An Unwilling Conquest Part 29

"Believe me, Mrs Babbacombe, you would do better to encourage the gentlemen and avoid the rakes altogether."

Lucinda copied one of Em's snorts.

"Nonsense. I was in no danger."

She glanced up to see Harry's face turn to stone. "Mrs Babbacombe, I have severe difficulty believing you would recognise danger if you fell over it."

Lucinda had to purse her lips to stop her smile.

"Bos.h.!.+" she eventually returned.

Harry sent her a severe glance--and determinedly steered her to a table. Not one of the small, intimate tables for two in the corners of the large supper-room, but a table to accommodate a small army set close to the buffet in the room's centre. Taking the seat he held for her, Lucinda cast him a puzzled glance.

She was even more puzzled when her court tentatively descended, and Harry forbore to bite. He sat beside her, leaning back in the chair, a champagne flute in one long- fingered hand, and silently monitored the conversation.

His brooding presence acted as a most efficient damper, ensuring the jocularity remained strictly within acceptable bounds. Ariabelle Burnham, joining them, cast one awed glance at Harry, then caught Lucinda's eye and raised her gla.s.s in a silent toast. Lucinda risked a quick grin, then let her gaze slide to Harry's face.

He was watching her, not the others, his lips set in a line she was coming to know well, his green gaze jewel like and impenetrable.

Lucinda quelled a s.h.i.+ver. Turning back to the table, she forced herself to focus on her less interesting admirers.

As he had promised, Harry was waiting for her in the hall of Hallows House at precisely nine o'clock the next morning.

Descending the stairs with a dark blue half-cape draped over her bluebell-hued carriage dress, Lucinda watched as his gaze skimmed knowledgeably over her. When she reached the hall and came forward, her hand extended, his gaze lifted to her face.

Harry saw the feminine smugness in her eyes--and frowned.

"At least you shouldn't freeze." He took her hand and bowed over it--then considered the sight of her small, slim hand nestling in his much larger one.

"Don't forget your gloves."

Lucinda lifted a brow--and drew her gloves from her reticule.

"I'll be back for luncheon, Fergus." Dutifully drawing on her gloves, she glanced at Harry.

"Will you join us, Mr Lester?"

"No--please convey my regrets to my aunt." Harry grasped her arm and steered her to the door. Em's house was probably safe enough but his clubs would be safer; he no longer trusted his aunt.

"I have other engagements."

Lucinda stopped on the top of the steps and glanced up at him.

"I do hope I'm not inconveniencing you by claiming your escort to my inns?"

Harry looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. She was an inconvenience unlike any he'd ever encountered.

"Not at all, my dear. If you recall, I wished this on my selL Why, he refused to consider.

"But it's time we were away."

He led her down the steps, then lifted her to his curricle's seat.

Avoiding Dawlish's eye, he retrieved the reins. He waited only until his henchman's weight tipped the carriage before giving his horses the office.

Lucinda thoroughly enjoyed her drive through the morning streets, not yet crowded. She saw orange sellers plying their wares; she heard strawberry girls calling housewives to their doors. The city seemed different, clean and pristine beneath the morning's dew, the dust yet to be stirred by the traffic. The varied greens of the trees in the Park s.h.i.+fted like a kaleidoscope. Harry drove them briskly along the gravel led carriage way

then out of a distant gate. Once they were bowling along the road to Hammersmith, Lucinda turned her mind to business. Harry answered her questions on the inns they, pa.s.sed, occasionally referring to Dawlish.

Lucinda noted that Harry's groom seemed uncommonly morose; his dour tones suggested a death in the family.

But she forgot Dawlish and his patent misery when they pulled into the yard of the Argyle Arms.

The Argyle Arms proved to have much in common with the Barbican Arms.

The innkeeper, a Mr Honeywell, after one glance at Harry, deferentially escorted her over the 'large inn, which extended over three interconnecting wings. They were on the ground floor of one of the wings heading back towards the main entrance when Lucinda heard laughter behind a door she had a.s.sumed led to a bedchamber.

Visions of the Green Goose flitted through her mind. It had, however, been male laughter. She halted.

"What's behind that door?"

Mr Honeywell remained impa.s.sive.

"A parlour, ma'am."

"A par lout Lucinda frowned and looked about her. " Ah, yes--this was a separate house at one time, wasn't it? "

Mr Honeywell nodded and gestured for her to proceed.

Lucinda stood stock-still and stared at. the closed parlour door.

"That makes four parlours- does the inn's custom necessitate so many?"

"Not directly," Mr Honeywell admitted.

"But we're so near town we often rent rooms to groups for meetings."

Lucinda pursed her lips.

"I would like to inspect this extra par lout Honeywell."

Mr Honeywell's expression grew wary.

"Ah--this one's currently occupied, ma'am, but there's another just like it in the other ~ rig. If you'd like to see that?"

"Indeed."

Lucinda nodded but her eyes remained on the closed door.

"Who is currently using this one?" "Er ... a group of gentlemen, ma'am."