“Of course he’s Trevor to you,” the Baron said with a slow, crafty smile. “Your dear, very dear cousin. He’s finally come home.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Something caught tight around Lucasta’s throat and strangled.
She made her living by her voice, by her expression, and she couldn’t make a sound.
She’d met Trevor Pevensey on a few family occasions after Aunt Patience married the Baron. He’d been a pudgy, petulant boy with a pouty lower lip, prone to tantrums, cheeks always red from exertion. From all she’d heard of him since her arrival in London, he was much the same as a man.
She saw now he had changed a great deal.
The man before her was assured in his manner and fashionable, but not flamboyant in his dress. He wore a single-breasted riding coat with broad lapels and a collar and cuffs trimmed with blue. Rows of large silver buttons lined the coat and the matching waistcoat beneath. A ruffle of white linen peeked from his cuffs, a black silk cravat nestled about his throat, and his lightly powdered hair was pulled back in a queue and tied with a blue ribbon. Rudyard would approve.
His was a younger version of the Baron’s face, with a broad forehead and pronounced chin, slashing black brows over lively blue eyes, and a nose that still looked masculine rather thanoverly large. Grooves about his mouth deepened into creases as he smiled.
“My cousin Lucasta, all grown up.” Trevor swept her a graceful bow and rose with her hand at his lips. “Cici tells me you have been the most charming possible chaperone for her season.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward. “But who has been chaperoning you?”
Unless she was mistaken, he squeezed her hand lightly before releasing her fingers. That made two men who had held her hand in the span of minutes.
“Trevor. Mr. Pevensey.” She fumbled with the strings of her bonnet, flustered.
“Trevor,” he and his father said at the same time.
“Trevor. How—how delightful that you are home. You enjoyed your Grand Tour?”
The gossip she’d heard belowstairs gave various reasons for his circuit abroad. Some said a scandal with a woman, some said gambling debts, some an affair of honor, and some thought all three. But whatever the reason, the effect of his foray on the Continent had been to mature her cousin. He had lost at least a stone of baby fat and acquired a degree of polish in its place.
“I’ve any number of stories I could bore you with,” he said lightly. “I’ve already shared a few of the more amusing anecdotes with Cici and her ladyship.” He turned his smile to Cici, and she glowed like a cat in the sun. Lucasta noticed that Trevor’s warm expression did not extend to his father’s wife.
“Show her the little trinket you brought her from Paris,” the Baron prompted.
The strangling twist in Lucasta’s throat inched lower. Her cousin, alone, would not have marked her existence. The Baron had warned him to return home ready to woo.
Trevor held out an exquisite enameled box not much larger than his hand. “I remembered you were musical.”
Lucasta accepted the gift with caution. Trevor’s hands were soft, the hands of a gentleman. Unlike Rudyard, he’d been born to leisure. And unlike Rudyard, he was not a man who would work when he had other expectations.
For instance, gaining a fortune through marriage.
The delicate scenes painted along the top and sides of the music box featured Marie Antoinette and her ladies in brilliant dress, lounging in the Queen’s Petit Trianon. When Lucasta turned the crank, a clear, metallic song tinkled out. She recognized the short piece from a recent French comic opera. It was a charming tune, with the kind of melancholy undertone that she loved. She met Trevor’s eyes, surprised that whether by insight or sheer luck he should stumble onto something that pleased her so well.
“I adore it.” She tilted her head to listen to the tune again. “Thank you.”
Trevor held her gaze. His was curious, amused, but veiled. He nodded his head in acknowledgement. “How fortunate for me.”
Cici had contained herself long enough. She seized her brother’s hand. “Can you imagine how wonderful it will be, Lucasta, now that we will have a handsome escort for our revels? I have already beggedbelle-mèreto let us bring him to Mrs. Plimpton’s tomorrow, and to Ranelagh Gardens the day after.” She giggled at her brother. “You will make such a splash! I daresay you will outdo Lord Rudyard as the Season’s most eligible bachelor. How I will adore watching all the girls go wild over you.”
Trevor met this confession with a manufactured smile. The Baron laid a hand on the back of his lady’s chair, clearing his throat.
“You may wish to consult with your brother, miss, before you fan the hopes of any of your friends. Trevor might already have his own match in mind.”
Lucasta’s heart slipped down to puddle in her stomach. The Baron’s triumphant smirk said he would hold her to the devil’s bargain she had struck. Her sly promise to entertain Trevor’s suit, made when she thought he would linger on the Continent for the foreseeable future.
Now he was here. And she sacrificed her benefit concert if she let the Baron know how she felt.
The strangling vine slithered through her chest and wrapped tight. She must not let herself be trapped by these men. And she must not be a fool.
“Time enough to think of all that later, sir.” Trevor directed a brotherly smile at Cici’s adoring face. “You will first allow me to wash off the dust of the road, I hope, and look up a few friends before I go marching anyone up to the church door.”
