The Unexpected Duchess (11 page)

“Hasn’t stopped you from being
my
friend.” Lucy grinned.

Garrett smiled at her. “Compared with Jane, your tones are dulcet, dear cousin. You choose to flay others with your wit, leaving only the nicest sentiments for me.”

Lucy laughed out loud at that and then clapped a hand over her mouth when she noticed the ladies at the nearest card table giving her disapproving looks. “I’m only nice to you because you’re going to inherit all of Father’s holdings one day and I don’t want you to toss me onto the streets.”

Garrett grinned back. “I know.”

Lucy couldn’t help but smile. She loved her cousin without reservation, and the two had exchanged this sort of silly banter for years. She knew without a doubt that Garrett would do anything for her and she him. Neither would ever want to see the other hurt.

And that’s why she had to ask him her next question.

Lucy took a deep breath. It was time. She might not have this opportunity again. “So would it be fair to say that you prefer a lady more like Cass than Jane?”

Lucy held her breath. It was the first time she had ever mentioned Cass to Garrett in such a manner. But she had to know. Did Garrett love Cass or not?

“Cassandra.” Garrett’s face immediately turned sober. “How is she? Did you speak with her today?”

Lucy let out her pent-up breath. Her cousin had managed to change the subject. But they were both worried about Cass. “She’s so upset, Garrett. I didn’t know how to comfort her.”

Garrett nodded grimly.

Lucy turned her head slightly and nearly gasped. The duke was standing only a few paces away. He was speaking with Lord Mountebank, laughing at something the viscount had said. Distracting, his laugh. Deep and rich and—

“I can’t imagine what she must be going through,” Garrett said, pulling Lucy from her wayward thoughts.

Lucy cleared her throat, doing her best to ignore the duke’s proximity. “Jane paid Cass a visit as well. She told me about it earlier. Nothing helped.” Had the duke taken a step closer?

Garrett cursed lightly under his breath. “And I suppose nothing will help. A broken heart is a difficult thing to mend. I suspect only time will help.”

Lucy couldn’t help but think that Garrett, while clearly worried for Cass, might just be hoping that given time and space, Cass could fall in love with him after Julian was gone. It was lovely to contemplate her cousin and her best friend together—but Lucy had to be truthful with Garrett; she always had been. She took a deep breath, willing away the unwanted thoughts of the duke behind her. “Garrett, I must tell you something.”

Garrett nodded, narrowing his eyes. “What is it?”

“I told Cass she must write to Julian and tell him the truth.”

Garrett turned his head slightly, eyeing her warily. “What do you mean?”

Lucy held out her hand in a supplicating gesture. “I mean she cannot just allow Julian to die without knowing how much she loves him.”

Garrett ran a hand over his face. “Are you jesting? What good could come of telling the man something like that on his deathbed?”

Lucy blinked at him. She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “I cannot believe you’re saying this. Don’t you think he should know how she feels? And more important, don’t you think Cass shouldn’t have to live the rest of her life knowing she never told him?”

Garrett settled his hands on his hips. “Frankly, no, Lucy. I don’t think so. I think it’s a phenomenally bad idea actually.”

Lucy nearly growled in frustration. How could Garrett think that way? She wasn’t particularly known for her romantic notions, but even she could tell that if you loved someone as desperately as Cass loved Julian, you should never allow him to go to his grave without telling him. “You can never go wrong if you’re honest and follow your heart,” she murmured.

“And that’s supposed to fix everything?” Garrett replied, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“If you were about to die, wouldn’t you want to know that someone loves you?” Lucy immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. They both knew that Garrett had been about to die once. In a desert in Spain. He’d been shot in the chest. Nearly bled to death. But she and her fun-loving cousin rarely spoke of such a time. And certainly they never spoke of how he lived with the guilt that he should have been the one who died just as she lived with that same guilt. But for an entirely different reason. No. That would have been a subject they would never broach. But it was never far from their minds and they both knew it.

Garrett cleared his throat. His voice was solemn. “I can say with all honesty that if I could do nothing about it, I wouldn’t want to know.”

Lucy searched his face. “You cannot mean that—”

“Lady Lucy, come and make a fourth for our hand,” Lady Crandall called, gesturing her over toward their card table. Now that the men had sufficiently settled into the room, the ladies were back at their intention for another round of cards. And Lucy’s popularity had somehow increased exponentially ever since her challenge with the duke. The
ton
was so odd.

Lucy fought her wince. She didn’t know if she could take another round of Lady Crandall’s loose fingers.

“Go ahead,” Garrett said, nodding toward Lady Crandall. “I’m going in search of Lord Mountebank’s study and a glass of brandy if I can find one.”

Lucy sighed. “You’re abandoning me? Very well then. Cards it is.” She lifted her skirts and made a move to proceed to Lady Crandall’s table when the Duke of Claringdon stepped in her path.

“Lady Lucy,” he said. “May I have a word?”

Lucy instinctively took a step back. Somehow being that close to him made her feel a bit off-balance. Even after having spent time in his immediate company the last couple of days, she was still struck by his stunning good looks and the maddeningly intoxicating scent of him, like spice and soap.

“Just a word, Your Grace. I’m wanted as a fourth.” She nodded toward the card table.

The duke glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge Lady Crandall. That lady gave him a positively leering stare. He turned back to face Lucy, his eyebrow arched in a skeptical semblance as if to say,
Yes, I’m quite certain you’re dying to play whist with Lady Crandall.

Lucy pursed her lips. “Your Grace?” The last time she’d seen him she’d escaped from his presence like a frightened, angry child. She would not allow him to rile her like that again. She must act as if she were completely unaffected by him.

His eyebrow settled back into place. “Where is Lady Cassandra this evening?”

Lucy gave him a tight smile. “Not here.”

His face became a stone mask. “I can see that.”

Another tight smile. “Then perhaps you didn’t need to ask the question after all.”

He set his jaw. “You don’t care to tell me why Lady Cassandra didn’t accompany you this evening?”

Lucy plucked up her skirts again and moved around him. “Not particularly, Your Grace.”

She glided over to her chair, sat down, and scooped up the hand of cards she’d been dealt. Lucy plastered a smile on her face, despite her inward cringe at her own behavior. She hadn’t even wished him good evening. Even for her that was unbelievably rude.

Why did that man bring out the very worst in her? She could have easily told him that Cass was having a bad night. That Cass had discovered that her good friend—the man she loved—was dying. But something about the duke’s smug demand that Lucy tell him made her intent on keeping it to herself. He was just too … too … arrogant. Sure of himself. Handsome. She glanced over at him. He was already in conversation with Lord Mountebank again and didn’t appear to give another thought to Cass. Why did he have to act as if he cared? Cass was just another notch in his belt, another win on the battlefield for him. He’d admitted it himself. He saw winning Cass as a challenge, a competition. And Lucy would not let her friend be treated so cavalierly.

“Count me in, Lady Crandall.” Lucy eyed the cards in her hand and grinned over their tops. “I look forward to soundly beating you ladies.”

*   *   *

Exactly one hour later, Derek waited in the corridor outside the salon where the ladies were playing cards. He’d done his duty and made the rounds chatting with his host and the other gentlemen. He’d even searched for Jane Lowndes. But he’d been unable to find that lady. It had been his last resort to ask Lucy where Lady Cassandra was, but there’d been no help for it. He didn’t enjoy Society dinner parties. Especially when all anyone wanted to ask him about was how horrific Waterloo had been. They wanted all the gory details, all the juicy bits, but had they an inkling in hell what they were asking about, they wouldn’t even mention it. They’d put it as far from their minds as possible. Yes. Men who had truly seen war had no desire to remember. He’d come here tonight for one reason and one reason only, to see Lady Cassandra. Further their acquaintance. Get closer to fulfilling his promise to Swift. And she wasn’t even here. It was frustrating to think he’d wasted his time. But he couldn’t very well stalk out the door. He had to keep up the semblance of giving a damn. Even more frustrating was that little hellcat Lady Lucy.

She was driving him mad. He’d met generals in battle who gave him more to go on than this young lady. Damn it. He’d faced down the enemy, he’d taken battlefields, he’d hoisted the Union Jack over bloody fields and tossed dirt over the bodies of his friends. But he could not, for the life of him, crack the armor of this one spitfire. He clenched his jaw. What was he to do with her?

The door to the salon opened and Lucy came strolling out. Ah, just as expected. He’d known she wouldn’t be able to sit and play cards all evening. She’d pretended to be interested, but he could see in her eyes, the way her knee bounced up and down impatiently the entire time she’d been playing, that the game held little interest for her. No doubt she’d been biding time the same way he had and would go in search of her friends Jane and Garrett as soon as possible to take her leave.

And that was why Derek had been waiting in the corridor for her. Waiting for his chance.

The moment she passed him, he stepped from the shadows directly into her path. “My lady.”

To her credit, she didn’t scream. Didn’t even seem as if she noticed him other than the fact that he’d caused her to stop. Instead, she touched one hand lightly to the base of her throat and had the temerity to eye him up and down. “Your Grace. Hiding in corners again?”

He fought the urge to grind his teeth. He was still getting used to people calling him “Your Grace,” but not the way she made the honorific sound, like someone crunching glass between their teeth.

“Lady Lucy, I was hoping to have another word with you in here.” Instead of allowing her to say no, he shot out his hand, captured her wrist, and dragged her into the drawing room on the other side of the corridor. That was how one had to deal with the likes of Lady Lucy. Give no quarter.

He tugged her into the room behind him, shut the door after them, and turned to face her. She did not look amused. The light from a brace of candles across the room illuminated her unusual eyes.

“Where is Lady Cassandra this evening?” he asked.

Lucy gave a long-suffering sigh. “I told you. She’s not here. I thought you could gather as much from her absence.” There was that eternal sarcasm.

He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m asking you where she is.”

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a narrowed-eyed stare. “And what if I said I don’t intend to tell you?”

Derek closed his eyes briefly and poked his tongue into the side of his cheek, biting against the words that rushed to his lips. The ones he wanted to say. The ones he shouldn’t say.

“Allow me to attempt this in another manner, my lady. Why are you so intent upon meddling with my affairs?”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “Meddling with your—? Oh, that’s funny. You might have fooled me. I was under the impression that you just accosted me in the corridor and pulled me in here for questioning as if I were a French spy. But apparently, I’m meddling with
your
affairs.” The look she gave him was entirely ironic, complete with batting her long, sooty lashes. Derek longed to wipe it from her face. Mostly because he could smell the tantalizing scent of her soap, and it was a shock to his groin.

He set his jaw, trying to keep on task. “Do you deny that you’ve been interfering with my courtship of Lady Cassandra?”

A half smirk popped to her lips. “Absolutely not.”

Her color was rising and she looked even more beautiful than usual. Derek paced away from her. “And I’m asking why? Why do you insist upon interfering?”

“Why do you think for a moment I owe you an explanation? Your arrogance is beyond bounds, even for a war-hero duke.”

“Is that so?” he thundered.

“Yes. It’s so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.” She attempted to step around him, but he blocked her path.

She plunked both hands on her hips and tilted her head up to face him, shooting sparks at him with her eyes. “Using your size and your strength to intimidate me, Your Grace? You might frighten Cass but you don’t frighten me.”

He shuddered with frustration. He wanted to reach out and shake her. Why was this woman so bloody difficult? He’d known opposing generals who’d made him less angry and given him more to go on when trying to decipher the best course of action to win the battle. His hands were on his hips, too. He eyed her, breathing heavily through both nostrils.

She taunted him with her next words. “At a loss for words, Your Grace? That’s a first.”

She battled those gorgeous lashes at him again. His pulse jumped with each look. That was it. She’d batted them one time too many.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he growled just before he tugged her into his arms and brought his lips down to claim hers.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lucy’s mind floundered in circles when the duke’s mouth met hers. Stunned. That’s what she was. Her breath caught in her throat, and her mind raced at a speed she was quite certain was not healthy. He was kissing her. The Duke of Claringdon, the war hero, the man who’d heretofore been attempting to court Cass, was kissing
her.
Her mind might be floundering, but her body, as if by a will of its own, molded to his.