Page 19 of Road Trip With a Rogue
He stepped into the dining room and almost swallowed his tongue. She was already there, waiting for him, and perhaps he should have suggested that she stay in her bloody boy’s clothes after all.
“Is that one of the duchess’s gowns?” he asked stiffly.
She stroked her palm down the front of it. “Oh, no. This is mine. I have a room full of things here, for when I stay with Tess and Justin.”
He should have guessed that, from the way the damned thing fitted her with such delicious precision. The cobalt-blue silk dipped low at the front, hugging her breasts and hips so faithfully it was clear it wasn’t borrowed. A swathe of utterly impractical fabric flowers decorated one shoulder and tumbled with apparent innocence down the neckline, irresistibly drawing the eye to the creamy swell of her left breast. It was a diabolically seductive dress.
“It’s by Madame Lefèvre of Bond Street,” she added absently.
Of course it was. He’d paid for a few dresses from the stylish modiste himself, for various paramours. None of them had ever looked as good in the creations as Daisy did.
Bloody woman. She didn’t evenaspireto looking good. She’d probably spent less than five minutes worryingabout her hair, and he’d be amazed if she’d done more than wash the mud from her hands, but that refreshing carelessness only made her even more attractive. The fact that she clearly didn’t give a fig for enticing him was both highly amusing and, ironically for her, entirely ineffective. He wanted to eatherfor dinner.
Bloody Hell.
The servants had seated them together at one end of the vast mahogany dining table. A hovering footman pulled out the chair for her and she sank into it with a smile, while Lucien lowered himself opposite her.
Her gaze flicked to his uncovered hands as he casually rested his left on the table and used his right to take a sip of wine, but instead of glancing away, as most people did, she tilted her head and regarded him openly.
He kept his face carefully expressionless.
“Is it still healing?” she asked.
“Not really. It’s been over a year. This is probably as good as it’s going to get, in terms of appearance.” He let her look her fill at the raised lattice of pale scars that crisscrossed the back of his left hand and disappeared beneath the snowy cuff of his shirt. “It used to be redder, but while the color has faded, the texture will always be like this.”
He’d always been glad of the small mercy that it had been his left, nondominant hand that had been injured. And that fact that he hadn’t lost any of his fingers.
She took a sip of her own wine. “I’m sorry you were hurt. Joining the army was a brave thing to do. Especially since it wasn’t expected of you.”
He frowned, thinking she was implying that he was considered a coward, but she quickly clarified.
“As the heir to a dukedom, I mean. First-born sons were expected to stay here and keep the country running.”
His lips twisted. “That was certainly my father’s opinion. But I couldn’t stay twiddling my thumbs while other men defended my home. I was lucky to survive with such a minor injury. Thousands of men never got the chance to return.”
A shadow flitted across her face. “Yes. I know. I lost a good friend at Waterloo.”
Lucien experienced an unexpected flash of jealousy. Who was she talking about? Had this mystery man been just a friend, or something more?
God, he’d tried not to listen whenever her brothers discussed her various suitors, but he was sure they’d never mentioned anyone who’d been killed in action. Had she had a secret lover?
Damn it, her love life was none of his affair. It wasn’t as if he’d been a saint, although in truth the rumors of his conquests had been greatly exaggerated. Since he’d been back in England, he’d been too busy recuperating for the first six months to give much thought to seduction, and after that he’d amused himself with professionals who understood that physical pleasure didn’t need to be accompanied by any emotional attachment.
The arrival of the first course interrupted his brooding, and he let his eyes wander over her as she started to eat.
“That dress is an excellent disguise.”
She glanced up, her brows arched in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“It makes you look sweet and docile. Not at all the kind of reckless hellion who would interrupt a robbery.”
Her lips quirked in delight at the backhanded compliment, and his gut tightened in response.
“Are you still armed?” he drawled.
Her eyes flashed. “A knife in my pocket. It was hiddenin my boot. Your man failed to find it when he searched me.”
He bit back a smile at her cockiness. “I’ll be sure to give him a dressing-down. I doubt he’s ever encountered a young lady withthreeknives on her person.”