That was as far as he got before Lucy raised a hand to her forehead. She swayed in her chair, and Ciaran just had time to reach her before her eyelashes fluttered closed, and she fell into a swoon.
Chapter Ten
Goodness, swoons were useful things, weren’t they? If Lucy had realized feigning one would lead to such a quick escape she would have fallen into half a dozen of them by now.
“No, never mind coming down from the box, Bexley,” she called to the coachman when she reached the carriage. She lowered the stair herself, adding, “Just wait for now, won’t you? Mrs. and Miss Jarvis will be out presently.”
Bexley, a rough-looking fellow Uncle Jarvis had hired for the season, merely grunted.
Lucy sprang nimbly into the carriage, a long sigh escaping her as she closed her eyes and let her head rest against the seat. Her one regret was she’d worried her aunt with her sudden lapse in consciousness. Or what appeared to be a sudden lapse in consciousness. She’d half-expected to be caught out in her charade, but apparently she was a better actress than she realized.
Uncle Jarvis hadn’t bothered to wait and see if she were dead or alive before rushing off after a furious Lord Godfrey, but poor Aunt Jarvis had followed Lucy to the ladies’ retiring room, wringing her hands, chastising herself, and clucking nervously the entire way. It had been quite a struggle to persuade her aunt to return to the ballroom and wait for Eloisa to finish her dance with Lord Vale and let Lucy make her own way to the carriage.
“For a lady who swooned not half an hour ago, that was a vigorous leap into your carriage.”
Lucy didn’t open her eyes, but her lips curved into an involuntary smile. She would have recognized that low, amused drawl anywhere. “Well, Ciaran Ramsey. The Wallflower’s Gallant, and hero of ladies in distress everywhere, whether they want saving or not.”
Ciaran hauled himself into the carriage, plopped down on the seat across from her and pulled the door closed behind him. “Seems to me you did want saving tonight, lass.”
Ciaran’s face was half lost in shadow, but Lucy heard the hint of humor in his voice. “Not at all. That is, I don’t deny it was an ugly scene, but I found my way out of it. The swoon was a spur of the moment thing, but quite a stroke of genius, really.”
Ciaran stretched his long legs out in front of him. He was so tall his knee brushed against hers. “You mean you only pretended to swoon?” He let out a low chuckle. “What a devious thing to do. Yet here you sit without a trace of guilt on your face. Shame on you, Lady Lucinda.”
“I’m only happy Eloisa was dancing with Lord Vale at the time. It upsets her when her father falls into a temper, and I don’t like to drag her into my scrapes if I can help it.” Lucy frowned. “Somehow, though, it seems to happen more often than not.”
“I don’t doubt it, lass.” He was quiet for a moment, then he murmured, “I looked for you, you know. After you disappeared, I searched all over Brighton for you. Quite a lot of effort for the lady who broke my nose.”
“I didn’t break it! You told me it wasn’t…” Her lips quirked when she caught the flash of his smile in the dark. “I think what you mean is it was quite a lot of effort for the lady who kicked you in the face, andalmostbroke your nose.”
“Something like that.” Ciaran shifted restlessly against the seat. When he spoke again, his voice had grown serious. “I’ve thought of you every single day since you left Brighton, Lucy. I couldn’t believe you’d go without a single word of explanation. I didn’t believe it, until I went to your villa and saw it was empty.”
Lucy drew in a shaky breath. All her life, she’d always been the one who was left behind. She knew how much it hurt. Without thinking, she reached for his hand. “I didn’t choose to leave, Ciaran. You must know that.”
He didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t snatch his hand back, either. After a long, tense silence, he sighed. “I did know it, but it didn’t make it any easier. What happened?”
Lucy hesitated She was half-ashamed to admit the disaster in Brighton had been her own fault, but Ciaran was her friend, and one didn’t lie to their friends. “My Uncle Jarvis found out about my, er, sunrise beach adventures.”
He’d found out, all right, and he’d been livid. Lucy had never seen anyone so angry in her life.
“I should have known that would happen.” Ciaran glanced down at their clasped hands. “I never should have encouraged you to keep meeting me there.”
Lucy gave him a crooked smile. “Do you suppose there was anything you could have done to stop me? Come now, Ciaran. You know me better than that.”
“Was it terrible?” Ciaran sounded as if he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
Once again, Lucy hesitated. It had, in fact, been terrible, but she didn’t intend to tell Ciaranhowterrible. It might tempt him to another feat of misguided heroism.
Uncle Jarvis had been so overcome with rage he’d frightened her. He’d cursed until spittle was flying from his mouth, and his face had turned such a dangerous shade of red she’d been certain he’d shriek himself into an apoplexy. The next thing Lucy knew their things were packed and loaded into the carriage. They’d left Brighton behind without a second glance.
“N-no, not terrible, but he insisted we leave Brighton at once. We’ve been in London since then, preparing for the season.”
After Uncle Jarvis’s fit, neither Lucy nor Eloisa had dared hope they’d get much pleasure from their visit to London. They’d reconciled themselves to a grim time of it, but strangely enough, Uncle Jarvis had seemed to regain his equilibrium as soon as they arrived in the city. His mood had improved at once, and since then he’d been…well, if not pleasant, at least he hadn’t locked them in their bedchambers.
Ciaran frowned. “Preparing? What does that mean?”
“It means new clothes, and dress fittings, and dreadful dancing lessons from overwrought French dancing masters.” A scowl crept over Lucy’s face. “It’s been quite awful, really.”
Ciaran’s lips twitched, but the faint smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Why wouldn’t you tell me your surname, Lucy? If I hadn’t known you were going to London after Brighton, I might never have found you again.”
