A Lady in Name Read Free

a gentleman , be he never so much a peer of the realm, to capture her into his curricle and carry her off to his lair.
    Lucy sat up straighter suddenly, turning her eyes upon his lordship’s unresponsive profile, a flush of apprehension flooding her bosom.
    ‘Where are you taking me?’
    She was dismayed to hear the squeak in her voice, and knew by Lord Pennington’s questioning look that he had divined her unease.
    ‘To Pennington Manor, my home. I told you so at the outset.’
    Disquieting questions sprang to Lucy’s tongue, but she withheld them, conscious of the listening ears of his lordship’s groom seated in the perch behind. She began to wish she had held her ground and refused to come. Casting another glance at Lord Pennington, she saw a quick frown pull his brows together as he surveyed her face. Then abruptly, his countenance relaxed and he laughed out.
    ‘My dear Miss Graydene, allow me to allay your alarms. Did you suppose yourself to be en route to a gloomy mansion inhabited by myself and one sinister retainer? Have no fear. The Manor boasts both light and a sufficiency of service. Moreover, both my mother and my sister are in residence. You may be confident of being adequately chaperoned.’
    Heat shot into Lucy’s cheeks despite the biting wind and she turned to stare resolutely ahead. How maddening of the man to have so easily read her panic and its cause. Yet the reassurance could not fail to settle her jumping nerves a little, and she was left to ponder the immediate future. An unsatisfactory subject for cogitation, since she had no means of knowing what Lord Pennington intended. To resume their discussion, he had said. Why in the world should he remove from The Boar at Withington village? He did not know her. In his place, Lucy was sure she would not have invited an importunate stranger into her house.
    She was still trying to fathom his lordship’s reasoning when the curricle at last turned into a drive lying between two massive wrought-iron gates, which stood open. As the carriage bowled down a long tree-lined avenue, Lucy fluttered with nerves as she glimpsed an extensive dwelling appearing through the trees. Was she about to see the trappings of the life she might have been heir to, had circumstances been otherwise?
    Within a few short minutes, a vastness of gleaming stone struck Lucy’s eye, pale gold even in this wintry light. Sheets of windows spread across it, while above she caught the whirl and tumble of parapets and domed turrets. Her awed gaze had barely drunk in this unexpected splendour when the curricle came to a halt below a flight of stone steps leading up to a pillared portico. The groom leaped down from his perch behind and ran to the horses’ heads; Lord Pennington set aside the reins and jumped easily down, and Lucy found she was being offered his hand to assist her to alight.
    The memory of her first sight of him came back to her, as she recalled that slender hand. She took it and found it had surprising strength. As he guided her descent, Lucy was conscious of the oddest sensation in her breast, as if a little bird fluttered briefly there.
    Confused, she released herself as soon as she was steady on the ground, snatching tingling fingers into her own protective fist. She dared not look to see if Lord Pennington noted this peculiar reaction, and breathed more easily when she saw him striding ahead of her, and beginning to mount the steps. He paused, turning with a frown upon his brow.
    ‘Don’t dawdle, Miss Graydene . Follow me.’
    With which he resumed his unconcerned progress, leaving Lucy to regret having allowed herself to become subject to the Earl of Pennington’s whim. There was nothing to be done now but obey, however, and she headed for the steps, albeit with a flitter of reluctance.
    He was awaiting her at the top, but Lucy refused to hurry. A pair of heavy doors came gradually into sight, one of them held open by a portly individual dressed as befitted a