Page 32 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

“ Y ou’ve recovered from last night, I hope?”

Lucien flinched, head snapping up. “I beg your pardon?”

Benjamin glanced up at him, looking mildly hurt.

“I mean Lady Quince’s, with all the dancing.”

“Oh, of course. Forgive me. Yes, I am quite tired.”

Benjamin eyed him for a moment. “What did you think I meant?”

Images flashed through Lucien’s head—Frances with her hand tangled in his hair, arching her back against his touch. He swallowed thickly.

“Oh, nothing much.”

No doubt Benjamin did not believe him, but at least he did not press the issue.

Lucien had finally given in to Benjamin’s pleading and met him at a club. Not White’s, or Baxter’s, or anywhere respectable. The place was called The Mermaid, and he imagined that as the day wore on, the clientele would become less and less respectable.

The food, at least, was good. The two men were taking breakfast together, and judging by the strange concoction in Benjamin’s glass, the place also offered hangover cures.

“Is that a raw egg?” Lucien muttered, peering into the glass. “If anything will make you sick, that will.”

“I know my hangover cures, old friend,” Benjamin responded with a grin. “This will work. Now, I didn’t only invite you here to inflict the delight of my company on you. I’ve found something out.”

Lucien lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“ Oh , indeed. I was concerned about that scene last night, with that fellow Lord Easton. So, I made some enquiries. He said some odd things, did he not?”

Lucien stiffened. “Benjamin, please do not dig around in this. It’s trouble. If I wanted your help, I would ask for it. I don’t want you getting tangled up in it all.”

“Aha!” Benjamin crowed triumphantly. “So, there is something to get tangled in! Anyway, it’s too late now; shall I tell you what I discovered?”

Lucien sighed. “I suppose you had better.”

“Excellent. Right, well, of course I knew that Lord Easton had been going to marry your duchess, only to be booted aside at the altar by Your Grace .”

“I did not boot him aside. I gently pushed him out of the way.”

Benjamin chuckled. “Mm-hm. Anyway, he was remarkably stung about the whole thing. He swore revenge, according to friends and family members, you know the sort of thing. In the end, he bribed a woman who used to work at Baron Rawdon’s house—as a nursemaid, or something—and she told him a juicy little secret about the duchess’ lineage. ”

Lucien swallowed thickly. He could feel Benjamin’s eyes on him, waiting for his response.

“I think he plans to hold it over her head,” Benjamin added. “He’s going to be trouble, I wager it. What secret is it, anyhow? I couldn’t find out. Or perhaps you didn’t know, either?”

He cleared his throat. “I knew, Benjamin, don’t fret. And it’s all in hand, I can assure you.”

Was that a flash of disappointment on Benjamin’s face?

“You truly don’t mind about whatever it is?” Benjamin asked, leaning back with a faint frown between his brows.

Lucien took a sip of his drink. “Not a bit of it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it? A weight off my mind, to be sure. Poor Lord Easton, thinking that he’s got all this power when in fact he has none at all. Oh, well. Now, to business.”

Lucien chuckled. “To business?”

“Yes. Miss Geraldine—you must remember her , from Paris—is back in London, and is throwing a fabulous party tonight. I can get you an invitation quite easily. You simply must come.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Benjamin. I have previous arrangements.”

Benjamin’s face fell. “Why not? What arrangements?”

“I plan to spend the evening with my wife. I have a surprise for her.”

There was a little silence after that. Benjamin did not quite look Lucien straight in the eye, preferring instead to swirl brandy in his glass. Lucien leaned forward, trying to catch his eye.

“Ben? You aren’t upset, are you? Have I offended you? I am sorry, and we’ll do something else another time. To be truthful, I don’t much care for large and crowded parties these days. I’d rather do something quieter, perhaps just you and I.”

“Perhaps,” Benjamin responded, giving a brittle smile. “It won’t be the same without you there. But, as the little cat’s paw you are, you must jump when the Duchess clicks her fingers, ha-ha.”

Lucien did not feel much like laughing at that, nor at being called a cat’s paw , but it was clear that Benjamin was disappointed he would not be attending the party, so he smiled anyway.

To be honest, he wouldn’t want to attend a party without Frances.

She had set the bar too high with her begging, and her little breaths…

He could never attend a party again without her image against those pillars occupying his mind.

Without wanting to repeat what happened.

There had been no repeat of the intimacy between him and Frances once they returned home.

After dancing until dawn, it seemed, they rattled home in their carriage, half-asleep, and stumbled into their respective beds.

He had not seen Frances that day, except in passing in a hallway.

She’d smiled shyly at him, and he’d smiled back, feeling nonsensically like a nervous schoolboy.

I want to spend time with her. I want to see her. I… I truly want her company. How strange—when did that come about?

Not only that, but he felt a deep well of fury at men like Lord Easton who wanted to hurt Frances. How could they? She was so innocent. She’d done nothing wrong. She was entirely blameless, and her ‘secret’, such as it was, could not possibly be her fault in any way.

That, of course, made no difference. Children were routinely punished for the sins of their parents in their world, and that would not change anytime soon.

One day, though, he thought idly, draining the last of the brandy from his glass. One day things will be different, and I imagine it is people like us who will make it come about.

“Well, I suppose I should think about taking myself home,” he remarked, pushing away his plate.

Benjamin forced a smile onto his downcast face. “Yes, you’re quite a homebody these days.”

Lucien paused, eyeing his friend. “I know I have changed a little since we were abroad. I know my tastes are different. But it is still me, you know. I am still Lucien. I am still your dearest friend, and you are still mine.”

Benjamin flashed a quick smile. “Yes, your dearest friend. Excepting for that wife of yours, of course.”

This took Lucien a little aback. He frowned at the other man.

“What do you mean?”

Benjamin shook his head a little too quickly. “Nothing, nothing. I’m merely thinking aloud. It’s this hangover, you know. It’s as if somebody is pounding on my head with a hammer. Off you go, then—we cannot keep the duchess waiting!”

Lucien still felt a little uneasy, but Benjamin kept a bright smile on his face, so he took his leave and left the club, leaving Benjamin behind.

“The duchess is in the library, Your Grace,” Gray said, taking Lucien’s coat and hat.

“Thank you, Gray. I’ll go to her directly.”

The house was quiet, daylight streaming in through the tall, thin windows. The place never looked quite so much like an Abbey as it did at times like that. Lucien didn’t even feel the usual twinge of unease when he walked past the door to the East Tower.

The door to the library tower stood open. The curtains inside must be open, and golden sunlight streamed out. Motes of dust swung lazily down to the ground, illuminated by the sunbeams. Inside, there was silence, broken only by the dry rasp of pages turning.

Lucien stepped into the doorway and paused.

There were books everywhere. Piled up on the ground, stacked haphazardly on the shelves, even tumbled in rough stacks on the chairs.

In the center of it all sat Frances, perched on the edge of a stool and bent over a book. She wore an old sprigged muslin gown, with heavy walking boots underneath. She had one foot up on a box of books, the skirt crumpled around it, and he could see the boot peeking out from underneath.

On cue, she glanced up and broke into a smile.

“Hello, Lucien! Forgive the mess, I’m sorting out all the books.”

“So I see,” he remarked wryly, carefully stepping over a stack of fallen books. “Have you made any progress?”

“So far, all I’ve made is a mess,” she sighed, getting to her feet. “I brought a writing desk in here. I thought I could work on my story in the library.”

“I think that’s a marvellous idea. What better place to work than a library, surrounded by books?”

Frances’s face lit up. “Ah, let me tell you something I decided about my book. Now, I don’t intend to let you read it until it’s finished, and I do mean that, but let me tell you about the characters.

Firstly, the hero is a man called Timon, with a past of secrets—is there ever any other hero?

—and the heroine is Eleanor, a woman with… ”

She rattled on and on about her characters, about the plot and a few twists she intended to include near the end, until Lucien might as well have read the book in its entirety himself.

He listened with a smile, watching her face change as she spoke. She was animated and earnest, keen for him to understand her love for her characters, keen for him to imagine it.

He suspected her book—a romance, of course—would have some rather raunchy scenes in it. It would not be a story for a respectable audience, but then, the best stories never were, were they?

When she finished at last, forced to pause for breath, Frances glanced rather guiltily over at him.

“I beg your pardon, I’ve gone on and on. You must be quite bored.”

“No, I’m not bored,” he said instantly. “I find it fascinating. I shall hold you to your promise, you know. To let me read it when you’ve finished.”