Chapter FOURTEEN
Lucy tried to quell the riotous nerves swirling around in her belly the moment the duke offered her his hand. Never let it be said that she was anything but a gracious loser. She curtsied to him and placed her gloved hand on his.
The crowd melted away as others paired up for the waltz, but a steady buzz of whispers kept up and Lucy had no doubts they were all talking about them. She should muster some sort of outrage, but she had to be fair. “No. thank you.” It hadn’t been her most shining example of wit. He’d seen his opening and taken it. Well done of him, actually.
He may have won, but she didn’t have to enjoy dancing with him. When she thought about it reasonably, the waltz wasn’t the bad part. No, Lucy was more upset that he hadn’t failed because it meant he wouldn’t stop pursuing Cass. But even as Lucy told herself that, she knew it wasn’t why she was disappointed. There had been little hope that he would stop trying to court Cass. The wager had been lost before it had begun. She’d told herself she’d really only hoped he’d make a fool of himself, but the truth was that the reason she was truly disappointed was because she knew the duke would still be pursuing Cass. He might be dancing with her at the moment—and he was a lovely dancer—but he would be back at Cass’s side sooner rather than later. Why did the thought make Lucy so melancholy?
“You’re angry,” he said as he spun her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy spotted Garrett, Jane, and Cass watching them. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not, actually.”
“Why am I not convinced?” he replied.
She shrugged. “You won. I lost. It’s simple.”
His grin was devilish. “Do you regret having to dance with me?”
She smiled at that. “Reluctantly, I must admit, you’re an accomplished dancer, Your Grace.”
He laughed. “Does that surprise you?”
She pursed her lips. “I pictured you more of a skilled soldier.”
“Believe me, I’m much better on a battlefield than in a ballroom.”
“Then you must be quite good on the battlefield.” Ooh, she shouldn’t have said that. Her cheeks heated.
His eyes were hooded. “You’re quite pretty when you blush.”
She shook her head and glanced away. “I forget myself. I mustn’t add to your legendary arrogance by complimenting you.”
He squeezed her hands and a little thrill shot through Lucy’s body. “I think I can take a few compliments.”
She had to laugh at that. Why, was he trying to charm her? If she didn’t know any better she’d think so. And it had been an age since anyone other than her father’s old friends who had gout and felt sorry for her had asked her to dance. Well, her father’s old friends or Garrett. Either way they were pity dances. But to take to the floor with this handsome, dashing young partner, to feel pretty, to feel as if she were actually being courted. Oh, it was too much. It made her long for things she knew weren’t for her. And she wasn’t being courted. She wasn’t. She must remember that. This man was Cass’s beau, whether Cass wanted him or not. Lucy had to remember that. Had to. She and Cass and Jane had agreed. First they’d see Cass free of the duke, then they’d concentrate on convincing Jane’s mother to leave her alone to be a bluestocking, and then they’d concentrate on finding a husband for Lucy. Not a love, certainly, but a husband. A good man who wouldn’t be scared of her and who would treat her decently. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. Cass would help her. Cass was so good at charming people.
And speaking of Cass, Lucy would do well to at least attempt to convince the duke of the futility of his efforts there … for the umpteenth time. It was a more industrious use of her time than indulging in useless fantasies.
She took a deep breath. “I know I didn’t win the bet, but I do have to say I think you should really listen to me when I tell you that your courting Cass is a waste of time.”
He shook his head. A bit of the shine faded from his eyes. His voice was solemn. “Lucy, that’s not going to happen.”
The use of her Christian name made Lucy suck in her breath sharply. “I don’t think you understand how committed she is to the man she loves.”
“The man who refuses to offer for her?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No doubt. But the fact is that I made a promise, and I—”
Lucy shook her head. “Promise? What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind. And when I make up my mind, I don’t change it. They don’t call me the Duke of Decisive for nothing.”
Lucy wanted to jerk herself out of his arms. There it was again, his insane arrogance. “We’re talking about a woman’s life here. Not a move made in battle.”
“I know exactly what we’re talking about. It’s my life, too. If Lady Cassandra had told me she was betrothed to another, or even that she intends to be, I’d be more inclined to stop my pursuit of her. But she’s told me herself on more than one occasion that that is not the case.”
Lucy gritted her teeth. “But she hopes to be betrothed. She wishes to be.”
“Wishes and hopes are quite different from reality,” he said simply.
Lucy stopped dancing. She tugged her hands out of his grasp. “You think I don’t know that?” Then she turned in a swirl of green skirts and strode away.
* * *
Derek watched her go. He supposed he deserved to be left alone on the floor after he’d won the wager and embarrassed her in front of the occupants of the ballroom. He’d been astonished actually when she hadn’t seemed incensed at the beginning of their dance. It was as if she admired him for his little show. No doubt she found it brave of any man to take her on. She was different tonight. As if something had changed between them. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he’d seen tears in her eyes just before she’d walked away.
God, Lucy Upton was a conundrum. He had to grudgingly admit that he’d been surprised that she hadn’t acted petulant and angry after he’d won the bet. She’d taken her defeat quite easily, actually. Why had he expected less of her? She was a worthy opponent, Lady Lucy. Not one to act anything other than gracious when fairly defeated. He couldn’t help but admire that about her.
“You won. I lost. It’s simple.” She’d said it so matter-of-factly, without the hint of trying to garner sympathy or a shred of self-pity. He liked that about her. Liked it a lot.
Dancing with her, talking with her, verbally sparring with her even, had been the most enjoyment he’d had since he’d come back to London. She was challenging and interesting. He looked forward to spending time in her company if he was being honest. But it didn’t change the fact that he intended to marry Lady Cassandra. He’d spent his life making the right decisions, the first time. He wasn’t about to second-guess this one. It had actually dimmed his enthusiasm for the conversation with Lucy when she had changed the subject and brought up Lady Cassandra. Cassandra was an entirely different issue. It was like discussing one’s landholdings versus one’s moves on the battlefield. It was almost as if the two shouldn’t meet.
Lucy seemed intent on convincing him that Lady Cassandra was in love with another man. He understood that. And it didn’t bother him. Whoever this chap was, he was either unable or unwilling to offer for the girl—and so much the better for Derek. Marriage, like any other major life decision, was best made with facts and a rational head. All love did was complicate things. Cassandra might believe she was in love with this man, but he obviously wasn’t a viable marriage partner. And as long as Cassandra did her duty after their marriage and provided Derek with a legitimate son, he didn’t much care whom she chose to spend time with. As long as she was discreet, of course.
Why was Lucy so invested in her friend’s marriage prospects? Perhaps it was because Cassandra had asked her to help. Cassandra didn’t seem as if she had much of a stomach for being forthright. He’d thought that’s what he wanted in a mate but he had to admit it was a bit frustrating. Lucy, on the other hand, was as forthright as she could be. Or perhaps she merely enjoyed ripping her friend’s suitors to shreds with her daggerlike tongue. Regardless of her reasons or her intentions, Derek wasn’t about to let Lucy dissuade him. He’d received a letter today from Swift informing him that his condition was worsening. Derek had wanted to punch his fist through a wall when he’d had to write back to his dying friend and say that he wasn’t yet betrothed to Cassandra.
He wasn’t. Yet. But he would be.