Книга - Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant

Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant
Helen Dickson


A Dangerous Mission, a Passionate Past…Nathan Rochefort has never understood why his fiancée Lucy Lane broke off their engagement. But now, faced with a treacherous mission, he needs her skills more than ever…Lucy has put her handsome officer and his betrayal firmly behind her – until Nathan explodes back into her life, a fierce reminder of all the hopes and dreams she once held dear.In the depths of the Portuguese mountains Lucy and Nathan succumb to the intensity of their feelings, little realising that the consequences of one stolen night will link them together – for always.









Lucy’s whole body began to tremble as his lips descended to hers, and she sought to forestall what her heart knew was inevitable by reasoning with him.


‘This isn’t what we planned,’ she whispered, shuddering as his lips trailed a hot path across her cheek to seek her ear. ‘You promised …’

He smothered what she had been about to say with his mouth, kissing her long and deep until Lucy shivered with the waves of tension shooting through her. The instant he felt her trembling response his arm tightened, supporting her.

‘Don’t worry, Lucy,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I’ll stop whenever you tell me to.’

Imprisoned by his protective embrace, reassured by his promise and seduced by his mouth and caressing hands, which had found their way under her shirt to bare flesh, Lucy clung to him, sliding slowly into a dark abyss of desire.




Author Note (#ulink_595e5ca9-9691-5752-a24c-20aaf61649a7)


I read numerous books across all genres. I write Historical Romance and I am never not writing.

Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant is set in the Regency period, a time when people lived through one of the most romantic and turbulent ages of British history. Of course you can’t write about the Regency period without the Peninsular campaign popping up somewhere. When I began writing this book I knew very little about it, but what I did know was that novels about that time must have conflict. I wanted to write a story that touched on the campaign but without the battles, for the conflict to be between my two main characters, Lucy and Nathan. It was for this reason that I chose Portugal as a backdrop, when the country was relatively quiet and the battles were being fought over the border in Spain.

Portugal is a world away from Lucy’s life as an actress on the London stage, but when her old love, Nathan Rochefort, a spy in the British intelligence, reappears in her life and asks her to accompany him on an assignment—to rescue a woman and her child being held for ransom by rebels in the mountains in Portugal—being hounded by creditors and tempted by the money Nathan is offering, Lucy agrees to go with him. It’s a rocky road they travel as they make their way into the Sierras, but then the road to true love is never easy.


Lucy Lane and

the Lieutenant

Helen Dickson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


HELEN DICKSON was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.


Contents

Cover (#ubb93f374-fef9-5a93-935e-2d5ea41e2f72)

Excerpt (#u60bb7d43-329f-538f-87dd-612b74bf5469)

Author Note (#u5c6970b4-8de7-5ed5-abc2-c0ca33dda67a)

Title Page (#ub5544785-549e-504b-b382-b8c8ce6b3e97)

About the Author (#ube1964bc-71f0-57ab-8352-f2580dd16c94)

Chapter One (#udb06437e-1818-5de3-960d-530b75440ced)

Chapter Two (#u914458c4-2485-5c9d-9f11-d04504b7ec91)

Chapter Three (#u7bd099f9-60c8-595b-8160-a63773f7f2cc)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_64c086a1-723f-5a6c-a9b2-a184a5456b95)

1812

The elegant, dignified creature who made her way down the stairs was the very epitome of poise and grace, beautiful and refined. Her gown was magnificent, creamy pale gold satin with tight elbow-length sleeves and a low heart-shaped bodice adorned with delicate golden-white lace. Her maid Polly—a nineteen-year-old redhead who fussed over her like a mother hen, seeing that she got the proper rest, the proper food and all the services suitable to a lady of the theatre—had stacked her hair on top of her head in glossy chestnut curls, leaving three long fat ringlets to dangle down between her shoulder blades.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs Jack was there to take her hand. ‘Happy birthday, Lucy. You look adorable,’ he said, raising her fingers to his lips.

The startling green eyes sprinkled with gold that glinted from under black eyelashes sparkled and the lovely mouth curled with the suggestion of a smile. ‘Thank you, Jack,’ she answered coolly, wishing she didn’t have to attend this party being held in her own house, a small but charming establishment in Leicester Fields. ‘I can’t help thinking all this is a little over the top and premature. I’m beginning to think it would have been more appropriate to celebrate my gaining the part to play Portia when they see how well I perform the role. The cost of all this has practically ruined me.’

‘It isn’t just about that. It is your birthday, darling,’ Jack purred, ‘though how you can be twenty-four when you look much younger defies logic.’

‘And you always were a wretched liar,’ Lucy remarked, laughing softly.

‘You are growing older and wiser, Lucy, I grant you—and more beautiful. Maturity becomes you. Now come along,’ he said, drawing her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘Everyone is waiting for you.’

There was a rousing burst of applause as they entered the tastefully furnished drawing room. Although the house was small, the drawing room was large and airy with windows looking out over a small flower-filled garden. Decorated in shades of white, pale green and gold, with a lovely pearl-grey carpet on the floor, it was an ideal place for entertaining and roomy enough to accommodate several people. A buffet table had been set up, offering a lavish array of food.

They were immediately surrounded and separated, and Lucy found herself being ever so vivacious and charming to a host of actors, writers, poets, romantics and wistful dreamers and a pack of persistent journalists from Fleet Street who bombarded her with questions and compliments. The company would no doubt become rowdier as the evening wore on and more liquor was consumed.

Lucy was one of those lucky people who was hopelessly in love with the very activity from which she made her living and, since her aunt Dora’s savings were now depleted, enabled her to keep the elderly lady in her small but comfortable accommodation. But not for much longer if her finances didn’t improve.

In the theatre nothing was certain and the thought that she might sink into penury was a constant worry for her. The past few years had been a struggle as she sought to achieve some success in the world of theatre—a success that would mean relief from the crushing weight of bills that hounded her daily. Aunt Dora had suggested that she give up her rented house and move in with her, halving the bills, and Lucy knew the day was fast approaching when she might have no alternative. But she had lived with her aunt for most of her life and her independence, which she cherished, had been hard won.

At four and twenty and unmarried, Lucy had been employed as an actress since she was fourteen. Almost a lifetime ago, she reflected somewhat ironically. To play Portia in Shakespeare’s TheMerchant of Venice would be her crowning glory. It was a dream she’d nursed since embarking on her career. Opening night was four weeks away. She was terribly excited, but she had much to do before the production took to the stage.

Jack handed her a glass of much-needed champagne. Looking handsome in black-and-white evening attire with an ivory-silk waistcoat, eyelids drooping lethargically over his sleepy brown eyes, his light brown hair neatly brushed, he looked particularly attractive.

‘Thank you for rescuing me, Jack. Those journalists certainly want their pound of flesh—if you’ll pardon the pun,’ she jokingly remarked with reference to Shylock in The Merchant of Venice.

Jack cast a casual eye about the crowded room. ‘Nevertheless, those chaps from Fleet Street will grow to adore you. They’ll soon be writing about you, about the most beloved and talented actress that ever graced the London stage—unaffected, a woman who doesn’t give herself airs and graces. Make the most of it while you can.’

Lucy gave him a wry look. ‘They will continue to write about me while my popularity lasts, Jack, but I’m a realist. An actress is only as good as the part she plays. The minute the cream roles begin to dwindle and someone else comes along, prettier and more talented, she will disappear into obscurity. It happens all the time.’

Jack gave her a look of reproach. ‘You are too cynical for your own good, Lucy. Enjoy your fame. It will last, I am sure of it.’

‘You flatter me. Had I been blessed with the talents of Sarah Siddons I could understand it. As it is I am just one of many actresses trying to earn an honest crust.’

‘You wouldn’t starve if you married me,’ he uttered softly. Lifting a glass of port from a tray on the table, Jack studied her décolletage with an appreciative eye.

Taking a sip of champagne, Lucy smiled tightly. ‘Please, Jack, don’t look at me like that. I’ve asked you not to and I’ve given you my answer. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone just now. But thank you for the flowers you sent. They are lovely, but I do wish you wouldn’t buy me gifts all the time.’

‘Why not? Nothing is too good for my favourite girl. You’re not objecting, I hope.’

‘No, of course I’m not,’ she answered. ‘They are lovely.’

She’d been on the back foot when Jack had asked her to marry him. His proposal had been totally unexpected. From the beginning she had told herself she wouldn’t refuse his friendship, but anything else was out of the question. He was the youngest son of a peer of the realm, an aristocrat. She was an actress and quite beyond the pale in the upper echelons of society. Men like Jack made women like her their mistresses, they did not marry them—and she couldn’t be sure that Jack would honour his promise, once he had got her into bed. He did have one asset to his credit—he possessed a sizeable fortune. But to marry a man for his wealth alone was distasteful to her.

Since they had met one year ago at the theatre she felt as if her life had been taken hostage. Had she given serious thought to the consequences of yielding to his attentions in the beginning, she’d have turned him away right then and there, refusing his gifts of flowers and a book of sonnets. Yet she had been reluctant to be so harsh, for it had been painfully obvious that he was feeling out of kilter since being wounded out of the army. His first visit had led to another and he was soon squiring her about town on a regular basis. Jack was a ladies’ man and popular in any company. He was also fun and delightful to be with, but she was always careful to keep him at arm’s length and out of her bed.

The truth was that his kisses reached no deeper than her lips and the closeness of his body lit no fires inside her. Some other man had already claimed that privilege by touching his spark to all her deepest and most secret passions. With a kiss that had barely brushed her lips he had breathed his life into her and with his touch as light as a sigh he had marked her as his own.

For a moment she was transported back in time into the arms of her handsome lover, so tall and powerfully built, with eyes as warm as the sun and a smile that melted her senses with wicked pleasure. But that was a long time ago. She had moved on since then. Nothing was to be gained by looking back. She had been bitten once and was determined not to let it happen again. She tried not to think of that time—of the man who had broken her heart—but would find her thoughts turning to him of their own volition. And then she would thrust them away, not wanting the spectre of him to spoil what she had now.

At that moment Lucy’s closest friend, Coral Gibbons, a saucy but talented young actress in a fetching low-cut salmon-pink gown, arrived with her latest beau in tow. Jamie Shepherd with his dark blond hair charmingly tousled was a budding young playwright. Coral gave her an affectionate hug, her hazel eyes sparkling and her wide mouth curled with the suggestion of her pixie smile.

‘You’ll be marvellous as Portia,’ she exclaimed. ‘Although I must tell you that I fancied the part myself. Are you excited?’

‘Of course, Coral. What actress wouldn’t be? It’s a role I’ve always wanted to play and I’m so grateful to Mr Portas for offering me the part.’

‘The great theatrical manager knows a good thing when he sees it. You’ll be an enormous success, I just know it. Your last play was brilliant. You deserve all the acclaim you’ve received.’

Lucy laughed. ‘It’s nice of you to say so, Coral, and though I welcome such praise you do have a habit of exaggerating.’

‘Nonsense! You’ll soon have every theatre manager in London wanting you. You’ve worked hard and you deserve it, love. But don’t work too hard and do think about coming to Ranelagh on Saturday night. You’ll love the Rotunda and the pavilion, and the gardens by moonlight are so romantic. Jamie will be our escort and we’ll have a marvellous time. Bring Jack along if you like. The two of you seem to be getting closer. It’s not gone unnoticed that he hardly lets you out of his sight.’

Coral’s remark brought a disgruntled frown to Lucy’s brow. ‘He is attentive, I agree—so attentive that I’m in danger of suffocating.’

‘I don’t mind telling you, love, that I worry about you. I really do. A woman as lovely as you should have a dozen beaux, should be going out often. I know you had a very unpleasant experience with that man in the past you told me about—the one you were going to marry and then dropped because you found out he’d been unfaithful, but not all men are like that.’

‘No?’

‘Well...’ Coral hesitated. ‘There are a few good ones out there, I feel sure of it. Still, I don’t mind telling you that if I didn’t have Jamie on tap I’d give you some strong competition for Jack.’

‘Be my guest, Coral. I’ve told him I will not marry him, but he’s the persistent type—at least where getting me into his bed is concerned. I’m no naïve, gullible green girl. I don’t believe for one minute that he’s serious about marrying me.’

‘Neither of us is getting any younger, love. My advice to you is to grab him while you can. As his wife or mistress he would be useful. He’s rich and titled to boot—the answer to all your money troubles. Men like that are few and far between.’

‘You’ve noticed,’ Lucy said.

‘Don’t be modest. A woman is always flattered to learn a man finds her attractive.’

‘As you will know,’ Lucy said laughingly. ‘It’s evident Jamie is head over heels in love with you.’ She glanced at Jamie talking animatedly and loudly to Mr Portas.

Coral looked over at her beau thoughtfully. ‘Jamie’s had far too much to drink already and was vociferously declaring himself the greatest English playwright since Shakespeare as we walked along the street. He’s just finished writing his new play and is testing the great man out to see if he might be interested in reading it, but I don’t hold out much hope. Mr Portas doesn’t like new productions.’

‘That’s because they’re expensive, risky and time-consuming. We both know they can be damned into oblivion by the audience on the first night. The cost of new scenes, costumes and music often make it ineligible to a director of a theatre to accept a new play, especially when it’s considered that the reviving of a good play would answer his end of profit and reputation.’

Coral sighed. ‘Unfortunately I think you’re right. Mr Portas always favours a good old English drama. Duels, brooding heroes and doxies, bloodshed and battles, that’s what the public want. I don’t think Mr Portas will give Jamie a moment of his time, but he lives in hope. I’d best go and rescue him, although I have a favour of my own to ask the great man.’ Leaving Lucy to talk to a cheeky reporter, Coral sidled over to ask Mr Portas, a portly, much-liked dramatist—volatile and mercurial when things weren’t going his way—in a slightly rumpled blue suit, if he would consider her for a walk-on part in The Merchant of Venice.

* * *

It was close on midnight when the guests began to depart—some to stagger out in jovial good humour. Lucy was about to say goodnight to Jack when Polly came to her. The girl looked agitated, for she kept wringing her hands.

‘Polly? Whatever is the matter?’ Lucy enquired.

‘There’s a gentleman to see you,’ Polly said hurriedly. ‘He’s in the parlour.’

Lucy looked at her with a measure of amusement. ‘The parlour? Why on earth didn’t he join us?’

‘He said it’s a private matter, Miss Lane. He seemed very anxious to see you, but said he’d wait until your guests had gone.’

Momentarily surprised and curious as to who this visitor could be to call on her at this time of night, Lucy stared at the closed parlour door.

On the point of leaving, Jack came to stand beside her. ‘I think I’d better stay.’

Lucy started to speak, but before she could do so, the parlour door was flung open and a man strode out. He was so tall that the top of his head nearly grazed the door frame under which he instinctively ducked. He wore a black military-style coat with brass buttons and a white linen shirt and neckcloth. His narrow hips and muscular thighs were encased in black breeches and his gleaming black boots came to his knees. His unfashionably long hair was drawn back to the nape and secured. It was as black as his coat. His eyes were as cold as Antarctic ice floes, and gave his face with its high planed cheekbones a harsh expression. His mouth was wide and full, the lower lip with that cruel curve she remembered. A thin scar ran down his left cheek in a tanned face harder than iron and a gaze that could only be described as impudent. The scar only served to add a touch of glamour to the nobility of his perfect features.

Lucy caught her breath in her throat and for a moment the world seemed to stand on its end. Although she had not set eyes on this man for four years, she recognised at once that proud and arrogant form. There could be no mistake.

It was Nathan Rochefort, the man whom she had almost married four years ago, the man she loved—had loved—with all her heart and soul, and now he was the man she most hated in all the world.

The blood drained from her face as she stared at him, unable to comprehend that he was here, in her house. Her heart pounded and her knees grew weak. She steadied herself, willed herself to hold the hysterics at bay. She was paralysed, unable to speak for the moment. The reality didn’t frighten her at all. She was shaken, yes, alarmed, too, and she was mad as hell, but she wasn’t at all frightened as she stared at Nathan. She drew air in her lungs and calmed her trembling body, eyeing him surreptitiously.

There was a health and vitality about him that was almost mesmerising. In all, he was even more handsome than she remembered. It unnerved her, especially when those thoroughly light blue eyes locked on her and slowly raked her. She had forgotten how brilliant and clear they were. In some magical way they seemed capable of stripping the deceit from whatever had passed between them before. It was all she could do to face his unspoken challenge and not order him out of her house.

In that moment the locked chamber in her mind burst wide open against her will and the memories came flooding back, bringing with them all the pain and anguish she had suffered four years ago. As she looked at him, at his fine strong body, she could almost feel again his hands cupping her breasts and a mouth, hot and sweet, caressing the softness of them, kisses bruising her lips and searing down the length of her throat, strong arms crushing her against a hard body, and the bold thrust of this man between her thighs. She blushed profusely at her own musings and immediately banished the memory, stiffening her spine as she recollected herself.

After a courtship of considerable length and a date set for their wedding, without warning to anyone, overwhelmed with anger, humiliation and a deep sense of betrayal when she had discovered his affair with her closest friend, Lucy had broken off their engagement and disappeared from his life.

And now here he was, as large as life, about to insinuate himself into her world once more.

‘I would appreciate a moment of your time,’ he said in low, clipped tones.

‘Indeed! You have no right to come to my home unannounced,’ Lucy said coldly.

‘That is a social nicety I chose to waive. The nature of my visit cannot wait.’ His glance flicked to Jack, who was unable to conceal his astonishment. ‘Please excuse us. What I have to discuss with Miss Lane is of the utmost importance.’ Without more ado he strode to the door which led on to the street and held it open.

Jack looked at Lucy. ‘What the devil is this about, Lucy,’ he demanded. ‘Who is this fellow? I’m damned if I’ll leave you alone with him.’

Lucy knew she had to reassure Jack. He clearly feared for her. What did he expect? What did she expect? ‘It’s all right, Jack. Please don’t worry. This gentleman means me no harm.’

‘You know this man?’

‘Yes. This is...’ She faltered, not knowing how he should be addressed after all this time.

‘Lieutenant Colonel Nathan Rochefort,’ he provided sharply.

His voice had the same rich timbre and Lucy began to wonder if he had any flaw she could touch upon and draw some strength from. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Rochefort and I are acquainted. Don’t worry. Please go, Jack. I’ll speak to you tomorrow at the theatre.’

‘Very well.’ His voice sounded mulish. Turning, he strode in the direction of the stern-looking stranger holding the door open with an impatience that he was clearly finding hard to control. Jack paused, looking into a face a foot above his own. ‘If you touch her, I’ll...’

‘You’ll what?’ Nathan’s lips curled with mild contempt. ‘Goodnight.’ Without more ado he closed the door almost before Jack had time to pass through.

‘You must also leave,’ Lucy said, her tone brisk.

Nathan’s eyes slid towards her and trapped her in their burning gaze. ‘Not yet. We have to talk—if you please—’

‘I do not please,’ Lucy cut him short disdainfully. ‘If you have anything to say to me, you may write to my aunt Dora, who deals with most of my correspondence and engagements. She will tell you if I am able to receive you—if I want to.’

‘I haven’t time for that—although I do intend calling on your delightful aunt. She will not turn me away.’

He was right. Aunt Dora had a soft spot for Nathan Rochefort—always had. He could wind her round his little finger. As handsome as he was, she could imagine that he had grown quite adept at swaying besotted women of all ages to do his bidding. He did seem to have a way about him and she could not fault any woman for falling under his spell, for she found to her amazement that her heart was not so distantly detached as she might have imagined it to be. Even his deep mellow voice seemed like a warm caress stroking over her senses.

Shaking off the effects of what his presence was doing to her, Lucy took herself mentally in hand and reminded herself of all she had suffered at his hands. Better to remain aloof and save her pride.

‘You may be right. Aunt Dora is easily taken in, but my own nature is less trusting.’

He looked at her hard. ‘Then it’s up to me to make you change your mind. We have to talk.’

‘We don’t have to do anything. We have nothing to talk about.’ Considering the turmoil within her, her voice was curiously calm. Her proud, disdainful green eyes met and held his without flinching. For a moment she studied this man, whom she had once loved to distraction. She had believed in him as a god, would have gladly promised to love, honour and obey him had they made it to the altar. So many things had changed after that. As a soldier, when the war with France had broken out, he had left for the Continent. She had got on with her life.

‘You cannot be aware of the impropriety of such a visit at this hour, or you would scarcely have ventured to knock on my door. What you have to say must be very grave indeed to justify such behaviour.’

‘Hospitality would not seem to be your strong point,’ he stated coldly. ‘However, what I have to say to you will take a little time—besides being a somewhat delicate matter.’

Striding to her and taking her arm, he led her into the parlour and banged the door shut with his foot on a stupefied Polly, who remained staring at the closed door for several moments before turning away and setting her mind to tidying up after the guests.

In the parlour, Lucy regained her composure and glared at the intruder, and when she spoke her voice was filled with barely suppressed fury. ‘I really did not think I would see you again. I confess I am astonished at your impudence! We have been apart four years and then you suddenly appear and demand to see me as though nothing had occurred.’

‘It was you who ended the relationship, not me.’

As he spoke, Lucy sensed that he was struggling to contain his anger and decided to speak boldly. ‘Yes, I did. It was my decision.’

‘And like a fool I awaited your explanation—if you had one to offer—of your astounding conduct. Your explanation and your apology. It would appear that you were suddenly bereft of your senses and of the most elementary notions of respect towards me.’

Lucy stared at him, astounded that he should turn the blame for ending their relationship on her. ‘Apology?’ she said clearly. ‘I think it is not I who should apologise.’

He looked at her, his eyes alight with anger. ‘What did you say?’

‘That if anyone has been insulted, it is I! What I did was for the sake of my own dignity. I thank God that before it was too late my eyes were opened and I saw that it would be folly for us to marry. But enough of this,’ she said, having no intention of humiliating herself by raking over old coals that had long since burnt out. ‘I do not have to explain myself and I have no intention of doing so.’

‘I do not ask you to.’

‘Then why are you here? To see whether I should recognise you? To see if you were still at all like my memory of you? After four years, how would I know?’ And she didn’t know, for he was changed. Where she had known him as light-hearted with many pleasant sides to his character, she now perceived an air of seriousness about him. He displayed nothing of the easy, fun-loving man she had once known. Perhaps the hardships and tribulations of the war had stripped all humour from him.

‘I find you greatly altered, Lucy,’ he remarked in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Not to your advantage.’

The brutality of his remark, his look of almost elementary politeness, did not impress Lucy in the least. He had long ago lost the power to intimidate her—even assuming he ever had. On the contrary—his rudeness helped to affirm her self-control and she permitted herself a sly smile.

‘I doubt you have come here to ask me to do duty for a mirror. These past years have not been easy for me, not even profitable, but I don’t see that my private affairs concern you.’

‘I was not referring to your looks, but to what is inside you—and no one asked you to suffer.’

‘No, I know that and I am still here, carrying on, doing what I like doing best. Please say what you have to say,’ Lucy said irately. ‘I have no wish to prolong this interview.’

He smiled crookedly at her under drooping eyelids. ‘No? Surely this is a most affecting moment,’ he stated with heavy irony. ‘Two people once betrothed to each other, together again after such a long absence—especially after believing themselves parted for ever. My dear Lucy, you should be glad to be reunited with the man you loved—for you did love me, my dear. You were quite devoted to me as I recall.’

Lucy had had enough. ‘That will do,’ she retorted sharply. ‘You are amazingly impertinent.’ She was not going to remind him how he had trampled on that innocent love in the bed of her closest friend. ‘You have the audacity to talk about what was between us as if it were merely another of those delightful escapades you men discuss over your brandy.’

Nathan shrugged, but his eyes shifted to avoid Lucy’s sparkling gaze. ‘It was you who, for some reason, turned it into a huge tragedy. From what I understand, I was not the only one to be ostracised by you.’

Lucy’s head came up sharply. ‘Please explain what you mean by that remark? Who are you talking about?’

‘Katherine.’

The name fell on Lucy like a hammer blow. Her eyes flew to his, anger, hot and fierce, in their depths. ‘Please do not mention her name to me. I will not speak of her. If you insist on doing so, then I will order you to leave my house this instant.’

Nathan held up both his hands, palms outward, a warning bell ringing in his mind telling him not to pursue this. But whatever it was that had gone wrong between Lucy and Katherine was raw. That was clear. Knowing this, there was need for caution.

‘I see you haven’t changed, Nathan. Still stuffed with the same arrogance and conceit, which I must confess were two of the attributes I most despised in you.’

He appeared totally unfazed by her stinging barb, which angered her further. ‘Indeed? You should have told me how you felt when we were together.’

‘I doubt it would have made any difference.’

‘It might. Speaking of arrogance and conceit, I see you are closely acquainted with Lambert.’

She glanced at him pointedly. ‘You know Jack? How?’

He shrugged. ‘I have no interest in Lambert. He’s well connected. Unfortunately he wasn’t thought clever enough for anything except the army. After spending a couple of years in the military where he had a tendency to search out opportunities to benefit himself—where he got too comfortable with the camp-followers—the female kind, I might add,’ he said, raising a well-defined brow, ‘I doubt his habits have changed and he continues to dally here and there at his leisure. I’m sure you know the type.’

‘Yes, actually I’m afraid I do,’ Lucy replied, gritting out the words. It nettled her sorely that he should seek to besmirch Jack’s character when his own reputation was far from exemplary.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded. ‘What is the reason for this rude intrusion into my home? You have not sought me out to ask about my health or to discuss the weather.’ He seemed solemn, earnest. She stared into the frank light blue eyes and something fluttered inside her. ‘I have had a long day and I am tired and wish to go to bed, so please get on with it. Say what you have to say and make an end. What do you want?’

He cocked a brow. ‘If I were not a gentleman, I ought to answer you. But however delectable you are, Lucy, that is not why I am here. No. For the present my wants are more practical.’ His lips curved into what could almost be described as a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. He went and sat down in a large tapestry-covered armchair that stood by the fire, stretched out his long booted legs comfortably and looked up at her.

Lucy stood several feet away from him, her arms crossed over her breasts, visibly struggling against a growing anger which made her eyes gleam like two hard green stones. Even now, after four long years—a lifetime, it seemed—he was still the most handsome man she had ever known. There were lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there when they had been affianced and the scar was new, but she was sure he could still turn a woman’s head. Which was what had happened to her, when she had been young, naïve and vulnerable to the point of stupidity.

‘The reason I am here, Lucy, is because I wish to enlist your aid in a matter that is of extreme importance.’

Containing her surprise, Lucy stared at him, raising an eyebrow, hoping it would convey her scepticism. ‘My aid? For what, may I ask? Four years ago you did not need me or my aid. Why now?’

Getting to his feet and clasping his hands behind his back, he turned and looked back at her, watching her with a disconcerting gaze. ‘The past is behind us. For the present that is where it must remain. There is the serious business of a war going on and it has demanded my complete attention for the past four years.’

Lucy realised he was serious in his request. He was a tall man, over six feet by several inches, and he seemed at that moment to fill the room. Watching him warily, she didn’t understand where this conversation was leading, although she had a strange tingling in the pit of her stomach, a tingling suggesting she would not be pleased with what he had to say.

‘Please continue.’

For a moment he seemed to lose himself in contemplation. When he next spoke it was in a musing tone. ‘What you don’t know is that from the beginning of the war against France I have been working with a branch of the government which operates completely in secret, a branch which reports only to the Prime Minister. I have been given an assignment in Portugal. It concerns the Duke of Londesborough—who happens to be a very close friend of the Prime Minister.’

The tingling had become an aching dread. Wishing her mouth were not so dry, Lucy cleared her throat. ‘What are you saying? That you are a spy? What nonsense is this? You’d best explain yourself, and quickly, for I have no time to listen to this.’

Nathan did not smile, nor had Lucy really expected him to. Becoming thoughtful, he turned his back on her. Turning to face her once more, he moved closer, pinning her with his penetrating gaze. ‘I spent twelve months in Portugal, where I was wounded and sent back to England to recuperate. When I was restored to health I did not intend going back, but on being given this assignment I am left with no choice but to return. The families concerned mean a great deal to me. I consider it my duty to help them.’

Lucy made an impatient gesture with her hand. ‘I see—although I really don’t see what all this has to do with me. I know absolutely nothing about politics and spying, nor do I wish to.’

‘I can understand that. The majority of women find the subject of no interest and if I remember correctly you were one of them. But I do need your help.’

Lucy had to look away because he was staring at her with such intensity she found it most disturbing. She straightened her skirt as if to straighten her thoughts. The atmosphere in the room was beginning to weigh on her. She was tired and her head was aching.

‘My help?’ she repeated. ‘I really do not see how I can be of any help to you.’

‘I want you to come to Portugal with me—to work with me. I have done such tasks before when a certain degree of discretion is required—it would appear I am rather good at subterfuge. But this time it is different.’

‘How?’ she demanded.

‘Because you will be with me.’

She stared at him incredulously. ‘You want me to become a spy? That is rather far-fetched, even for you. It’s quite ridiculous.’ She laughed, although she did not feel amused. ‘I am an actress—just that. Nothing more and nothing less.’

He gave a low, sardonic chuckle. ‘I’m not asking you to become a spy. It’s true, you are an actress, which is one of the reasons why I have chosen you to help me. You also have other qualities that recommend you. Not only are you beautiful, Lucy Lane, but wise, too, and witty and clever. You have too many talents for a mere actress. I would like you to know that what happened between us before has no bearing on my decision to ask you to assist me in this. It was a purely practical decision. It is my opinion that you are ideally suited for the mission I have been set.’

For a span of several heartbeats she said nothing, then, ‘I will not agree to do whatever it is you require of me. I refuse to do it. I will not. Let me remind you that I have no talent for the—the profession you propose, that it is altogether strange to me. You are asking me to give up the theatre—for if I agree to this mad scheme that is what it will amount to and I cannot afford to let that happen. I have a safe and comfortable profession, one that I happen to like. I will not give it up for something so uncertain. What is it you would have me do? What is so important about this mission?’

Her angry reaction to his request came as no surprise. ‘At present I cannot tell you the whole of it for I have not been fully informed. All I know is that an English woman and her child have been captured by a band of ruthless deserters—soldiers from both sides—and they are being held for ransom in the mountains.’

‘I am sorry. Are they terribly important, this woman and her child?’ she asked, horrified by the woman’s predicament.

‘To her family, yes, she is. You will be working with me. I can’t pretend that it won’t be a great undertaking for you. Where we are going is exceedingly dangerous. Going through the lines is perilous in the extreme. You will be put at risk.’

Lucy’s eyes opened wide. ‘And you would expose me to such danger?’

‘With reluctance, believe me, but it is necessary.’

‘But—why me?’ she asked, slightly bewildered. ‘Surely the risks would be lessened were you to take someone who is accustomed to Portugal—to the mountains—a soldier, perhaps.’

‘If I could be certain the captives have come to no harm then, yes, it would. Unfortunately the woman was wounded when she was taken hostage. If she has not died of her wound then she will be considerably weakened by her captivity. The journey out of the mountains will not be easy. I need a woman to take care of her—and her child.’

‘But—how can you ask this of me?’

‘You are the only one I can ask, the only one I can trust. I ask you to trust me, Lucy.’

‘Trust you?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I think not. Either I am mad, sir, or you are.’

The savagery in her tone startled him. ‘We don’t have much time. I ask you to think about it.’

‘I have. We haven’t seen each other for four years. Much has changed. We have changed. My answer is no. Now I would like you to go. We have nothing else to say to each other.’

He cocked a brow nonchalantly. ‘No? Tell me, what have you been doing for the past four years? When I left for Spain I heard you had left London with a travelling theatre company.’

‘I did—not that it is any of your business. For three years I worked in the provinces, gradually building my reputation before returning to London. I was lucky. I got the breaks I needed.’

‘I am sure talent had something to do with it—having observed you on several occasions on stage.’

Taken off her guard by this, she stared at him with surprise. ‘You have? I didn’t know.’

‘How could you? I was careful not to let you see me. However, I would add that many women are beautiful, but very few have that personal magnetism that marks them out. I believe your aunt Dora had it, too. She was the toast of the town in her day.’

He was right. Aunt Dora had been an actress by profession. She had seen Lucy’s potential and put her on the stage. It had paid off.

Lucy was too beautiful not to have been the recipient of many admiring looks and advances from men. Usually she brushed them aside with a laugh that conveyed the message but gave no offence. Nathan was not like that. When he had remarked on her beauty he had been stating a fact. He did not flatter. He did not smile invitingly. They knew each other too well for that. There had always been an arrogance about him. Now he seemed harder and self-absorbed. Had the war done that to him? she wondered.

Her expression was one of contempt. ‘Why, what’s this? Flattery from you? Coming from you it is insincere and I prefer you didn’t use it on me.’

‘It’s not flattery. I am sincere in what I say. You know, you make me almost sorry for the past. You were beautiful then but now, with a maturity about you, you are more so. No man could help but desire you. It suits you to be angry. It makes your eyes sparkle.’

He let his eyes dwell appreciatively on her lovely face and caress the long, graceful throat and the proud curves revealed by the low-cut bodice of satin and lace. ‘Don’t play the fool with me, Lucy. You are an accomplished actress. Moreover, you speak French like a native. That is a valuable asset for what would be expected of you.’

‘I have no mind to get myself killed for a cause that is nothing to do with me.’

‘You cannot refuse to at least give me the opportunity to change your mind.’

‘It would be a waste of time. My mind is made up.’

‘Is there nothing I can say to induce you to agree?’

‘No. Nothing. That is my last word. There is no point in our meeting again.’

‘Shall I command you, Lucy?’

Her eyes blazed. ‘No man commands me.’

She turned her back on him to walk away. Suddenly her arm was grasped in a vice-like grip and she was spun round. So surprised was she that it took a moment before she realised that his arms were encircling her and he was drawing her against his hard frame.

‘No! Don’t you dare! Leave me alone—you—you brute! Let me go...’

He smothered her objection with a hungry, wildly exciting kiss. Temporarily robbed of her anger that had fortified her resistance, Lucy’s traitorous body lost its rigidity and the scream of warning issued by her mind was stifled by her pounding heart and the shocking pleasure of being held in the strong arms of the man she had believed she would never see again.

His mouth opened and twisted across hers, his tongue thrusting through as his arms crushed her in his embrace. Her world careened crazily as his mouth became insistent, demanding, relentless, snatching her breath as well as her poise. The whole of her body seemed to burst into flame. The feel of him, the smell of him, all combined to transfix her. She was caught up in the heat of a battle she could not hope to win. Her weapons had died, her wits fled. The hard, muscular chest, warm through the cloth of his coat, tightened against her meagrely clad chest, and she was aware of the heavy thudding of his heart while her own throbbed a new frantic rhythm.

His warm lips moving on hers, the sensation of his body pressing against hers—it was all so achingly, poignantly, vibrantly familiar to her. Trailing his mouth across her cheek, brushing insistent kisses along the sensitive curve of her neck and ear, Nathan let his hands slide into her hair, tilting her face up to his, and his eyes held hers, teasing, challenging.

‘I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten how to kiss, Lucy.’

Before Lucy could utter a reply, his parted lips came down on hers again in another long, searching kiss. Lost in a stormy sea of desire, confusion and yearning, Lucy felt his hand splay across her lower spine, forcing her closer to him, but instead of resisting she slid her hands up over his shoulders, unwittingly moulding her melting body to the hardening contours of his. A shudder racked his muscular body as she fitted herself to him and Nathan’s arms tightened, crushing her.

Fighting back the wild urge to lay her down on the carpet and take her then and there, Nathan dragged his lips from hers and drew a long, unsteady breath, slowly expelling it.

Surfacing slowly from the mists of desire, Lucy stared into his hypnotic eyes, dazedly watching their colour and mood change from the smoky darkness of passion to their usual enigmatic pale blue, while she felt reality slowly return. Her hand was still curved around his neck and it finally dawned on her what she had done. Retracting her arm, she stepped back, but his hand shot out and gripped her wrist.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. ‘My compliments,’ he said curtly. ‘I see you have not forgotten all that I taught you—and that you have learned a great deal more in the past four years.’

Outrage exploded in Lucy’s brain. ‘Are you complaining? Four years ago I imagine you found me excruciatingly naïve. Things have changed, Nathan. I have changed. Now, please leave my house. We have nothing further to say to each other.’

‘I disagree. We will speak of my reason for seeking you out in a day or two when you have had time to think it over.’

‘I will not do it,’ she hissed, pulling her wrist free from his grip.

He looked down at her with disdain. ‘No? You will—in the end.’

For a second, Lucy thought she must be going mad. There was a red mist before her eyes and a storm of utter fury in her heart such as she had never felt before. How could she have let him kiss her? How could she have been so weak?

‘Just what are you implying?’

‘I know that you need the money, Lucy, that things haven’t been going well for you of late. If you behave sensibly, as I hope, and do as I ask, then I promise you will be paid handsomely—a princely sum that will enable you and your aunt Dora to live the rest of your lives without having to worry where the next penny is coming from, without having to work yourself into the ground on the stage.’

For the span of several heartbeats she said nothing, then, ‘I happen to like what I do. Now, get out,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Get out and don’t come back. I hate you! Oh, how I hate you!’

He gave a twisted smile and his heart flinched before the cold fury in her glittering green eyes. The pallor of that lovely face, the anguish so clearly written there, touched some forgotten chord and had their effect on his cynical nature. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, shrugged, like a man seeking to shift a burden from his shoulder, and crossed the room. With his hand on the door handle he paused and looked back at her.

‘I forgot to wish you happy birthday, Lucy.’ He smiled softly. ‘You see, I do remember.’


Chapter Two (#ulink_5cad6ea8-74ab-5111-8d5f-c841a8e8c43f)

When Nathan had left, Lucy stared at the closed door, the energy that had fortified her for the length of his visit deserting her as she walked slowly over to the window and stood staring blindly out into the darkness of the garden. She felt as if she had just done physical battle with an army and lost.

After all this time, his smile and his kisses could still make her burn with longing. A moan escaped her as she leaned her head against the cool glass of the windowpane. Shame and fear surged through her as she covered her face with her hands and bitterly faced the awful truth. She had been so confident that if ever they should meet again he could never make her feel anything for him. And all it had taken to prove her wrong was a smile and a kiss.

Physically, she was no more immune to Nathan Rochefort than she had been four years ago. The very nature of his kiss had wreaked havoc on her body, her soul and her heart. Despite all she had learned, everything she had acquired in sophistication and experience, despite everything she knew of him, he could still twist her insides into tight knots of yearning as he had done when she had been nineteen years old.

Where he was concerned, she was still as susceptible as she had ever been. What kind of sorcery did he employ that he could have this effect on her, when she harboured no illusions about any tender feelings he might have for her?

* * *

Striding off into the night, Nathan reflected on his meeting with Lucy. This was not the same woman who had been excited and enthusiastic four years ago. Now she spoke crisply, with a confident authority, all traces of wide-eyed naïvety gone. There was something feline about her. She was quiet in her movements, beautiful, but she had claws, he knew, and he also knew she had the intelligence to use them skilfully if need be.

The flash of anger in her eyes when he had confronted her and kissed her told Nathan that he had gone too far and that if he were to continue in this vein the success of his mission would be seriously imperilled. He remembered how, when she had broken off their engagement without explanation, his anger had been fierce, but at the same time he had been confused.

He had tried numerous times to see her, to demand an explanation, only to be told she didn’t want to see him, then that she had joined a troupe of travelling actors and gone to the provinces. Having no time to pursue her since he was to leave for the Continent, he had left London, determined to forget her. Only it had been impossible. She was too deeply embedded in his heart and mind for him to do that.

After that, when anyone asked about her, he would answer dispassionately, his reply devoid of concern—not even his eyes showed interest. Lucy was gone. Since he knew damned well that he had done no wrong, the only remaining conclusion was that she had left him for someone else. Having seen the way other men followed her with their eyes, drooled over her when she appeared on stage, the existence of a lover was the only thing that made any sense.

With this thought in mind, he hadn’t considered trying to contact her again. She became dead to him and he didn’t give a damn where she went or whose bed she occupied. She had a highly refined sense of survival and she’d land on her feet wherever she went.

But seeing her tonight he had wanted her all over again. The truth was that he missed her. He missed her far more than he could ever have imagined. Numerous times he had picked up his pen to write to her, but his pride had refused to let him put pen to paper. She was the one who had ended it. It was Lucy who must make contact with him.

But then his hand had been forced by duty and now here he was.

His father had been a bishop, his mother first cousin to Lord Wilmslow. Never having married, Lord Wilmslow had died without issue. Nathan was his heir. It was Lord Wilmslow’s influence that had taken Nathan from Oxford University to the Foreign Office where his command of languages, his sound mind, reliable judgement and quick intelligence had ensured a swift rise. Introduced to men of note, he had been given responsibilities and entrusted with confidences. His reputation had led to his first major appointment when war had broken out with France.

British spies had proved effective in following Bonaparte’s activities, and with the information they gleaned, more than ever the British Government was convinced the French leader was determined to invade England. As an important member of the British intelligence system Nathan had been sent to France and then to Spain to work against Bonaparte, an appointment which was as lonely as it was secret.

But the savage war was done for him when a French sword had pierced his side. When his wound had healed, and at thirty-two years old, he had decided it was time for him to think of marriage and raising a family. When he had been summoned and given this assignment, he knew he had to go back.

It was an assignment that drew his full attention since it affected him personally and would enable him to avenge the death of a young soldier, a brave soldier called Harry Connors, who had been the son of a close friend, a soldier whose death he himself had inadvertently caused. He would never be free of the guilt of what he had done until what he considered to be an act of murder had been avenged.

Another reason why this mission was so important to him was because it involved rescuing the wife and young son of his closest friend, who had been killed in battle. He would not be able to live with himself if he did not try his utmost to rescue them from the murderous rabble holding them captive.

But he could not do it alone. After spending weeks in captivity it was likely the woman and child would be in no fit state for a long trek down from the mountains, so it would be better if his companion was a woman. He knew many women, but not one of them was suitable to carry out such a mission.

From a strictly logical standpoint he had chosen Lucy Lane to help him—the last woman on earth who would want to.

She would be perfect for what he had in mind. Of course he had expected her to react angrily to his appearance and his offer, but how long that anger would last he didn’t know. She had already been angry with him for four years. She would fight him, but no matter. Before approaching her he had been quietly watching her for some time. Making discreet enquiries into her circumstances and discovering she was in financial straits, he realised the money she would be paid for accompanying him on his mission might tempt her.

Also her relationship with Jack Lambert bothered him. Lambert had a manly quality that endeared him to women. He was also a notorious rake with a well-deserved reputation for profligacy. He had heard the rumour that Lambert found the beautiful actress a challenge and that he fully intended luring her into his bed by offering her marriage—not that he had any intention of carrying out his promise. Lambert wasn’t the only one to be attracted by her, Nathan reminded himself, for Lucy was a beautiful woman, and there was the allure of her profession, as well. But Lambert was a no-good wastrel who, from sheer perversity and extreme boredom, had unscrupulously flayed the reputations of dozens of pretentiously proud females, but he had never once attempted to rebuild one of those demolished reputations.

Standing in the shadows outside the theatre, Nathan had pressed his lips together at the unexpected stab of jealousy that tore through him as he watched Lambert kiss Lucy’s lips. He had told himself it didn’t matter if she did return his kiss. He couldn’t have cared less. But deep down he would hate to see Lucy become just another of Lambert’s victims and become an object of ridicule. But then, Lucy was not without guile. She was no naïve innocent, but desperate to solve her financial issues, the lure of Lambert’s wealth might prove too strong a temptation for her to resist and she might admit him to her bed, hoping it would end in marriage.

Whatever the truth of the matter, that had been the moment Nathan had determined to recruit her to serve his purpose.

There was no softness in his gaze as he strode on, only the calculating gleam of a man on a mission. Despite what was between them he knew that he had not been mistaken in choosing Lucy Lane. She would be perfect for what he had in mind.

* * *

The next afternoon Lucy received a note from Nathan, asking if she had given the matter he had discussed with her some thought.

She’d already made up her mind that what he asked of her was preposterous. There was a time when she would have gone to the ends of the earth for him, but that was in the past. She had given him her heart, her devotion and her love—in short, she had given him what was the sum and substance of Lucy Lane. She had loved no man before him and no man since and he had betrayed her with her closest friend, Katherine Tindall.

Looking back over the days before she had ended it, she realised it had been in their faces, in their eyes and the way their bodies met, familiar with one another. Katherine, a widow whose military husband had been killed in India, had acted strangely. In her naïvety Lucy had asked her if all was well with her. She recalled Katherine’s evasive disinclination to tell her why she was acting secretive, the way she had laughed nervously and accused her of imagining things—and all the while...

And Nathan! He, too, had seemed withdrawn, secretive, his thoughts elsewhere. She had asked him what was wrong—with him, with her, with them. She didn’t know. She couldn’t tell. He had told her nothing was amiss, that it was in her imagination. His face, though, had belied his words. Normally they had no secrets from one another and she had known he was hiding something from her.

And then there had been Mrs West, an older woman, a widow, an actress herself, who had been among their circle of friends. She had taken Lucy aside and told her in low, conspiratorial tones of the rumour that was being whispered about town of Katherine’s closeness to Nathan, that they were often seen together having a tête-à-tête. You’re an intelligent girl, she had said. Surely you must have noticed. Lucy hadn’t and she wildly shook her head to deny it, telling Mrs West with bitterness and pain that she didn’t believe it and hating her for what she had said, that they were nothing but malicious lies. But could this be what was behind their odd behaviour, the changes she had noted in both Katherine and Nathan?

A shiver passed through Lucy as she remembered the moment she had seen for herself and could no longer ignore the horrible truth. The scene she had witnessed just days before their wedding had become frozen in her memory. Early one morning she had gone to call on Katherine, who was to have been her matron of honour, to discuss some minor details concerning the day itself.

About to get out of her carriage, she had paused on seeing the door open, shrinking against the squabs when she saw Nathan come out of the house accompanied by Katherine. After embracing her and placing what had looked to her like a lover’s kiss on her cheek, he had walked away. That was when something inside her, no more than a tiny crack, began to form at the foundations of her belief that she and Nathan would be together always.

Every nerve in her body had stiffened against the onslaught of her bitter anger and the pain of betrayal. She had wanted to hurt him badly, make them both pay. She wept in the dark of the night with the pain until she thought she would die of it. Her spirit was battered and desolate, but when she rose from her bed and put pen to paper, telling Nathan that she had changed her mind, that it would be folly for them to wed, that she had been mistaken in her feelings for him and that he was not the man she wanted for her husband, she was clear-eyed and icy calm.

When he had called on her she adamantly refused to see him and did not leave the house. Nor did she discuss the matter with anyone, not even her aunt Dora. After two weeks his visits ceased and she later learned that he had been posted to France. Feeling a desperate need to get out of London and to leave the memories and heartache behind, she had joined a travelling theatre company.

Now, to confuse her totally, he had swept back into her life, just as handsome, just as intriguing, and with him he had brought an offer of money as well as adventure. He knew too well how difficult it would be for her to refuse such an alluring combination, but she must.

Refusing to let him intimidate her, angrily she tore up the note and threw it into the fire.

* * *

Another note was delivered the next day, and when she failed to respond he turned up at the house.

‘I’ve given you my decision,’ she told him irately when Polly showed him into the parlour, where she was poring over the housekeeping books, wishing there was more money in the pot to pay the outstanding bills and to spend on a few luxuries. ‘I want no part of it. Now, please don’t pressure me anymore. There have been times in the last four years when I have wondered if I did right in breaking off our engagement. Now I am very glad I did. I was right to do so, for now I see you for what you are. You are a monster. You keep nibbling away at my reserves like a mouse. You will bide your time until the moment is ripe—until I have nowhere else to turn—and then you will pounce.’

Keeping a firm check on his expression, Nathan stepped closer with a respectful glance. ‘I apologise if I expressed myself badly the other day. Do you need more time to think about it?’ Her angry reaction to his proposal had come as no surprise. He was aware of her stubborn independence and he would have to soothe her ire as much as possible. It was up to him to convince her to work for him.

‘No. I’ve given you my decision. There’s too much at stake. I am happy as I am. I enjoy my work, work that is comfortable and familiar to me, work in which I take great pride. I will not leave all this and enter a very different world. I also have my aunt to take care of. Should anything happen to me, who would look after her? She isn’t strong. Who would pay her bills?’

‘That would be taken care of.’

She looked at him incredulously. ‘By whom? You?’

‘Yes.’

With an exasperated sigh she looked at him. ‘Are you simply unable to comprehend the word no?’

‘I do have a difficulty with that particular word,’ he conceded, smiling crookedly.

‘I’m not surprised,’ she answered. ‘You probably do not hear it very often.’

‘Rarely,’ he agreed. ‘I am arrogant, I dare say,’ he went on, ‘and everything else of which you accused me of being. I admit it freely. However, I ask that you overlook my flaws and agree to go with me to Portugal.’

Lucy held her breath. It was a physical effort not to close the gap between them, to reach out for this man whose body had once been as familiar to her as her own. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as she fought against an attraction so strong it almost overwhelmed her.

When she failed to answer he took a step towards her, holding out his hand as if in silent appeal. ‘Lucy—’

She stepped back, away from him. ‘When it comes to persistence you have it in abundance. But my answer is still no. Now, please go. Nothing can be gained from this.’ He flinched. Her lips tightened. She must not show weakness now.

She kept her gaze fixed on something beyond him. Her body was rigid, her control as brittle as glass. If he reached out and touched her now those fragile defences would shatter. She prayed that he did not realise the power he still held over her. The memory of his kiss was enough to shatter her defences into a thousand pieces.

Nathan stared at her, his eyes hard and angry. After what seemed like an age he seemed to come to a decision. He went to the door where he turned and looked back at her. ‘I’m not giving up, Lucy. One way or another I will persuade you. Believe me, this is important. You have no idea how important. Think about it.’ He left quietly.

* * *

A bitter taste of disappointment and anger filled Nathan’s mouth as he walked away from Lucy’s house. He was a worried man. It would soon be time for him to leave for Portugal.

When Lucy had ended their courtship he had thought never to see her again. She’d finished it and he still didn’t know why, but he’d had time to wonder. It wasn’t until the eve of his departure for France, when he’d run into Katherine and she told him that Lucy wouldn’t see her either, that his mind had begun to backtrack.

He wondered if Lucy had seen something she ought not to see. Might she have stumbled across some stray detail in his closeness at that time to Katherine and formed her own conclusions? But that was impossible. He knew he had grown very comfortable with Katherine, which his friend Lord James Newbold—the second son of the Duke of Londesborough—who was enamoured of the lovely fair-haired young widow, had warned him to be wary of. But he was too experienced to have done something careless.

But he thought it strange that Lucy had ended her friendship with Katherine and for this reason he would have to keep the identity of the woman he had to rescue secret until Lucy had agreed to work with him and they had arrived in Portugal.

His memories of their time together had never left him. A softness warmed his eyes as he remembered the long summer afternoons they had spent together and the nights, long and filled with loving. He remembered the mornings when they had wakened side by side and she had smiled at him, glad to have him with her. She had been soft in his arms, her lips eager for his kisses, her eyes slumberous and warm with her love.

Cursing softly, he quickened his step, unwilling to contemplate the idea of failure. He had to persuade her. Too much hung in the balance. He had a job to do. Lucy’s obstinacy could not be allowed to get in the way.

* * *

The first of Lucy’s creditors to present an unpaid bill arrived at her door two days later. He was soon followed by another.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Lane,’ the man collecting for the milliner said, his voice neither sympathetic nor accusatory, ‘but Mr Matthews insists that the bill has to be paid. He’s been lenient, giving you more time, but that time’s up. He needs to be paid now.’

Lucy stared at him numbly as an embarrassed redness suffused her face. She managed to scrape up enough money to pay the bill outright, but when the chemist came asking her to settle up for Aunt Dora’s medicines, she could only pay half.

And so it went on. The house came under daily siege as angry tradesmen and women clamoured for payment of their accounts. They gathered like noisy vultures, ready to pick what remained of her assets down to the barest bones. Lucy felt herself plummeting to near despair. To make matters worse, rehearsals for The Merchant of Venice had begun and her financial worries were getting in the way. She had read and memorised the script and would be word perfect on the opening night. Unfortunately, on several occasions she was late at the theatre, which did not go down at all well with Mr Portas. He commented on her tardiness and told her in no uncertain terms that he would not stand for it.

For want of money to meet her obligations, Lucy had to do something. Her pride forbade her to turn to Jack for help. There was only one thing for it. She would have to ask Mr Portas for an advance. The production was due to open one month hence and, as far as Lucy was concerned, she hoped it would run and run.

If Mr Portas refused to give her an advance on her future earnings, she would have no choice but to move out of her rented house and go and live with Aunt Dora. But even then she would need money to continue living.

* * *

The next afternoon she left the house and headed towards Covent Garden. It was a wonderful neighbourhood with a magical, carefree air and on any other day she would breathe deeply the better to absorb the smells, the sights and sounds as she entered the market. It was a noisy, crowded place with an aura of decadence, but Lucy loved it. The market was the very heart of Covent Garden, which, along with its mellow buildings, the piazza and arcades and the theatres, gave it such flavour and vitality.

But today she had too much on her mind to appreciate any of this as she walked quickly through the labyrinth of cobbled streets towards the Portas Theatre. Having grown up surrounded by people who were the theatre’s lifeblood, it had always been an enchanted place for Lucy. Whenever she entered the foyer of the Portas Theatre, with its enormous gilt mirrors adorning the walls, along with posters advertising whatever was playing at the time, she always felt as if she had been transported into another world. Golden cherubs were set into the vast ceiling and huge scarlet curtains hid the stage and matched the material on the seats.

But today as she entered by the stage door at the back of the theatre, she saw none of this. The interior was dimly lit with coils of rope on the floor, discarded scenery and props littered about and racks of old costumes dusty with age. Stagehands hurried about their business, preparing for the evening performance. Some greeted her cheerfully and others got on with their work. She stopped a chap rushing past her carrying a Greek urn to ask where she could find Mr Portas.

‘On the stage, luv. But be warned—he’s in a foul temper today. I’d come back tomorrow if I were you when he’s calmed down.’

Lucy watched him hurry away, stepping back to avoid a man carrying a potted palm towards the stage. Mr Portas wasn’t on the stage and she eventually tracked him down in the corridor outside one of the dressing rooms. With his hair tumbling over his forehead and wearing black breeches and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up over his elbows, he was giving a man with a late delivery of theatrical merchandise a dressing down. After seeing him on his way, he turned to Lucy, his eyes flashing dangerously.

‘Miss Lane! What are you doing here? Still, I’m glad you are. You’ve saved me the trouble of sending for you. I have something I must tell you.’ He glanced at her sharply. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Yes—I—I find myself in difficult circumstances.’

‘You do?’ The eyes he turned on her were piercing. ‘How difficult?’

‘In the light of my new position I—I wondered if you could see your way to letting me have an advance on my future earnings. I—I wouldn’t ask, but—I am quite desperate.’

He stepped back, his expression irate. ‘No, Miss Lane, I think not. In fact, the reason I am glad you came is so that I can tell you I have hired someone else to replace you.’

With a sinking heart, Lucy stared at him, unable to believe he could do this. She could feel two spots of colour burning on her cheeks. ‘But—the part was mine. You said I was perfect to play Portia.’

‘And so you are—I mean you were. I have always admired your skill in the past, but I’m sorry, Miss Lane, I’ve changed my mind. You are always late. I cannot spare the time to wait on your convenience. I have a theatre to run, a play to get out and yet you persist on being late, which makes me think the role is too much for you.’

‘I am sorry, Mr Portas, truly. I’ve had other things on my mind of late—’

‘Whatever they are they do not concern me,’ he retorted, seemingly unmoved by her plight. ‘My priority is the production. But don’t be too downhearted. You’ll have other offers from other managers. You got good reviews from your last performance. You certainly don’t need me.’

‘No, I’m sure I don’t,’ she said, aware that others had stopped to listen. ‘I got along quite nicely for a number of years without you.’

‘There you are then,’ he said, wiping his hands on his trousers and looking about him in an agitated way. ‘I wish you luck. Now I must get on. Things to do.’

‘Yes, of course. I won’t keep you.’ She halted and half turned. ‘Do you mind telling me who is to play Portia?’

‘Coral Gibbons. She is ideal for the part. I should have seen it sooner.’

She could only stare at him, all her dreams of the future suddenly dissolving around her. At length, she said, ‘Yes, yes, she is. I see. Thank you for your time, Mr Portas. And now if you will excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.’

Lucy had to be alone. She felt suddenly numb with misery, disappointment and a growing anger. She had not realised until then how very much she had depended on playing Portia. If her replacement had been an inconsequential supporting player going on thirty-five and losing her looks, she wouldn’t be so angry.

But Coral! Her closest friend! She was lovely, a perfect replacement, and Lucy had no doubt she would be a resounding success.

With the witnesses to her downfall slinking into the shadows, Lucy swept towards the exit with her head high, only to come face to face with Coral as she was about to leave by the stage door.

For one vivid instant the air between them shivered with tense friction.

‘Lucy—oh, Lucy...’

‘What have you done? Can you not see...?’

Lucy’s voice was lifeless. It was as though Coral had taken something precious from her, some secret treasure she had hoarded and which was now revealed, something which had given her life and a recognition of her own value.

But if Coral was disconcerted by Lucy’s abrupt manner, she hid it quickly under a mask of sympathy. ‘Lucy!’ she murmured, taking her friend’s hand and drawing her away from the curious gaze of a stagehand. ‘You have seen Mr Portas.’

‘Yes,’ Lucy replied, trying without success to hide her resentment for the full, rounded curves, the lovely blond hair falling about the small, fascinating face. ‘Just now. He—he told me that the part of Portia is no longer mine.’

‘I’m sorry, love. No one could have been more surprised than me when he offered me the part. I was tempted to tell him where to go—but I couldn’t, not really. Please don’t be angry with me, Lucy.’

Lucy sighed, shaking her head dejectedly. ‘I’m not angry with you, Coral. Getting angry accomplishes nothing. But I can’t pretend that I’m not disappointed.’

Coral shook her head as though in dismay at her own gullibility. ‘I can’t blame you. I would be livid had it happened to me.’

Coral said the words quietly, sincerely, and Lucy felt a tugging inside and knew she mustn’t give in to her disappointment and simmering anger against the unfairness of it all. She smiled. There was a new radiance about her friend, a glow to her creamy complexion and a sparkle in her vivid hazel eyes. Her abundant blond hair tumbling about her shoulders and glistening with gold highlights, she looked absolutely stunning in a gown of pale blue taffeta with narrow silver stripes. Never had Lucy envied another woman as much as she did Coral at that moment. But she was not bitter that her friend was to play Portia. If the part had to go to someone else, Lucy was glad it was her.

‘I wouldn’t have wanted you to turn it down, Coral. Of course you had to take it and I wish you every success. You are perfect for the part and it’s about time you had a major role to play.’ What Lucy said was true, for ever since Coral’s appearance in a minor role two years ago, she had been a favourite with the public, one of the most popular supporting players in the Portas Theatre.

‘Thank you for saying that. It’s more than I deserve from you. I would never hurt you deliberately, you know that. I value our friendship too much. What will you do now?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I’ll look around. Trail the theatres. Someone might take me on.’

‘I do hope so. What happened, Lucy?’ Coral asked, upset and deeply concerned for her friend. ‘I can’t for the life of me understand what went wrong.’

‘I don’t know, Coral. I’ve been so busy trying to make ends meet. Aunt Dora hasn’t been well of late—I’m going to have to move out of my home and go to live with her. At least it will lessen the cost.’

‘Have you seen Jack?’

Lucy shook her head, suddenly realising she hadn’t seen him since the night of the party. Perhaps Nathan’s arrival had something to do with it. ‘I’m sure he’s busy—and he knows I have rehearsals—had rehearsals,’ she corrected herself. She smiled bitterly. ‘I think he’s finally given up on me. Goodbye, Coral. I must go.’

Coral caught her to her. They hugged tightly, emotionally. ‘Goodbye, Lucy. Take care,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll come and see you soon.’

‘Yes—yes, please do.’

* * *

Determined to find work, Lucy had gone from one theatre to another. Unfortunately none of them needed actresses at present, not even with her credentials. Angry and resentful, she had kept on looking, but it was the same at every one. Frustrated and defeated, she had turned for home.

Once inside her room she turned the key in the lock and leaned her head against the hard wood of the door frame. Not even Polly was allowed to witness the collapse of her brave façade as all her courage drained away and she sank to her knees and wept.

* * *

When Lucy called on Aunt Dora at her house in Bayswater, a basket of fruit over her arm, she found she wasn’t her only visitor that day. Nathan was standing on the doorstep, waiting to be admitted, slapping his leather gloves against his muscular thigh. His broad shoulders were squared, his jaw set in implacable determination, and even in this restrained pose he seemed to emanate the restrained power she had always sensed in him. He was looking every inch the handsome, elegant gentleman today, with his blue superfine coat and darker blue trousers, his striped blue-and-gold waistcoat and his immaculate white linen.

‘Well, well!’ she exclaimed drily, trying not to show her surprise on seeing him as her heart quickened its beat. ‘You are persistent if nothing else.’

Nathan turned his head and looked at her, a look of unconcealed admiration on his handsome face as he surveyed her jaunty yellow dress. Around her neck she had tied a matching yellow scarf, knotting it on the side, with the ends flipped over her shoulder.

‘Have you rung the bell?’ she asked.

‘Two minutes ago.’

‘Sarah must be busy. She serves my aunt’s every capacity. If you don’t wish to loiter in the street, perhaps you should come back later—or not at all,’ she said coldly.

‘It’s no bother. I’ll wait.’

‘I think you should go. She hasn’t been well. I don’t want her disturbed.’

No sooner had she spoken than the door was opened by Sarah, a pretty young woman with an open face and friendly brown eyes. ‘Good day to you, Miss Lucy. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but I was settling Miss Sharp in the drawing room. Please come in.’ She smiled at Nathan, flushing prettily and bobbed a curtsy. ‘She’s expecting you, sir.’

He is no doubt accustomed to this sort of feminine reaction everywhere he goes, Lucy thought irately. She looked sharply at him. ‘Do you mean to tell me you have already paid a call on Aunt Dora?’

‘I came to pay my respects yesterday. Unlike her niece she was pleased to see me and was keen for me to call on her again today.’

‘I can imagine,’ Lucy remarked drily, brushing past him into the house, leaving him to follow her or remain outside. Handing the basket to Sarah, who closed the door after Nathan, she walked towards the drawing room. ‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’

‘Now, why on earth should you think that? I am paying a social call on your aunt Dora. That is all.’

‘Why?’

‘Just because my former betrothed cut me out of her life doesn’t mean that I should stop seeing Dora. We were friends, good friends, and when I called on her she was happy to see me—unlike her niece.’

Knowing it was some ulterior motive that had brought him here and not to make idle chit-chat, Lucy glowered at him and opened the door.

Dressed in a green-brocade dressing gown over a white-muslin shift, her silver hair loosely dressed beneath a pretty lace bonnet, Aunt Dora reclined like a pale and beautiful spectre on a chaise longue, seemingly unaware of the tense, charged atmosphere that existed between the two people who had just entered the room. She had been unwell for four weeks. A persistent cough had kept her confined to her bed and all the cures and remedies applied since then had done little to remedy it.

‘Good afternoon, Aunt Dora,’ Lucy said, crossing to her aunt and hugging her warmly. She worried constantly about her aunt’s frail health and wished she could do more for her. ‘How are you feeling? A little better, I hope. I met this gentleman on the doorstep. I hope you are feeling up to visitors.’

‘Most assuredly,’ Dora protested, sitting up so that Lucy could place a cushion behind her back, the effort of doing so making her breathless. ‘Nathan was kind enough to pay me a visit yesterday. I do so enjoy his company—I always did—and he’s in London for such a short time.’

‘I think we both know that he always has a reason for what he does,’ Lucy retorted, avoiding meeting Nathan’s steady gaze.

Though he was arrested by the beauty of the sunlight streaming in through the small bay window behind her, illuminating her hair and shoulders in a subtle halo, the look she gave him made it clear that she was in no mood to be placated.

‘You are wrong, Lucy. I would be most offended had he not called on me...’ Dora’s voice trailed off as a cough she had tried to restrain got the better of her.

‘Oh, Aunt Dora,’ Lucy whispered, hating to see her weakness. Handing her a glass of water, she held it while she took a sip. ‘Is that better?’ Her aunt nodded, resting back on the cushions and dabbing her lips with a handkerchief. ‘I’ve brought you a basket of fresh fruit from the market, along with a book of poetry I thought you might like to read. I’ve given them to Sarah.’

‘Thank you, dear,’ Dora said, casting her niece a worried look, ‘but I wish you would not spend your hard-earned money on me.’

Lucy gave her a loving smile. Aunt Dora had no idea of the dire straits she found herself in, but the time had come when she would have to be told. ‘I like to spoil you. How I would like to take you to the country where the fresh air will make your chest better.’

Dora airily waved a slender hand. ‘You must try not to worry so, dear. I do so hate to be a bother. As you see I am better than I was—and I do so hate the country, as you well know. I’m only at my best when I’m in town close to my friends, and you, Lucy dear—although I was so sorry when Nathan told me you are no longer to play Portia. What is Mr Portas thinking of to give the role to someone else?’

Lucy threw Nathan a reproving look. ‘I’m amazed Nathan was able to give you the news when it is yet to be made public. I would have preferred to tell you myself.’

‘I called when you were out, looking for work,’ Nathan explained, his voice quietly sympathetic. ‘Your maid—Polly?—gave me the unfortunate news. I’m sorry, Lucy. I know how much that part meant to you.’

‘Don’t be too downhearted, Lucy,’ Aunt Dora said, giving her a comforting pat on the hand. ‘There will be other parts. Although I confess I am extremely disappointed with Mr Portas.’

‘I am more than willing to provide a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on, if so desired,’ Nathan offered.

Lucy dragged her gaze towards his tall commanding figure. He was gazing at her with an air of surprising openness, as he stood in front of the fire in a casual, manly pose, his arm draped along the mantelpiece. ‘I do not desire. At present I am extremely angry and disappointed.’ He raised that damnable eyebrow at her, so knowing, so thoroughly in control.

‘I can understand that.’

Lucy glared at him, hating that mocking smile that twitched infuriatingly at the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t think you understand the enormity of what has happened to me,’ she retorted, going to stand in front of him and glaring into his eyes. ‘I did wonder if for some malicious reason you might be the perpetrator of my downfall,’ she said angrily, for the suspicion had briefly crossed her mind.

‘I want you with me, Lucy, but I would not stoop that low.’

She was relieved to hear him say that. Her emotions told her she could not possibly survive the pain of it if he had.

‘What nonsense is this, Lucy?’ Aunt Dora piped up, her voice reproachful. ‘How can you accuse Nathan of such a thing? He does not have a malicious bone in his body. You accuse him most unfairly.’

Nathan’s smile was almost sweet. ‘Your aunt is right. You are letting your imagination run riot.’

Lucy’s temper flared. ‘I am not accusing you, but my troubles began the day after you came to see me. It began with the trade’s people I owe money to. Have you any idea how humiliating it is to have people coming to your home and demanding money.’

‘You could put an end to this situation.’

‘How? By agreeing to go with you to Portugal?’

‘Portugal?’ Aunt Dora cried, the mere idea of her niece disappearing into a war zone bringing her upright. ‘Why on earth would you go to Portugal with Napoleon’s soldiers running wild all over the place?’

Lucy was quick to reassure her. ‘Please don’t upset yourself, Aunt Dora. I am going nowhere.’

‘Don’t be distressed, dear,’ Aunt Dora said. ‘I have a little money put by. We are not destitute. It’s not the end of the world.’

How Lucy wished that were true. ‘It certainly feels like it to me. Don’t you see? No one is going to employ me now.’

‘But you are a talented actress. I’m sure something will turn up.’

‘You have more faith than me,’ Lucy murmured. ‘I’ve been to every theatre in London looking for work, but no one is taking on new actresses.’

‘Lucy...’ Nathan wanted to go to her.

She lifted her gaze solemnly to his. ‘Yes?’

When he saw the painful sadness dulling her beautiful eyes, remorse dragged his spirit down into the depths of a dark abyss. ‘I am sorry things are as bad as that.’

‘But—how will you manage?’ Aunt Dora wanted to know.

How shall we manage? Lucy thought, for Aunt Dora no longer had the money to pay her own bills. She would never know the enormity of them. Not that Lucy minded while ever she was working and could afford it. Lucy’s parents had died shortly after her birth and Aunt Dora had raised her as her own. There had never been much money and Lucy had spent most of her childhood hanging about theatres in the company of actors, but they had managed and Aunt Dora had done her best. Lucy would be grateful to her for ever and she loved her dearly.

‘I shall have to look for some other kind of work and of course I shall have to give up my house. Things will be difficult for a time. I’m afraid we’ll both have to tighten our belts.’

‘Then you must move in with me. You can have your old room. It will be like old times having you close by me.’

Lucy smiled at her fondly. ‘Thank you, Aunt Dora. I think I shall have to take you up on that.’

‘You have work if you want it,’ Nathan said quietly.

Her gaze passed over him scornfully. ‘With you? I think not.’

‘Why are you so angry with Nathan, Lucy? As you will remember, Nathan, my niece can be quite volatile at times. She is a woman of mighty will.’

‘So am I,’ he replied firmly.

In spite of their broken engagement, Lucy knew that in her heart Aunt Dora had always held an image of Nathan as her betrothed. She had been deeply disappointed when they had parted. ‘Nathan is anxious to preserve me to use for his own ends, Aunt Dora, but I’m afraid that will never happen.’

Nathan lifted a brow questioningly as he dared to delve into those shining green orbs. ‘And you’re certain of that, are you, Lucy? I wonder if you have really considered the full depth of your predicament.’

‘I am fully aware how dire my situation is and I know you to be the most persistent. I resent very much your high-handedness in arranging my life. I have done quite well without you in the past four years and will continue to do quite well without you in the future—without further interference from you.’

His voice was calm when he spoke. She could not seem to shake him. ‘You seem to forget that it was you, not I, who ended our engagement, Lucy.’

‘Out past relationship has no bearing on the future.’ Turning her back on him, she went to her aunt. ‘I must go now, Aunt Dora. I will come and see you tomorrow with better news, I hope.’

‘Must you go so soon?’ She sighed and kissed her niece. ‘Very well, Lucy. As I said, something will turn up. I am sure of it.’

Purposely not looking in Nathan’s direction, Lucy went out.

‘Go with her, Nathan,’ Dora said. ‘Talk to her and come and see me again soon.’


Chapter Three (#ulink_772553b1-72c5-5965-919f-49f11511cefc)

With long, purposeful strides, Nathan drew level with Lucy as she left the house.

‘What do you want?’ she asked without looking at him.

‘To talk.’

‘We have. Now, go away. I have to look for work.’

‘Come now. Your earnings as an actress were not great.’

She felt insulted. ‘I may not earn as much as the leading actresses at Covent Garden or the Opera House, but I have so far managed to earn my way quite comfortably.’

‘So far.’

‘So far, and I will continue to do so—when I can find someone who will take me on. If not, I will find other kind of work until they do.’

‘You must be concerned about the bills that are accumulating.’

‘I’m concerned about everything just now.’ She glanced at him. ‘You sound as if you care.’

‘I do. I’m worried about you and your aunt. That is one of the reasons why I am offering to pay generously for your services. Your aunt is worried about you,’ Nathan rushed on to reason with her before she could express further indignation.

‘Aunt Dora worries about most things.’

‘Mostly about you. Which is why I’m willing to pay you five thousand pounds if you come with me to Portugal.’

Lucy halted and stared at him incredulously. ‘Five thousand pounds?’ Letting out a small sound of frustration, with a toss of her head, she stalked ahead, her hands clenched by her sides. ‘You jest, Nathan Rochefort,’ she hissed when he fell in beside her. ‘How dare you play with my mind—with my feelings in this way? You really are quite despicable.’

Taking her arm, he brought her to a standstill. ‘I’m being serious about this offer,’ he stated firmly. ‘I want you with me.’

She raised her head with an impassioned air. ‘Doesn’t it matter what I want?’

‘Of course it does.’ The intensity receding slightly from his stare, he smiled. ‘It matters to me a great deal what you want. Just don’t ask me to believe that you are indifferent to the money I am offering to pay you.’

He spoke the truth. Of course she was tempted by the amount. Who in their right mind would not be? Five thousand pounds would mean she never had to work again and enable her to get the best possible care for Aunt Dora. But could she tolerate being with Nathan day in and day out, feeling his presence, his gaze, for ever watchful, commanding her, when she had struggled so hard to put the past and him behind her?

‘But why me?’ she cried. ‘Why pay me all that money?’ Her eyes locked on to his face and her gaze did not waver.

Seeing that his offer of five thousand pounds had taken the wind out of her sails and that passers-by were beginning to stop and gape at them, taking her arm, he began to escort her along the street. ‘I would prefer to carry on this conversation in private—at your house.’

* * *

Neither of them broke the charged silence on the way home, but no sooner were they over the threshold and the parlour door had closed behind them than Lucy faced him.

‘I’m not at all cut out for what you are asking of me. I would probably turn and run at the first sound of gunfire.’

Nathan gentled his gaze when he saw her staring at him with a stricken look. ‘Lucy,’ he said quietly, ‘I will always keep you safe.’

She bristled as though he had given her some great insult. ‘No.’ She shook her head, glaring at him accusingly. ‘No one can promise that.’

‘I can be very determined,’ he answered, with a half smile, as he saw he should push her. It was obvious he’d already touched a nerve. ‘I am not perfect. Far from it, in fact. But if you come with me, I will do all in my power to see that you come to no harm.’

‘How?’ she demanded, her green eyes glittering with remembered pain. ‘How can you claim you will do that? And why is there no one else you can ask?’

‘Because I know you. You are exactly the person I am looking for. You speak French for a start. As I recall it is very good.’

‘Aunt Dora taught me. She spent many years in France as a child. She considered French an important part of my education. What else?’

‘You are an accomplished actress—the only actress I know. Your talents may be required of you to play a part. You are also witty and wise enough to know a fool when you see one.’ He moved to stand directly in front of her, encouraged that she did not step away from him. ‘You have confidence, too, as well as a sense of humour—although I have seen very little of that of late. And your compassion for others compels my admiration and respect.’

Lucy trembled, staring at him.

‘You are also brave,’ he continued as she turned away abruptly. ‘The fact that you have worked your way through adversity in your profession and the care you take of your aunt is commendable and bespeaks your courage and good sense. It makes me feel that I can trust you, trust in your integrity, which is a rarity for me. It is not often I come across a person I can trust.’

She looked at him, listening like a doe in the woods, but poised to flee from him. She was rendered helpless by his words. It was difficult to argue with a man who praised her not for superficial things, as Jack had done, but for the very qualities that she most valued in herself. It would seem he did understand her a little better than she had given him credit for.

The tantalising channels in his cheeks deepened as he offered her a smile that seemed every bit as persuasive as it once had been. ‘Will you not relent, Lucy?’

She hesitated. All things considered, she could do worse. Feeling herself weakening, before she could do so completely, in a moment of desperation, she said, ‘I don’t know. And now I would like you to leave. I have much to think about.’

Shaking his head slowly, he moved to stand in front of her. Perhaps it was time to try another method of persuasion. ‘Not yet.’ His eyes delved into hers, seeking he knew not what. ‘I’d appreciate a few more moments of your time. We have much to reminisce over.’

His voice was low, incredibly warm, melting her. Lucy feared, from the inside out. She couldn’t believe what he was able to do with her emotions and with such little effort.

Sighing softly, he touched her cheek with the tip of his finger. ‘I remember our time together and our conversations and the first time I ever heard you laugh—the first time we kissed and the first time we made love,’ he said, his voice low and fierce and wrenching to hear. Suddenly he was catapulted backward through time while the image of the beauty before him abruptly blended into another image—that of an enchanting, curly-haired young girl who had once looked up at him with unconcealed love glowing in her eyes.

He could not prevent his thoughts from returning to what it had been like to be with her. The exquisite tease of her ankle caressing the back of his leg beneath a table, the feel of her arms coming up around his neck in a wave of delicate scent, the heat of her body. Most of all he remembered her face after they had made love, the genuine pleasure of her smile, pleasure that his kiss had given her, pleasure she had not been able to hide from him.

All that passion was within her still. It simmered just under the surface. He had been driven to unleash it and that was coming back to taunt him now, for he wanted to unleash it again. Within him, he felt a pang of nostalgia, mingled with a sharp sense of loss because the girl he had known was gone now.

‘I remember how it felt to hold you, how your skin felt to my touch. I remember how you looked in the moonlight with your face upturned to mine, wanting me to kiss you.’

‘Stop it.’ She felt her face grow hot beneath his eyes and turned from him, trying to still the trembling in her limbs.

Nathan moved to stand close behind her, bending his head so that his lips were close to her ear, his breath warming her neck. ‘I remember how you liked me to touch you, how you would say my name over and over again, of how you filled my senses until I could not think.’

Lucy placed the back of her hand over her mouth and caught back a sob of pain and fury. ‘You are cruel, so cruel,’ she told him in a fierce whisper. ‘You should not say these things to me when we both know it is only to get me to do what you want that impels you to say them.’

‘You accuse me of being cruel after what you did to me? You killed what we had without giving me an explanation. It is you who has been cruel, Lucy, to deny me that.’

‘Stop it,’ she cried, moving away from him. ‘I will not listen to this.’

‘Close your ears all you like, but I remember everything and I cannot believe you have forgotten. If you have, I will make you remember. I swear on my life I will.’

Turning round and staring into those translucent eyes that ensnared her own, Lucy felt as if she were being swept back in time. Drop by precious drop she felt her confidence along with her resistance draining away. How could she have deluded herself into believing she could sway him from his purpose? Not once since she’d met him had she ever emerged the victor in any conflict with him.

Drawing a ragged breath, she turned from him, passing cool fingertips across her burning eyelids. She was tired, so very tired of trying to find work, tired of being turned away from one theatre after another. She would miss her work and she worried so much about money and how she was going to pay her creditors. She couldn’t even pay her immediate bills. And how was she to care for her aunt?

But she could not do as he asked—could she?

Folding her arms across her chest, she turned and looked at Nathan.

Nathan saw her struggling with indecision. ‘Do say yes, Lucy,’ he said in a quiet voice.

Perhaps it was the use of her name. Perhaps it was the change in his tone. She thought for a moment, then said, ‘I can’t fight you any longer. You should congratulate yourself, Nathan. You have outmanoeuvred me. You have been very clever. It would seem you have left me with no alternative. Very well. I will work for you.’

He looked at her steadily, knowing just how difficult this was for her. ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that.’

‘I am sure you are. However, there are conditions you must adhere to. Ground rules must be established between us.’

‘Which are?’

‘That whatever there was between us in the past is over and done with. What you have just said will not be repeated. We are two different people. If this new arrangement is to succeed, you will not try to initiate any kind of intimacy. We must be careful to keep the two strands of our lives from becoming tangled. You have to promise me this otherwise I will not go with you. If I do, I will do my best not to let you down. I will be singularly focused and our future relationship must be a working one if I am to succeed in the mission I am to be presented with.’

He looked at her long and hard for a moment, then he said, ‘The past is a part of everyone, Lucy, and I know I will never be entirely free of my own. But you have my word. A working relationship it will be.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now you have agreed to co-operate we have much to discuss.’

‘I expect we have. How long do I have before we go to Portugal?’

‘Two weeks at the most.’

Her heart flipped over. She had hoped for more time. ‘As little as that?’

‘I’m afraid so. You can ride?’

‘I can, but I haven’t for a while.’

‘Have you ever fired a pistol?’

She shook her head. ‘Will I have to?’

‘Maybe. I will try to teach you the basics before we leave.’

‘And Aunt Dora? She will be against my going. Provision must be made in—in case something happens to me.’

‘I promise that will all be taken care of before we leave.’

‘I would appreciate that. I’ve already decided to give up this house. Polly can go and live with Aunt Dora. One consolation is that Sarah looks after her as attentively as if she were her own mother. I’m sure she will appreciate another pair of hands to help her care for my aunt.’ She looked at Nathan as a more pressing issue occurred to her. ‘Another thing I feel I must mention is the outstanding bills. I would appreciate it if, perhaps, you could see your way to settling that particular problem.’

‘Leave it with me.’ Now he’d accomplished what he’d set out to achieve there was no time to lose. ‘I’ll leave you now,’ he said, striding to the door. ‘I’ll be back in the morning at eight o’clock. Your training will begin immediately. Get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to need it.’

* * *

As it got closer to the time when Nathan was to arrive, Lucy found she was becoming more and more nervous, which was ridiculous, considering she had been running her own affairs for over four years and making her own decisions. What was happening to her life? It seemed to be spiralling out of control. Everything was happening too fast.

More immediate was the problem of what she was going to wear. She rushed upstairs and surveyed her wardrobe. When she was ready she went down to the parlour and sat at her desk to wait, making a list of all the things she had to take care of before she left for Portugal.

Eventually her mind began to wander and she began thinking about Nathan. She knew he had been in Spain and that he had been wounded. There was so much more she would like to know. Was he married? Had he married Katherine? It seemed likely since she, too, had gone to Spain. But Lucy would not ask. The reason she was doing this was because, for some peculiar reason, only she could help him in his mission to do whatever it was—and because he had left her with no choice. But most of all she was doing it for the money.

But, she asked herself, finding it difficult to be honest with herself, to examine her feelings where Nathan was concerned. Was it solely for the money that she had agreed to go to Portugal with him, or was the temptation to be close to him once more just too hard for her to resist?

For so long she had tried not to think about him, burying her head in the pillows at night to muffle her sobs at the memory of those last loving times she’d had with him before he’d become distant, as if he had other, more important things on his mind. Of late these recollections were so real, so vivid. Like a storm they would not be halted, the crucifying memories crept inexorably back, back to that time when they had first met.

It had been a summer’s evening at a party given by a mutual friend. They’d met often after that and courted openly. She remembered the first time they had made love. Having walked into the countryside, they had lingered in a barn full of sweet-smelling hay and it had been so wonderful when he had kissed her, when he had held her in his arms, desiring her as much as she desired him. All their hitherto cautions and restrained behaviour had been swept away in a tide of wanting and she lost her virginity eagerly.

Hearing a knock on the outside door, giving herself a mental shake she set the pen aside and stood up. Adjusting the elbow-length sleeves and smoothing her skirt with the palms of her hands, she smiled. It was a pretty dress, pink and white sprigged with pretty flounces around the hem and with a modestly low bodice. She felt a nervous anticipation as she waited for Polly to show Nathan in.

He strode into the room, carrying a parcel beneath his arm. He was wearing a tan jacket and white-silk neckcloth, buckskin riding breeches and gleaming brown-leather boots. His dark hair was ruffled and fell over the top of the scar that ran beside his left eye to his cheek. It gave him a sardonic, mocking look when his face was in repose. Only laughter or a smile softened the rigour of the scar.

Despite this he was devilishly attractive to look at. Lucy’s pulse raced. She was unsure as to the cause—her handsome riding instructor or her fear of what was in store. He stopped a couple of yards in front of her, gazing at her with a half smile curling on his lips.

‘Are you ready to begin your training?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

His eyes passed over her. He shook his head. ‘That won’t do. Here,’ he said, handing her the parcel.

Lucy took it and set it down on the table in front of the sofa. ‘What is it?’

‘Open it.’

Totally bewildered, she did as he asked. Dumbfounded, she stared at the contents, holding them up.

‘You would deck me out in these? But—I can’t possibly. Why, they’re indecent and inappropriate.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t know the difficulty I had getting these made for you. Every tailor thought me mad when I described what I wanted and no one believed that I desired to put them on a woman. I had to pay a goodly sum to have them made.’

Lucy continued to stare at them. ‘But—they’re men’s breeches. I am expected to wear these?’

He nodded, amused at her dismay. ‘Unless you prefer to be constantly tangled up in skirts. You must have worn breeches in some of your roles on stage.’

‘I have—but that was different. I was playing a part.’ Frowning, she continued to inspect the breeches. ‘I doubt they’re my size.’

‘I have a good memory, Lucy.’

She flushed, lowering her gaze so she didn’t have to see the knowing look in his eyes. ‘Four years is a long time. I’ve put on weight.’

‘In all the right places if my eyesight is to be believed. I assure you I had these made with all good intentions in mind. Do not fear that I’m making sport of you. You will find it easier and more comfortable to ride a horse wearing breeches. It’s more practical. As a woman you will attract attention—some of it unwelcome. For your own safety, it will be better if those we meet think you are a male to begin with.’

‘You’ll be telling me to cut off my hair next.’ When he didn’t say anything she glanced at him sharply. ‘You want me to cut my hair?’

He grinned. ‘You have beautiful hair, but you will not be as conspicuous with short hair. It’s—practical. It will soon grow.’

Lucy didn’t relish the idea of cropping her most prized asset, but perhaps he was right. She would attract less attention and it would be less trouble. ‘Very well. I’ll have Polly cut it before we leave.’ Shaking her head, she glanced dubiously at the breeches once more. ‘I’m becoming more confused by the hour. These breeches look awfully tight. I really don’t think they’re my size.’

‘They’ll do for the time being. Go and put them on. We’re wasting time. I want to assess your horsemanship and you cannot sit astride a horse in that dress—pretty though it is.’

Without further argument, Lucy left with the offending garments.

Feeling terribly self-conscious, she reappeared ten minutes later. The breeches, which disappeared into riding boots, were skin tight, showing off her long and perfectly shaped legs, the short jacket cut so high to reveal her attractive round derrière. Nathan admired the sight with glowing eyes, before cocking an eyebrow and ushering her outside.

* * *

The coach carried them north out of town and approached a pair of tall iron gates. A gatekeeper stepped out of the keeper’s cottage and after Nathan had spoken to the man they were permitted to pass. They swept along a curving drive with extensive lawns to the right and left of them. Lucy’s eyes became fixed on a large imposing house that appeared against a backdrop of sweeping parkland, rising to a height of three storeys. Evidently it was the property of a man of some consequence.

‘What a beautiful house,’ she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the twinkling expanse of mullioned windows. ‘Who does it belong to?’

‘A relative of mine. My uncle. He’s away in foreign parts at present.’

‘Is he a spy, as well?’

‘No,’ Nathan replied, helping her out of the coach. ‘He’s a gentleman. Come along. I’ll introduce you to your mount. We’ll ride out so you can get used to being back in the saddle. Tomorrow you will receive instruction on how to use a firearm—something small that is adaptable to a woman’s hand. You will have to learn how to use a dagger. I pray you never have to use either weapon, but it’s as well to be prepared for every eventuality.’

The stables were at the back of the house, a dozen stalls set around the stable yard. Most of them were occupied. Grooms and stable boys were going about their daily chores. Nathan was familiar to them and they greeted him in a friendly enough fashion. One of the grooms approached them, leading a chestnut mare.

‘Come and make friends. Her name is Jess and she’s as docile as the proverbial lamb.’

Lucy loved her. It was good to be back on a horse, to ride across the vast green acres of parkland. However, not having had the opportunity to ride for a long time, she was soon stiff. Nathan informed her she sat like a sack of potatoes and held the reins all wrong. She told him to take a flying leap and said she was going home. He told her she’d leave over his dead body. She said it was not a bad idea.

A look of sorely strained patience crossed his face as he caught her by the waist and lifted her down from the saddle after one particularly gruelling session. ‘God help me if I ever injure my back,’ he quipped.





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