The Devil In Disguise (18 page)

Her Grace smiled politely. “No, no, nothing is amiss. Simply a matter that required his strict attention, that is all.”

Two footmen and the butler entered the room. One held a large tray with a gleaming silver tea service while the other two brought forth a variety of sandwiches, tea cakes, and other delecacies.

The duchess waited until they had deposited the trays and departed the room, then sat forward in her seat and saw to the tea, pouring with consummate ease as she made polite conversation.

Lucinda participated in the discussion of the latest on dits, though her mind couldn’t help but wander. What business could be keeping Will? To the best of her knowledge he was not in the least committed to the duties a duke would normally shoulder.

She accepted from Her Grace a delicate china plate holding a cucumber sandwich and nibbled. Was it possible he had simply grown tired of their game? A sense of indignation washed over her. If that was the case, she would refuse to release him from their agreement, and King Solomon’s Mine would be hers.

“Lady Lucinda?”

Was he avoiding her?

“Lady Lucinda?”

Lucinda looked up to discover Will’s brother addressing her. She swallowed her bite of sandwich quickly and smiled. “I’m sorry, Lord Michael. You were saying?”

Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Would you join me in a stroll about the room?”

Lucinda arched an eyebrow and tilted her chin. She might have pleaded a reluctance to leave the conversation, but was curious to know what Lord Michael wanted. So she gave him a small nod of acceptance and rose.

He tucked her gloved hand through the crook of his arm and led her toward the far end of the room, beginning a clockwise circuit.

“A shilling for your thoughts,” he said in a low tone.

Lucinda glanced out the window, desperate to keep the discouragement of Will’s absence to herself. “And just what would lead you to believe I am thinking on anything in particular?”

Lord Michael let out a low chuckle. “Come now, Lady Lucinda, you and I have no need to play games.”

She turned back to face him. “You’ve your brother’s laugh.”

“And you lack the talent for subterfuge.”

“Fair enough.”

The two remained silent as they passed Charlotte and Her Grace, though they needn’t have bothered. The ladies had their heads together and were giggling like two young girls.

“Now then,” Lord Michael continued. “Where were we?”

“You were prying, I believe,” Lucinda answered succinctly.

“Yes. Do continue. You were going to tell me what thoughts absorbed your attention so completely.”

Lucinda drew a deep breath, holding it for a moment before expelling it in a heavy sigh. “I suppose there would be no harm in sharing my dilemma with you. It’s just that … well …” she began, hesitating as she leaned in to murmur privately, “the Foster masquerade ball is nearly upon us and I have yet to decide on a costume.”

Lord Michael’s serious expression turned to confusion and then amusement. “That is a dilemma. A much larger one than I’d first assumed.”

“Yes, well, not being a woman, how could you have known the paramount importance of choosing just the right attire?”

“A gown is a much larger dilemma, indeed, than my brother could ever be.”

Lucinda, to her credit, did not break her stride, though the mention of Will made her heartbeat stutter. “I do not believe we were speaking of the duke.”

“Indeed we were not.” He paused. “But now we are.”

Lucinda narrowed her eyes at Lord Michael. “In addition to his laugh, you clearly share the duke’s ability to manipulate a conversation to your advantage.”

“I will take that as the compliment I’m sure it was meant to be,” he replied. “But I believe we were speaking of His Grace.”

Lucinda came to a complete stop, forcing Lord Michael to follow suit. “I am at a loss for words.”

“Then allow me to help you,” he murmured, looking out over the extensive gardens at the back of the house. “Do you intend to marry my brother?”

Lucinda let out a squeak of surprise, though thankfully they were far enough away from Charlotte and the duchess not to draw their attention. “Lord Michael, I do not believe we have known each other long enough to speak with such frankness.”

“Come now, Lady Lucinda.” He eyed her consideringly. “Avoidance is hardly attractive in an intelligent woman such as yourself.”

She raised her chin and met his stare. “I believe, Lord Michael, that you must address your questions to your brother.”

“Forgive me, Lady Lucinda. Perhaps I should have asked, if the offer is made, will you accept?”

Lucinda’s heart raced, the tattoo it beat out faster than she would have preferred. In a desperate attempt to end the questioning, she purposely turned to the garden view framed by the window. “Your gardens are beautiful. And the beds of tulips and daffodils are exceptionally fine—they are truly lovely this time of year.”

“Yes, quite,” Lord Michael answered impatiently. “Lady Lucinda, allow me to apologize. I do not usually act in such a forward manner, but when it comes to my brother, time is of the essence. Despite his assumptions to the contrary, the duchess cares very deeply for him and would like nothing more than to see him happily settled.”

Lucinda nearly nodded her head in agreement. It was exactly how her aunts had described it, and after meeting Will’s mother, she now shared their opinion.

Lord Michael continued. “You are the first woman His Grace has shown any real interest in. Some indication that the courtship is progressing toward the desired outcome would be most welcome.”

“The natural outcome of most serious courtships in our social strata is marriage,” she began, looking back at the duchess and Charlotte. The two women were now unabashedly watching her and Lord Michael brother converse. She managed a brief smile before turning back to her escort. “But, as you know, nothing can be assumed when dealing with the duke. What I can confirm is that, for my part, the courtship is progressing as expected.”

Lucinda congratulated herself for providing such a vague, yet perfectly polite answer. Lord Michael’s questions clearly indicated he wasn’t privy to the details of her and Will’s agreement. And if Will had not shared the truth, she certainly was not prepared to do so.

Lucinda released Lord Michael’s arm, turning to look up at him when they were still several yards from Her Grace and Charlotte, but far enough removed to allow private conversation. “Is that the information you hoped to gain, my lord?”

“Hardly,” he answered. “It appears I must question my brother on the topic.”

“And you’re brave too,” Lucinda exclaimed lightly. “I marvel you’ve not married.”

He chuckled, the low, gruff quality sounding so much like Will that Lucinda’s heart caught.

“I suspect it’s not bravery on my part,” he replied. “You mentioned that I am like my brother in many ways. Pigheadedness, I’m afraid, is one of those qualities we seem to share.”

He turned toward her, and she smiled, thinking that he was ready to allow the conversation to drift toward less personal waters. But then his eyes met hers, and there was something so stark and raw in his expression.

She wanted to cry. She had no idea where it came from, this sudden burst of emotion, but it was all she could do to hold it back, to cling on to some semblance of her dignity.

“I suppose,” he said, his voice catching slightly on his words, “that despite my brother’s oft-demonstrated dislike for all things familial, I cannot help but want the best for him.”

“He loves you, you know. Deeply,” she blurted out in a soft murmur, her hand flying to her mouth as soon as the revealing words were uttered. As much as she wanted to tell him of all that her aunts had shared concerning the duke’s painstaking efforts to keep his brother safe, she dared not speak another word.

“Michael, Lady Lucinda—do rejoin us before we eat the remainder of the pastries,” the duchess called. Charlotte’s good-natured harrumph of confirmation regarding the disappearing confections made Lucinda laugh despite the tears that hovered on her lashes.

“I should not have said that,” she murmured, brushing her fingertips across her lashes. “Please accept my most sincere apologies. It’s not my place to speak of such intimate matters.”

“Do you lie?” he asked simply, his face devoid of any emotion other than polite interest, though a rough urgency ran beneath his words.

“No. Why would I, my lord?” Lucinda answered, then turned to rejoin the two women.

“I don’t know,” Lucinda heard him mutter.

She did not turn back, despite her deepest desire to do so.

It hadn’t been the best of days, Will reflected grimly, wincing as he shifted beneath the sheets on the massive ducal bed.

After being stitched and dosed with brandy, Weston had accompanied him home and dragged him to his bedchamber, aided by Smithers. The brandy had made the wound more bearable, but it had done its work on his wits as well. His dissection of the evening’s events with Carmichael would have to wait.

He’d woken with a pounding headache and enough bandages wrapped about his chest and back to rival those of an Egyptian mummy. Those at least he could hide, even if the wound hurt like the very devil.

The problem was his face. His right eye was ringed in black bruises and swollen half-shut. And his jaw didn’t look much better.

He wouldn’t have been averse to using the box of stage paints packed away in the armoire across the room. He’d made use of the charcoal and pots of paint a time or two in Corinthian dealings. But on those occasions, he’d had the cover of night to help conceal what would surely be detected in the brightness of day.

And the wounds were far too fresh to offer any believable explanation for their appearance. If he could avoid Lucinda for a day or two more, he could pass it off as a boxing injury. But any sooner and she’d never believe him.

Much as he disliked it, there seemed no other option than to remain in his room until he looked a little less battered.

“I’m assuming from the looks of things that the lion won?”

Will sat up, wincing when the movement pulled the stitches and stretched the wound on his back. Gingerly turning his head, he saw his brother standing in the open doorway, one shoulder propped against the door-jamb.

“Hardly.” Will fingered his jaw and winced. “Though he did land a few good blows.”

Michael strolled into the room and walked to the glowing fireplace, taking stock of the pewter candlesticks poised at each end of the stone slab mantel before dropping into a leather armchair facing the bed. “Is this the business that so desperately needed your attention?”

“And if it is?” Will countered. He threw back the sheet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grunting at the protest of torn skin and muscle. His head swam and he sat without moving, fighting the sensation.

Michael stretched out his legs, crossed his booted feet, and propped his elbows on the arms of the chair. He templed his fingers just below his chin and contemplated Will. “Far be it for me to advise you in the ways of women, but …”

“But?” Will pushed, the slightest hint of irritation present in his voice.

“I don’t think Lady Lucinda would take it well if she knew you’d returned to your old ways.”

“Bloody hell,” Will bit out, standing too quickly. His body clenched with pain and his vision danced with tiny black motes. He steadied himself with one hand on the bedpost and waited for the burning sensation on his back to subside. “Don’t involve yourself in my dealings with Lady Lucinda,” he snarled.

Michael rubbed at his lower lip with his forefinger, clearly restraining himself from responding in kind. “Mother wants to see you happily settled,” he said, then, in a quieter voice added, “As do I.”

Will gripped the bedpost tighter. Michael’s words carried a weight and sincerity he’d rather ignore.

“You care for Lady Lucinda, do you not?” Michael asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Will was unsure how to answer him. His brother’s words revealed genuine interest; his demeanor held a depth of emotion Will had not witnessed in him for too many years.

He released the bedpost and slowly walked across the floor, the fine wool carpet providing little warmth against his bare feet. He came to stand in front of the fire, his back to Michael. “I do.”

“Then for once in your life, do what is right for you—for your heart. Do not endanger what will make you happy.”

Will was glad he’d turned toward the fire; his face surely revealed far more than he wanted to express at the moment. Why had his brother’s feelings for him changed, turning from contempt to care overnight?

But this sudden change of heart? Will searched for a rational explanation, but his exhausted brain failed to find one. He simply could not comprehend the emotion brought on by Michael’s words, so he beat it down as best he could and forged on.

“Very poetically put, little brother.” He turned away from the fireplace and winced when the flames heated his wound. “Clearly tea with the ladies was most beneficial.”

Disappointment flickered on Michael’s face briefly before the boredom and mild irritation that Will knew so well returned. “Yes, well, I’d venture to say even the most hardened of hearts would melt in Lady Lucinda’s presence.”

Will nodded in response.

“Oh, wait, that’s already been proven, hasn’t it?” Michael continued, crossing his legs, the leather chair absorbing the movement.

“Michael,” Will began, his tone one of warning.

“I do wonder, though, what she sees in the likes of you. Because, let us be completely honest: The woman could have any man she wanted. And yet, she has chosen you, his brother added.”

Will knew when he was being baited. Michael was, without a doubt, doing his damndest to upset him. The question was,
why
.

“Yes, well, it is the mysteries in life that make it all so interesting, wouldn’t you agree?” he replied, his tone deceptively light.

“Quite,” Michael replied. “Though, I do think that I should make one thing perfectly clear: I find Lady Lucinda delightful—a fact I shared with her today during our walk about the room—”