

"Yes, she's spoken for, Carroway," Geoffrey interrupted. "Go home, and spare everyone the indignity of your presence."

Bottomless azure eyes met frustrated green ones. "I don't believe you own her yet, Newcombe," Robert said quietly. "She may accept or decline my invitation all on her own. I'm certain she's taken your reservations into account."

For someone who didn't do a great deal of talking,

Robert certainly knew how to put a sentence together. Lucinda looked from one gentleman to the other: fair and beautiful opposing dark and soulful, the angel and the devil. "I will waltz with you, Robert," she said.

He held out his hand, and she took it. Not until then did she realize how quiet the ballroom had become, or that despite his quiet demeanor, his fingers weren't quite as steady as his voice. He'd been tortured, and now his own fellows were doing it to him again. Thank heavens she'd decided to help put things right; she wouldn't have been able to stand watching this from the safety of the shadows.