Page 50 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

Her fingers squeezed his arm slightly, and he found himself growing slightly aroused by how easily her hand knew what to do, running up and down his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Yet, he still saw through the act, through the nerves she was trying hard but failing to mask.

He ignored her attempts to touch him further and continued on his way to the door. But she was there again, blocking his way.

His patience hanging on by a thread, he leaned in, all predator, while his prey gazed up at him, worry flickering across her face.

“Get away from the door.” His voice was low, as threatening as it had been with Lord Herrington.

When she did not move, he stepped closer.

“Get away from the door, or I shall move you myself,” he warned. When she did not comply, he leaned in. “Perhaps that is what you seek. My hands on you, moving you around. It will be easily done, do not mistake me.”

Her breathing was labored, and he noticed how she squirmed, as if she, too, was aroused.

“You cannot,” she whispered. “Y-You did not finish your drink.”

“I do not care about a glass of whisky,” he told her. “Unless the drink you offer is what you clumsily proposed earlier.”

He was not interested in her, but it was amusing for him to watch her blush even deeper.

“Is that what you wish for? Your tongue lapped at the whisky so easily earlier—what else might it do when presented with an opportunity?”

“Your Grace,” she whispered fervently, her eyes wide.

Lucien didn’t know what was part of her act and what was truly scandalizing her.

“What is wrong?” he asked coyly. “Are you not used to other men being so forward? Or was I right in my guess earlier about you being a virgin?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I do not know if I will believe you, no matter what you say. Either tell me the truth or get out of my way.”

There was a beat of silence where the woman looked trapped—utterly, despairingly trapped. And then the pretense drained out of her, yet that fire he had seen a spark of remained.

So, that was the woman behind the seductive, naive mask.

“My brother is Nicholas Vaughan, the Earl of Montgomery,” she breathed.

That was the last thing Lucien had expected to hear.

He blinked, rearing back. He had not expected to hear the name of his former friend.

“And you are his friend, so you must understand our need for help, as we are in dire straits.”

Lucien only stared at her before he scoffed, glancing to the side in disbelief before turning his gaze back to her. “What did you say?”

“We need help.” Despite the desperation in her voice, her eyes were blazing with determination. “So you must not leave this room.”

“And who are you to give me orders?”

At that, the woman glared at him.

He dug around in his memories of his friendship with Nicholas Vaughan and recalled a mention of his sister.

Elizabeth, or Emily, or something like that. Around ten years younger than him—no, not quite. Just under. That would put her at twenty years old, as Nicholas would be nine-and-twenty now.

Taking her silence as an opportunity to speak, Lucien continued, “The Nicholas I know would have never asked for help, let alone his little sister.”

“I am not his little sister,” she hissed. “My name is Edwina Vaughan. I am my own woman, not an attachment to Nicholas.”

Edwina , that was it.

Lucien listened but recognized her deflecting from the topic at hand. There was more. Her eyes kept darting around as if she expected someone to materialize out of thin air. Who, though? Why did they need such help, and from whom, that she would be so scared to have either of them leave the room?

“If you do not explain your situation to me, then I cannot help you,” Lucien bit out. “And if I cannot help you, then I will leave?—”

Lady Edwina slammed her back against the door, stopping him from reaching for the handle, grasping it tightly. If she thought he wouldn’t reach around her, press her against the door, and slide his hand down her wrist to pry her hand off the doorknob, then she was mistaken.

“So, you admit you will not assist me out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. “I do not recall such a thing about you.”

She was bluffing—she likely didn’t remember very much about him at all.

He laughed. “Oh, Lady Edwina, you are sorely mistaken if you think I have any goodness in my heart—or a heart at all, for that matter.”

Defeat hit her again, making her shoulders slump. He wondered if they would roll back if he touched them to guide them back to their initial position.

“Our finances… It is all a case of poor management after our father’s death last year. Nicholas… he has not had a chance to get the estate in order.”

“Why not?” Lucien asked, his tone harsh and judgmental. “He was always very level-headed.”

Something passed over her face, another concealed piece of the picture, and Lucien sighed, shaking his head.

“I grow tired of your lies and omittances, Lady Edwina. Have a good evening. Do not send your brother my regards.”

With that, he reached around her, eliciting a sweet gasp from her as he pressed close and yanked the door open, despite her putting all her weight against it.

He easily maneuvered her out of the way, and he met her stricken eyes briefly, silently telling her that she was not so heavy that he could not take her weight.

“Wait!” she cried out. “Wait, I-I am sorry. Close the door, and I will tell you.”

“This is your last chance,” he growled. “One too many people have tested my patience today. I am not in the mood for more games.”

“No more games,” she said quickly. “I promise.”

With another snarl under his breath, he slammed the door shut, keeping them in the private room.

He rounded on her. “ Speak ,” he ordered.

And she did.

“The Earl of Stockton has got us in a bind,” she blurted out.

“He is the lord you were due to meet, and he sent me ahead to…” She paused, as though the words tasted bitter on her tongue.

“Seduce you, so you would be more amenable to doing business with him. He says he has been trying to form a partnership with you for some time and grew tired of your selfishness and thinking he is beneath you, when he sees you investing with other lords.”

Stockton .

Lucien cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are coming with me.”

“No! No, we must stay here. Your Grace?—”

“I will not sit and play the fool,” he spat.

He took hold of her wrist, pulling her easily out of the room.

She continued protesting, but he was already leading her down a back staircase, the one the secretary had led him through earlier. He ducked out of a back entrance only used by staff, where they found a line of nondescript carriages.

He handed her into one and then told the driver his address.

“Where are we going?” Lady Edwina asked, her voice tight with panic as she looked around as if fearing Lord Stockton would follow them.

Lucien sat down next to her. “My townhouse.”

He glared out the window, his eyes also searching for the conniving Earl.

“But—”

“Enough,” he said. “Just be grateful I am getting you away from the Earl of Stockton.”

With that, he rapped his knuckles on the roof of the carriage, signaling for the driver to take off.