England's Perfect Hero (32 page)

"So these are your suspects," Shaw muttered. "Fifty or so different names? That's quite a collection, Bit. And I have a feeling that sooner or later someone's going to piece together our ladies' rather spectacular visit and the missing log pages."

"I know," Robert said absently, barely paying attention to the conversation. One name on the list recurred several times over the three days Evelyn had ripped free: a man who'd consistently included his rank with his signature, even though he was on voluntary extended leave at half pay. Captain Lord Geoffrey Newcombe. "Now that's interesting," he murmured.

Lucinda sat in her bedchamber, spending as much time studying her own reflection in the window as she did looking down at the stable yard—and trying to convince herself that she wasn't a fool. She had a completely legitimate excuse for not accepting Geoffrey's offer of marriage, after all: She'd only delivered two of the four lessons from her list.

But the problem was much more than a simple matter of mathematics. Sighing, she unfolded the worn paper on her lap. A little over a year ago, when she'd written them out, they'd seemed important. The willingness to pay attention to one's companion, to dance in mixed company, to have interests other than oneself, and the honesty to be straightforward in one's opinion of people.

"Rubbish," she said, wadding up the paper and throwing it into a wastebasket.

She hadn't delayed answering Geoffrey because of her lessons. She'd delayed answering him because of Robert. Because when she thought of quiet evenings by the fire it was Robert's voice she heard, and when warm fingers touched her skin they belonged to Robert.

It didn't make any sense; her father would never approve, for one thing; and for another, Robert would never ask. And unless someone came forward and confessed to committing treason in the next few days, he would never have the opportunity to ask, anyway.

The thought of Robert dragged off in chains and thrown into some tiny, windowless cell made her throat constrict until she couldn't breathe. They couldn't do that to him. If someone would just take a moment to think, they would realize that Robert was the least likely man in London—in England—to want a war to recommence with Bonaparte. He was one of the few men who understood the true cost of war.

Who, then? Who had taken those papers? Frowning, Lucinda rose to pace the length of her room. It could have been anyone. A supporter of Bonaparte, a mercenary who made money whenever two sides fought in battle, someone else who thought they had something to gain by starting a war.

Something tapped at her window, and she whirled around, hand to her breast. Nothing. "For heaven's sake, Lucinda, did you think it was going to be Robert, coming to call again?" she muttered at herself.

The idea, though, didn't displease her at all. For something she hadn't even partaken in until a few days ago, thinking about having sex again seemed to occupy an inordinate amount of her time, and her imagination. After Geoffrey had handed her his kiss and his marriage proposal she'd tried to imagine being in his embrace. He was handsome enough, and his kiss had been technically proficient, but other than a slight murmur of nervousness at the idea of being intimate with someone so perfect, it hadn't moved her at all.

The tap came at her window again. Deciding it must be the starling that had nested in the eve just above, she went to the window and opened it. "Shoo."

Looking up, she could just see the bird's beady little eyes gazing at her from the safety of its nest. Her pulse stirred, and she turned her gaze downward. At first she didn't make out anything but the stable and the line of trees and bushes bordering it from the street, until something stirred beside the nearest oak. Robert.

"What are you—"

He put his fingers to his lips, then motioned for her to join him. A faint smile touched his mouth, and her heart lurched.

Before she could change her mind, Lucinda nodded and pulled the window closed again. Her father would be in his office, but since they weren't speaking, she didn't expect to be stopped. Just in case, though, she went out the back way, through the servants' hall and the kitchen.

"Robert, you shouldn't be here," she whispered. "If my father—"

"He won't." He took her hands and pulled her around the side of the stable.

"What about the men following you?"

"They're still at Carroway House. I needed to talk to you."

"You should have sent a note through Evie or something," she returned. "Don't you realize how terrible things could become for you?"

"They already are terrible." He ran a finger along her cheek. "You make them better. I could wish for your sake that you didn't, but you do."

She wanted him to kiss her, but obviously he was making an attempt to be a gentleman. Considering that another man had proposed to her an hour ago, his restraint seemed appropriate, if unwelcome. "Why did you need to talk to me, then?" she asked, her own fingers twitching with the desire, the need, to touch him.

"I got hold of the list," he returned, sending another glance around them. "The guest list at the Horse Guards."

"You what?" She froze.

The soft smile touched his mouth. "Actually, some friends of mine nicked it."

Her eyes narrowed. Allies were welcome, but completely unexpected. "Which friends?"

"Georgiana and Lady St. Aubyn."

"Georgiana and Evie? What—"

"It's a long story. Hopefully they'll be able to tell you themselves in a few days."

"What did the guest book tell you, then?"

He hesitated. "It told me I have a very good reason to stay away from you. Better than the reason that you're practically betrothed and it's simply not right for me to be here."

She couldn't have helped her scowl for anything. "Stay away from
me
? Do you think I stole those papers?"

"No. But…" He drew a breath. "For the next few days, just be cautious. About everything."

It sounded as if he wasn't planning to be around. Lucinda's voice caught. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not certain, yet." Blue eyes studied her face for a long moment. "Nothing, I hope." He glanced past her again, obviously uneasy there. "I shouldn't have come. I just wanted to see you again. Be careful, Lucinda." With a slight nod, he turned around.

Lucinda grabbed his shoulder. "No. You don't get to vanish away from me. Tell me."

She knew one way that might convince him to talk to her. Lucinda twined her fingers into his lanky hair, pulling his face down to hers and covered his mouth with hers. At his response, warm dampness immediately started between her legs.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, stretching herself along his lean body. She could tell herself this was to put him at ease, but it had much more to do with wanting him so much she couldn't stand it. It seemed like forever, rather than a few hours, since she'd seen him last, and even when he wasn't in her sight, every thought seemed to be of him; hoping he was well, praying that no one had gone to arrest him, wanting to talk with him about everything and nothing at all. He wasn't going anywhere. Not without touching her again.

With a groan he sank with her to the grass, leaning back against the stable wall and pulling her across his thighs. His hands caressed and kneaded her breasts through the thin muslin of her gown, leaving her breathless and aching. In the late afternoon most of the servants would be in the kitchen, eating, but it wouldn't take much noise on their part to arouse someone's suspicions. And only a water barrel and a curricle would shield them from curious eyes if someone came looking around the side of the stable.

She didn't care. Nothing could make her let this moment pass without acting. His arousal beneath her bottom strained at his trousers, and with shaking fingers she shifted to unbutton them. "Oh, God," she whimpered, kissing him hot and open-mouthed.

Robert lifted her in his arms, pulling her dress to her thighs, and then let her sink down on her knees, onto his engorged member. He made her feel so full and so tight, and she clung to him as he moaned and dug his fingers into her hips, shifting her up and back again, up and down on him.

"Lucinda," he rasped, tilting his head back and pushing his hips up against her.

It wasn't enough. "More, more," she chanted, rocking back and forth on him. His deep blue gaze caught hers, bottomless, timeless, as tension speared down her spine, tightened, and then released.

She cried out, but he muffled the sound against his mouth, heaving a groan into her as he came. Breathing hard, she leaned her forehead against his chest while she soared into the air and then back down to the ground again.

Slowly he slid his palms up her thighs, beneath her gown. "Sometime I would like to do this when we can have all day," he murmured.

Lucinda shut her eyes, drinking in the thought. "Or all night." Kissing the line of his jaw, she settled her arms around his shoulders. "This is my stable yard," she said quietly. "In the middle of the day, fifty feet from my back door. I'm only saying this to illustrate how much I trust you, Robert. When you decide you can trust me, tell me your news."

She would have pulled away, but he pressed his hands down, holding her against him, keeping him inside her. "Stay."

The word reverberated through her heart. She kissed him again, slowly this time, and he leaned back against the wall, letting her explore and caress him as she wanted. The feeling was glorious, with him still filling her and she having the satisfaction of knowing that she aroused him, that she'd been the only woman he wanted after four years of his self-styled hell.

Taking a slow breath and shifting her hands to caress his hard, muscled chest through his fine shirt, she looked him in the eye. "Then tell me your news."

"I looked through the names on the list," Robert returned, wishing he'd listened to his instincts and left while he could—despite the pure delight of being with her.

"And?"

He heard the kitchen door open, and drew in his legs. "Shh," he breathed, though with her moving about on him, he was having some difficulty with silence, himself.

A potful of water dumped into the bushes behind the house, and then the door opened and closed again. They'd probably pressed their luck far enough, and with great reluctance he shifted her off. Her hazel eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight as she stood, settling her skirts around her. He climbed to his feet as well, fastening his trousers and feeling far more self-satisfied than he probably should under the circumstances.

"I recognized most of the names, but nothing odd struck me about their being there. Except…"

" 'Except'?" she prompted after a moment.

She wasn't going to like this, and he couldn't blame her. Still, he'd learned to listen to his instincts, and she needed to know. "What was Geoffrey Newcombe doing at the Horse Guards?"

"What?"

"He was there four times last week. Do you know why?"

"He's… he's reading my father's manuscript. I know he's dropped off or picked up pages there."

"Picked up pages'?" Robert repeated. If everyone knew he was carrying papers in and out, one or two more wouldn't rouse anyone's suspicions.

"He was there to see my father." Lucinda folded her arms across her pert bosom. "Who else is on the list?"

Robert pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. "It won't be long before someone realizes who took this, and why. If you can think of anything, Lucinda, you need to tell me."

She looked at the list, but before she could possibly have read all the names she handed it back again. "It's not Geoffrey. He's already got his life planned out—marrying me, being promoted to major, going to India, and making his fortune. Why in the world would he risk stealing papers that could either get him thrown in prison or start another war with France?"

"I don't know. How confident is he that he's going to marry you?"

Color crept up her cheeks. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Something had happened between her and Geoffrey. Robert was certain of it. "Marrying you is the base of his pyramid, Lucinda. Without that, he has no plan. So it has everything to do with this."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't like this, Robert. Don't you think it's convenient for you, that you can go directly from being suspected to suspecting Geoffrey?"

"Maybe it is." He paused for a moment, listening to the sounds of Barrett House. "You said you trusted me. I'm only asking for your opinion."

For a long moment she searched his gaze. "No," she finally said. "I believe
you
, and likewise I have no reason to suspect
him
."

"Lucinda!"

At her father's bellow, both of them jumped. "Robert, hide," she hissed.

"He's probably heard about the uproar at the Horse Guards."

"Oh, no."

She would have hurried around the corner to meet her father, but Robert caught her arm. "Did Geoffrey ask you to marry him?" he asked, trying to pretend that he didn't care one way or the other.