Part 31 (1/2)
Other than bestowing on her one, long, unnervingly intent look, Harry made no particular comment, replying readily to any questions, but leaving the conversational reins in her hands. When they drew up at Em's steps, Lucinda felt she had handled them with laudable skill.
She chose the moment when Harry lifted her down to say,
”I'm really most grateful for your escort, Mr Lester.”
With what she considered commendable fort.i.tude, she refrained from further comment.
”Indeed?” Harry arched one brow.
Lucinda fought against a frown.
”Indeed,” she returned, meeting his gaze.
Harry looked down at her face, at her wonderfully blue eyes, gleaming with feminine defiance--and wondered how long he could hold her, his hands firm about her waist, before she became aware of it.
”In that case, tell Fergus to inform me when you wish to inspect your next inn.” She felt warm, vibrant, supple and alive between his hands.
Lucinda knew perfectly well where his hands were; she could feel his fingers burning through her gown. But that kiss, so quick it was over almost before it had begun, had been her first intimation-that victory was truly possible; despite the unnerving cascade of emotions the fleeting caress had evoked, she was determined not to back down. If she had, albeit unknowingly, breached his walls once, she could do it again. Battling breathless hess she ~ropped her gaze to where her fingers rested against his coat.
”But I couldn't so impose on your time, Mr Lester.”
Harry frowned. He could see her eyes glinting through her lashes.
”Not at all.” He paused, then added, native caution returning,
”As I told you before, given you're my aunt's guest, at my insistence, I feel it's the least I can do.”
He thought he heard a disgusted humph. Suppressing a smile, he glanced up--and met Dawlish's deeply commiserating gaze.
All expression draining from his face, Harry dropped his hands.
Stepping back, he offered his aunt's guest his arm, then gallantly, in open contempt of his henchman's foreboding, escorted her up the steps.
While waiting for Fergus to open the door, Lucinda glanced up--and intercepted an exchange of glances between Harry and Dawlish.
”Dawlish seems very dismal--is anything amiss?”
Harry's features hardened.
”No. He's just unused to getting up so early.”
Lucinda blinked.
”Oh?”
”Indeed.” The door opened; beaming, Fergus held it wide. Harry bowed.
”Au revoir, Mrs Babbacombe.”
Crossing the threshold, Lucinda looked over her shoulder and threw him a smile--a soft, alluring, siren's smile. Then she turned and slowly headed for the stairs.