The Virtuous Cyprian. Nicola Cornick
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landlord.’
Lucille already knew. She had recognised him almost at once. He was just as she remembered, only more so. He had a tall, athletic figure, immaculately clad in buff pantaloons and a coat of blue superfine, and the sort of brooding dark good looks that immediately made her feel completely out of her depth. It was the same voice that she remembered, mellow and distinctive. Fortunately he did not appear to have recognised her, but then, he thought she was her sister…Lucille jumped visibly. Oh Lord, Seagrave thought she was Susanna! The scorching heat which had suffused her body when she had first seen him faded abruptly to leave her feeling cold and shaken. She had to tell him at once! For a moment she wavered, within an inch of revealing her true identity. But he looked so authoritative, so forbidding, that her courage failed her. Surely, if she could just get rid of him quickly, he would not call again…
She sat up straighter with what she hoped was a fair imitation of her sister’s elegance and tried to pull herself together. No doubt he already thought her a lackwit, first staring, then silent!
‘Lord Seagrave! Excuse me, I was not attending! How kind of you to call, sir. May I offer you some refreshment, perhaps? A glass of wine?’ Her attempt at Susanna’s husky drawl came out a little strangely. She sounded as though she had a sore throat.
Seagrave’s gaze, coolly assessing, remained focused on her with disconcerting intentness. ‘No, thank you. This is not a social call, Miss Kellaway.’ He strode over to the fireplace and turned back to face her, awesomely in control.
‘When I first heard that you had moved into Dillingham I thought my informant must be in jest,’ he said conversationally. ‘You are hardly renowned for your interest in country living, are you, Miss Kellaway? I cannot see what conceivable attraction a house like this could hold for you. Why, it is not as though you even own it! Your position is tenuous, to say the least! You know, of course, that I can terminate the lease at any time?’
Lucille did not know. Susanna’s brief instructions to her sister had not included any information on the lease on Cookes. Marshalling her scattered thoughts in the face of this sudden and unwelcome attack, Lucille tried desperately to work out how Susanna would deal with this situation. She plumped for a certainty.
‘Lud, is that so?’ She managed to sound quite careless. ‘You’ll understand, my lord, that I leave such matters to my man of business. But surely you are not about to evict me?’ She attempted a melting look at him through her eyelashes. Seagrave seemed totally unmoved. Evidently, Lucille thought, the business of flirtation was more difficult than she had imagined.
‘I prefer,’ Seagrave said, with scrupulous politeness, ‘that you see the error of your ways of your own accord, Miss Kellaway. I feel sure that when you have considered the matter, you will see that the country is not really the place for you. This house can hardly be to your taste, and the village…well, you will find it an uncomfortable place to live.’ There was no hint of a threat in his tone, but Lucille felt a shiver go through her. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. There was something powerfully compelling about that tall figure dominating her shabby drawing-room.
She arched her eyebrows in delicate enquiry. ‘Whatever can you mean, my lord?’ Her tone was provocatively innocent. ‘This house is delightful and Dillingham appears to be a charming village!’
Seagrave’s dark eyes narrowed momentarily. He had betrayed no temper or even irritation during their exchange, yet Lucille had the unnerving feeling that that was only because he was holding himself on a tight rein. Now he thrust his hands into his jacket pockets as if to restrain himself further, but his voice remained level.
‘It is indeed a delightful place, Miss Kellaway, but I doubt that you will find it so. Like many villages it can be insular and intolerant. You will find that the arrival of such a gaudy bird of paradise as yourself amongst the sparrows is not welcomed warmly.’ He frowned. ‘It puzzles me why you wish to bury yourself in the country in the first place. Are you escaping your creditors, perhaps? Or…’ his tone took on a sarcastic edge ‘…perhaps you have some quarry in your sights and feel that absence will make the heart grow fonder?’
Susanna would almost certainly have used the opportunity to make a push to engage his interest. Lucille, however, momentarily forgot the part she was supposed to be playing and forgot to be afraid of him. How dare he treat her with such contemptuous disdain! ‘I’m sure you do not expect me to answer that, sir,’ she snapped, and almost immediately realised she had betrayed herself as his gaze sharpened on her with acute interest. He was too quick. She would have to be much more careful. Her gaze suddenly fell on the copy of Waverley, lying carelessly on the window-seat. Susanna would never even have had a book in the house, let alone appeared to read one. Would Seagrave know that? Would it be better to attempt to hide it, or just to ignore it? She suddenly realised that the Earl had asked her something else, and was waiting politely for her response. Her colour rose at his steady regard with its edge of scorn. She gave him Susanna’s dazzling smile.
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘I said that you did not strike me as a lady who would enjoy social ostracism, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave was saying, with weary patience. ‘No one will call on you, everyone will cut you dead…Do you really want that? Do not tell me that you do not regard it, for I shall not believe you!’
There was so much repressed violence in his tone that Lucille was suddenly frightened. He was taut with tension. Surely there was more to this than a simple desire to remove her from Cookes? But she was supposed to be Susanna, who would probably be less sensitive to the atmosphere and would no doubt have tried to flirt her way out of trouble. She tried a light, petulant shrug.
‘Lud, my lord, you’re monstrous serious! What does one small house matter to you? Or perhaps—’ she gave him a saucy look over her shoulder ‘—you have a more personal reason for wishing me off your property?’
It was a shot in the dark but its effect was electric. Seagrave spun round and caught her wrist in a grip that hurt. Lucille looked up at him. His face was expressionless but there was a look in his eyes which chilled her.
‘I do, madam, and you know why! Oh, I have no opinion of how you choose to earn a living—I make no judgments. But I do not like you.’ He spoke through his teeth. ‘You had already brought enough trouble on my family before this latest escapade single-handedly sabotaged my betrothal! You are like a bird of ill omen rather than a bird of paradise!’
Lucille felt her lips twitch at this colourful metaphor. She did not understand his allusion to Susanna’s previous entanglement with his family, but could see that he might be justifiably angry that her actions had resulted in a broken engagement. She tried to free her wrist and found herself held fast.
‘I am sorry to have unwittingly caused you trouble, sir—’
‘Unwittingly!’ For a moment his fingers tightened even more cruelly before he dropped her wrist as though he could not bear to touch her. His tone was savage. ‘There was nothing unwitting about your decision to claim this house, madam! Well, hear this! I shall do everything in my power to drive you out of Dillingham! You will be scorned and reviled at every turn! You will wish you had never come here!’
The slamming of the front door behind him echoed through Lucille’s head, causing it to ache again. She rested it in her hands in despair. Oh, why had she not told him the truth when she had had the opportunity? To try to deceive such a man was a piece of complete folly! He was both too acute to be fooled for long, and too forceful to be manipulated with feminine wiles. Feminine wiles! Lucille grimaced. What did she know of such coquetry? Her attempt to impersonate Susanna had been hopeless and she detested the blend of sexual appraisal and contempt with which Seagrave, and no doubt many other men, contemplated her sister. Lucille groaned aloud.
Seagrave…The blood was still singing through her veins from his touch, which was a singularly unhelpful reaction to him, she told herself sternly. It seemed that his slightest glance addled her wits, which was the last thing she needed when she had to have those wits about her! There was no accounting for it. No scientific theory could explain the peculiar mixture of breathlessness and excitement