Isabelle Goddard - Unmasking Miss Lacey

‘Did I worry you? I was quite safe, you know. The parapet is high enough.’ She was laughing at him and he felt a ripple of anger.

He tightened his arms around her, holding her close to his body. ‘I know no such thing. Never do that again!’

He looked down at her upturned face and was met by a pair of blue eyes glimmering with mischief. He could drown in those eyes, he thought, and for a moment he stood motionless, lost in their gaze. He felt her body warm against his, her soft curls tickling his chin. Her lips were close; he had only to bend his head a fraction and he could taste that full, smiling mouth. He wanted to with an urgency that took his breath away. Somehow he resisted and gave a light brush of his lips to her cheek.

Her carelessness had vanished and her breath seemed to be coming in short spurts. She was looking flushed and flustered and he could feel her body trembling beneath his touch. She was finding his closeness unsettling and that pleased him—it would teach her not to play games. He hadn’t enjoyed the sensation of being out of control. When he took his arms from around her, she turned away and walked to the stairs without another word.

In silence, they found their way back to the nave. ‘Will you walk with me to the house?’ It was courtesy that made him ask. He wanted to be alone and he thought she did, too: he sensed relief when she refused the invitation.

‘You will have to excuse me. I have calls to make in the village.’

‘I am impressed. I had not imagined you such a diligent worker.’ His voice was deliberately teasing.

‘When you live in a small community, it is necessary.’ From the reproof, it was clear that she had recovered her composure.

‘Naturally, I would not know.’

‘You could always learn,’ she threw over her shoulder, as she walked towards the church door. ‘But not this morning, I think. I am to call on a very sick old lady and the sight of your town bronze could well be the death of her!’

With a rueful smile, he watched her trip up the aisle, basket in hand, and out into the sunshine.

He strode towards the Towers in an unsettled frame of mind. He might be stranded in Verney for several days, but he must keep his distance from Lucinda. For a man intent on remaining heart free, their recent encounter had been far too intimate and he must be careful not to repeat it. He had only once been in love, only once thought of marrying, and it had proved calamitous. He had no intention of repeating the experience, even with Lucinda’s obvious charms so close at hand: she was lovely to look at, lovely to hold, he thought guiltily. She was spirited, bold even, to the point of recklessness, with an immense energy for life despite the cramped existence she had been forced to lead. They were enchanting qualities. Yet they could also be dangerous, as he had found to his cost. He was uncomfortably aware of how much she reminded him of that long-ago love affair. Was Lucinda also a woman addicted to excitement?

The incident on the church tower loomed large in his thoughts and reignited his earlier suspicions. He could no longer dismiss the idea that she might have been his assailant on that moonlit night—from what he’d seen of her, he guessed that she would be quite capable of riding out as a highwayman. But if she had dared such an exploit, and he still doubted it, what could be her reason? There appeared to be no motive—unless she was indeed one of those rare women who took risks simply because they were there, risks that could spiral into disaster.

He wanted very much for that not to be the case and a strong compulsion to prove Lucinda’s innocence bubbled into life. While he walked, his mind considered the possibilities. If he looked for the matching pistol in the house and did not find it, might that suggest the gun he had in his possession had never belonged at Verney Towers? Of course, she could have hidden its companion, but that seemed unlikely. Why would she unless she felt herself to be under suspicion, and he had been most careful not to betray his distrust. If the matching gun were in the house, he was as certain as he could be that it would be in Rupert Lacey’s room. He could only pray that it was not. Searching might prove difficult for servants were up and down the grand staircase twenty times a day. But this afternoon he could be sure that at least his hosts would not disturb him: Sir Francis was immured in his library and Lucinda would not return from the village for at least an hour. It was unlikely that he would get a better chance. He took a deep breath—he would do it!

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