“What?” she screeched. “Madam, I don’t think—”
“No, you don’t, and I can see that my son has yet to inform you of my intentions. He probably thought it a task best left to me.”
He probably took the coward’s way out, Lucia fumed.
“I am convinced that this is the best course of action, Lucy. We will have the fall and winter in which to mold you and educate you in all that is necessary.” Lucia balked, shaking her head in disbelief. But before she could issue the scathing retort on her lips, she caught her mother’s piercing gaze from across the room. She gripped the chaise. “Madam, while I am most appreciative of this offer, I—”
“It’s all been decided, Lucy. Your parents have raised you well, but I still see something of a temper and a determination to have one’s own way in your character. This must be softened. Not to mention, you are far too animated in your conversation. Even now, you wave your hands about in the most unladylike fashion.”
Lucia’s jaw dropped. Unladylike? If the dragon only knew half of what she would have liked to do to her at that moment, then she’d see unladylike.
“You must learn to be more subdued,” Lady Dandridge went on. “And your manner of observation is entirely unsuitable! Why, anyone who saw you look at Lord Selbourne tonight might have thought you were in love with him!”
Lucia inhaled sharply. All the rancor seeped out of her, replaced by apprehension. Was she that transparent?
“But together we can erase these flaws and make you into a woman who cultivates respect, not pity.”
“Pity?” Rage, hurt, and embarrassment fought for control of her emotions. Riding out the storm, Lucia gripped the fabric of the chaise, her nails making half-moons in the velvet. “Lady Dandridge, I hardly think—”
“I have said as much before. My son is entirely in agreement with me. You need not appeal to Reginald in this matter. I am afraid he defers to my better judgment in most things.”
Lucia stared at the dragon. The fan hid all but her hazel eyes, and those narrowed in a definite challenge—one Lucia knew she wasn’t going to win. She heard the men’s voices as they filed up the stairs and entered the drawing room, and she felt the change the moment Alex entered.
The temperature increased a notch. The room grew smaller. But she didn’t dare look in his direction. Lady Dandridge’s eyes on her had become as sharp as her fangs.
The two women stared at each other, and Lucia’s stomach turned. She hated this woman. Detested her. And now she would be forced to spend every day with her for months, perhaps years. Lady Dandridge gave her a slow smirk.
“Lucia!” Francesca crossed the room in a flurry of white skirts. Lucia could have kissed her.
Francesca nodded to Lady Dandridge then turned back to Lucia. “Will you be the first to sing and play on the pianoforte? You have such a pretty voice.”
Lucia glanced at her future mother-in-law. It wasn’t her chosen method of escape, but she’d sing a hundred songs if it would get her away from the woman. She reached up and took Francesca’s hand.
“What would you like to hear?”
AS SOON AS HE ENTERED the drawing room, Alex searched for Lucia. With a frown, he noted Lady Dandridge had her cornered. Poor Lucia looked like a kitten trapped on a high branch, ready to spring given her first opportunity at freedom.
His first impulse was to climb the tree and rescue her, but he checked it, Ethan’s earlier words ringing in his ears. He needed to limit his involvement with Lucia Dashing. Already matters had gone too far. She’d chosen to marry Dandridge, and who was he to interfere with that choice? But he didn’t have to like it, and he certainly didn’t have to watch her flaunt her mistake with the pudgy coward or his pushy mother.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d seen Lucia needed rescuing. He watched Francesca extricate Lucia from Lady Dandridge’s iron grip. But he wasn’t going to waste time lamenting Lucia’s engagement. The other ladies and gentlemen in attendance were stationing themselves strategically about the room, and gasps of pleasure erupted when Lucia took a seat at the pianoforte. Alex slipped away.
He ordered his carriage, intending to stop at Brooks’s for a drink—or seven. While he waited, Alex made a circuit of his sister-in-law’s garden. The night air was mild, the smell of hyacinth and spring on the light breeze. The town house’s windows were open, and Lucia’s voice, clear and high, floated out to him.
“Caro mio ben,” she sang. Thou, all my bliss. Her soft, lilting voice brushed against his skin, wrapping itself about him with the intimacy of a lover’s caress.
“Che cosae´ que stahime`.” What tortures I must bear. “Pieta`, pieta`, pieta`.” Have done.
Her voice was hypnotic, the spell broken only when a rich alto voice—Alex recognized it as Francesca’s—replaced Lucia’s.
Alex leaned against one wall of the house, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Francesca’s song continued, then she, too, was replaced. Weary from forced politeness, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. They snapped open again immediately. At first he saw nothing, but he tensed at the subtle shift in the air. Then he saw her, standing in the shadows and watching him.
She took an uncertain step toward him, emerging into the light spilling from the windows. Though he’d watched her all evening, she seemed even more beautiful than he ever remembered. She wore a rose silk gown, and her pink cheeks glowed. Her hair was simple, the long tresses swept away from her face into a crown of gold. She looked older, the high cheekbones of her face more prominent without the frame of her hair.
She took another halting step and ran a hand along one hip, smoothing the silk of her gown. “It’s not the most fashionable color, I know,” she said. “But my mother insists pink complements my complexion and forces me to wear it at every opportunity.”
“For once, I’m in agreement with your mother.” She frowned.
“You look beautiful,” he said. A warning bell rang in his head, but he chose to ignore it.
