The Unexpected Duchess (17 page)

He put his hands on his hips. “Come down here.”

She laughed at that. “I don’t think so. I’m wearing my night rail and a robe and it’s the middle of the night. It’s entirely indecent. What do you think you’re doing here at this hour?”

“Come down here,” he called again. “I want to see you in your night rail. Indecency doesn’t bother me.”

Had he just waggled his eyebrows at her? Oh, heavens, he really was drunk as a wheelbarrow. It was a sight, to be sure, an unexpected sight, to see the Duke of Claringdon foxed, slurring his words, and good Lord was he pulling off his cravat? She leaned against the window frame and watched him. It was a bit fascinating. He was quite a pleasant drunk, she thought with some irony. Why had she assumed he’d be cross? Not that she’d ever pictured him drunk. He burst into song just then, confirming her suspicions that he was quite jovial while in his cups indeed.

“Shh,” she called down. “You’ll wake Garrett and he’ll probably call the night watch.”

“No, he won’t. He’s a good chap, Upton. Knew him in Spain. Good chap. Good chap.”

Lucy hid her smile behind her fingertips. “What are you doing out there? Why did you come here tonight?”

“Why? Do you wish I was Berkeley?”

Lucy sucked in her breath. It wasn’t possible, was it, that Derek was jealous? Oh, my, this made things even more interesting. More interesting, indeed.

“For some reason I highly doubt Lord Berkeley would do such a thing,” she offered.

“You’re right, because he’s dull,” Derek said. “And he wouldn’t want to muss his perfect proper hair.” Derek had finally tugged his cravat from his neck and was busily wrapping it around his hand.

“What precisely is proper hair?” She squinted. “What are you doing with your cravat?”

“I’m using it as a tourniquet,” he announced, “as I am in need of one.”

Lucy gasped and leaned farther out the window in order to get a better look. “Are you hurt?”

He held the hand he’d been wrapping aloft. “My fist is bleeding.”

“Why?”

“Punched a tree.”

She furrowed her brow. “What? Why?”

He leered at her. “Come down here and I’ll tell you.”

She smothered another smile. He must not be hurt too badly if he continued to be so contrary. “Not possible.”

“I’m coming up then!” He set something in the grass. Was it another drink?

Lucy stepped away from the window. “No!”

But he wasn’t listening. He’d already begun scaling the tree in front of her window. He grabbed a low-hanging branch, levering himself up. His shirttails came out of his waistband, affording Lucy a dark but tempting view of his midsection. Six muscles stood out in sharp relief against his taut skin. She pressed her lips together. “Oh, I wish I hadn’t seen that. I’m not going to be able to forget that,” she whispered, shaking herself.

“You’ll kill yourself,” she called to him.

He’d already made it up to the second set of branches. “No, I won’t. Believe me. If I didn’t kill myself in the wars, I’m not about to let a blasted tree end my life.”

She had to smile at that, too. And she had to admit, he did seem rather adept at climbing given the fact that he was drunk and injured.

He made it to the third set of branches and swung himself out to the farthest limb, the one closest to her window.

Lucy gasped. “Be careful!”

He grabbed the branch and swung himself into the opening, legs first. Lucy stepped back to allow him room and then lurched forward to grab him around the waist. She held tight, pulling him with all her force so he wouldn’t be tugged back out by the momentum of his swing. Once he realized she had him, he let go of the branch and worked his way entirely through the window with Lucy’s help.

As soon as Lucy ensured he was safe, she let go and stumbled back. She put her fingers to her lips and watched him sitting on her sill. He had a roguish grin on his face and looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.

“
That
was dangerous and stupid,” she said. But she couldn’t help but glance at the deep V of skin exposed from where his cravat had been. She swallowed. Hard.

“Nah, it was fun,” he declared, still grinning. “If not
proper.
” He slurred the last word and said it as if he hated it. What was his preoccupation with the word
proper
tonight?

“You could have died. You still might. Come away from that window,” Lucy said.

He stood up and lurched toward her. “Your hair is down,” he whispered in an awed voice.

Lucy self-consciously pushed a hand into her curls. Oh, this was inappropriate for about two dozen reasons.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered next. Her stomach flipped.
Beautiful
? He lifted his fingers to touch her hair and Lucy’s eyes riveted to the bright red on his hand, bleeding through the makeshift tourniquet. “Your hand. Let me see.”

He turned away from her and took two steps toward the chair near her writing desk before he crumpled. She rushed forward and wrapped her arm around his waist. He leaned heavily against her and slipped his arm around her shoulder. He smelled like brandy and fresh grass and something else that made her want to bury her nose in his half-open shirt. Trying to rid her head of that unhelpful thought, she helped him over to the chair, where he nearly collapsed.

Lucy knelt on the floor in front of him and quickly unwrapped the cravat from his injured hand.

“Ouch.” He winced. “That hurts.”

“Come now, you big baby. How did you survive the war?” Lucy gasped when she pulled the bloodied cravat away and saw the extent of his injuries. “Oh, my! Your knuckles are scraped clean of skin and they are full of dirt.”

“It’s nothing. Just a flesh wound.” He grinned at her.

“A flesh wound that may well become infected. Stay here. Don’t move. And for heaven’s sake, keep quiet.”

She left him sitting haphazardly in the chair while she rushed from the room, through the corridor, down two sets of stairs, and around to the kitchen pantry. She quickly gathered some clean bits of linen, a bowl that she filled with fresh water, and some spices and supplies to make a poultice. She hurried back up to her bedchamber.

When she entered the room, she let out her pent-up breath. Thankfully, Derek was asleep. He was slumped over in the chair. Snoring. Loudly.

At least it was better than him wandering around the upstairs of the household singing or telling bawdy jokes or something.

She hurried to his side and unwrapped his hand again. Apparently, he’d managed to wrap it back up while she’d been gone. The moment she immersed his fingers in the water bowl, he woke up and nearly howled. She clapped her palm over his mouth. The feel of his hot breath against her skin made her belly jerk. When she realized he remembered where he was and nodded, she removed her hand.

“I’m cleaning this out and making a poultice,” she announced, already busily setting to work.

He raised his brows. “Didn’t know a lady like you knew how to make a poultice.”

“I know how to do a great many things,” she responded. “I had several animals when I was a child. I took excellent care of them. I learned how to make this particular poultice for my horse.”

“You’re putting a horse poultice on me?” he nearly shouted.

She clamped her hand back over his mouth again. “Shh. And yes. It works for humans, too. I made it for Garrett once when he and the neighbor boy got into a fight.”

Derek smiled against her palm and her belly fluttered again. She jerked her hand away. “Who won?” he asked.

“Who won?” She shook her head at him. “What does that matter? It was probably ten years ago.”

“I bet Upton remembers who won.”

She smiled at that. “You’re
such
a male. Very well. I remember. Garrett won. But his hand was a mess for days. This poultice helped.”

“Whatever you say, my lady.” He leered at her.

Lucy made quick work of the poultice. She mixed the ingredients she’d brought with the remaining water in the bowl and stirred and packed it together until it made a fine paste. Then she grabbed Derek’s wrist.

“This may hurt,” she announced.

“I’ve been shot, I doubt—Owww!”

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. She’d always given her animals a bit of a relaxing balm before applying this poultice, but Derek deserved a bit of a sting for coming here tonight and making a scene, the drunken lout. Not to mention he’d scared her half to death by climbing that tree and swinging into her window. How would she have ever explained a duke’s dead body in the backyard?

He clenched his teeth. “This had better work.”

“Don’t be so childish.” She pressed the poultice against his hand a bit too firmly. “Now, do you care to tell me why you got into a fight with an inanimate object?”

Derek sucked in his breath through clenched teeth and winced. “I didn’t
intend
to get into a fight with a tree.”

She pressed her lips together. “Oh, of course. I’m certain no one does. Jumped out at you, did it? Frightened you?”

He gave her a long-suffering look. “No, actually. I thought it was a man.”

“A man? What man?”

“Berkeley.”

Lucy let his hand drop and put both of her fists on her hips. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“It’s quite simple, really. On my way home, I was thinking about Berkeley, got angry, and punched a tree.”

She sighed. “So you didn’t actually believe the tree was Lord Berkeley?”

“No, but I wish it had been,” he grumbled. “Would have punched him in his proper mouth.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll wager your fist would look a lot better if you had. Why did you want to punch Lord Berkeley?” She picked up Derek’s hand again and pressed the poultice.

He looked away out the dark window. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She wrinkled her nose and pressed tighter. He winced and she smiled. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

He rested his other elbow on his knee. “How long have you known Berkeley? I’ve never seen you with him before.”

“I told you earlier, I met him tonight. Garrett introduced us. He seems quite enjoyable.”

Derek made a harrumphing noise. “You looked as if you were enjoying him.” He grumbled again. “I’ll wager he’s never done an honest day’s work in his entire proper life. Couldn’t shoot an elephant at ten paces. Couldn’t—”

She squeezed the poultice again. “Are you quite through?”

He gave her a half-leering drunken grin. “Yes.”

She arched a brow at him. “Why did you come to my window and not Cass’s?”

“Because I wanted to see
you
.” He tapped her on the nose with the tip of his finger to punctuate the last word.

Lucy tried to ignore the little thrill that shot through her at his words. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her mouth to within an inch of his. “Perhaps I wanted to kiss you again. What would you say to that?”

Lucy’s heart was beating so hard she was certain he could hear it, too. The warmth and pressure of his hand against the exposed skin on the back of her neck was making her feel a little drunk herself. All she could do was stare at his lips. Was he truly going to kiss her again?

Oh wait. He’d asked her.

She slowly traced her tongue over her own dry lips. “What would you say to that?” he’d asked. For the second time in her life, with the same man, Lucy found herself speechless.

Be bold!
The words streaked through her brain. Derek was entirely foxed. It was more than probable that he wouldn’t remember a thing that happened here between them tonight. Isn’t that what Garrett had told her about his infrequent bouts of drunkenness? Be bold, indeed.

“I would say, kiss me,” she breathed.

Derek obviously required no other inducement. His other hand came up to her shoulder and he pulled her against him as his mouth captured hers. The kiss was long and hot and wonderful. Lucy couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She didn’t want to.

His fingers filtered through her hair and then moved down her neck, past her shoulders, and to her hips. He grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap. He’d lifted her as if she weighed no more than a doll. He was so big. So big and yet so tender. His mouth moved over hers with an urgency and finesse that belied how inebriated he seemed to be. This was no sloppy kiss from a man too deep in his cups. Unfortunately Lucy had been on the receiving end of one or two of those—though of course she’d ended them with crushing verbal set-downs. This kiss, however—this one was going to end with her never being the same.

When Derek’s lips finally moved away from hers, she gasped for breath and briefly rested her forehead against his. She was feeling things in all sorts of places she hadn’t felt before. Hot, wet, warm places. Places that were aching. “You’re a good kisser,” she whispered against his mouth.

She glanced away self-consciously and pulled herself off his lap, then stood and dragged the other chair from the corner over to where Derek sat.

He tilted his head to the side and regarded her. “I’m a good kisser but earlier you told me I have your blessing to court Cassandra, finally, after all this time.”

Lucy sucked in a breath and glanced away. “That’s right.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Does that decision have anything to do with Lord Berkeley?”

“What? No. Why?”

“Never mind. Is my hand fixed?”

“Just a minute.” She gathered the clean linens from the desktop where she’d set them and wrapped them tightly around his wound, taking care to ensure that the poultice remained firmly in place. “There.”

He pulled his hand from her grasp.

“You should see a doctor tomorrow. Have him look at it and make certain it’s not infected.”

“It’ll be fine.” He stood up and gestured toward the stairs. “Do you mind if I, um, leave through the front door?”

She smiled at that. “I think it would be best.”

“Sorry to bother you this evening, my lady.”

“Be careful getting home.”

He made his way to the door of her bedchamber, opened it, and looked back at her. “Give your proper Lord Berkeley my best.”