Free The Return of Lord Conistone by Lucy Ashford Page B

dismay.
    Her mother gave one last fond wave, then turned with a sigh to go back into the house. But she had not yet finished with Verena. ‘I do wish, my dear, that you, too, would make some attempt with your appearance while Lord Conistone is here! Such an opportunity, even for you!’
    Ten guineas
. Verena, burning with shame, resolved to dress like one determined on lifelong spinsterhood for the rest of Lord Conistone’s enforced stay.
Whatever he is up to, with his insulting gifts and his spying manservant, he will not get round us in such a shabby way. He will not humiliate my family any further!
    She hurried up to her own room first, then marched to the kitchen where Cook, she knew, was preparing the thin gruel for Lucas that had been recommended by Dr Pilkington. ‘Is it ready, Cook? I’ll take it to his lordship!’
    Cook’s face dropped. ‘Now that’s not right, Miss Verena, and you know it. That servant of his, he said he’d take it’.
    ‘Then I’ll save him the bother!’ If Lucas was well enough to make condescending gifts to her mother, he was well enough to explain his conduct. Verena picked up the tray and headed towards Lucas’s room, practising her speech.
You must realise that we are badly in debt. And yet you come here and lavish money on Mama—for fripperies!
    Half-expecting to be barred by Bentinck, she knocked sharply, and, hearing nothing, eased the door open and carried in the tray with its bowl of steaming gruel.
    Lucas was alone and asleep.
    She put the tray down on the nearby table, rather carefully. He lay back on the pillows with the sheet pulled up to his waist. He wore a loosely buttoned shirt with the right sleeve cut away to make room for the bandaging on his upper arm.
    Her heart thudding, she glanced again at his sleeping face; at his thick black hair, just a little too long for fashion; his lean, hard-boned features with the aristocratic nose and square jaw, lightly stubbled now. At the expressive, wickedly curving mouth that had kissed her and made such enticing, false promises.
The man is utterly dangerous
. Yet somehow he looked so vulnerable in sleep.
    She felt a small, tight knot of yearning set up in her stomach that throbbed and grew.
    Here was the man who had betrayed her callously. And yet last night he had somehow known that she’d been in danger, and he’d saved her at the risk of his own life
—why?
    Why had he come here at all?
    He was stirring. He was trying to heave himself up, but his eyes were still half-closed, and perspiration gleamed on his high cheekbones. She should leave, now.
    ‘No one must know,’ he was muttering agitatedly. ‘Do you understand that, Bentinck? No one—’
    ‘My lord!’ She hurried close. ‘It’s not Bentinck, but Verena!’
    ‘Bentinck,’ he went on hoarsely, as if she’d not spoken, ‘soon it will be too late, the French are on the trail, damn them, they know it’s here’.
    Oh, no. He was feverish; she needed help. Already making for the door, she said, ‘I will fetch your valet, my lord—’
    ‘Verena’.
Suddenly he was awake, and lifting himself again on his uninjured arm; those slate-grey eyes were clear and penetrating. ‘Verena!’
    Oh, my goodness. If he knew how she had gazed at him.
    She turned round, swallowing on her dry throat, her heart thumping.
    He was hauling himself up further. She saw him flinch at the fresh pain in his arm, before he said, ‘I am exceedingly sorry to intrude on your family like this’.
    He is not telling the truth. Remember it. Be strong
. ‘No, you’re not sorry!’ she broke in, almost wildly. ‘I know now that you
planned
to come here, Lucas; you even sent your man Bentinck on ahead, to spy on us—and now you’vegiven my mother a purseful of money! You treat us as if we were paupers, to be pitied and mocked—
why?’
    He said quietly, ‘I didn’t plan on getting shot. And your mother came to my room earlier and begged me to lend her the money’.
    ‘Oh, no…’.