Page 7 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

“ T his was called the Lady’s Room, once upon a time,” Joan confided, throwing open the door.

“On account of it belonging to the lady of the house. It’s not the biggest bedroom, but it is the nicest one, with the best view.

It overlooks the gardens, and while they aren’t as pretty as usual, what with being so neglected, it’s still a fair view.

Oh, and you can see the kitchen gardens from here.

Ed and I take care of that ourselves, and it seems to be going pretty well. ”

Frances stepped into her new room and swallowed hard.

Well, it was larger than her last room, and no mistake about that. It wasn’t exactly better – Mama had excellent taste, and all the rooms in their house were well-appointed and very stylish – but it was certainly different .

“All of this furniture…” Frances murmured, letting her fingertips skim over a heavy chest of drawers, “… it’s so old.”

Joan bit her lip. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace. I daresay you can order newer things, if you like.”

“No, I like it. It feels as though it has character,” Frances murmured. “Mama orders things from catalogues. They’re always very pretty, and it’s what she likes, but I think I like older things. Unusual things. The sort of thing I won’t see sitting in somebody else’s parlour. Does that make sense?”

She glanced over to see that Joan was smiling.

“It does, Your Grace. Shall I help you with your hair and dress? I’m not a young woman, and my fingers aren’t as nimble as they used to be, but I should serve you well enough until my Susan arrives to take care of you.”

Nodding, Frances settled herself in a seat in front of a wide dressing table, watching herself in the mirror. Joan set to work unpicking the pins in Frances’s hair, not that there were many. It would want a good brush, having been down all day.

She could see the whole room reflected behind her. The bed was the largest she had ever seen, a green velvet canopy draped around it, the bed itself piled high with cushions and blankets.

Beside the bed, she noticed for the first time, was a deep rectangle set into the wall.

A door, she realized after a moment.

“Joan?”

“Hm?”

“Where does that door lead to?”

Joan twisted around and chuckled to herself. “Well, that leads into the master’s bedroom. His Grace’s room.”

An odd sensation, one that seemed neither hot nor cold and yet both at the same time, swept over Frances’sskin.

He’s just in the next room. What if he comes in here during the night? He could just… just crawl onto my bed while I slept, like Lord Malevonte did with Cecilia.

That was nonsense, of course. Lucien had given his word, and Lord Malevonte, after all, did not exist. She was quite, quite sure that the shiver which rolled through her spine was not a thrill at the thought that Lucien might crawl into her bed.

She did not want that. No, certainly not.

Just because she wasn’t afraid of the man didn’t mean she wanted…

oh, best not to think about that, really.

Concentrating on her own reflection, Frances bit her lip and tried not to think about whether Lucien might be in the next room at that very moment. He might be lounging on his bed, reading a book. He might already be asleep.

He might be stripping down to his skin, about to step into a steaming, hot bath.

No, no, no!

“So, Joan,” Frances said, a little desperately. “Did you know Lucien as a child? His Grace, I mean.”

“That I did, Your Grace, that I did! Ed and I have served in this house for decades, although back then he was a footman and I was just a maid. He was a sweet boy, I must say. But then, all three of them were such good children.” Joan sighed heavily, shaking her head.

A line appeared between her brows. “It was a pity, what happened to them. No, a tragedy. Makes me sick to even think about it.”

Frances’s heart was beating faster. Lucien had made her promise not to speak about his past, but so far, she had several pieces of the puzzle together. She knew that his father had been vile, that his brother was dead, his sister was missing, and Lucien himself had left England for years.

It is a bit like something Mrs. Radcliffe would write.

“Oh?” she ventured, trying to sound as careless as possible. Joan mustn’t think that she was trying to mine for gossip. “What happened?”

Joan hesitated, meeting Frances’s eye through the mirror.

Before she could say a word, however, a low chuckle ran through the room. Both women flinched. Frances’s eyes shot to the top corner of the mirror, where the adjoining door was reflected. Sure enough, it was open, and Lucien lounged in the doorway.

Oh, bother. He certainly heard what I said.

“Joan, I’d like a moment alone with my duchess, if you please,” he said pleasantly.

A pang of something not quite fear, but not quite excitement, shot through Frances. It curdled into something like an ache in her gut. She sat very still, not looking at Joan.

“Of course,” Joan said, a little nervously. She set the hairbrush down on the counter. “Good night, Your Graces. Please do ring for me if you need something else, Your Grace. Duchess, I mean.”

Joan slipped silently out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Frances took up the hairbrush, pulled a hank of golden hair over her shoulder, and began to brush vigorously. For a moment, the swish-swish of the brush through her hair was the only sound.

On velvet feet, Lucien crossed the room to stand behind her. If she hadn’t watched his progress in the mirror, she would not have heard him approach.

It was clear that he had been interrupted in the middle of dressing for bed.

He had stripped down to his stockinged feet, breeches, and a loose shirt, untucked.

The sleeves had been carelessly rolled up, crumpled about his elbows, and it was unlaced at the top, revealing a deep V of olive skin, dusted with dark hair.

She could see the curve of his muscled chest pushing up towards his collar, spreading out into broad shoulders.

The room was dimly lit, only a fire and a handful of candles lighting the space, throwing dancing orange shadows everywhere. The shadows played over Lucien’s face and figure, deepening the shadows around his face and making him seem even larger.

“I don’t like that door being there,” she said briskly, before he had a chance to speak. “I don’t want anybody in my room without permission.”

“I have no intention of coming in here uninvited.”

“I didn’t invite you now.”

“Well, you were speaking about me. That’s something of an invite, wouldn’t you say? By the way, my dear duchess, you’ve already broken the rules.”

She bit her lip. “No, I haven’t.”

“You have. I said that I did not want you to ask questions about my past, and that includes snooping and asking questions of the servants. Poor Joan doesn’t want to get in the middle of all this.”

Frances flushed. “Well, all right. I won’t talk to her about it again. Not for your sake, but for hers. I don’t wish to make Joan uncomfortable. She’s a dear.”

“She is a dear,” Lucien agreed. He leaned on the back of her chair, hands curling around the topmost rung. She could feel the brush of his knuckles if she leaned back, how the chair shifted under his weight. Shifting her position and clearing her throat, Frances brushed harder.

“As to the door,” Lucien continued, “it can be locked from both sides. You’ll see a bolt just by the handle. You can pull that across, and I wouldn’t be able to get in, even if I tried. Do you feel better now?”

“I suppose,” she muttered, tugging at a stubborn knot.

Lucien tutted. “Don’t drag at your hair like that. You’ll tear it out. Here, let me.”

Before Frances could respond or react in any way, he had taken the brush deftly from her hand and begun brushing her hair.

He was exceptionally gentle, starting from the ends and working gently upwards, easing out every knot and tangle, brushing and brushing until her hair flowed through his hands like silk. It was a thrilling touch, sending throbs of pleasure through Frances’s scalp and to the rest of her body.

I shouldn’t be allowing this. It… It feels good, to be sure, but I only met this man today. This is madness.

Cecilia would never be so foolish, that’s for sure.

“I used to brush my sister’s hair at night, sometimes,” Lucien murmured, almost to himself. “Hers was dark, and a great deal more tangled than yours. Is ,” he corrected himself, frowning. “Hers is dark.”

Frances said nothing. Did this count as talking about his past? Well, she supposed anything was acceptable when it was Lucien talking about his own past. She desperately wanted to know more about his sister, his brother, and the odd fates they’d met. What tragedy had Joan spoken about?

She didn’t bother to ask the question, knowing fine well she’d get no answer.

With a sigh, Lucien let her hair fall through his fingers. He set the brush on the side and stepped back.

Frances felt as though she’d woken from a deep, blissful dream. Her scalp prickled pleasantly, and her skin felt warm. Heated, as if from the inside out. Clearing her throat, she fidgeted with her hair, trying to look unconcerned.

“Right. Well. Thank you very much, you have done an excellent job of brushing my hair. You can go now, I suppose.”

He chuckled, holding her gaze through the mirror.

“Oh? Can I? Do you know, Frances, in London they consider you a wallflower . Can you believe it?”

She flushed, rose to her feet and turned to face him. “Well, I daresay I act differently at parties and such. Mama and Uncle C… that is, other friends say that I am quite unreserved around the right people.”

Still grinning, Lucien tilted his head to one side. “And am I the right people?”

She folded her arms tightly. “How on earth should I know? I don’t know you, do I?”

His eyebrows flickered. “No, and perhaps I intend to keep it that way.”

There was a moment of silence between them, then Frances sighed, taking a step forward.

“Listen, Lucien. I am sorry for snooping. I will keep my promise, and I won’t do it again. But really, you can’t blame me for wanting to know what sort of man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

“No,” Lucien murmured, his eyes dark and intent in the firelight. “It’s most understandable.”

Abruptly, he took several steps forward, coming almost face to face with Frances.

Well, face to chest, as her eyeline was roughly at his collar, and she was obliged to tilt her head back to look at him.

Which she did , because Mama always said that looking a man in the eyes was the mark of a strong, fearless woman.

Even if Frances did not feel much like a strong, fearless woman.

“I saved you from a boring man, I can promise you that,” Lucien murmured softly.

He never seemed to blink, his eyes darting across her face as if he were memorizing every detail.

Something tickled at her chin, and the breath caught in Frances’s throat as she realized that Lucien’s finger was curled around her chin, tilting her face towards him.

“I know that you saved me from a boring man,” Frances whispered, a little surprised to hear the words crawling out of her throat. “But that doesn’t tell me a great deal about you .”

What is it about this man that makes me so bold? I certainly wasn’t like that with Nicholas.

Lucien’s smile widened. “I can tell you that I am a man of my word, my dear duchess. And as such, you ought not to tempt me.”

Before she could blink, he dived forward, placing a warm, firm kiss on the back of her hand. Then his touch was gone, and he was striding back across the room, whistling as he went. He paused at the doorway to throw her a wry grin and then disappeared.

The door closed, and she heard the grating of the bolt sliding home.

For some reason, the sound of him locking the door from his side offended Frances quite greatly.

“Wretched man,” she muttered, storming across the room to pull the bolt on her side herself. “I quite hate him. Well, perhaps hate is a strong word, but I do not like him, regardless of how handsome he might be.”

Still muttering, she half-tore the dress off herself and pulled on the nightgown set out for her.

She crawled into bed feeling itchy, bad-tempered, and with a strange ache that did not quite make sense.

The place in the middle of her knuckles where Lucien had kissed her seemed to feel different from the rest of her hand.

She decided to read a few chapters of Cecilia’s Trials before bed.