Marquesses at the Masquerade(117)

“You came,” he said, stepping closer.

Without his hammer, he seemed less a god and more a man embarking on a clandestine flirtation.

“As did you, though you must know that my purpose for keeping this appointment was simply to acknow—”

He took her in his arms somewhat roughly. “I’ve missed you so.”

What? and This is not Thor occupied Lucy’s mind simultaneously. The scent of this man was wrong, the shape of him wrong.

Giles? “Turn loose of me,” Lucy hissed. “Get your paws off me this instant.”

“I’ve thought of nothing but you,” he replied. “Of what we both long for.”

Good God. The cloak hampered Lucy from using her knee, so she tried to stomp on her assailant’s foot, but he was nimble, and she was being bent back off her balance.

One moment Giles—this had to be Giles—was planting wet kisses on her chin, the next he expelled a solid, “Ooof!” against her cheek.

“Get away from her,” said a cold voice. “Get your filthy presuming hands off of her, or next time, I’ll use this sledgehammer to do something more than poke you in the ribs.”

Thor had arrived. Lucy knew that voice, that shape, and even in the shadows, she could see he’d brought his signature fashion accessory.

Giles stood panting beside the tree. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a Norse legend, and you are the disgrace who’s about to bolt hotfoot up this path, unless you want to be the fool I put period to at dawn.”

“Go,” Lucy snapped. “I never want to see you again, and don’t think your identity is unknown to me. Thank every guardian angel you possess that you survived this encounter and stay far, far away from me in future.”

Giles hesitated one instant, while Thor shouldered his sledgehammer, then Giles did indeed take off at a dead run up the path.

His footsteps faded, though Lucy’s heart was still pounding. “Your arrival was timely, sir. Thank you.”

“I considered bringing my usual walking stick, but realized you’d have no way of identifying me if I looked like every other strolling swain. Try being inconspicuous while toting a sledgehammer. It’s impossible.”

He sounded testy, and human, but still formidable. She could not see his features clearly, but she recognized the manner in which he carried his signature accessory.

“I almost didn’t come,” Lucy said.

“I almost didn’t come either. Shall we find a quiet bench?”

Well, that was a relief. Also somewhat lowering. Lucy made sure her hood shaded her face and took Thor’s arm. He was considerate, matching his steps to hers, and giving her time to organize her thoughts. They found a bench in the shadows on a side path, and Lucy spared a moment for regret.

Thor was impressive and doubtless a lovely man, but Lucy’s heart was spoken for, even if the gentleman did not return her interest in the same way. She had respect in Lord Tyne’s house, she had love after a fashion, and friendship.

“Is this an instance when courtesy requires the gentleman to go first?” Thor asked.

“You almost decided not to come,” Lucy said, “but changed your mind, for which I am most grateful.”

“Gratitude. A fine place to start. When you came upon me at the masquerade…”

“You came upon me, sir. Rescued me from a centurion with wandering hands.”

“My name is Darien,” he said. “I see no harm in sharing that with you, for I am very much in your debt.”

Darien wasn’t the most common English name—Lord Tyne was a Darien—but neither was it a name Lucy heard every day.

“As I am in your debt, Darien.”

“If you’d like me to call that scoundrel out, I’m pleased to oblige. You said you know who he is.”

“He’s former military. Meaning no disrespect, but he might know his way around a firearm.”

“I’m former military and a dead shot, but no matter. I’m also a widower. You knew that much about me.”

Lord Tyne had served for a few years in Lower Canada. Why Lucy should recall that tidbit, she did not know, though people in love tended to hoard details about their beloved.

And she was in love, surprisingly so, though not with Thor.

“I know you lost your wife several years ago, but if you think to court me, Darien, then I fear I cannot encourage you.”

He was quiet for a moment, another quality Lucy liked about him. He didn’t chatter, didn’t need to hear his own voice. Truly, he’d make some woman a lovely spouse.

“Perhaps your affections are elsewhere engaged, as mine are. Two weeks ago, I was content to pine after a worthy young lady and ignore my own longings. You told me that I did the woman a disservice by not declaring myself, and I agree with you. When we conclude our appointment, I will focus my energies on winning her affection, but my resolve in this regard…”

Lucy waited, though he sounded very much like Lord Tyne, in his rhetoric, in his willingness to put aside his own desires to look after the needs of others, in the very timbre of his voice.

He even wore the same scent as Lord Tyne.

Oh.

Dear.

Oh, damn and drat. Of all the painful ironies… Of all the infernal injustices. Of all the heartbreaks.