Bought for Revenge(18)

'Oh, I beg your pardon.'

'No need for that.' He extricated himself from her grasp, but kept his  smiling eyes upon her. His look caressed her and she felt like a cat  basking in the sun. She wanted to purr with happiness. She resisted the  urge to smile foolishly up at him and instead said quietly, 'Did-did you  see my gloves, sir? I think I dropped them … '

'You did.' He patted his breast. 'I have them safe, but I do not think it would be wise for me to return them here, do you?'

The smile deepened and set her heart hammering once more. It was  exhilarating, thrilling, but the tumult of emotions unnerved her. She  sipped her wine and looked out of the window at the velvet darkness.

'Meet me tomorrow,' he said quietly. 'Come to the boathouse in the morning and I will return your gloves to you.'

An assignation. The warm glow that had enveloped her vanished. After  what had occurred, did he think she would put herself into such a  situation? Shaking her head, she turned towards him.

'You know I cannot do that.'

'Can't you?'

He was gazing down at her, the fire in his black eyes burning into her  very soul. All around them the big room buzzed with chatter and noise  yet they seemed to be in a little bubble, cut off from the rest of the  world. Beyond Lucas everything was blurred and distorted, yet he was so  very clear. She could see every minute stitch on his coat, every detail  of the intricate embroidery on his waistcoat and the complicated folds  of his neckcloth. The bubble enclosed them. Belle felt its pressure on  her back, pushing her towards him. He loomed over her, enveloping her in  his animal presence. She blinked, trying to break the spell with a  shaky laugh.

'I know you are teasing me, Mr Monserrat. You may return them tomorrow, if you wish. To Oakenroyd.'                       
       
           



       

'And may we talk there, privately?'

'If you wish.'

To disguise her shaking hand she finished her wine and put the glass  down on the window sill. With a slight shock she realised the dancing  had ended and the musicians were packing away their instruments. 'It-it  is late. I must find my father.'

'I will take you to him.'

She allowed him to pull her hand on to his arm. No one was in any hurry  to leave and they had to thread their way between the chattering guests  to reach her father, who was still sitting with Dr Bennett. Elias  Greenwood stood nearby with his pregnant wife, the Scanlons and the  Rishworths were in a little group with Mr Keighley, while Mrs Kensley  was gossiping with one of her cronies a short distance away. To Belle's  overstretched nerves it seemed that they were all looking at her. Would  they know from her heightened colour, her glowing cheeks how much she  enjoyed Lucas's company? Would they know he had kissed her?

'Ah, my dear, I was about to send a man to find you.' Her father beamed  as she came up, while Dr Bennett merely acknowledged them with a sleepy  nod.

'I am here now, Father, as you see. I have been t-talking with Mr Monserrat.'

'Ah yes.' Her father looked up, his bright eyes twinkling. 'You still  here, sir? I thought you might have taken to your bed hours ago, for  young Greenwood over there tells me you are spending every waking hour  at Burnt Acres.'

Dr Bennett shot up in his chair. 'Burnt Acres!' he cried. 'That's it.'

'No, no, Bennett, that is not it,' Samuel said gently. 'I should have called it Morwood, to give it its proper title.'

'No, no, but your calling it Burnt Acres reminded me!' Dr Bennett waved  his stick towards Lucas. 'I know now where I have seen you before,  sirrah!'

Lucas froze.

Not now, he thought desperately. Not now, not here.

'I was doctor to Mrs Blackstone, the poor lady who perished in the fire  at Morwood. And it has come to me now, sir.' The old doctor was  chuckling, his hand on Havenham's arm. Lucas could not move. He felt as  if he was on the edge of a cliff and it was crumbling away beneath his  feet. The truth would out now. There was no going back. He remained  impassive as the doctor's twinkling eyes came back to him.

'You are Maria Blackstone's son. You have the very look of her, my boy!'

His quavering voice, made shrill with age, carried around that part of  the room and everyone stopped talking. All eyes turned towards Lucas.

He could deny it, of course, but even as the thought crossed his mind he  could see recognition dawning in Havenham's eyes. The old man was  remembering the ten-year-old boy he had known and finding a resemblance  in the man now standing before him. And from the tail of his eye Lucas  could see Annabelle. She was still beside him, but regarding him with  bewilderment.

As well she might. There was no way he could save her pain now, but  perhaps it was for the best. He had been in danger of becoming too  entangled with the lady. He straightened his shoulders.

'Yes, Doctor,' he said coolly. 'I believe I do look like my mother. I am Lucas Monserrat Blackstone.'





Chapter Seven


Silence followed his announcement. Lucas observed the reactions of those  around him. Some had not even been born when Morwood had burned to the  ground twenty-five years ago and for the rest it was only a distant  memory. Not for them the terrifying nightmares that still haunted his  sleep, the guilt that he had survived while his mother had perished in  the inferno. He watched Samuel Havenham, alert for any sign of unease or  guilt, but although the old man looked shocked at first, the next  moment he was smiling, as if genuinely pleased with the news.

'My boy, this is delightful, quite delightful! How did I not know you? I  of all people should have seen the resemblance to your poor, dear  mother. But I said to Belle that you looked familiar, did I not, my  love?' She nodded silently while her father continued to shake his head  in wonder. 'So you have come back to Morwood, sir. That is very good,  very good. But why change your name-did you think your old friends would  not want to know you? Why, my boy, nothing could be further from The  truth.'

Lucas looked away, uncomfortable with the memories that surfaced. The  Samuel of his early childhood had been a big, genial man who had always  treated Lucas kindly when they met, but no amount of words could absolve  him of the one heinous act that Lucas was bent on avenging. However,  for now he must answer coolly.

'Monserrat was my mother's family name.'

'Ah … ' Samuel had a faraway look in his eye. 'She would never talk of her  Spanish family. That is why I did not recognise the name, but I still  rebuke myself for not recognising you, Lucas-may I call you that?'                       
       
           



       

It was intolerable. The daughter had already breached his defences, he  could not let the old man become too familiar. He must focus on his  goal, keep his distance.

'I shall of course be reverting to the name Blackstone now,' he said curtly.

That, at least, would be a relief. He had every right to use his  mother's name and it had served to remind him of the task he had set  himself, but he was glad to be done with the deceit.

With a bow he excused himself and left the room. Behind him the chatter  was beginning again and he had no doubt of the subject. Let them  conjecture. They would all know soon enough why he was here.

'Well, who would have thought it?' Lady Rishworth settled herself in the  corner of her carriage and pulled her skirts close, making room for her  daughter and her husband to sit beside her. 'I suppose we must all get  used to calling him Mr Blackstone now. What say you, Mr Havenham?'

'I am sure we will grow accustomed in time, as we will grow accustomed to having Morwood occupied again.'

Annabelle heard the wistful note in her father's voice and put it down to fatigue. The evening had been a long one.

'But how is it that no one recognised him?' asked Celia. 'Is he changed so very much, Mama?'

'Goodness, yes,' said her mama. 'He was only a child when he left here.  But now I think of it he was always a very dark little boy, rather on  the thin side. Mr Havenham may remember him better, being close  neighbours.'

'The pity of it is that I don't,' Samuel confessed. 'I wish he had made  himself known to us at the start. I really cannot see why he should come  here under another name.'

'Perhaps he did not want to be the object of pity,' suggested Annabelle.

'Aye, that is very likely,' agreed Sir John, squashed into the far  corner of the carriage. 'He wouldn't want to be gawped at by all and  sundry and reminded of his past.'

'Was it so bad then, Papa?' Celia asked her father.

'Yes, a very bad business. Mrs Blackstone perished in the fire. There  was some talk that she had locked the door to her rooms. Her husband was  severely burned trying to rescue her. He died a few days later and  their son was taken off to live with relatives somewhere in the south.'

'He must have done well for himself if he can afford to buy back Morwood,' remarked Lady Rishworth.