11. A Claim of Convenience #2
Periwinkle barked once and wagged his tail, clearly unconcerned, before nosing the ball insistently. Miles laughed and obliged with another throw, deciding he’d ponder the matter later.
This, he did at Brooks’s, inclined to write off Lord Creswell’s accusations as mere jealousy, but the more he reflected, the more it seemed Lucinda might have had a hand in the misunderstanding.
It had not yet dawned upon him that the other man’s intelligence sprang more from his own fabrications than from Miss Harrington’s.
Returning to Marlstone House that evening, he found Lucinda in the late ambassador’s library, high on a ladder reaching to return a book to its place.
She looked down at him as he entered. “Miles.” she greeted, steadying herself upon the ladder.
“Miss Harrington.” He crossed the room in three strides and planted himself beneath her. “A word if you please.”
The choice to address her formally was ominous. She was convinced he now knew. “Are you well, sir?” she asked cordially, descending the ladder with care.
“No, I am confused, bewildered, mystified and perplexed! Pray, enlighten me, why would Lord Creswell believe there is an understanding between us?”
On the last rung, their gazes met defiantly.
“It seemed the simplest way to discourage him,” she replied.
“Discourage him? So it’s true!” Miles ran a hand through his hair. “Lucinda, you are beyond doubt the most vexing female of my acquaintance. The pompous fool seems convinced I am some sort of villain ready to drag you into a life of misery.”
“Oh, dear. I made him promise not to say a word.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls me out over this!”
“Miles, I assure you, I would never let it come to that! I hadn’t expected him to react so strongly. I thought he’d redirect his loathsome attentions to some other poor girl.”
“Why, in the name of all that is rational, did you see fit to embroil me in this madness?”
“Because, Miles,” Lucinda shot her friend a pleading look, “he’s intolerable. And relentless. Besides, he was sure you had some secret lady love.”
Miles had taken to pacing in front of the bookshelves, but whirled at her last revelation. “How could that halfwit be sure I had—” Suddenly recalling his lies to the Bittermanns, he averted his face from Lucinda in a brown study of contemplation.
The tangled threads of his own falsehoods, never intended to intertwine, were now knitting themselves into a most perplexing knot.
If Creswell was hunting for a name and Lucinda had offered her own, the possible ramifications were dire.
The last thing Miles could have expected when creating a fictitious fiancée was that Lucinda would lay claim to the post.
Noting his troubled brow, Lucinda reached out a hand to reassure him. “Since I’ve always known you for a confirmed bachelor, Miles, I thought it safe enough to take the role.” The crease in his brow remained stubbornly in place. “You don’t have a secret arrangement, do you?” she asked uncertainly.
“Need you ask? No, of course I don’t, Lu.”
“I merely thought that if Lord Creswell believed me already spoken for, he might…well, take the hint and desist.”
Miles regarded her in silence. At last, a slow, irrepressible smile curved his lips. “Lucinda Harrington, you are, without question, a singular sort of Bedlamite!”
“Does that mean you forgive me?” she asked, with hopeful mischief.
“Very well,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “But only because your particular brand of madness has a bizarre charm. That said, you will set Creswell straight. You must tell him at once, that it was all a fabrication.”
“No! You cannot ask that of me, Miles. I am utterly sick of the sight of him.”
“Then you shall write him a letter, if need be,” he insisted. “If he breathes a word of this—”
“Oh, but he won’t! I appealed to his honor as a gentleman to keep it secret.”
Miles gave a derisive laugh. “A promise from him is as binding as a wax seal—one nudge and it crumbles to nothing!”
Lucinda crossed her arms, frowning. “Very well, I shall write him a brief note, reminding him of his vow. But if I confess, Miles, he’ll redouble his attention.”
Miles regarded her with an air of resignation. “And who could blame him? You are maddeningly difficult to ignore.”
Lady Arabella entered the room on the wisp of this last statement. “And why would you be ignoring my goddaughter?”
“Aunt Bella!” said Miles, turning on the woman. “Before I am pinked and skewered through, oblige me by discouraging Lord Creswell’s attentions towards Lucinda any further.”
“What’s this, my love?” asked the bewildered woman.
Miles took the lady’s hands in his and kissed them. “Ma’am, your dear goddaughter is pretending to be my betrothed to deter Lord Creswell’s advances.”
Lady Arabella gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, my stars! Lucinda, can this be so?”
Lucinda nodded. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, ma’am. But fear not, for it was all in good fun.”
Miles jumped in quickly, his tone earnest. “Aunt Bella, I assure you that nothing will come of it. It’s solely to spare Lucinda from any unwanted attention. But it must not on any account get out.”
Lady Arabella looked from one to the other, her expression a mix of shock and amusement. “Well, well! You two certainly know how to keep things interesting. What a flair for dramatics you both have!”