Page 26 of To Break the Rules

Striving to hide her distaste both at his presence and the way he crowded her, Lucia spent the next ten minutes pretending to laugh and hang on his every word. Forcing her expression to remain one of pleasure, she set her empty glass down on a tray and declined the waiter’s offer of another with regret. It would have helped her nerves. Stiffening her spine, she returned her attention to the man beside her, who was telling a story of which she’d long since lost the thread.

“Oh, how funny you are, Mr Bindley,” she said, her trill of laughter sounding false and brittle even to her own ears as she gave him a playful smack on the shoulder with her hand.

Pretending to stumble, she then grasped at his arm to steady herself with her left hand, while the right slipped the token into his waistcoat pocket where the line of the cloth suggested he kept a snuff box. “Oh!” she said, righting herself with a coy smile. “I do beg your pardon.”

“N-Not at all, Miss de Feria,” Mr Bindley said, taking advantage of the moment to grasp hold of her waist and taking his time releasing her. “I n-never mind b-beautiful women falling into my arms.”

“Perhaps you might try releasing them in good time, however.”

This voice came from behind them and held a thread of anger.

Mr Bindley released her at last, and Lucia put a little distance between her and the odious man. She flushed as she saw Lord Cavendish regarding them with curiosity, and a glint in his blue eyes that she didn’t quite like.

“My lord,” Mr Bindley said, an expression of disdain on his face as he regarded Lord Cavendish. “I did not realise St Clair had invited you.”

“Oh, yes,” Cavendish replied, returning a grin which was not altogether pleasant. “St Clair isn’t as high in the instep as some. Good news for us, eh?”

Mr Bindley flushed with anger at the implied insult. It was obvious he looked down on the viscount—despite his title and lineage—for being a self-made man. How ridiculous, when Mr Bindley’s father, the earl, was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Lucia smiled a little, awaiting with eager anticipation the day when she would push them over the edge.

“For you, perhaps,” Bindley sneered, putting up his chin. He turned to Lucia and gave her a stiff and formal bow. “Take care, Miss de Feria, you will be judged by the company you keep.” He paused to give Lord Cavendish a significant look, and stalked away.

Lucia waited as Cavendish watched him go and then turned back to her.

“What was that all about?” he asked, curiosity in his eyes as he stared down at her.

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Lucia replied, walking away from him.

He followed her, walking at her side. “You know exactly what I mean. Whose benefit was that little exhibition for? Mine? Did you seek to make me jealous?”

With a little gasp at his audacity, Lucia stopped to glare at him. “You conceited wretch,” she said, outraged at the suggestion. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

He frowned at her, but seemed to accept it. “I had another engagement so only arrived a few moments ago,” he said, the admission grudging.

They walked on in silence until he spoke again, sounding troubled. “Lucia, what game are you playing with Bindley and his father?”

For a moment, the world seemed unsteady beneath her feet.

How could he…? What on earth…?

Questions crowded her mind and it took every ounce of self-control she had to remain calm. “Game?” she asked, blinking up at him and feigning innocence for all she was worth. “Whatever do you mean?”

He hesitated, looking as though he wanted to speak, to explain, but was unsure of what to say. “Lucia,” he said after a long pause, and she shivered at the intimate tenor of his voice. “Love, if you’re in trouble, won’t you let me help you? Edgar Bindley and his father are a bad lot. The earl is a cruel man, and his son is a spineless coxcomb whose reputation suggests he’s following in his father’s footsteps. The whole damn family are….” He trailed off and shook his head, perhaps not able to find a word to describe the Ulceby bloodline.

There was such concern in his eyes, though. Lucia stared up at him, shaken by the way he worried over her, yet wanting to allow it.

“I saw you, Lucia,” he said, his voice harder as he confronted her. “At the ball. I saw you come out of the earl’s study, and I saw him shortly after, when he discovered what you’d left there. He looked like he’d seen a bloody ghost.”

Lucia felt the colour drain from her face.

No, no, no.

She had no choice but to brazen it out.

“Oh, that,” she said, laughing, though amusement was a long way from what she was experiencing. “That was… well, it was just a silly dare. My friends and I have this game you see, and….” She forced a look of embarrassed chagrin to her face, trying hard to ignore the sickening thud of her heart in her chest. “And, if you must know, my dare was to go into a man’s study, and have a drink and smoke a cigar.”

She saw his dark brows pull together, the desire to believe her shining in his eyes. His hair was unruly today, his coat a little rumpled, and she suspected he’d come direct from whatever appointment had delayed him without returning home. His valet would despair of him, no doubt. The longing to reach out and straighten his lapel, to smooth the disobedient curl of his hair was hard to resist.

“That’s the only reason you were there?” he asked, the doubt in question audible.