Chapter 16

Lilah tapped the edge of her pen against her cheek, frowning. The sheet of foolscap on the desk top before her contained only the words, Dear Jonathan. She had never written to Mr. Applegate before in her life, which made the composition of this particular missive rather difficult. It was odd to begin a correspondence at such a critical juncture in their relationship. It was rather like starting a play with Act III.

In fact, it had taken her ten minutes to get past the Dear, since she wasn’t quite sure whether she should address Jonathan by his Christian name. Using Christian names was all very well in conversation, but there was something frightfully cheeky about putting it down in writing. She hoped, if he kept the letter, his future wife would not discover it and draw erroneous conclusions about their friendship.

Then, with a start, she remembered that she planned to be his future wife. In fact, that was the whole purpose of this letter. With a flush of annoyance at her mental lapse, she put pen to paper again. She had sat cogitating for so long, however, that the ink had dried.

Really, this wasn’t going well at all.

Delicacy had never been her strong suit. This task required a light, deft touch; a smidgen of diplomacy. Lilah’s talents in this area were nil. Still, she had to try. She must put words together in just the right way to convince Jonathan to leave his post immediately and fly to her side—without, of course, alarming him unduly. Once he arrived, she was certain that everything would fall into place. Getting him here was the hard part.

Dear Jonathan. Hmm. What should follow? I need you. No; that would frighten him into hiding. Papa needs you. No; he was too clever to fall for that trick. If Papa needed him, Papa would write the letter. My life is careening out of control and I am writing to you in utter panic. Her lips twitched. She didn’t dare write that, of course, but it had the advantage of being true.

She was becoming obsessed with Lord Drakesley. She needed a distraction, and she needed it now. High time she forced the issue. High time she weaseled a promise of marriage out of the elusive Mr. Applegate. For heaven’s sake, how could he object? Securing the hand of Delilah Chadwick would be a stunning achievement for a landless younger son—even if she did say so herself. As the world viewed such matters, all the advantage of the match would be on his side. People would wonder why a rich young gentlewoman—his employer’s only child, no less—would agree to marry an obscure, gangly young man of scholarly habits and limited prospects.

For a few confused moments, even Lilah wondered why.

It would help if he had ever given her overtures the slightest encouragement, but Jonathan Applegate was a slippery fish, difficult to land. He dodged, with great good humor, her every attempt to flirt with him. Now, that took diplomacy. But it left Lilah without a single string to pull, even in an emergency like this.

By the time Miss Pickens’s timid knock sounded on Lilah’s bedchamber door, she was in a rare temper. She had tossed several wadded sheets of foolscap into the grate, hurling them with increasing force as her frustration level rose, and was no nearer completion than she had been an hour ago. “Come in!” she shouted. Her pen promptly snapped in half. She flung it down in disgust.

Miss Pickens peeked around the edge of the door, trepidation written across her features. “Dear me. Have I chosen a bad time?”

“No,” said Lilah shortly. “Sorry. It’s this wretched pen. Good riddance to it, I say.” She remembered her manners then, and waved Miss Pickens in. “Pray come in, Picky. Are you feeling better this morning?”

Miss Pickens’s thin face brightened as she closed the door behind her. “Never better, thank you. I slept very well last night. A delightful spot, isn’t it? And I must say, Mrs. Peabody is the kindest creature imaginable. She showed me all through the oldest portions of the abbey yesterday. Insisted on doing it herself; fancy that! As if she had nothing better to do than dance attendance on a stranger.”

“The Peabodys are amiable souls,” Lilah agreed, still feeling cross as crabs. A dot of black ink had spattered onto her wrist. She rubbed it absently with her handkerchief. “Did you go down to breakfast?”

“Yes, indeed. When you did not appear I thought I had better check on you. You are feeling all right, aren’t you, Lilah?” She peered anxiously at her former charge. “I must say, you don’t look quite yourself.”

Lilah rose and paced restlessly. “I don’t feel quite myself,” she admitted. “Perhaps I have a touch of influenza.”

Miss Pickens blinked doubtfully. “Do you really think so, dear?”

Lilah imagined long days in bed, sweltering under piles of comforters and choking down endless basins of gruel. It would remove her from Lord Drakesley’s path, but at what cost? She loathed being ill. “No,” she said at last, feeling crosser than ever.

“Well, I am relieved to hear you say so. The Peabodys have made a charming plan for the day’s entertainment, and it would be a pity if you missed it. A drive to see some very interesting Roman ruins, followed by a picnic luncheon! All very elegant, I daresay, as well as educational. I own, I am looking forward to the day with no small degree of pleasure.”

Lilah hid a smile. She suspected that Miss Pickens’s passion for history had influenced Aunt Polly in choosing the picnic destination. “I never saw you look forward to jouncing about in a carriage,” she teased.

Miss Pickens gave a tootling little laugh. “Oh! You are jesting, my dear. I never have any trouble in an open carriage.”

This, indeed, proved to be the case. Miss Pickens, almost incoherent with delight, was seated facing forward in the Peabodys’ barouche. It was a large barouche, seating three persons on each well-padded bench. The Peabodys shared the seat with Miss Pickens, leaving Drake, Lilah and Eugenia to face them, riding backwards. Uncle Nat made some jocular remark about the men’s luck, each being placed between two lovely ladies, but none of the young people gave him more than a strained smile in response. Emotions on the backward-facing bench ran high.

Lilah was grateful, for once, for Miss Pickens’s inexhaustible supply of small talk. Her old governess was so happy, included in a congenial party of persons she insisted on thinking of as her “betters,” riding with stately slowness, in the open air, toward a destination of historical interest, that she prattled and chirped like a canary in sunshine. Her joyous chatter filled what otherwise might have been an awkward silence. Lilah, for one, found conversation quite beyond her. She was acutely, almost painfully, aware of Drake’s long body pressing against her from shoulder to knee. Her fingers trembled on the handle of her parasol, causing it to flutter over her head in a way that the breeze could not quite account for.

She fixed her eyes, a bit glassily, on the road unwinding behind them. She dared not look to her left, where Drake sat. The sight of his massive thigh, encased in skin-tight pantaloons and just visible at the edge of her vision, was overpowering enough. She had difficulty following Miss Pickens’s remarks, but Eugenia and the Peabodys chimed in from time to time, so there was no need for Lilah to speak up. Thank heaven.

Drake was as silent as she. Did he share her agony? She thought he might. The idea was unbearably exciting. Feverish fantasies rippled through her mind, unbidden. If they were alone, she would turn to him. He would look down at her with those hot, golden eyes. His arm would slip behind her back. She would lift her face, daring him, and he would not resist her. His head would bend down to hers…

Merciful heavens. She was fantasizing about a man who had just become engaged. Not to mention, she reminded herself sternly, a man whom she did not like. Much. Oh, why did he have this effect on her? It wasn’t fair. Jonathan had never turned her all hot and cold and shaky, just by sitting beside her in a carriage.

The drive seemed interminable. And much too short.

The Roman ruins were just like every other set of Roman ruins, as far as Lilah could tell: nondescript mounds of rubble strewn about in a field. Miss Pickens, however, was transported by the sight. The instant she was handed down from the carriage she began quivering like a spaniel scenting game. Within seconds, she was trotting from hillock to hillock, magnifying glass and sketchbook in hand, apparently thrilled to the core of her being.

The others stood at the edge of the field for a few minutes. Polly watched Miss Pickens’s gyrations with an indulgent smile. “I do like to see Miss Pickens enjoying herself,” she remarked. “I fancy her preferences are not often considered, in the general way of things.”

Lilah immediately felt guilty. “She never complains,” she said quickly. “And we do try to accommodate her at home. Or, at the least, we inconvenience her as little as possible.”

“Oh! I wasn’t criticizing you, my dear,” said Polly. “I was only observing that a governess’s life—or the life of any indigent gentlewoman, for that matter—is no bed of roses. I like to pamper such women when I can.”

“Quite right, my pet,” said Nat approvingly. “I daresay it won’t harm us to view a few ruins, eh? Not my cup of tea, but I’ve no objection to obliging Miss Pickens. Very fine weather for it, too.” He offered his arm to his wife and they strolled off, their heads together as they chatted.

“What a dear old couple they are,” said Lilah impulsively. “It is impossible not to love them.”

“Yes,” said Eugenia’s soft voice, on the other side of Drake. “There is much we can learn from their example of lovingkindness.”

Lilah felt a stab of irritation. She had forgotten Eugenia’s existence for a moment, yet here she was, holding Drake’s arm and making pious remarks. And spoiling everything. Why couldn’t she have gone off with Uncle Nat and Aunt Polly? The woman would have Drake all to herself soon enough; surely there was no need to monopolize him now.

Eugenia tugged gently on her escort’s sleeve. “Drake, darling. May we explore a little?”

Was it Lilah’s imagination, or did Drake flinch when Eugenia called him darling? He seemed to collect himself with an effort, then look down at his fiancee as if bemused by her presence at his side. “Certainly,” he said. He then added, a bit lamely, “my dear.”

What was the man thinking? Lilah felt another twinge of annoyance. Did he want to marry Eugenia, or didn’t he? Did he love the creature, or didn’t he? And why on earth would he put everyone through this nonsense if he didn’t?

Drake and Eugenia headed out into the lumpy grass. Feeling decidedly put-upon, Lilah trudged discontentedly in their wake. If Jonathan were here, she thought resentfully, I wouldn’t be walking alone. If Jonathan were here, I’d show Drake how it feels to be ignored. If Jonathan were here—

Lilah squeaked aloud as her thin-soled shoes slid on the wet grass and she stumbled. Drake was at her side in a flash, pulling her upright with his strong arms, steadying her.

“My hero,” she declared weakly. She was trying to make a joke, but nobody laughed.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. No. I just—” She swallowed hard. “I just twisted my foot a bit.”

It wasn’t pain that was causing her to cling to him. It was need. He was holding her, his eyes searing her, the heat radiating from his body turning her dizzy and faint. Oh, this was ghastly. Eugenia was standing right over there, watching them. She would guess soon, if she hadn’t already, the powerful force drawing Lilah to Drake. She must get a grip on herself, she really must.

She tore her eyes from Drake’s and jerked out of his arms, pointing a shaky finger at the parasol she had dropped. “If you please,” she said. Her lips felt stiff as she struggled to hide her emotions.

Drake picked up the parasol, shook it out, and handed it to her. “Here you go,” he said gruffly. “No harm done. You’re sure you weren’t injured?”

Before she knew what he was about, he had dropped to one knee and taken her foot in his hands. She gasped with surprise, then had to grab his shoulders to keep her balance as he lifted her foot and placed it on his thigh, gently probing it with his fingers.

She blushed. She couldn’t help it. She was terrified that Eugenia would see how Drake’s touch affected her. There was something astonishingly intimate about the way he ran his thumbs across the top of her foot, over and under her ankles, and back along both sides of the arch. It felt so wonderful, she longed to tell him that something hurt, just so he would go on touching her.

But she didn’t tell him that anything hurt, and he still went on touching her.

Scarlet-faced, Lilah eventually gritted her teeth. “Put my foot down.”

His hands stilled. “There’s nothing broken,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

“Of course there is nothing broken. I told you I wasn’t injured.” She knew she shouldn’t snap at him, but anger was all she could cling to in this impossible situation.

He flushed a dull red. “I’m not taking liberties, if that’s what you think,” he said sharply. “I have a little knowledge in this area.”

“From diagnosing horseflesh, no doubt.” She tossed her head with a sniff. “I am not one of your fillies, to be handled at your whim.”

He returned her foot to the ground and rose, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t know why I tried to help you,” he said disgustedly. “I should have known you’d bite my head off.” He leaned over her, eyes gleaming. “I wish you were my filly. I’d break you to bridle, and that right speedily.”

Lilah gave him an over-sweet smile. “If I were your filly, I’d run away.”

The gleam in his eyes burned hotter. “I’d offer you sugar and you’d come to me sweetly. You wouldn’t suspect a thing, until it was too late. I’d have the halter on you in no time.”

Lilah’s chin came up. “Nonsense. I’d see right through you,” she said softly. “You’d not get near enough to lay a hand on me.”

“Drake,” interposed Eugenia’s calm voice. “Offer Lilah your other arm. She should not be walking on this uneven ground unsupported.”

Drake straightened hastily. It seemed that he, like Lilah, tended to forget Eugenia’s quiet presence. “Right,” he muttered. He held his right arm toward Lilah—a bit stiffly. She took it—a bit warily. Eugenia took Drake’s left arm, and the threesome strolled forward again. Slowly.

The ground really was uneven, and the thick grass was deceptive. One never knew when one’s foot might land in a hole, or hit a hidden rock. Conversation flagged while they minded their steps. “Heavens,” said Lilah at last. “I call this dangerous. No wonder the owner has left it to his flocks. One couldn’t possibly plow this field.”

“Oh, stop grumbling,” said Drake. “Don’t you hear the siren call of history?”

“Is that what it is? Sounds like sheep bleating.”

His shoulders shook. “You find fault with everything. I never saw a more fascinating place in my life. This field is chock-full of antiquities.”

Lilah tried not to laugh. “I knew it was chock-full of something. I can smell it.”

Miss Pickens’s voice called excitedly from the other side of a series of hillocks. “I have found a denarius!” She held up a tiny object pinched between her thumb and forefinger, waving it with enthusiasm. “Do you suppose I might keep it?”

“If it doesn’t bite,” murmured Lilah.

Drake almost grinned. “A denarius is not a creature. It’s a coin.”

Lilah peeped up at him, feigning intense admiration. “How wonderful it must be to have a classical education.”

At that, Drake laughed out loud. This pleased Lilah enormously. Really, it was marvelous to have someone to joke with. She would miss him when she went home with Papa.

That turned out to be an unfortunate thought. Home had never seemed less inviting. Plunged into gloom, Lilah fell silent. She had just recognized the source of her crankiness. When Eugenia’s letter brought Papa hurrying back from Uxbridge, there would be a frightful row. She didn’t mind the row so much, but she knew it would end with her immediate departure from Wexbridge Abbey.

Papa would drag her back to Chadwick Hall—a place which, until now, had always been her favorite place to be. Now, her beloved home would seem sadly flat. She very much feared that her thoughts would turn to Drake far more often than was good for her. In just a few short days, she thought resentfully, the exasperating earl had completely cut up her peace.

Her mood did not improve. Wandering through the ruins, admiring the view, peering at weathered stones while assuming an interest she did not feel, Lilah was, by turns, exhilarated and miserable. When engrossed in conversation with Drake she tingled with awareness of him, forgetting everything but his exciting nearness. When rudely recalled to the present, usually by Eugenia intruding some remark that reminded Lilah of her existence, Lilah’s heart sank into her shoes. It was the most unsettling morning Lilah had ever spent.

She welcomed the call to luncheon with relief, hoping it would provide a break from her emotional turmoil. It did prove more interesting than the Roman ruins. The Peabodys’ idea of a picnic was a lavish spread of dainty edibles, trucked in by cart and served by members of their staff. The party sat on pristine linens spread on the ground beneath a tree, and ate off china plates handed them by footmen. The fine weather held, and a pleasant breeze kept flies at bay. All in all, the meal was a huge success.

The only difficulty was, Lilah grew increasingly nervous as the meal wore on. She feared that her attraction to Drake, and his to her, was becoming glaringly obvious. Try as she might, her attention was drawn to him again and again. He would keep staring at her, and it seemed that every time she lifted her eyes they met his. She was uncomfortably aware that Aunt Polly was watching them, with a sphinx-like expression that gave no clue to her thoughts.

She dreaded speaking with him alone, fearing that it would only add fuel to the fire, but his marked attention to her was making her frantic with embarrassment. While the servants were gathering up the gear, Eugenia and the Peabodys moved away to give them room and Lilah seized her chance, plucking urgently at Drake’s sleeve.

“You must stop looking at me,” she told him, in a furious whisper. “It’s impolite. And besides, you’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m not looking at you,” he snapped. “You’re looking at me. Every time I glance in your direction, I catch you watching me. What the devil do you mean by it?”

The injustice of this remark fairly took her breath away. “Oh! You—you—why, I don’t know a name bad enough to call you! How can you sit there beside Eugenia and stare me out of countenance? I hardly knew where to look. It’s rude to both of us. It’s more than rude, it’s vulgar!”

She saw the muscles jump in his jaw as he fought for control. “Was I looking at you?” he said, through gritted teeth. “Very well; I was! If you don’t like it, then stop being so bloody interesting.”

“What? How dare you use such language—”

“If you don’t want me to stare at you,” he interrupted, “I suggest you keep out of my sight. For whenever you’re in view, I swear by all that’s holy, I cannot tear my eyes away.”

She stared at him, completely flummoxed. In another man’s mouth, that assertion might have sounded flirtatious. Drake sounded enraged, as if her mere presence had goaded him past endurance. He was motionless beside her, but his stillness somehow gave the impression that he was holding himself on a very tight leash. There was a tenseness about his body that suggested restraint. And his eyes burned like a madman’s as he gazed down at her.

“You are driving me insane,” he told her, still through clenched teeth. “I am counting the moments until your blasted father takes you away from here. If I am to survive until then, you are going to have to keep your distance. For God’s sake, Lilah—have a little mercy. Stay away from me.”

“How can I?” demanded Lilah, stung. “It’s impossible. We are guests here. We must endure each other’s company as best we can. Besides, what is the matter with you? You told me you wanted to marry Eugenia. Now that she’s accepted you, you’re ignoring her—and, if you ask me, behaving very oddly.”

Drake looked ready to explode. “Of course I am behaving oddly!” he exclaimed. “I can’t keep my eyes off you—I can’t think about anyone but you—I try to escort Eugenia like a dutiful fiancé and you end up on my other arm—I cannot escape you!” As usual, he thrust his hand wildly through his hair, careless of the destruction he wrought. And, as usual, the gesture tugged peculiarly at Lilah’s heartstrings.

“Don’t do that,” she ordered, distracted. “It makes you look a fright.” Without thinking, she reached up and smoothed his hair back into place.

Oh, dear. She should have worn proper gloves instead of these lace mitts. Her bare fingers were in his hair, and the sensation was sinfully delicious. Drake’s hand shot up and caught her wrist, holding it in a grip that was almost painful. “Lilah,” he said hoarsely, as if goaded almost beyond endurance. “I’m begging you.”

He didn’t need to finish the thought; she knew what he meant. Lilah discovered that she was trembling. She took a ragged breath and tried to smile. “Sorry,” she whispered. Her throat had suddenly gone dry. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Aunt Polly’s prosaic voice cut into the moment, causing Drake and Lilah to jump like startled hares. “Time to go,” called Polly cheerily. “I rather fancy a storm is coming.”

The darkness on the horizon had nothing to do with the electricity jolting through Lilah. As far as she was concerned, the storm was already here. And raging.