“Yes, I know.” Harry drew her into the woods.
“You do?” Lucinda blinked. “He had some strange idea that Charles had done him out of his rightful inheritance, you know, that—”
Harry let her fill his ears with an account of Mortimer’s justification of his deeds as he steered her through the woods. It was infinitely reassuring to hear her voice. His fear that she might suffer from delayed shock receded, lulled by her calm and logical recital, her unflustered observations. She was, he had to grudgingly, somewhat astonishingly concede, totally unaffected by her ordeal. He was a nervous wreck. He led her directly to the carriages.
Lucinda blinked when they appeared before them. “But what about the others?”
Harry hauled open the door of her carriage as Joshua and Dawlish hurried up. “We can leave a message for Em and Heather—Mabberly can explain.”
“Mr Mabberly?” Lucinda was astonished. “Is he here?”
Harry cursed his loose tongue. “Yes. Now get in.” He didn’t wait for her to do so—he picked her up and put her in. Joshua was already climbing to the box; Harry turned to Dawlish. “Go back and explain everything to Em and Miss Babbacombe—assure them Mrs Babbacombe’s taken no hurt other than a soaking.”
From inside the carriage came a definite sniff. Harry’s palm tingled. He put a foot on the carriage step. “I’m taking her back to Hallows House—we’ll wait for them there.”
Dawlish nodded. “All the rest’s taken care of.”
Harry nodded. He turned back to the carriage, remembering to grab his greatcoat, left on the rack atop, before he ducked through the door. Dawlish shut it behind him and slapped the coach’s side. It lurched into motion; heaving a heavy sigh, Harry subsided onto the seat and shut his eyes.
He remained thus for a full minute; Lucinda watched him somewhat warily. Then he opened his eyes, tossed his greatcoat onto the opposite seat, and reached out and systematically let down all the blinds. The sun still penetrated the thin leather, suffusing the interior with a golden glow.
“Ah…” Before Lucinda could decide what to say, Harry sat back, reached for her and hauled her onto his lap.
Lucinda opened her lips on a token protest—he captured them in a long, searing kiss, his lips hard on hers, demanding, commanding, ravishing her senses until her thoughts melted away and took her wits with them. She kissed him back with equal fervour, perfectly willing to take all he offered.
When he finally consented to raise his head, she lay against his chest, dazedly blinking up at him, with not two thoughts to her name.
The sight filled Harry with a certain satisfaction. With an approving grunt, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the squabs. “If you ever do anything like that again, you’d better be prepared to eat standing up for the following week. At least.”
Lucinda threw him a darkling glance and reached a hand to her abused posterior. “It still hurts.”
Harry’s lips lifted. He raised his lids enough to look down at her. “Perhaps I should kiss it better?”
Her eyes flew wide—then she looked intrigued.
Harry caught his breath. “Perhaps we’d better leave that until later.”
Lucinda raised a brow. She held his gaze, then shrugged and snuggled closer. “I didn’t plan to be set upon, you know. And who were all those people?”
“Never mind.” Harry juggled her around so she was sitting on his knees facing him. “There’s something I want to say—and I’m only going to say it once.” His eyes met hers. “Are you listening?”
Lucinda drew in a breath—and couldn’t let it out. Her heart in her mouth, she nodded.
“I love you.”
Lucinda’s face lit up. She leaned towards him, her lips parting—Harry held up a restraining hand.
“No—wait. I haven’t finished.” He held her with his eyes. Then his lips twisted. “Such words from a man such as I can hardly be convincing. You know I’ve said them before—in reams. And they weren’t true—not then.” His hand found hers where it rested on his chest; he raised her fingers to his lips. “Before you came along, I didn’t know what the words meant—now I do. But I couldn’t expect you to find the words convincing, when I wouldn’t myself. So I’ve given you all the proof that I can—I’ve taken you to visit with my father, shown you my ancestral home.” Lucinda blinked—Harry continued with his list. “You’ve seen the stud and I’ve shown you the house that I hope we’ll make our home.” He paused, eyes glinting, lips lifting at the ends as he met Lucinda’s gaze. “And I was joking about the six children—four will do nicely.”
Breathless, dazed, giddy with happiness, Lucinda opened her eyes wide. “Only four?” She let her lids fall. “You disappoint me, sir.”
Harry shifted. “Perhaps we can settle on four to begin with? I wouldn’t, after all, wish to disappoint you.”
Lucinda’s rare dimple appeared in her cheek.
Harry frowned. “Now where was I? Ah, yes—the proofs of my devotion. I accompanied you back to London and drove you in the Park, I danced at
tendance on you in every conceivable way—I even braved the dangers of Almack’s.” His eyes held hers. “All for you.”