“You must tell me if he bothers you again.”
He thought she was talking about Howard, Aimée realized with a jolt. “I refer to Harriet. It was very brave, the way you ran out on the ice. You saved her.”
He looked at her sideways, his face inscrutable. “She is not the only one I have saved.”
Another spark, another contact, another flutter in her heart or memory. She swallowed. “Naturally, I am grateful. But I can look out for myself.”
“You were quite fierce. Formidable, in fact.” He lifted her hand where it rested on his arm and unexpectedly kissed her knuckles. Shock held her still. The pressure of his lips, the warmth of his breath, seared through the wet fabric of her glove. “But you are a woman.”
Aimée reclaimed her hand, conscious of the staring windows of the house. Of Howard, somewhere behind them. “And because I am a woman, I must be weak.”
“Not weak. But smaller than a man. In any physical encounter, you are outmatched.”
She licked her upper lip, made suddenly aware of his size, his strength, his overwhelming masculinity. In any physical encounter . . .
She slid her gaze from his. “I hope your interference will not spoil your chances with Julia.”
Lucien frowned. “Your cousin cannot excuse her brother’s behavior.”
“Oh no,” Aimée assured him. “But if Howard were to complain to Lady Basing . . .”
“She would defend his abuse?”
“It is not as bad as you are thinking,” Aimée said, leading him around the side of the house, out of Howard’s sight. “It is only that she does not wish to think poorly of her son.”
“You give them too much credit.”
“They are my family.”
“They do not deserve your loyalty.”
His concern was seductive, more seductive even than his austerely handsome face or the warmth of his hand or the strength of his arm. She had never had a champion before. Or a confidant. There was no one at Moulton who understood, no one she could talk to.
“It was better when I first came here,” she said. “Howard was away at school then. Even now, he spends most of his time in Town.”
“He is Sir Walter’s heir. He must visit.”
“Not as often as his parents would wish. There is little here to hold his attention.”
Another assessing, sideways look. “Except you.”
She shrugged, uncomfortable with his admiration. If that’s what it was. “I can keep out of the way. Until he leaves again.”
“Or you could leave,” Lucien suggested.
Ah. He did not truly understand. He was a man, after all.
“And go where?” she asked. “I have no money, no family, no other acquaintance in England.”
“You have skills. You speak French. You play the piano—even if you will not play in company,” he added with a glint of humor. “You could seek employment.”
“As a governess.”
He nodded.
“I have no references.”
“You have experience.”
“Not enough to impress an employer.” She winced. “Particularly after today. You heard the Netherbys.”
“The Netherbys are fools.”
His support warmed her. But she said, “Susan was upset. Any mother would be.”
“Any other mother would not blame you for her own neglect. I know a woman in London who could find you a position if you wish it.”
Aimée snorted inelegantly. She could not let his interest blind her to reality. “I have heard of such women. They meet the stagecoaches, looking for poor dumb girls from the country. Me, I am not so stupid.”
“Not stupid at all. But Miss Grinton is completely legitimate, I assure you.”
“Maybe.” He meant well, she told herself. “Even if your Miss Grinton could help me—and I do not believe it is as easy as you think to find a position without references—I would only be exchanging one situation for another. I might find it harder to escape the attentions of an employer.”
She led him to a small side entrance. “You do not know what it is like to be without resources or defenses. At least here I have a family.” She turned her head to look up at him. “If I left, I would have nothing.”
Lucien regarded her upturned face in the shadow of the doorway. Conviction lent passion to her voice, passion and the faintest hint of accent, like the scent of wine or sun-warmed grapes. Her eyes were as blue as the vault of Heaven.
Her words stabbed him. You do not know what it is like to be without resources or defenses.
Lucien opened the door for her to get her out of the cold. To give himself time to think.
He had quarreled with Amherst about his lack of freedom and independence.
But Aimée had even fewer options.
“You could marry,” he said when they were both inside. The hallway was dark and cramped. A servants’ entrance, he thought with another stab.
Her look was pure French, pragmatic and a little amused between long dark lashes. It stirred his blood. “I have no dowry.”
He took a deep breath of stale air, imposing control on his unruly thoughts. “There must be some gentleman in the neighborhood who would value your other qualities.”
“But of course,” she responded promptly. “There is Mr. Willford, one of Sir Walter’s tenant farmers, who needs a wife to help raise his seven children. And old Mr. Cutherford, who requires a nurse. Perhaps one day I will choose to exchange one form of servitude for another. But not yet.”
“Not every marriage is based on convenience.”
She gave him another direct look from those blue, blue eyes. Despite the cold, her lips were pink and ripe. “Indeed. Why are you courting Julia, Mr. Hartfell?”
He was beginning to wonder that himself. But he said stiffly, “My situation is different. I need a wealthy wife.”
“Because the earl’s estate is entailed?”
“Because he’s bloody threatened to cut me off.”
“Ah.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “Then you should understand my fear of being cast out.”
His mouth tightened. Aimée’s defense of her own wretched family made him realize that Amherst deserved, if not Lucien’s loyalty, then at least his honesty.
“Amherst would take me back if I asked,” Lucien admitted. The acknowledgment tasted bitter in his mouth. “If I dance to his tune.”