Loving The Lost Duke (Dangerous Deceptions #1)(2)
‘Not at first, no,’ Lucas said. ‘But I would not have been so anywhere in England, so better to go away from the source of my discontent. I learnt fulfilment and satisfaction in time. I taught myself to be happy again at last.’
‘Why were you unhappy here?’ The noise of the room was far away now, the dancers blurred, the music a faint murmur on the edge of hearing.
‘Because my heart had been broken,’ he said with that smile, challenging her to take his words seriously, defying her to feel sorry for him. ‘Now, your turn.’
‘I was… content.’ Thea chose the word with care despite the turmoil into which he had thrown her thoughts. ‘Lord Wilmott was kind to me, my father was no doubt right about the benefits of an older husband. He died two years ago, of a heart condition, poor man.’
‘Poor man indeed. But he had the felicity of a happy marriage and a lovely daughter. How like her mother she is.’
There was no answer to that. He had fancied himself in love with her once then, when they were hardly older than Sophie, and had believed his heart broken when she married Arthur. What had she believed? Nothing, she had convinced herself. Felt nothing, believed nothing. She had not dared to imagine what might have been, shy little innocent that she was. Not like Sophie, that bold, confident, golden girl.
And now Lucas had come back, prosperous, titled, eligible and desirable. Oh, so very desirable. And there was the image of the girl he had fancied himself in love with so long ago, ripe for his plucking. He had only to stand amongst those callow youths and hold out his hand to her. How could she resist?
Thea watched him out of the corner of her eye, saw the boy inside the man, felt the ache begin and knew the yearning had always been there, never acknowledged. Now she must put it back in that dark closet again where it had stayed so safely all these years.
‘Mama!’ So soon. The dances had passed as they had sat there silently together and here was Sophie. ‘Oh, I think I have danced holes in my slippers!’
Sophie paused as Lucas stood up, her eyes widening at his height, the darkly handsome looks, his air of confidence. ‘Sir.’ Her curtsey was everything a mother could hope for, her modestly lowered lashes a chaperone’s delight.
‘Sophie, this is Lord Randall.’
He bowed. Sophie blushed.
‘Lord Randall is waiting to ask you for a dance.’
The orchestra struck up for the waltz. Couples began to make their way onto the floor.
‘Yes, Miss Wilmott, I was hoping you could spare me a country dance a little later?’
‘A country…’
He turned and held out his hand to Thea as she stammered out the words. ‘Yes, when you and I return from dancing this waltz.’
‘Me?’ Thea stared into the hazel eyes, finding again the gold flecks, the long lashes, the humour and the tenderness as he looked at her. Her, aged thirty six. Her with the curves of a mature woman, a mother. Her, with the threads of silver in hair that would never be the gold of guineas again. Her.
‘Yes, Thea. You. I have waited eighteen years for this dance.’ Lucas held out his hand. ‘Will you?’
The mother said no. The chaperone said no. The woman put her hand in Lucas’s strong brown clasp.
‘Oh yes, Lucas. Oh yes.’
Chapter One - Where A Lost Duke Reappears
‘Mama is a positive menace to impressionable young ladies.’ Sophie Wilmott leaned on the balcony rail and sighed. Below her the ballroom floor swirled with colour and movement and, right in the centre, a handsome middle-aged couple gazed into each other’s eyes as they danced far too close for decency.
‘It is romantic, their being so unfashionably in love.’ Toby, her dear friend since childhood, leaned on the polished walnut balcony rail, his elbow nudging companionably against hers. ‘Everyone knows the story of how Lord Elmham came back to England after eighteen years abroad and tumbled into love all over again with his childhood sweetheart.’
‘They weren’t childhood sweethearts. They met when Mama was making her come-out and it was all terribly proper and repressed – secret glances, heavy sighing, soulful yearnings, I imagine, from what Mama has let slip. And then she did the dutiful thing and married a man old enough to be her father and had me and never stopped loving Lucas Randall. And Step Papa did what all impoverished younger sons are supposed to do, he went abroad and made his fortune and pined for her. Then he came back with a title and wealth and found Mama was a widow and swept her off her feet and now even the starchiest old dowager whips out a handkerchief and sheds sentimental tears over them.’
‘Whichever it was, they have been a bye-word for romantic love for, what? Six years? What is so wrong with that?’
‘Because they are the exception that proves the rule. Why do you think people sigh and smile over them? Because true love like that is as rare as hens’ teeth. But seeing them makes every foolish girl believe that a young man who gazes deep into her eyes and whispers sweet nothings in the moonlight loves her heart and soul, when in fact all they want to do is get under their petticoats or into their trust funds.’
She had certainly fallen for that fairy tale. Head over heels into the romance woman-trap with eyes blinded by star dust, until the reality of male desire blew away every glimmer of magic. Foolish, innocent, gullible girl that she had been.