Chapter THIRTY-ONE
“Lucy, please, you must, for me.” Cass was lying propped up against a large group of pillows in the middle of her bed.
“No, no, no. I couldn’t. You know how the duke and I get along. Like oil and water. I think a housemaid would be much better to do it.”
Cass sneezed into her handkerchief. “But I cannot send a housemaid to tell the duke how sick I am. He’s certain to think I’m making it up to dodge him again. If you go, you’ll be ever so much more convincing.”
Lucy watched her poor friend. Cass’s eyes were red, and her nose was running. She clutched a handkerchief in her fist and had a score of sneezes on her lips. Cass was ill. That was obvious. And no wonder. The poor young woman had been under severe strain for days. Lucy would do anything she could to help her friend. Bring soup. Read stories. Check her fever. Keep her company. But she drew the line at traveling to Derek’s rented house on Uphill Drive and informing him that Cass would not be able to see him today because she was ill.
First of all, Lucy didn’t trust herself around Derek, and second—and perhaps more important—she feared Derek would doubt her. Given their history—passionate kisses notwithstanding—she was the very last person he would believe when told that Lady Cassandra didn’t want to see him. The whole notion was ludicrous actually.
“Write him a note,” Lucy pleaded. “You can be convincing.”
“I’m rubbish at writing letters,” Cass replied. “You’re ever so much more convincing than I am. You know that.”
“You’re not rubbish at writing letters, Cass. You’ve written to Julian every day for years.”
Cass waved the hand that held the handkerchief in the air. “That’s different, that’s Julian. I can say anything to Julian. The duke still intimidates me a bit.”
Lucy snorted. “I don’t see why.”
“Oh, Lucy, please do it. You’ve such a way with words,” Cass begged.
Lucy breathed deeply. “Such a way with outlandish words. When delivering a simple message, I’m no more adept than a housemaid would be.”
“Please, Lucy?” Cass batted her eyelashes at her.
“Cass, no. Can’t we ask Jane?”
Cass laughed, and it sent her into a coughing fit. When she recovered she said, “Jane would have her nose so far in a book, she’d bypass the duke’s house.”
“What about Garrett?” Lucy pleaded.
“That would just be strange. The duke knows you, Lucy. He likes you.”
Lucy gulped. “Are you daft? He most certainly does not like me, and he only knows me because I’ve been inserting myself into your affairs for far too long. It’s high time I remove myself from the entire situation. Besides, Lord Berkeley intends to pay me a call this afternoon.”
Cass gave her puppy-dog eyes. “That won’t be for hours yet. Please, Lucy? For me?”
In the end, Lucy should have known she was helpless to say no to Cass. First of all, if Lucy protested too vehemently Cass was certain to wonder why. And second, Lucy apparently couldn’t resist the urge to see Derek once more. But she hated being a messenger for Cass. And Derek would think she was lying, there was no question about it.
She tied her bonnet under her chin, pulled on her gloves, and set out with a footman down the street, around the corner, and four streets over to Derek’s rented house. She closed her eyes and said a prayer to the heavens. Perhaps he would not be home. That would be ever so convenient.
When they finally reached Derek’s address, the footman rapped on the door. Lucy squared her shoulders and cleared her throat, ready to explain her presence to an overly arrogant butler and leave as quickly as possible.
The door swung open.
“Lady Lucy Upton to see his grace, the Duke of Claringdon,” the footman pronounced.
“I have a message for His Grace,” she added. “I’m happy to leave it and—”
“Just a moment,” the butler intoned. She’d been correct. Overly arrogant. Just like his employer.
The butler ushered her into the foyer. The footman waited outside. Lucy glanced around. The house was decorated sparingly but tastefully.
With his head held high as if he were serving the king in the royal palace, the butler strode down the corridor. Lucy fidgeted, hoping he’d return as soon as possible and inform her that His Grace wasn’t accepting any callers today.
No such luck.
When the servant returned two minutes later, he offered to take Lucy’s pelisse, and then escorted her into a drawing room a few paces away. “His Grace shall be in momentarily,” he intoned.
Lucy tried to manage a smile. Oh, of course His Grace was going to torture her with his company. And since he knew it was her, he’d probably make her wait. In fact, the minute he’d heard she was at his door, he no doubt set about taking his time.
Lucy made her way around the room, touching the bits of art and figurines that lay on the tabletops. Who had Derek rented this house from? She wasn’t certain of the owners. But it was a grand home. Certainly fit for a duke. Would he purchase it? Live here? Would she return to this home in future years, the guest of the Duchess of Claringdon, her good friend Cass? The thought made her inexplicably melancholy.
The door behind her opened and she turned to see Derek standing there. He wore a light gray coat, a perfectly starched white cravat, and dark, superfine trousers. His broad shoulders filled out his coat, and Lucy momentarily shuddered. Why did that man have to be so good looking? Utterly unfair.
“Lady Lucy,” he said, bowing to her. “Are you cold?”
She curtsied. “Pardon? No … I…”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he continued.
Lucy pushed up her chin. She intended to get this unwanted little visit over and done with as quickly as possible. “I’ve come on Cass’s behalf.”
“Oh? We spoke last night, you know. She indicated that she’d be willing to allow me to court her.”
Lucy hesitated. “Yes. I … I know.”
“Don’t tell me she’s already changed her mind.” A half smile rested on his lips.
Lucy dropped her gaze to the floor. “No. No, she … she’s taken ill and begged me come and tell you she cannot ride with you today.”
His eyes narrowed. “She’s ill?”
“Yes, truly.” Oh, Lucy had known he wouldn’t believe her. “She’s quite eager to continue your acquaintance, however, she just wanted you to know that she’s got an awful head cold and—”
He arched a brow. “Why do I find it difficult to believe that she’s—how did you put it?—eager to continue our acquaintance?”
Lucy closed her eyes for a moment. He was not about to make this easy on her, was he? “She’s trying. I think the strain of Julian’s injury has made her weak. I’m not surprised that she’s ill. I’m quite worried about her.”
“And she chose you to come and tell me?”
“Yes, actually. She didn’t think a housemaid would be sufficiently emphatic enough.”
His mouth quirked. “Oh, she’s right about that. You’re known for your emphasis.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes on him. Now he was making her angry. Mocking her and questioning Cass’s illness. “Perhaps you’d like to pay a call and see for yourself?”
“No need,” he replied. “I told her I’d give her time and that’s exactly what I intend to do. If she needs time, says that she’s ill—”
Lucy gritted her teeth. “She is ill.”
He raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Please, Lucy. Let’s not argue today.”
“Of all the pompous, overbearing … Why can’t you think for one moment that I’m telling the truth? When have I ever lied? Cass is willing to give you a chance, despite her broken heart, and yet you insist upon—”
He put one hand on his hip. “It doesn’t matter why she doesn’t want to see me, does it?”
“You’re what? Annoyed that she’s ill?” Lucy paced away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. She clenched her jaw. “It makes no sense. I don’t get the impression that you have any great love for Cass and yet you insist upon courting her, marrying her, all because Julian recommended her to you?”
“I told you. I made a promise to my dying friend. And I intend to keep that promise.”
“At any cost?” she tossed back at him. “Even Cass’s happiness and health?”
“I don’t expect you to understand. Captain Swift asked me to take care of the girl. I need a wife. I want children. It makes sense. I know Lady Cassandra doesn’t love me. I don’t love her, either, but one day I’m certain we’ll learn to tolerate each other.”
Lucy wanted to throttle him. “Tolerate? That’s the word you choose? You have no heart. Cass deserves love, happiness, passion.” As soon as that last word flew from her lips, she clamped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that.
His brow shot up. “Passion?”
She glanced at her slippers, wanting to kick herself. But now that she’d said it, she wasn’t about to back down. She pulled her hand away from her mouth and raised her chin. “Yes. The kind of passion that comes when two people truly love and respect each other.”
His voice was husky. “I’ve found that passion can complicate a relationship, my lady.”
She paced toward him and stood only a space away. She glared up at him. “You’re a menace. A menace to Cass. I don’t know why she’s giving you a chance but you don’t deserve it. You’re cold. You’re heartless. You have no emotion.”
He grabbed her upper arms. “No passion?”
She turned her head away from him. She couldn’t drag the word no past her suddenly dry lips.
“I beg to differ, my lady.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.