The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia. Raven McAllan

imagined those few times of vivacity. Maybe it was down to her situation at that moment? Although the thought of that young lady, naked, and writhing under him in ecstasy as he discovered the true woman beneath the prim and proper and boring persona she presented, was enough for him to rue how tight his clothes were.

      Harry smiled vaguely, discreetly adjusted his now more than interested cock, and ran his finger around the top of the immaculate cravat that threatened to choke him.

      Whatever, he still intended to go on with his plan. She was a puzzle he aspired to solve.

      ‘You don’t need to worry, love,’ he said emphatically. ‘I have no intention of getting leg-shackled any time soon, and as for setting up my nursery? Really, can you see me willingly with a hoard of scrubby offspring?’ The mental picture that conjured up – of blond-haired, blue-eyed moppets – struck an uncomfortable chord he couldn’t define in his mind.

      Harry shuddered theatrically, and Lady Raith shook her head at him, before kissing him resoundingly on the cheek with a flourish. ‘Incorrigible.’

      ‘Oh, yes.’

      He perceived the exact moment Lydia noticed he’d carried out his promise – he preferred it not to be thought of as a threat – and he and Lady Raith were about to approach her. Harry could almost see her straighten her shoulders and tense up, waiting for what no doubt she perceived as the instance the axe was to fall.

      Goodness knows why she was so worried, he thought, as Lady Raith acknowledged Lydia’s curtsey with a kiss to her cheek. Lydia’s expression was wary, and she twisted her fingers together.

      ‘Now, Lydia, my dear, I see your cheek is fine from the other night. Young idiot. Him, not you. Mind you, Harry fixed him, I believe. Good sort is Harry, especially for things like that. And now my lintel caused you injury. You’ll hate all things to do with the ton before long at this rate. Let’s hope Harry can relieve your worries and show that we’re not all bad. I’ve given him all the usual warnings.’ Lady Raith tempered her generally booming voice to what she fondly thought of as a whisper.

      Well, Harry mused with a grin, to her it probably was. To everyone else it was a normal tone of voice.

      ‘Yes, thank you, my lady, he did all that was necessary,’ Lydia said in a soft, colourless, almost not to be heard voice. ‘He was most kind.’

      ‘No need to thank me as well,’ Harry murmured and felt instantly ashamed as she reddened and bit her lip.

      ‘Lydia, my dear, I think you and Lord Birnham could do with a stroll on the terrace,’ Lady Raith said before anyone else could comment. ‘It’s hot in here.’

      Harry agreed. His cravat was too tight, his shirt stuck to his body, and, as for his evening breeches, he daren’t hazard a guess. He’d just caught a proper glimpse of Lydia Field’s silhouette and it promised so much. His body as ever showed its interest in her, and he willed his staff to quiescence. He was doing a lot of that lately, and with no interest in finding someone to soften it in a more earthy and pleasurable manner. He smiled wolfishly, and Lydia gulped, apprehension writ large on her face.

      Am I being fair? He refused to answer himself.

      Rosemary beamed at him and gave a discreet nod in Lydia’s direction. Harry recollected his plan and bowed. ‘My dear Lady Lydia, shall we?’ He held out his arm.

      Now why did Lydia look at it as if it were an adder about to strike?

      ****

      A gentle cough from Lady Raith brought Lydia out of her reverie, and she wondered why on earth she had such an uncomfortable sense of disquiet, and butterflies in her stomach. Those she could perhaps put down to the length of time since she had last eaten. However, the unnerving impression that, once she took hold of the proffered arm, her life would never, ever, be the same again had nothing to do with food, or the lack of it. She had never thought herself fanciful before, but now?

      Ah well. Fatalistically, Lydia took his arm. After all, what else could she do? No thunderclap rent the air. She didn’t fall down in a faint. No one turned to stare or point the finger at them. The musicians still scraped away in the ballroom. Muffled sounds from the card room, and an odd thud or two as the dining room was tidied, could be heard. Everything carried on as it should. Thank goodness. She might not be quite as biddable as people thought, but nor was she the sort of person to create a scene. Unless, of course, it was warranted. Fleetingly, she wondered just what would warrant such an action and hoped she would never have the need to find out. She loved her mama and, even if she wasn’t enamoured with ton-ish life, Lydia was dutiful enough to never unintentionally upset her parents by acting in an uncouth or uncivilised manner. Or so she prayed. For although she thought she had conquered her childish temper, Lydia understood herself well enough to know she would never want to put that to the test.

      Harry glanced at the arm she held, and Lydia realised she had tightened her hold. Deliberately, she relaxed her fingers, cursed at the deep creases she could now see in what had been immaculate cloth, and smiled tremulously. ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’

      She chose not to say why and hoped as an aristocratic gentleman he wouldn’t ask what for. That was her intention anyway, although knowing her luck, her expression would appear to indicate she was in pain or constipated.

      ‘Now then, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Harry asked in a teasing voice as they left the room together. ‘No apology needed. This way.’ He pointed to the French windows that led out onto the long, wide terrace that ran the length of the house and edged the landscaped gardens beyond. ‘We have left the protection of Lady Raith and nothing has befallen us. No clap of thunder and no one struck dead.’

      ‘No, my lord.’ She smiled as if she had just understood she was supposed to do so and wished he wasn’t so appealing in this mood. It was the last thing she needed. Any vague ideas that she looked on him even the slightest bit favourably would help her mama to disrupt the plans Lydia had formed to escape the ton. Not that anything would come if it – she knew enough about rakes to understand that – but her mama would work whatever transpired for all it was worth. Drat the man. Why him of all people. Harry Birnham was not noted for altruism, so why start now?

      ‘No dragons I need to slay and mess my evening coat?’ he said in a teasing voice. ‘No puddles to put it over and ditto?’

      She giggled and bit her lip. Giggled? Oh, for goodness sake. Grow up. I am no longer a young, impressionable deb, so I need to act like it. ‘It has not rained for days, my lord. I believe you are safe,’ she said composedly. ‘We are indeed fortunate. We can just enjoy ourselves and the surroundings.’ However hard she tried, she couldn’t raise enough enthusiasm to make that sound appealing.

      One male eyebrow lifted and it was no hardship to colour up and look at her toes. It was that or match his quip with one of her own. They walked on for several paces until, beside her, Harry sighed. ‘They are lovely slippers, my dear Lady Field, but I’d prefer you to look at me, not your shoes. Unless they have something I do not?’ He paused and waited.

      Lydia slowly glanced at his face and he raised the other eyebrow.

      The question seemed harmless enough, but… ‘Or the other way around?’ he added.

      ‘No, my lord.’ The stupid milksop act was so hard. Especially when she wanted to act normally with Harry, and show him she did have a brain. She thought he was the sort of man who would appreciate it.

      ****

      It had been the most unusual evening, and for once he hadn’t been at all bored, Harry decided, as several hours later he took out the elegant jewelled pin he favoured, unwound his cravat and threw it over a chair. Foster, his valet, helped him out of his form-fitting coat, stroked the lapels lovingly, and carried it and the long neck cloth away. It didn’t matter how many times Harry informed the man that he was well able to manage and there was no need to stop up for him, Foster would silently appear, help him out of his boots and top clothes and leave him to finish undressing in peace. When Harry remonstrated, Foster had smiled.

      ‘My