Raven McAllan - The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia

‘Why not? You are.’

‘That is why.’ Again the flash of something other than docility showed briefly in her eyes, before she blinked and the illusion, if that was what it was, disappeared. Harry studied her absently. What the hell had Jeremy got himself into? Who was this woman, or more to the point, what was this woman?

‘My lord?’ a hesitant voice said. ‘Are you well? You seem troubled.’ Good God, he’d forgotten the woman sat before him. Never mind him, she was obviously in pain; he’d noticed the wince and the way she had trouble formulating her thoughts. Heavens, she’d sounded almost animated for a split second.

Nevertheless, fine blonde hair twisted into a complicated knot, with delicate wispy tendrils loose around her creamy cheeks, blue eyes and an hourglass figure made his body and his mind sit up and notice. He had a weakness for those attributes in a female. That half-formulated plan of earlier began to niggle him again.

Jeremy must be saved from his own impetuousness. After all, hadn’t he finished his diatribe by saying sullenly that, whatever happened, he would have his own way? And admitted love didn’t come into it, even though he had refused to explain why he was so intent on marriage to Lydia and flounced out with the threat that he would get what he wanted come what may. To say Harry was concerned was an understatement. The sooner they got to the bottom of it all, the better for everyone. Even, he supposed, Jeremy.

What had happened to his intention never to get involved with anyone who might have marriage in mind? Until it was the shy, biddable wife he intended many years hence. Disappeared, it seemed. He still had no intention of marriage, but a little dalliance, without breaking his own rules of no virgins, no innocents and no one who wasn’t up to snuff, would remain in place. For if it solved the problem of Jeremy he would pay attention to Lydia and see what happened.

‘I wondered how you have hurt yourself,’ Harry said slowly as a plan began to simmer in the back of his mind. ‘You were limping.’

‘Oh.’ She bit her lip and the rosy crescents increased in colour. ‘I turned my ankle as I stepped over the lintel. So silly of me. I thought to rest if for a few minutes.’ Alone, her tone implied.

‘And get a respite from the rabble?’ Harry said teasingly.

She chuckled and broke it off abruptly. ‘I would not be so rude, my lord. But yes, it is pleasant to sit quietly for a while.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘Alone.’

‘Alone, I cannot allow. And do not say it is not up to me, for we both know it is.’ To his secret amusement she shut her mouth with a decided snap. So the lady had been going to argue.

‘Will you give me the pleasure of your company on the terrace for a short while?’ Harry asked his companion, urbanely. ‘If your ankle will stand it. We can be alone but not alone there, if you understand me. Perfectly acceptable, whereas here…’ He let his voice quieten.

Lydia jumped. ‘Oh, my goodness. Yes, I understand.’ She looked up at him from under impossibly long, honey-gold lashes. ‘But why?’

Two words full of suspicion. He couldn’t blame her; he’d never, ever indicated by so much as a wink or a nod that he had even a flicker of interest in her. Now it seemed Lady Lydia Field had more to her than those limpid pools of blue, otherwise known as her eyes, the hair of spun silk and a figure to hold and caress indicated. Good God, now he sounded like one of those awful books he’d heard women loved to read and accused Jeremy of behaving like a character from. Why had nobody brought the lady’s delicious attributes to his attention before?

Probably no one looked closely enough to see them. Including me.

‘The cooler air might help your pain. Plus, it had been remiss of me to neglect you,’ he said smoothly, every inch a gentleman of the ton. ‘I feel behove.’

‘Why? You have never shown the need before,’ she said bluntly, and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, my lord, I do apologise at my rudeness.’

Harry laughed. ‘No, don’t go and spoil it. I like this side of you.’

Did she really say ‘I was afraid of that’?

Lydia shook her head. ‘My mama would be aghast at my lack of respect. Perhaps I best return to her side before I totally blot my copybook. If you would excuse me, my lord.’ She curtsied and began to turn.

Harry stopped her by dint of taking hold of one wrist. ‘To my certain knowledge, you, my dear, when you forget yourself, show you have spirit,’ he replied amiably. ‘It intrigues me. Perhaps we should further our acquaintance. Here, where so many other people are milling around, will attract attention. The terrace is within view and will cause less interest than anywhere else.’

‘If you think that, you are deranged,’ Lydia said bluntly. Evidently she had forgotten her need to efface herself. Harry hoped she would continue to do so.

‘I’m not your type, my lord,’ she continued. ‘Everyone knows a man like you would have no interest in me. Even thus far will have people wondering how much brandy you have taken. So, again, why?’

That was much too complex to reply there and then, and to be honest he wasn’t sure he could answer. He was no longer sure of his motives. Originally he had thought to be unethical and divert some of her attentions from Jeremy to himself. Thence to try and get to the bottom of why Jeremy thought it necessary to wed her. But now, he understood that there was more to it than that. Exactly what more he wasn’t going to try to discover. Not yet.

Now he accepted he wanted to get to know the lady… just because…

‘Are you promised to anyone?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Have an understanding?’ If she had he might need to rethink his tactics.

‘Good lord, no,’ she said, startled. ‘Why on earth would I? I am single by choice and intend to stay that way… Ah.’ She went red and shut her eyes briefly. ‘I mean, my lord, who would want me? I’m past the age of men offering for me.’

‘But you would like some air; I’ve seen you look longingly towards the gardens.’ He hadn’t, but it was a calculated guess. ‘I’ll say Lady Raith asked me to, if you like,’ he said with the lazy smile he was aware usually made a woman turn into a simpering imbecile.

Lydia Field was made of sterner stuff, it seemed. She ignored it.

‘But she hasn’t,’ she pointed out. ‘And that doesn’t answer my question.’ Lydia paused and he swore she counted to three and did her best to compose herself.

Curious.

‘Truly, my lord, you are most kind, but there is no need.’ Her voice had no animation, no expression and again he wondered at her chameleon-like abilities.

Harry grinned. ‘Yes I am, and yes there is. Go into the ballroom and give me five minutes.’

He stared at her until she inclined her head, smiled oh so sweetly, and curtsied. ‘You are too gracious, my lord.’ She somewhat spoiled the meek and mild persona by muttering under her breath. Something along the lines of, God save me from high-handed men ?

Really? Surely not? Truly, Lydia Field needed investigating. Harry turned on his heel and went in search of his godmother.

‘You want what? Why?’ Lady Raith asked suspiciously three minutes later, as Harry ran her to ground as she swept up the stragglers in the dining room and shepherded them towards the ballroom. ‘What do you want with her? Hold on.’ She pointed at a young lady who stared longingly at Harry. Lady Raith raised her voice. ‘Miranda Forrester, go on into the ballroom now. Your mama is waiting for you.’

The young deb, in a dress that Harry considered was first cousin to a meringue, blushed, curtsied and left the room.