Chapter NINE
Lucy couldn’t sleep. She slid the coverlet from her legs, draped her robe over her shoulders, and slowly paced in front of the open window. A slight summer breeze blew in, and crickets chirped in the garden behind the house. She could think of one thing and only one: Derek Hunt, Duke of Claringdon. In all of her years she’d never met anyone so … so … provocative.
She pressed a hand to her throat. That look he’d given her when she leaned down over the balcony. She felt exposed, as if she’d just been seen without her clothing. The duke’s bold gaze was that assessing. It was challenging, probing, and a bit too perceptive for her comfort. It was as if he could read her thoughts and knew she was up to something. Which of course she was. Hmm. Perhaps the duke was a more formidable opponent than she’d allowed.
Who was this man, the Duke of Claringdon? He seemed astute. She’d give him that. And he seemed to know when she was mocking him, something most men of her acquaintance never quite picked up on. Oh, they knew when she sliced them to bits with her tongue. That was certain. But most of them didn’t know, didn’t really know, that her disdain was more about their inability to match wits with her.
The duke, however, had known. It was as if he’d seen right through her. Knew what she was about. She wasn’t used to the gentlemen she encountered being as clever as she was, frankly. She breathed deeply. Why did he spark her temper so easily? She was angry at him, true, but she was also angry at herself. Where had her intellect fled when that man had accused her of inserting herself into Cass’s affairs?
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’d countered lamely. That hadn’t been like her at all. Where was her infamous wit? Her biting words? They failed her when she needed them most.
Lucy had opened her mouth to issue a scathing retort. But nothing had happened. She’d never been so incensed in her life. Usually when she delivered withering words to men of the ton, they slunk off and kept their distance forevermore. Derek Hunt, however, seemed to enjoy it and return for another dose. Absolutely infuriating.
That man was completely, irrevocably convinced that he was right. He was too sure of himself by half, and it didn’t help his arrogance that he just so happened to be maddeningly handsome. Why was he so intent on courting Cass when she clearly had no interest in him? Cass was beautiful and sweet and clever and lovely, of course. Very well. No wonder he was intent on courting Cass. She was demure and quiet and an excellent choice for a bride. The whole thing might just be perfect, actually, if Cass were interested in the duke. But Cass had been hopelessly in love with Julian since she was a girl.
No one knew that better than Lucy. She’d spent countless hours hearing about how handsome and strong and noble Julian was. Cass adored a man she might never have. It was sad, to be sure, but it was true. And even if Lucy didn’t bring it up often to keep from hurting poor Garrett’s feelings, it was plain to anyone who’d heard Cass speak about Julian that she still held out some sort of hope that fate would intervene and make him hers. And Lucy intended to facilitate such an event. Only at present it seemed as if she was in a standoff with the Duke of Stubborn. Cass would just have to speak up and tell him there was no hope of changing her mind, no matter how long he waited. That was all there was to it.
Unless …
Lucy swallowed hard. What if Cass actually had changed her mind? The man was handsome and heroic and a duke, wasn’t he? And even if the idea of Cass loving that arrogant, assuming blowhard— No. No. That was not helpful. It did no good to call him names. Especially when he wasn’t present to hear them.
Lucy paced back over to her bed and sat with her foot curled beneath her. She and Cass hadn’t actually spoken about it since that first night, had they? Perhaps Cass had changed her mind. She wasn’t coming out and telling him to leave her alone outright, was she? And tonight she’d even told Lucy she didn’t need her help in the garden. Was it possible that Cass had reconsidered her feelings toward the Duke of Claringdon?
Lucy wrinkled her nose. Why did that thought make her so uneasy? She shook her head. There was only one way to discover the truth. She must ask Cass. Ask her outright if she did indeed enjoy Claringdon’s attentions, and if Cass said yes—oh, she couldn’t possibly say yes, could she? At any rate, if she did say yes, then Lucy would step aside. Step entirely aside. And leave them to their courtship. It was that simple. She pulled off her robe and snuggled under her covers again. She’d fall fast asleep now that she had such a reasonable plan of action.
But one hour later she was still tossing about and plumping the pillows. If the plan was so simple, why couldn’t she sleep?
* * *
Derek tossed the quill against the ledger. Why he was up in the middle of the bloody night counting the same row of figures for the eighth time, he would never know. He’d been unable to sleep, and coming down to his study had seemed like a good idea an hour ago. Now, however, he realized he was wholly unable to accomplish anything. His mind raced with thoughts of his frustrating experience at the ball tonight. Specifically with Lady Frustrating herself, Lucy Upton.
What was wrong with that woman? She refused to give him a moment’s peace. She turned up like a shadow whenever he had the slightest opportunity to be alone with Lady Cassandra. She appeared to be doing it out of some misguided sense of friendship. Derek understood all about friendship, after all. Apparently, Lady Lucy believed she was being a bosom friend to Lady Cassandra, but if the bossy little baggage would only stop for one moment and actually think about what she was doing, she might realize that preventing her friend from being courted by a young, healthy, eligible duke—who wasn’t hard on the eyes if he did say so himself—was not perhaps in Lady Cassandra’s best interest. But Lady Lucy seemed so damn stubborn and sure of herself. He doubted she was interested in seeing things in any sort of a different light. It was maddening.
Derek had even considered approaching Lady Cassandra’s parents and informing them of Lady Lucy’s interference. Surely the earl and countess wouldn’t welcome Lucy’s plans to ensure their daughter did not marry a duke. But that didn’t sit well with him, either. He had the thought for the one hundredth time: If he couldn’t even handle one little spoiled Society miss, was he worth his title?
Perhaps it was true that Lady Cassandra was indeed in love with another man as they’d told him this evening, but that didn’t bother him. If the sop didn’t even have the wherewithal to court her, he stood little chance of winning her. No, it was Lady Lucy who posed the more dire threat. Derek stood, crossed to the sideboard, and poured himself two fingers of whiskey.
And to make it even more frustrating, Lady Lucy was too beautiful. The entire thing would be much easier to deal with if she had a plain face or a giant wart on her nose. Instead, when he verbally jousted with her, he was having thoughts that had nothing to do with wanting her to go away. Instead, they were more like thoughts about rolling around naked with her in his big bed. And that was altogether distracting. Not to mention inappropriate. Damn it.
He tossed back the whiskey. Tossed it back and allowed it to sink to his belly exactly as he’d done on countless freezing-cold nights sleeping outside a battlefield in a tent. He’d lived through war. One that had killed thousands of his countrymen. He’d led men through that war safely. No, it was not possible that he would be stopped by a stubborn little slip of a miss. Not possible at all. Regardless of the way she heated his blood.
If Derek knew anything it was military strategy. When waging war, you’ve got to know as much about your enemy as possible. He needed to discern what it was about him that Lady Lucy so objected to. He’d play her game on her terms for now, then turn the stakes against her. Obviously, he had to get past Lady Lucy to win Lady Cassandra.
And he knew just how he would do it.