Surrender

  Lucas met his uncle’s glare. “Perhaps I should look a little lower than the ton.”

  “You’d be wasting your time. Hell, I know the talk in the clubs. There’s always a lot of speculation about offering one’s title in exchange for some merchant’s daughter who comes equipped with an inheritance. But fact is, it don’t work that way very often. Money marries money and that’s as true among the Cits as it is in the ton.”

  His uncle’s words rang again in Lucas’s head tonight as he stood gazing up at the dour portrait of Maitland Colebrook. He smiled grimly and raised his glass in a small toast.

  “You were wrong, Uncle. I’ve found my heiress and I’ve set my snares well tonight. She’s going to lead me a damned merry dance but in the end she will be mine.”

  And that end could not come fast enough to suit him, Lucas decided as he tossed down the rest of his port. He wanted Victoria’s fortune, but he had learned tonight that he also wanted Victoria.

  Lucas set down his glass, aware of the amber pendant warm against his chest. He had worn it around his neck, concealed under his clothing, since the night Maitland Colebrook had tossed it at him.

  As Lucas stood alone in the library contemplating his future it occurred to him that the rich, tawny glow of the amber was an exact match for the color of Victoria’s eyes.

  4

  Lucas walked up the steps of Lady Nettleship’s town house with a sense of keen anticipation mixed with icy determination. He was in a mood not unlike the one that came over him when he sat down to a gaming table. Everything in him was focused now on winning, and Lucas knew he was very good at winning.

  He had learned long ago that for a man who must live by his wits, there was no substitute for careful planning and strategy. He knew the value of a cool head and the ability to push aside all emotion in the midst of battle or a card game. Cold-blooded logic was the key to survival and Lucas knew it.

  He was well aware that the reason he was able to survive and even flourish at the tables of the clubs and gaming hells of London was simply that he never allowed his emotions to interfere with his play. Unlike the wildly impulsive young bucks, the flamboyant, drunken lords, or the foolish dandies who loved to throw their money away in melodramatic style, Lucas never allowed himself to act out of either exuberance, false pride, or desperation.

  When one’s luck was running poorly, one simply quit the table and waited for another time and place. Lucas had always found another time and place.

  But as successful as he was at the gaming tables, his uncle had been right; there was little chance of winning enough blunt to save Stonevale. Lucas knew he could waste a lifetime attempting to accomplish that feat. The lands and people of Stonevale could not wait that long.

  It did not, however, take a lifetime’s winnings to keep up appearances here in London. If a man was very clever and watched his expenditures, he could survive from one night’s winnings until the next. Polite Society might speculate upon, but it never openly inquired into, a man’s financial situation as long as he had the appearance of wealth. Having the title and access to Jessica Atherton’s social connections also helped.

  Lucas glanced over his shoulder at the expensive black curricle and the beautifully matched grays he had driven here this morning. His tiger was at the horses’ heads, calming the high-spirited creatures and preparing to walk them until the master had finished his morning call.

  The entire rig had cost far more than Lucas had wanted to spend, but he had reluctantly laid out the necessary just as he had done at his tailor’s. When a man went hunting for an heiress, he had to camouflage himself well; especially when said heiress was given to hiring Bow Street runners.

  Lady Nettleship’s front door opened just as Lucas was mentally running through the day’s strategy one last time. Lucas handed the butler his card.

  “The Earl of Stonevale to see Lady Nettleship and her niece.”

  The butler peered down a very long nose. “I will see if Lady Nettleship is receiving this morning.”

  For one grim moment Lucas wondered what he would do if Victoria had changed her mind about allowing him to pay a call this morning. It was entirely possible that in the clear light of day she had sensed danger.

  He should have resisted the hot urge that had driven him to kiss her last night. He had never intended to do so, not this early in the game. But for a short, perilous time there in the dark garden he had broken his own cardinal rule and allowed his emotions to dominate his actions. Lucas vowed he would be more cautious in the future.

  The butler returned, and a moment later Lucas experienced relief which melted into triumph when he was shown into the stately drawing room. With the discipline of long practice, he made certain neither emotion was visible in his expression, but reminded himself that the first hurdle was behind him; he had been admitted into the home of his quarry.

  An instant later his triumph turned to irritation when he did not immediately spot Victoria in the sunny room. He realized he had not expected her to lose her nerve this morning. But the lady who had followed him fearlessly into that alley last night had apparently had a few second thoughts about meeting him in the light of day. Lucas forced himself to give his full attention to the striking middle-aged woman seated on the elegant sofa.

  “Your servant, Lady Nettleship,” he murmured as he bowed over the beringed hand. “I see now that Victoria’s fine eyes are a family trademark.”

  “Very charming, my lord. Do sit down. We’ve been expecting you. Victoria, do put down those beetles, my dear, and come greet your guest.” Victoria’s aunt turned her head slightly in the direction of her niece and smiled.

  Satisfaction soared in him. The little baggage had not changed her mind after all. Lucas straightened with a smile and turned to see Victoria standing quietly near the window at the far end of the room. No wonder he hadn’t spotted her at once. She was dressed in a yellow and white dress that tended to blend with the gold drapery behind her.

  Her very motionlessness told him that she had deliberately chosen her position so that she would be able to study him unobserved for a few minutes as he entered the room. Lucas’s brows rose faintly in amused acknowledgment of her tactics. There was no substitute for getting a close look at one’s opponent before facing him. It was clear he was not the only one who knew something about strategy.

  “Good morning, Miss Huntington. For a moment I feared you had discovered you had a conflicting social engagement today.”

  She came forward smoothly, her soft slippers making no noise on the carpet. She was carrying a flat box in her hands and her eyes were alight with mischief. “How could you possibly think I would forget your visit to us this morning, my lord?”

  “One can never be completely certain of a lady’s memory.” Lucas inclined his head over the hand she gracefully extended. Her fingers felt cold and he knew then that she was not as composed as she appeared. This pleased him.

  “I assure you my memory is excellent.”

  “Unfortunately for a man, it is not always a lady’s memory that fails. Sometimes she simply changes her mind,” Lucas said.

  Victoria tilted her head and studied him. “Not without good cause. Please sit down, as my aunt suggested. Are you at all interested in beetles?”

  “Beetles?” For the first time Lucas glanced into the box and found himself viewing an array of dead insects pinned inside. They were carefully arranged in rows according to size, with the largest, a true monster, at one end. “To be perfectly truthful, Miss Huntington, I have never paid much heed to beetles.”

  “Oh, but these are very excellent beetles, are they not, Aunt Cleo?”

  “A fine collection,” Lady Nettleship agreed enthusiastically. “Lady Woodbury, a member of our little society, collected them.”

  “Fascinating.” Lucas sat down slowly, his eyes on Victoria as she took a place on the sofa next to her aunt. “One wonders how Lady Woodbury managed to kill so many large insects.”

  “In the
usual manner, I presume,” Cleo said. “Pinched them under the wings or used camphor or a length of wire.”

  “Do you collect insects, Miss Huntington?” Lucas asked.

  “No, I fear I have not the stomach for it.” She glanced down into the box. “The poor things do not always die quickly, you know.”

  He watched her profile. “The will to survive can be amazingly strong.”

  “Yes.” She put the lid on the box of beetles.

  “I fear my niece is a bit too softhearted for certain areas of intellectual inquiry,” Cleo said with smile.

  “I will admit I prefer botany and horticulture to the study of insects.”

  “Your interests appear to be quite varied, Miss Huntington,” Lucas observed.

  “Did you think them limited?” She glanced at him through her lashes, her eyes gleaming with a mocking innocence.

  Lucas recognized a trap when he saw one. “Not at all. In the course of our brief association it has become quite clear to me that you are a woman with a most unusual mind.”

  Cleo glanced at him with interest. “Are you a student of horticulture and botany, sir?”

  “As you may have heard, I have only recently acceded to my title. I find that coming into my inheritance has greatly expanded my range of interests. It seems to me that I shall need to learn something about horticulture and similar subjects if I am to implement improvements on my estate,” Lucas said.

  Cleo looked pleased. “Excellent. Then you will no doubt be interested in Victoria’s watercolors and her drawings of plants.”

  Victoria turned a bright shade of pink, which amazed Lucas. “Aunt Cleo, I’m sure his lordship would not be in the least interested in my dabbles.”

  “I assure you, I would be most interested,” Lucas said quickly. Anything that could make Victoria blush was bound to be fascinating.

  “She has a wonderful ability.” Lady Nettleship said as she jumped to her feet and went to a nearby table to fetch a sketchbook. “Take a look at these.”

  “Aunt Cleo, really …”

  “Now, no false modesty, Vicky. Your work is lovely and so wonderfully true to life. I have been telling you for ages that you should get some of it published. Here you are, my lord. What do you think of these?” Cleo thrust the book into Lucas’s hands with an air of expectant triumph.

  Aware that Victoria was watching him in a resigned silence, Lucas took his time examining the sketchbook. He opened it expecting to find the usual assortment of amateurish artwork a man associated with females. It was considered quite fashionable for young ladies to learn to sketch and paint flowers.

  But Lucas was startled at the clarity and liveliness of Victoria’s work. Her plants bloomed on the pages of the sketchbook, glowing with exuberant energy. They were not just artistically beautiful, they were precise in every detail.

  Lucas was fascinated as page after page full of roses, irises, poppies, and lilies came to life in front of him. Each one was labeled in a fine hand with its formal, botanical name: Rosa provincialis, Passiflora alata, Cyclamen linearifolium.

  He looked up to find Victoria still watching him with an oddly anxious expression. He realized then that her art was a vulnerable subject for her. He closed the sketchbook. “These are excellent, Miss Huntington, as I’m sure you’ve been told. Even to my untrained eye these sketches and watercolors are beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled suddenly, very brilliantly, as if he had just told her that she, not her art, was beautiful. Her amber eyes were almost gold. “You’re very kind.”

  “I am rarely kind, Miss Huntington,” he told her quietly. “I am merely telling you the truth. I will admit, however, that I don’t recognize all of these plants. Where did you get your subjects?”

  “From the conservatory,” Cleo explained. “Together, Victoria and I have established what I like to believe is a most creditable botanical garden. Nothing on the scale of Kew, of course, but we’re rather proud of it. Would you care to view the conservatory? Victoria would be happy to give you a short tour.”

  Lucas nodded. “I should very much like to see it.”

  Victoria rose gracefully. “This way, my lord.”

  “Run along, then,” Cleo said. “Perhaps you will join us for a dish of tea when you have finished viewing the plants, my lord?”

  “Thank you.” Lucas smiled to himself as he followed Victoria out into the hall and down a short passageway that led to the back of the house. Matters were going well, he decided as she led him into a large glass gallery filled with plants and the rich, humid scent of soil. Already he was alone with his quarry.

  He looked around and realized that today he would be doing his hunting in a real jungle. He examined the view through the glass. Beyond the conservatory windows was a large, charming garden with a familiar-looking brick wall covered in ivy.

  “I wondered what the garden looked like by day,” Lucas remarked.

  Victoria’s brows snapped together in an admonishing frown. “Hush, my lord. Someone might overhear you.”

  “Not likely. We appear to have the place to ourselves.” He examined the lush greenery and the array of exotic blooms that filled the glass room. “You and your aunt are, indeed, interested in horticulture, aren’t you? This is amazing.”

  “My aunt had the conservatory built some years ago,” Victoria said as she started down one green-shrouded aisle. “She has friends who travel all over the world and send us cuttings and small plants. Recently Sir Percy Hickinbottom, one of her many admirers, sent a new variety of rose he discovered on an expedition in China. He named it Cleo’s Blush China in her honor. Wasn’t that sweet? Last month he sent the most beautiful chrysanthemum plant. We are quite hopeful it will survive. Are you at all familiar with chrysanthemums, my lord?”

  “No, but I do know what it means when a person suddenly becomes excessively chatty. Relax, Victoria. There is no need to be so anxious.”

  “I am not at all anxious.” Her chin lifted proudly as she paused beside a large tray of strange, lumpish-looking plants that were covered in thorns. “Do you care for cacti?”

  Lucas glanced down curiously at the assortment of spiny plants that were unlike anything he had ever seen. Experimentally he touched one of the thorns and discovered it was needle sharp. He glanced up and met Victoria’s gaze.

  “I am always interested in an adversary’s defenses,’ Lucas said.

  “Is that because it is your instinct to find a way past those defenses?”

  “Only when the prize promises to be worth the battle.” He was going to enjoy fencing with her, Lucas thought. She was no coward.

  “How can you estimate the value of the prize in advance of the battle?”

  It had not been a mistake after all to kiss her last night, Lucas decided. He knew from the way she was watching him that she had been thinking a great deal about the embrace they had shared. “Sometimes one is allowed a small sample of the goods. The bit I was allowed to taste last night was very promising.”

  “I see. And do you go around sampling a great many potential prizes before you determine which ones you will pursue?” She glared at him.

  His mouth quirked as he saw the hauteur flash in her eyes. “One must have some basis for comparison.”

  The hauteur changed almost imperceptibly into disgust. She turned away and started down the aisle again. “I rather suspected that might be the case.”

  Lucas was suddenly annoyed. She had started this. He reached out and clamped a hand around her wrist, drawing her to a sudden halt. She swung around to fix him with a defiant gaze.

  “What is it, Victoria? You don’t like the fact that there have been other prizes in my life? They have not been very important.”

  “I do not like the fact that you may have been very indiscriminate in selecting and pursuing those prizes, nor the fact that you have been casual about the matter.”

  “I assure you, I have never been indiscriminate and rarely casual. In truth, there have not been all
that many prizes. I have spent most of my life in the army, and one does not keep expensive mistresses on an officer’s pay.” He deliberately exerted enough pressure on her wrist to draw her closer. “What about you? You fence very skillfully. Is it because you have had a great deal of experience at this game?”

  “I have had a great deal of practice at playing the role of cactus, my lord.”

  “And tell me,” Lucas said smiling, “has anyone ever gotten past the spines?”

  “That is none of your affair, is it?”

  He saw the bright warmth in her cheeks but her eyes never wavered. “Forgive me. I cannot help but entertain a certain curiosity under the circumstances. After all, I fully intend to get past the thorns and claim the treasure for myself. I told you that much last night.”

  “You are not subtle, are you, Stonevale?” she said.

  “I am when subtlety is required, but I think I can be completely honest about my intentions in this case. You’re not a silly young girl straight out of the schoolroom. I do not think you are the type to be easily frightened by an honest man’s intentions.”

  Victoria straightened and peered at him. “Speaking of honesty, just what are your intentions, my lord? You were not quite clear on that subject last night. I must know.”

  “I thought I had made myself very plain. You must be aware by now that I want you. I will do what I must to claim you.”

  “Last night—” she began urgently, and then broke off, hunting for the right words. “Last night I warned you not to think in terms of marriage.”

  “I heard your warning. You issued it several times in a variety of ways, as I recall.”

  “You do understand, then, that I am not playing a game when it comes to that subject? I have no interest in marriage.”

  “I understand.” Lucas smiled faintly at the earnest expression in her eyes. She might not think she was playing a game, but that fact would not save her from losing it. “You do want to play other games, though, do you not, Victoria? Midnight games?”