Page 28 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

T he art gallery was full, as usual, the following day. People came from all over London to take in the masterpieces. Lucien weaved his way easily through the throng, barely glancing at the artwork on the walls. He’d been here often enough to know each piece by name.

Heading straight to the Anon hallway, where only paintings by that famous artist were hung on the wall, Lucien glanced this way and that, looking for the man he’d come here to meet.

It was not easy to spot him. Anon’s works were easily the most popular in the gallery. However, the Duke of Clapton stood a full head above most men, and he was also standing very still in an ever-moving stream of people. Lucien made his way over and stood shoulder by shoulder beside the man.

“This is one of my favorites,” Cassian said, without glancing at him.

“ Woman In The Window ,” Lucien read aloud. “It is certainly a popular work. I imagine it is hard to choose a favorite work, especially when one’s wife is the artist.”

The duke gave a brief, wry smile. “You would be correct. Now, you summoned me here for a reason. Can I ask what that reason is?”

“Of course. To begin, I might as well tell you I do not have much time. My wife and I are attending a masquerade ball at Lady Quince’s home, as part of a series of couples’ outings I have planned for us to undertake. I shall have to return home to dress soon enough.”

Cassian’s eyebrow quirked. “I am glad that you were able to carve out a little time for me in your busy schedule.”

Lucien ignored the sarcasm.

“My concern is Lord Easton. I have it on good authority that he will be at Lady Quince’s tonight, and I am sure that he will make trouble.”

Cassian’s expression darkened. He knew, of course, about the poem, just like he knew that Lucien had been informed of Frances’strue birth.

“I will make enquiries as to how Lord Easton might have discovered the truth,” Cassian said at last. “I am quite sure that he did not know our secret before, as he would never have agreed to marry her had he known. At the very least, he’d ask for the dowry to be doubled, or even tripled.”

“I can’t understand why the man would make so much trouble about it now,” Lucien muttered. “Can’t he let the woman go?”

Cassian aimed a level stare at him. “No. He cannot. Some men can’t, you know. She spurned him, and he hates her for it. He wishes to make her suffer.”

“Not if I have any say in the matter,” Lucien muttered darkly. “Make your enquiries, and I will help in any way I can. The secret is mine now, too.”

He turned to go, but Cassian’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder in a painful grip. Lifting an eyebrow, Lucien glanced back at him. Cassian’s face was a smooth mask, but his eyes glinted.

“If you hurt my niece in any way,” he said softly, “I shall make you suffer. Do not mistake me, Lucien. I am not a man to be trifled with.”

Lucien held his gaze for a long moment, neither man blinking. He shrugged his shoulder roughly, and Cassian’s hand fell away.

“And nor am I,” he responded coolly. “But you have nothing to fear. She is my wife. Mine, and I will protect her. I have no intention of hurting her, I can assure you of that.”

The Duke of Clapton was not cowed one bit.

“See that you do,” he responded.

Lucien did not answer. He turned on his heel and strode away down the art gallery. A quick glance down at his pocket watch made him grimace.

Late already. Not a good start.

Frances eyed her reflection and bit back a grin.

Well, Mama was right about blue suiting me, at least.

She’d considered wearing her burgundy gown again. After all, it was so beautiful, and clearly Lucien liked the way she looked in it. But it would be a faux pas to wear the same gown twice in a row, even if few members of the ton had seen it the first time.

Fortunately, a new gown had arrived only that morning. It was a frothy confection of pale blue silk and lace, with foaming petticoats and a sequined bodice that glittered when she moved.

Since it was a masquerade ball, it would be entirely proper to wear a gown that suggested a costume, and this one made her appear to be a fish, or perhaps a mermaid, rising out of the sea.

The domino mask she would wear along with it was covered in matching blue silk and edged in pearls.

There were pearls along the necklines and at the hem of her gown, too, matching perfectly.

Her hair was mostly down, curled elaborately and decorated with seashells, sequins, glass flowers, and little pearls. It would not have suited Almack’s, for example, but Lady Quince loved the absurd and beautiful.

Thinking of Lady Quince made Frances remember the letter she received from her only yesterday, and she shivered uneasily.

Lord Easton had been invited, and he had accepted.

Lady Quince had written to warn Frances and to subtly hint that she would not allow a scene at her meticulously planned masquerade.

It was hard to blame her, really.

The clock on the mantelpiece began to chime, giving Frances a start.

I had better hurry. I’d promised Lucien I wouldn’t be late.

She hurried down the stairs, conscious of a fluttering of excitement in the pit of her stomach.

No matter how often she told herself that Lucien was merely fond of her at best, and that he was not wooing her, she couldn’t help but feel…

well, it was hard to put a name to the sensation which crept over her.

Halfway down the stairs, Lucien paced into view, walking back and forth across the foyer restlessly, as he had before. He glanced up and stopped dead when he saw her.

Frances halted and offered him a faint smile, holding out her skirts so he could better see the layers of lace, ruching, and beading which made her look as though she were stepping out of a bed of seafoam.

“Well? What do you think?”

Lucien’s eyes were wide, his jaw slack. His gaze travelled up and down her frame, from head to toe and back again.

“You look enchanting,” he said at last. “You look… You look so beautiful, Frances. I’m sorry that I cannot fathom a better word for it.”

She smiled as delight bloomed in her chest.

“I think enchanting and beautiful will suit me quite well enough.”

He gave a wry smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, come along. We had better be going—Lady Quince is expecting us.”

“It’s a new dance,” Lucien explained, pitching his voice over the laughter and chatter pressing in around them. “I learned it on the continent. See, it goes like a waltz, then you change partners here . A few moments later, the dance will repeat, and you’ll change again. It’s fairly easy.”

Frances watched the dance go on, chewing her lip nervously. Lady Quince had announced, shortly after the masquerade began in earnest, that they would all try a new dance which had a complicated French name. So far, it seemed that a good many people knew it already.

The ballroom was full of people from wall to wall.

Frances knew that Nicholas was in the crowd somewhere, but she had not seen him, and she hoped it would stay that way.

Costumes and gowns of all descriptions came floating past, and most people wore masks tied to their heads.

Most of the ladies carried their masks on sticks, lifting them up whenever they felt like it.

Frances’s mask hooked behind her ears with two pieces of wire, so as not to disarrange her hair. Lucien wore an entirely black suit—even his cravat was a glittering black—and the only color was his domino, which was a bright red to match the ruby cravat pin at his throat.

Frances glanced up at him, watching him watch the dancers.

He wants to try it, she realized with a start. Lucien often appeared to be a man who did not care for trite things like dances, food, and fun.

Well, even Lord Malevolente enjoyed dancing.

The dance ended, and the dancers all clapped breathlessly. Frances knew that in a moment or two the dance would begin again.

She turned to Lucien.

“Let’s do it.”

He brightened. “You wish to try the dance? It’s easy, once you get the hang of it, as I said.”

“Of course. I should love to try it, and I shall try my best not to tread on your feet.”

Chuckling, Lucien led her onto the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, Frances caught a glimpse of Benjamin Holton, hand in hand with Katherine of all people, approaching the dance floor.

Of course, Katherine would dance with just about anybody in order to get a partner.

Benjamin seemed to seek out Frances’s eye, and he gave her a quick, knowing smile that she did not like.

His gaze slid over her shoulder to someone standing in the crowd, then hastily pulled away.

When she turned to look at what he had been staring at, she saw with a start that Nicholas stood there, staring mulishly at the dancers.

Then the music began, and there was no time to think about anything. Lucien whirled Frances off her feet, panting out instructions. The dance was simple enough, and Frances found herself laughing aloud, clinging to his shoulders.

“And now,” Lucien said, lifting his voice to be heard over the chaos, “ switch !”

Along with everybody else, Frances broke away from her partner, spinning on her own for three-count, and then bumped directly into another gentleman, whose arm went around her waist and whose hand clamped shut over hers.

“What a coincidence, your Grace,” Benjamin said, grinning down at her.

Frances’s heart dropped. “ You ?”

“Yes, I, your husband’s best friend. And you can see that my partner is dancing with him .”

Twisting around, Frances saw Lucien dancing with Katherine. How had Benjamin managed it?

“You’re a fine dancer,” Frances said, hoping to strike a chord with him. “I suspect Lucien loves dancing, too.”

Benjamin’s eyebrows shot up. “You only suspect ? Heavens, you’re the man’s wife, and you can’t even tell what his interests are. Tut-tut, your Grace, tut-tut.”