The Unexpected Duchess (Playful Brides #1)(68)

And all Derek could do was write a lot of impotent letters from Bath to the War Office, to his mother, and to Lucy pretending to be blasted Berkeley. He bloody well had to stop writing those damn letters for Berkeley. It had been amusing at first. A harmless game. Or so Derek had thought, until he’d realized the harm being done was to himself. Sitting there each day, writing to Lucy, expressing his feelings. At some point, early on, he’d realized that he was writing to her as himself, not Berkeley. He didn’t give a damn about Berkeley. In those letters, he’d told Lucy everything he’d ever wanted to say to her. And he’d meant every last word.

They’d worked too, damn it. Berkeley had come sauntering over yesterday to inform him that the letters had earned him a kiss. Derek had wanted to toss him out of his study, but instead he sat there and listened to the torturous account of how Lucy had told the viscount how much she cherished his letters and then proceeded to kiss him. And wasn’t Berkeley the scoundrel for telling him? Though in his defense no doubt Berkeley no longer knew where to draw the boundaries with a man who was secretly writing love letters to the woman he was pretending to court.

Derek slammed his fist onto the top of the desk with such force the papers and quills and inkpot bounced. God damn it. What in the bloody hell was he going to do? How would he ever get himself out of this unholy mess?

Undecided. Indecisive. His father’s taunting voice echoed in his skull. There was absolutely nothing worse in the world of men than to be indecisive. His father had taught him that from a young age. He’d taught him that well. And Derek had learned the lesson. At a price. He’d grown into a man who was never indecisive. On the battlefield, leading men, in anything in his life. But now, blindly staring at the wall, thinking about Lucy and Cassandra and his promise to his closest friend, he’d never been more indecisive in his life.

And he detested himself for it.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


There she was. Finally! Jane sat lounging on a stone bench in the garden behind Garrett’s house reading a book, of course, and unconsciously twisting a brown curl around her finger.

“Do you have a moment, or perhaps an hour, to talk?” Lucy asked, scooting onto the bench beside her.

Jane looked up and promptly snapped shut her book. “Of course, Luce. I’m sorry we haven’t had the opportunity before now. What’s wrong?” She pushed up her spectacles.

“It’s me, and Cass, and Derek.” Lucy dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, Jane. I’ve gone and made a mess of everything.”

Jane pushed her book aside on the bench and put her arm around Lucy. “Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out. Tell me what’s happened.”

“As you know, at first I detested the Duke of Claringdon,” she cleared her throat, “Derek…”

Jane arched a brow. “Yes, and I noticed you’re calling him Derek now.”

“Oh, that’s not the half of it. Let me finish.”

“By all means.”

“At first I detested him, then he kissed me. Then I detested him more, then he kissed me again, ahem, among other things. And now, since Cass has been ill, we’ve been spending time together and I … I … I think I may have feelings for him.”

Jane, being Jane, didn’t look particularly shocked. “Let’s be clear: When you say, ‘Ahem, other things,’ do you mean the types of things that might necessitate an immediate wedding?”

Lucy looked up into the tree branches hovering above them wishing she could somehow turn into a bird and fly far away. “Not exactly. But let’s just say it’s nothing I’d want to explain in detail to my mother, either.”

Jane nodded sympathetically. “Few things are, dear. Few things are.”

“Oh, Janie, what am I going to do?” Lucy let her face drop into her hands again.

Jane tapped her fingertips along the edge of the bench. “I must tell you the truth, Luce. It is a pickle. An astonishing pickle, to be sure. But it’s not insurmountable. You know, Lucy, Cass isn’t particularly interested in the duke, in fact, she’s been acting as if—”

Lucy winced. “Oh, wait. There’s more.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “More?”

“Yes.” Lucy nodded. “Cass has decided to give Derek a chance, and today she received a letter from Julian saying good-bye and telling her to marry him.”

“Marry Julian?”

“No, marry Derek.”

“What?”

“Exactly!” Lucy blew out a long breath. “Julian asked Cass to promise him that she would marry Derek.”

“Ooooh,” Jane said. “And what about Lord Berkeley? You haven’t even mentioned him.”

“Oh, I kissed him, too.”

“What?”

“That’s right.”

“How was it?”

“It was … nice,” Lucy answered glumly. “Oh, Janie. Tell me there’s some way out of this. Tell me there’s something I can do to make this right.”

Jane stood up and paced in front of the bench. “First of all, what’s the duke doing kissing you if he’s supposed to be courting Cass?”

Lucy nodded. “Yes, there is that to consider. The first time it was quite unexpected and we both agreed never to speak of it again. The second time was a…” Oh, she knew she was flushed bright red. “A bit more deliberate and bit more involved and I—”