The Unexpected Duchess (Playful Brides #1)(28)

“And that’s supposed to fix everything?” Garrett replied, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“If you were about to die, wouldn’t you want to know that someone loves you?” Lucy immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. They both knew that Garrett had been about to die once. In a desert in Spain. He’d been shot in the chest. Nearly bled to death. But she and her fun-loving cousin rarely spoke of such a time. And certainly they never spoke of how he lived with the guilt that he should have been the one who died just as she lived with that same guilt. But for an entirely different reason. No. That would have been a subject they would never broach. But it was never far from their minds and they both knew it.

Garrett cleared his throat. His voice was solemn. “I can say with all honesty that if I could do nothing about it, I wouldn’t want to know.”

Lucy searched his face. “You cannot mean that—”

“Lady Lucy, come and make a fourth for our hand,” Lady Crandall called, gesturing her over toward their card table. Now that the men had sufficiently settled into the room, the ladies were back at their intention for another round of cards. And Lucy’s popularity had somehow increased exponentially ever since her challenge with the duke. The ton was so odd.

Lucy fought her wince. She didn’t know if she could take another round of Lady Crandall’s loose fingers.

“Go ahead,” Garrett said, nodding toward Lady Crandall. “I’m going in search of Lord Mountebank’s study and a glass of brandy if I can find one.”

Lucy sighed. “You’re abandoning me? Very well then. Cards it is.” She lifted her skirts and made a move to proceed to Lady Crandall’s table when the Duke of Claringdon stepped in her path.

“Lady Lucy,” he said. “May I have a word?”

Lucy instinctively took a step back. Somehow being that close to him made her feel a bit off-balance. Even after having spent time in his immediate company the last couple of days, she was still struck by his stunning good looks and the maddeningly intoxicating scent of him, like spice and soap.

“Just a word, Your Grace. I’m wanted as a fourth.” She nodded toward the card table.

The duke glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge Lady Crandall. That lady gave him a positively leering stare. He turned back to face Lucy, his eyebrow arched in a skeptical semblance as if to say, Yes, I’m quite certain you’re dying to play whist with Lady Crandall.

Lucy pursed her lips. “Your Grace?” The last time she’d seen him she’d escaped from his presence like a frightened, angry child. She would not allow him to rile her like that again. She must act as if she were completely unaffected by him.

His eyebrow settled back into place. “Where is Lady Cassandra this evening?”

Lucy gave him a tight smile. “Not here.”

His face became a stone mask. “I can see that.”

Another tight smile. “Then perhaps you didn’t need to ask the question after all.”

He set his jaw. “You don’t care to tell me why Lady Cassandra didn’t accompany you this evening?”

Lucy plucked up her skirts again and moved around him. “Not particularly, Your Grace.”

She glided over to her chair, sat down, and scooped up the hand of cards she’d been dealt. Lucy plastered a smile on her face, despite her inward cringe at her own behavior. She hadn’t even wished him good evening. Even for her that was unbelievably rude.

Why did that man bring out the very worst in her? She could have easily told him that Cass was having a bad night. That Cass had discovered that her good friend—the man she loved—was dying. But something about the duke’s smug demand that Lucy tell him made her intent on keeping it to herself. He was just too … too … arrogant. Sure of himself. Handsome. She glanced over at him. He was already in conversation with Lord Mountebank again and didn’t appear to give another thought to Cass. Why did he have to act as if he cared? Cass was just another notch in his belt, another win on the battlefield for him. He’d admitted it himself. He saw winning Cass as a challenge, a competition. And Lucy would not let her friend be treated so cavalierly.

“Count me in, Lady Crandall.” Lucy eyed the cards in her hand and grinned over their tops. “I look forward to soundly beating you ladies.”

*

Exactly one hour later, Derek waited in the corridor outside the salon where the ladies were playing cards. He’d done his duty and made the rounds chatting with his host and the other gentlemen. He’d even searched for Jane Lowndes. But he’d been unable to find that lady. It had been his last resort to ask Lucy where Lady Cassandra was, but there’d been no help for it. He didn’t enjoy Society dinner parties. Especially when all anyone wanted to ask him about was how horrific Waterloo had been. They wanted all the gory details, all the juicy bits, but had they an inkling in hell what they were asking about, they wouldn’t even mention it. They’d put it as far from their minds as possible. Yes. Men who had truly seen war had no desire to remember. He’d come here tonight for one reason and one reason only, to see Lady Cassandra. Further their acquaintance. Get closer to fulfilling his promise to Swift. And she wasn’t even here. It was frustrating to think he’d wasted his time. But he couldn’t very well stalk out the door. He had to keep up the semblance of giving a damn. Even more frustrating was that little hellcat Lady Lucy.