Page 33 of To Break the Rules

The words echoed in her mind, and the little girl that had been Aashini, that was Lucia, ran as hard as she could. She ran into the night, clutching a well-loved rag doll as tightly as she could, running towards the fields where other terrors awaited a small child.

The dark had seemed a living thing, pressing down on her, promising there were snakes littering the dusty ground and tigers prowling at every turn. Too terrified to turn back, she’d had no choice but to run, to run and hide, cowering in a field of blue flowers and clutching a little cloth doll to her heart as the night lasted for an eternity.

***

Lucia sat bolt upright in the bed, a scream caught in her throat, her skin cold and damp with terror. She took a shuddering breath, trying to still her heart as the oppressive atmosphere of the dream lingered in the dim light of her bedroom. She could smell the indigo flowers even now, their scent pungent on the heated night air, her stomach clenched.

Flinging back the covers, she got up and hurried to the windows. Tugging back the heavy curtains she let the sunlight flood in to chase away the dark. She leaned against the windowsill, her forehead pressed to the cool glass as she tried to get a hold on herself.

“Courage, Aashini,” she murmured, and then started as a knock at her bedroom door sounded.

“Yes?” she called out, striving for calm.

“It’s me, Lucia,” Matilda said. “May I come in?”

Rubbing a hand over her face and taking a moment to smooth her hair, Lucia ran and snatched up her wrap, tugging it on. “Yes, of course,” she called, trying her best to sound cheerful and carefree.

Matilda hurried inside, a gleeful look in her eyes. “Lord Cavendish is downstairs,” she said, her excitement palpable. “He wants to see you.”

Oh, no.

The last thing she needed was to see the wretched man. She knew he suspected that she had somehow brought on the earl’s attack. He’d seen Kali’s trishul, she was sure, and now he’d not rest before he knew what it was, what it meant.

Damn him.

“Well, dear?” Matilda gave her a curious look, realising she was unwilling to see him. “What do I say? Will you go?”

Lucia looked up, apprehending she’d been silent, staring into space.

“I….”

The desire to send him away, to say she would not see him, was overwhelming. She didn’t want to face him, didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell him the truth either. He wouldn’t let her be. She knew it.

“Yes,” she said, sounding a deal more decisive than she was feeling. Best get it over with though. “Yes, I’ll see him, though he must wait for me to dress.”

“Of course, I already told him that much. He didn’t seem to mind,” Matilda added, winking at her as she hurried away. “I’ll send Sarah to help you.”

Lucia forced a smile to her face and pushed down the desire to escape via the window. This had to be done. She must face him. Perhaps she could annoy him, make him so angry with her that he would leave in revulsion and forget about her. The idea had some merit, she thought, though the feeling of regret that filled her chest at giving him a disgust of her was an unsettling thing.

Fool, she cursed. He’s not for you.

Lucia dressed with care, taking her time and refusing to rush. If he wanted to see her, let him wait until she was ready. The possibility that she was just delaying the inevitable occurred to her, but she refused to consider it. She was keeping the upper hand, that was all, and putting him in his place.

She was.

By the time she entered the front parlour, Lucia’s stomach was tied in a knot, though her nerves were a little soothed by the look on Lord Cavendish’s face. He wore the dazed expression of a man she could wrap around her finger and manipulate to do her bidding if she chose, no matter what it might be. If that look had been upon any other man of her acquaintance, she would have believed it.

Lord Cavendish, however, that was another matter.

She’d worn one of her best gowns, knowing she needed all the help she could get. It was a startling shade of green and made her think of an English springtime, of the first haze of leaves upon the trees and the sound of a cuckoo calling over and over from woodland filled with ancient oaks.

Such foreign sounds they’d been once, yet now, how familiar.

“Miss de Feria,” he said, his blue eyes full of warmth, his voice echoing their intimacy, despite his use of her full name.

“My, Lord Cavendish, how formal you are today. I had quite grown used to you taking liberties with my name.”

He smiled then, that pirate smile that made something in her stomach pitch and lurch like a ship on stormy seas.