night.”
Lucy smiled—and then suddenly experienced one of the bouts of vertigo that happened when she was around Cyrus. There didn’t seem to be anything about him that wasn’t perfect: chiseled jaw, cheekbones, eyelashes, even nose.
“Why are you here?” she asked, schooling her tone to calm curiosity. “Is it because jealousy of your cousin piqued your interest? Or because you hate to lose, and my rejection piqued that interest?”
“Are those the only two options you can think of?”
“Yes.”
“But for you, I wouldn’t be here. I have a very nice office, do you know that? Seven people work there, from clerks to accountants. They’ll all be wondering where on earth I am.”
“I didn’t ask you what you’d rather be doing. I want to know why you are here with me.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, looking off into the woods. “And to answer your question more precisely, I am not here because I’m jealous of Pole. Frankly, when I saw you laughing with Rathbone, I did feel possessive. But Pole? Everyone in the ballroom saw the glazed look on your face. Ask me another.”
Lucy thought about it for a moment. They began walking the horses back to the mews. “What do you want most in the world?”
“I want to regain the position in society that my mother lost,” Cyrus said without hesitation. “And then, I want to make certain that my sisters can marry whomever they chose.”
“That seems a reasonable goal,” Lucy ventured.
“Yes. I have a plan to do it. A very specific, precise plan.”
“Your plan includes a bride from the aristocracy,” she guessed.
“I thought it would be helpful, yes.” She chose to interpret the brooding darkness in his eyes as apologetic.
“So what number was I on that list?”
“Five,” he said, wincing a bit.
“Let me guess . . . the Duke of Pole’s estate was Number Six?”
“Seven. And it didn’t have to be that estate. I simply planned to buy one.”
They had reached the stables, and her groom, Franklin, moved forward, intending to lift her from her horse. Cyrus’s face snapped into cold, implacable lines and the groom stepped backward instantly, as if he’d been stung.
Cyrus dismounted, pulled off his gloves and thrust them into his pocket, and then reached up for her. She braced her hands lightly on his shoulders as he lifted her from the horse and set her on her feet. He smelled like sweat and horse and man, she thought. Not just any man: Cyrus.
“Franklin, please take Tulip inside and rub her down,” Lucy said. “She had a hard run today.”
“I will escort Miss Towerton to her house,” Cyrus put in. “You needn’t worry about her. If you’ll have my mount rubbed down as well, I’ll return for him.”
Franklin nodded, and led both horses into the mews.
“Are my looks acceptable to you?” Cyrus suddenly asked. “Do you like the way I look?”
“For goodness’ sake,” Lucy said, almost under her breath but not quite. “Of course I like the way you look, Cyrus. What woman has ever disliked your looks?”
There was that smile again, the one that could be bottled and sold. It was dangerous, and satisfied, and altogether sensual.
“I like the way you look too,” he said. Then he bent his head and dropped a kiss like a brand on the side of her neck. “And as for other women, I’ve never paid much attention to what women think of me.” She looked at him skeptically, but the sincerity in his face wasn’t hard to read.
Interesting. She’d always thought that physical perfection was what she most wanted. She was utterly convinced that if she were only a normal height for a woman, her life would be perfect in every way.
Cyrus was rich and beautiful. But he was also very alone.
C HAPTER T WELVE
“I must go home,” Lucy said. She was feeling a little frightened. It would be so easy to love Cyrus, and yet it seemed to her quite possible that he was wooing her—if that was what this was—for the wrong
Lucy smiled—and then suddenly experienced one of the bouts of vertigo that happened when she was around Cyrus. There didn’t seem to be anything about him that wasn’t perfect: chiseled jaw, cheekbones, eyelashes, even nose.
“Why are you here?” she asked, schooling her tone to calm curiosity. “Is it because jealousy of your cousin piqued your interest? Or because you hate to lose, and my rejection piqued that interest?”
“Are those the only two options you can think of?”
“Yes.”
“But for you, I wouldn’t be here. I have a very nice office, do you know that? Seven people work there, from clerks to accountants. They’ll all be wondering where on earth I am.”
“I didn’t ask you what you’d rather be doing. I want to know why you are here with me.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, looking off into the woods. “And to answer your question more precisely, I am not here because I’m jealous of Pole. Frankly, when I saw you laughing with Rathbone, I did feel possessive. But Pole? Everyone in the ballroom saw the glazed look on your face. Ask me another.”
Lucy thought about it for a moment. They began walking the horses back to the mews. “What do you want most in the world?”
“I want to regain the position in society that my mother lost,” Cyrus said without hesitation. “And then, I want to make certain that my sisters can marry whomever they chose.”
“That seems a reasonable goal,” Lucy ventured.
“Yes. I have a plan to do it. A very specific, precise plan.”
“Your plan includes a bride from the aristocracy,” she guessed.
“I thought it would be helpful, yes.” She chose to interpret the brooding darkness in his eyes as apologetic.
“So what number was I on that list?”
“Five,” he said, wincing a bit.
“Let me guess . . . the Duke of Pole’s estate was Number Six?”
“Seven. And it didn’t have to be that estate. I simply planned to buy one.”
They had reached the stables, and her groom, Franklin, moved forward, intending to lift her from her horse. Cyrus’s face snapped into cold, implacable lines and the groom stepped backward instantly, as if he’d been stung.
Cyrus dismounted, pulled off his gloves and thrust them into his pocket, and then reached up for her. She braced her hands lightly on his shoulders as he lifted her from the horse and set her on her feet. He smelled like sweat and horse and man, she thought. Not just any man: Cyrus.
“Franklin, please take Tulip inside and rub her down,” Lucy said. “She had a hard run today.”
“I will escort Miss Towerton to her house,” Cyrus put in. “You needn’t worry about her. If you’ll have my mount rubbed down as well, I’ll return for him.”
Franklin nodded, and led both horses into the mews.
“Are my looks acceptable to you?” Cyrus suddenly asked. “Do you like the way I look?”
“For goodness’ sake,” Lucy said, almost under her breath but not quite. “Of course I like the way you look, Cyrus. What woman has ever disliked your looks?”
There was that smile again, the one that could be bottled and sold. It was dangerous, and satisfied, and altogether sensual.
“I like the way you look too,” he said. Then he bent his head and dropped a kiss like a brand on the side of her neck. “And as for other women, I’ve never paid much attention to what women think of me.” She looked at him skeptically, but the sincerity in his face wasn’t hard to read.
Interesting. She’d always thought that physical perfection was what she most wanted. She was utterly convinced that if she were only a normal height for a woman, her life would be perfect in every way.
Cyrus was rich and beautiful. But he was also very alone.
C HAPTER T WELVE
“I must go home,” Lucy said. She was feeling a little frightened. It would be so easy to love Cyrus, and yet it seemed to her quite possible that he was wooing her—if that was what this was—for the wrong
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