Pulling the door closed, he followed the women to the drive. “We can take my carriage,” he called, hurrying to catch up and assist the women, his driver caught off guard.
Lucianna halted, assessing his coach. “I think Charlotte and I would be far more comfortable in the Camden coach.”
“Do not be stubborn, my lady,” Roderick sighed, as the triumph of being included in her outing evaporated at her sour expression. “My coach and driver are ready and at your service.”
She glanced at the conveyance, and Roderick expected her to turn down the offer; however, she surprised him by nodding and holding out her hand for assistance. Charlotte followed suit, and he entered the carriage last, galled to find the pair on the forward-facing seat. Roderick clamped his mouth shut, his teeth grinding, but he would not comment on the rudeness.
“Where to, Your Grace?” his driver called.
“Oliver’s Book Shoppe off Bond Street.”
At Lucianna’s raised brow, he continued, “Do you think me so uncivilized that I am unfamiliar with local bookshops?”
“Humpf.” Lucianna jerked her handbag onto her lap and busied herself flapping her fan.
Her maid had the good sense to stare out the window and act as if she were not present.
They departed the carriage in much the same manner as they’d entered, with Lucianna hesitantly allowing him to assist her.
He then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and pulled her close before whispering, “Do not bite again or you will fast learn I bite back.”
Lucianna made to pull away, but he laughed and held her firmly in place. The woman needs must learn that while he was an understanding man, he would not put up with her hoyden tendencies.
Charlotte trailed them into the shop, a bell chiming overhead as they entered.
“Do wait for us here,” Lucianna called over her shoulder as they walked farther into the bookstore.
The smell of worn leather and old ink surrounded Roderick, and he remembered his childhood spent in his grandfather’s library. Shelves lined the room from floor to ceiling, each cluttered with books of every size. The hiss of conversation drifted on the air, and he noticed the shopkeeper and an older gentleman deep in discussion by the register. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself the opportunity to wander rows of books, searching for adventure in written form.
“Are you looking for anything in particular, my lady,” he asked as they meandered down a deserted aisle, putting distance between them and her maid. He noted the hair on the back of her neck prickle, exactly as he’d intended when he leaned in close with his last words. “I am here to assist you in any way.”
“Do stop doing that,” she hissed. “We are not in your private coach nor a secluded garden.”
“But, nonetheless, alone.” Roderick peered down the aisle and then back the way they’d come. “There is no one to see—or hear us.”
Lucianna pulled from his grasp and turned her pointed stare on him. “That is very advantageous because I find I have much to say to you.” Her glare traveled down his form and back to his face. “You are a scoundrel, a man in the habit of taking advantage of women when they are out of options. And I, Your Grace, will not abide by any of it.”
“So, that is it?” he asked. “You will not abide by my offer, and instead, agree to wed old man Abercorn?”
“I have agreed to nothing, Your Grace.”
“Roderick.”
She stumbled a step at the change in conversion, her back pressed against a shelf of books labeled: Adventure.
“Call me Roderick. And I assure you, Camden is quite adamant you wed, and soon.” He could not look away as her brow pulled sharply down, and then her face relaxed as if her thoughts were far away…all to return her eyes to him. “Come now, you cannot think a marriage to Abercorn would suit you.”
“I am uncertain a marriage to any man will suit.” She pressed her gloved finger to her lips as if she didn’t trust herself to go on.
Blast it all, but he wanted her hands exploring his neck, tangling in his dark locks, and traveling down his back.
“However,” she continued, drawing his attention back to the present—their reality, as it were. “I do see the merit in agreeing to your proposal.” His spirits soared at her words, but why? “At least until I can find a way out of this nonsense.”
Her meaning was clear: marriage to him was not to her liking.
“And marriage to Abercorn would be what, precisely?”
“Unthinkable.” Her shoulders sagged. The weight of it all finally too much for her.
Roderick could imagine the taxing weight upon her given no option but to wed, and to select between two men not of her choosing. His betrothal to Lady Daphne had been done under similar circumstances; a duty to uphold his family’s honor by securing the necessary funds to steer clear of debtor’s prison. They’d made the best of their bad situation, he and Daphne. She was sweet, demure, and proper. Everything a man should long for in a wife; however, not once did he have the overwhelming sensation, the all-encompassing need, to take her in his arms and kiss her.
However, at this very moment, an irresistible craving drew him to Lucianna. He wanted to pull her against him, set his lips to hers, and give her the proper kiss he’d attempted in the gardens. However, this exotic English flower came with thorns—barbs capable of mortal injuries to any man who attempted to pluck her.
The question was: Did Roderick think it worth the wounds to try and claim her?
“If I am unable to waylay my father or speak some sense to him, I will wed you, Montrose.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Lucianna seemed to change before his very eyes. Her shoulders were now stiff with resolve.
“I am certainly happy you would choose me over the aging duke.”
“I cannot say I did not consider many things in this decision.”
“I would very much like to hear what sets me apart from Abercorn.”
She eyed him closely before responding, as if gauging his off-guard manner before speaking. “Are you a murderer, Your Grace?”
“Not that I am aware of, my lady.” He kept his voice neutral, refusing to show the shock that coursed through him at her absurd question. “Are you?”
She waved her hand and stepped away from the shelf. “Heavens no, do not be obtuse.”
Him, obtuse? The woman had an odd way of deciphering who was being dim-witted.
She took his arm and continued down the long aisle, her free hand dragging along the spines of books as they passed. “Do you have a tendency to lie to your peers and the magistrate?”
“I cannot say the opportunity has ever presented itself, so I am unsure how to answer that question honestly.”
“Are you for or against pushing someone down a flight of stairs?” Her steps slowed further with this question.
Roderick pulled her to a stop. Her eyes widened as if she sensed she’d gone too far—said too much. “What in the bloody hell are you speaking of?”
Lucianna averted her stare, remaining silent.
“For the love of all that is holy, Lucianna, what is this all about?” Roderick demanded. He reached out and placed his fingers gently on the side of her face, bring her stare back to his. “Lying…murder…what are you trying to say?”
She lowered her eyes, staring at his neckcloth. “These are all things Abercorn is guilty of.”
“Then why would you write scandalous articles about others—false stories, mind you—thus ruining the lives of other men, if you know for a fact Abercorn killed someone?” Why this was the first question that came to mind, Roderick didn’t know.
“You know of the Mayfair Confidential?” she breathed, her face going pale. “What do you know of anything?”
Her voice grew shrill—not an ounce of denial to be found.
An unspoken truth between them. Lucianna was behind the article that ruined his life…and now there was no denying he knew the depths of her misdeeds.
She would not be offering any apology, just as he had no forgiveness for her.
“That is not important at the moment.” Roderick pulled her close, the tip of her nose nearly touching his chin. “Did Abercorn murder someone?”
Her arm tensed under his hold, and she pulled her chin away, breaking eye contract.
It was all the confirmation Roderick needed. He did not need her to say the words. Lucianna was scared; of the situation her father had placed her in, and the likelihood she would be forced to wed the Duke of Abercorn.
Roderick would not allow it. Never had he harmed a woman. Never would he. Neither did it please him to see Lady Lucianna in such a terrified state.
Chapter 11
Luci shook her head from side to side. She shouldn’t have spoken of the events surrounding Tilda’s death, or her hatred of the duke. She, with the help of Edith and Ophelia, was determined to see that Abercorn paid for his misdeeds.
Montrose would not interfere with that plan.
For now, allowing him to think she was in agreement with their betrothal would keep Montrose occupied, and her father satisfied—and Luci out of Abercorn’s reach.
“Tell me what Abercorn did.”
The duke’s steel blue eyes drew her, wrapped her in a blanket of security. No matter how false that comfort was or how much she longed to tell him everything, Luci knew it was not true. She did not know him beyond his skill at fencing and his scandalous activities at the opera all those months ago.
Trust was something earned.
The Duke of Montrose had secured nothing with her.
“If you are in danger, I will handle this.” He moved closer still, as if she were in peril in the middle of the bookshop.
His scent of sandalwood and oak washed over her, and Luci breathed him in—deeply. She wanted to believe he would help her. Needed to trust she wasn’t alone in her task to bring Abercorn down and make him pay for the loss of Tilda.
But, first, Luci would need to confide in Montrose…Roderick.
Luci was certain even her dearest friends were hesitant to believe her account of Tilda’s fall down the stairs and Abercorn’s hand in the matter.
Her father was well aware of her hatred for Abercorn but still thought to barter her hand in marriage to gain some measure of control. The marquis thought so little of his firstborn.
“If you wed me, you will be forever indebted to my father.” She leaned back, needing distance. Surprisingly, she cared that her father would have some kind of hold over Roderick. “I cannot ever ask that of anyone. He is my sire, but he is every inch the horrid man Abercorn is.”
“You cannot expect me to walk away after learning all this, not now.” Roderick set his hands on her shoulders and gently caressed away the tension. “If he hurt another person, I am now bound by duty, and my honor as a gentleman, to see he is punished for his crimes.”
A lock of hair fell loose from its pins, and Roderick brushed it back behind her ear, never taking his eyes from her as a shiver ran down her back.
Why did this man seek to help her?
Roderick owed her nothing. He was a pawn in her father’s game to bring more wealth and prestige to the Camden name, just as she was.
“There is much you do not know about me—and my friends.”
“I have witnessed enough to know you are not one to shrink away from the truth.”
He was right, though she wished some days that she could forget Tilda, forget her wedding, and forget the gruesome sight of her falling down the stairs. Most of all, Luci wished she could forget the vacant stare from her friend’s sightless eyes after her soul had left her body. Every moment, Luci dwelled on what she could have done had she noted Abercorn’s ruthless, abusive ways before that night. Yet, as Edith and Ophelia repeatedly told her, none of them had noticed anything off with Abercorn—and Tilda had certainly not shared any disreputable things about her betrothed.
“None of this is your responsibility, Your Grace.” Lucianna moved away from him. If she stayed near him another second, she would come to truly believe he could fix everything, repair her, and make certain Abercorn was brought down. There was no one who could see that happen but her—with Edith and Ophelia’s help.
“If you will not tell me, I will search out my own answers,” he called as she reached the end of the aisle. “I assure you, I will not stop until I find out exactly what happened.”
Luci halted, clutching her handbag before her. Staring at the floor, she knew she had two options: step from the row and into view of anyone else in the shop or turn back toward Roderick. If she returned to him, she could not trust herself to keep her own secrets.
There was so much more to her than what Abercorn had done.
Roderick knew, or at least suspected, her involvement with the Mayfair Confidential. How could he tie himself to a woman who’d written such a scathing article about his scandalous behavior? Did he think to exploit her once they were unequivocally tied together?
And, more importantly, how could Luci even think to confide in a man guilty of such unsavory activities as being seen at the opera with a woman he was not betrothed to?
Her chin lowered.
She was no better than he.
They both had secrets; however, sharing hers would put her—and her friends—in jeopardy.
And Luci knew Roderick’s secret. In fact, she’d made certain all of London knew it.
Why did a tendril of remorse flicker inside her? Never had she experienced even a hint of doubt or guilt over exposing gentlemen of the ton for what they truly were: scoundrels.
“Lucianna?” he pleaded. The raw nature of his tone pulled at her. Begged her to return to his side.
But for what purpose?
To enter into a sham of a betrothal to appease her father and keep Abercorn at bay.
Turning, Luci notched her chin high. “Lord Abercorn killed my friend. He pushed her down the stairs on their wedding night. I am the only person who saw the entire tragic scene clearly. And no one—with the exception of my friends—believes my tale of the events.”
There. She’d said it.
Now she only need wait for him to laugh, chuckle at her absurd accusation. Roderick would insult her in similar fashion as her father; call her a feather-brained, dim-witted, reckless chit. There would be no need to start the charade of a betrothal because even a man marred by scandal would not allow his name to be linked to a delusional female.
Not that it mattered a whit to her. Luci didn’t trust Montrose. It was far more likely she spoke of Tilda’s death to push him away, not draw him close in confidence.
However, he didn’t turn away from her. Nor did he so much as avert his stare or take a moment to think through what she’d shared.
Instead, he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms and pressing them tightly together.
“Roderick,” she breathed. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
“The only thing I know how to do…keep you safe.”
His head dipped, and their lips met.
Not like before. Lucianna was not calculating her next move, preparing for a counter-attack, nor planning her escape.
She did not want to flee.
In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be lost in Roderick’s embrace, sheltered from the cruel world around her. Away from the reach of Abercorn, and no longer her father’s pawn.
Here, with the duke’s arms wrapped tightly about her, and his lips upon hers, she could put the need for vengeance behind her. She’d never forget Abercorn’s misdeeds, but they did not consume her.
Roderick consumed her now.
His embrace. His scent. His delicious, crushing hold on her.
It didn’t matter that she’d ruined him before all of society.
It didn’t matter she’d been tarnished by her need to publicly ostracize Abercorn.
Nothing mattered but his arms around her.
Luci was helpless to pull away, to push him away, to fig
ht the connection she sensed forming with this man.
They needed to discuss everything: her involvement with the Mayfair Confidential, her spying on Lord Abercorn with her friends, and her father’s need to control everything he touched. But not now, not here.
Luci’s handbag fell forgotten to the floor, and she clutched at Roderick’s back, pressing her entire length closer to him.
“A-hem?” The male voice cut through the haze surrounding Lucianna, and she reluctantly pulled back from Roderick, fearing the shopkeeper had found them in a most delicate position.
Glancing over her shoulder, it was not Oliver, the shop owner, but Lord Torrington grinning back at her, Edith at his side, while Ophelia hid behind the couple to mask her embarrassed and reddened face.
Roderick fairly growled at the interruption when their lips parted.
As quickly and surprisingly as it had started, Lucianna leapt away from him as she stared over his shoulder.
His rebuff died on his lips when he turned to see a gentleman so large he filled the aisle with his sheer size, a petite blonde woman tucked into his side, and an auburn-haired nymph doing her best to hide from view behind the couple.
Roderick eyed the lady doing her best not to be seen. He had, in fact, seen her before.
“You.” He pointed to her. “You were the one from the ball. You blocked my path and almost allowed Lucianna to escape.”
“Which would make us,” the massive man interrupted, “the couple whose betrothal ball you attended without invite.”
“Lord Torrington, Lady Edith, and Lady Ophelia,” Lucianna stepped in front of Roderick. “May I introduce the Duke of Montrose?”
“You may, but that will not be enough to pacify our curiosity at his presence.” Lady Edith placed her hands upon her hips and scrutinized him as if he were a costly, rare bolt of fabric. One she hesitated to stare at for too long and didn’t dare touch.
“Yes, Luci, what is going on?” Lady Ophelia asked, her head bobbing around Torrington’s shoulder.
“I—well—he—“ She glanced between her friends, a rosy hue blooming on her cheeks.
The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 2) Page 8
