Page 17 of Scoundrel Take Me Away (Dukes in Disguise #3)

She’d been annoyed at his arrogance, his surety that Lucy would be as susceptible to his so-called charms as every other woman in London—but she hadn’t hesitated to accept his invitation to accompany him to Sharpe’s because she hadn’t thought herself in any real danger.

Lucy had to admit, if only to herself, that she had been as arrogant as he when she assumed she could never be tempted by the Duke of Thornecliff.

That had been pure folly, for Thornecliff had learned the art of temptation at the Devil’s knee. And he was clever, so much cleverer than Lucy had wanted to believe, because he wasn’t plying her with empty kisses and illicit touches, flirtatious nonsense and pretty compliments.

He seemed intent on plying her with glimpses of his true self instead.

And to her everlasting dismay, Lucy was finding that much more difficult to withstand.

“If I had any sense,” she said, staring at herself in the mirror as Molly stood behind her, arranging her hair, “I would turn him away tonight and refuse to ever speak to him again.”

“But you’re not going to.” Molly’s voice was free of judgment, but Lucy felt defensive all the same.

“I promised The Gentle Rogue I would give Thornecliff the benefit of the doubt. And the place he’s taking me tonight is somewhere I could potentially find a clue as to the Rogue’s identity! I’d never be admitted there without Thornecliff. Really, I don’t have a choice. I have to go.”

“Sounds to me as if you want to go and are looking for a reason,” Molly observed, finishing Lucy’s coiffure by tucking a pearl and sapphire comb into the coils of glossy dark brown hair piled atop her head.

“ Molly ! I never!” Lucy cried, then bit her lip. “All right, yes, protesting too much. I heard it as I said it. But?—”

“But me no buts, my lady,” Molly said firmly, going to the armoire to pull out Lucy’s evening wrap, a large ivory cashmere shawl with a broad border embroidered in blue and green silk.

“I don’t care what you have to tell yourself about why you’re going to that gaming hell tonight, so long as you go.

You were invited by a duke! Catch yourself a nice duke and leave the highwaymen alone, I say. ”

“Molly, for a woman who is in love herself, you are terribly cold-blooded about the affairs of my heart.”

“One of us has to be. And my Charlie is a man with prospects, if Mr. Goring would only retire! Better than some masked scoundrel.” Stepping back, the maid surveyed Lucy critically from the comb in her hair to the tips of her cream-colored slippers peeking out from beneath the hem of her peacock satin skirts.

“There, you look a picture! If I do say so myself.”

A discreet knock at the door had Lucy’s heart racing.

“He’s here!” Lucy leapt for the door handle and darted out into the hallway, excitement shivering along her nerves. She hurried down the stairs, Molly following at a more sedate pace, and waited impatiently for Mr. Goring to stand aside and reveal Thornecliff.

He stood framed in the open doorway of Ashbourn House as though he was posing for a ducal portrait.

And he was every inch the duke tonight, Lucy saw, all those intriguing hints of another man, a gentler man who cared for his friends and small children and had some sort of interestingly dark trouble with his family in his past—all of that was locked down tight behind the gilded facade of the Duke of Thornecliff.

The man was utter physical perfection, Lucy thought with some dismay, turned out in the starkly elegant black coat that was tailored to draw the eye inescapably to the powerful breadth of his shoulders and his trim waist.

He was all lean, sharp lines, his black eyes glittering as he stared back at her, and Lucy was suddenly reminded of a dagger she’d seen on display in a tiny museum in Florence.

A stiletto, they’d called it, wickedly pointed and long enough to pierce straight through a person’s chest to skewer the heart.

Thornecliff reminded her of that dagger tonight. There was something dangerous about him, a barely leashed energy that recalled Fitz’s words of caution at the picnic.

He’s not a tame animal.

No, he certainly was not, Lucy thought. And though she knew the idea should have given her pause, she was conscious only of a giddy, fizzing excitement.

“My lady,” he said, stepping forward smartly to bow over her hand. She hadn’t put her gloves on yet, and when he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles she felt it down to her toes. “You are looking especially exquisite this evening.”

There were ink stains on her fingers, she noticed with a spurt of embarrassment as she pulled her hand hastily back and accepted her gloves from Molly.

“What, this old thing?” she asked wryly, gesturing to her resplendent gown of peacock blue satin, cut daringly low across her breasts.

A shimmering overdress of netting pinpricked with glittering gems floated and swirled as she walked, the tiny sapphires winking blue fire in the candlelight.

It was the latest fashion made by the most in-demand modiste in Paris.

“I found it in the back of my wardrobe and just threw it on. As I’m sure you did with your attire, Your Grace.

“So I’m to be Your Grace tonight. I’m not sure whether to be pleased or insulted.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him and he gave her a teasing smile.

“Knowing you,” he said silkily, “insulted.”

Lucy rolled her eyes to hide how flustered she felt. “Shall we go?”

He offered his arm and she took it, heart pounding, but before they could leave, Nathaniel loomed out of his study to pin them both with a stare from his odd-colored eyes. “Where are you two off to?”

“Out,” Lucy said shortly, tugging at Thorne’s arm.

“As you suggested,” Thorne reminded Ashbourn lazily. “I’m showing Lucy about Town, that she might recall the wonders of London and see fit to grace us with her presence in our fair city for longer than the months of your wife’s confinement. Or did I mistake your meaning?”

Lucy blinked. That wasn’t quite how she remembered the conversation going.

“Lucy is free to come and go as she pleases,” Nathaniel said gruffly, which was sweet of him, Lucy thought. There was a time when he had sought to dictate her every movement, but they had grown beyond that.

For some reason, Thorne was still staring at Nathaniel as though he was waiting for him to say something more, so Lucy took charge.

“Thank you, brother dear! As I am free to come and go as I please, it would please me very much to go now. Ta ta! Have a lovely evening!”

She towed Thornecliff out the door and down the steps to the street where the ducal carriage hulked in stately splendor on the cobblestones. The same driver from their visit to Gunter’s stood impassively resplendent in his ivory and gold livery at the open carriage door.

Selwyn’s face did not betray recognition of Lucy by so much as a flicker when she greeted him warmly and thanked him for handing her up into the carriage.

“I’ll get a smile out of him yet,” Lucy muttered to herself as she settled on the seat, but of course Thornecliff heard her.

“Selwyn doesn’t smile. I believe his face might crack if he tried it. I, however, would be happy to smile at you if you wish it.”

“No, thank you,” she said, taking in his cool, calculating expression. “You smile as though you learned how to do it by practicing in the mirror.”

Thorne shrugged, his face going blank and unreadable as he looked away from her to stare out the window. “I shall refrain, then, if it displeases you.”

The carriage lurched into motion, carrying them in stiff silence away from Mayfair.

“What did you mean,” Lucy said, breaking the tension between them, “back at Ashbourn House, about my brother wanting me to be convinced to stay longer in England.”

Face still averted, Thornecliff said, “It’s patently obvious that your brother wants you home for good.”

“He hasn’t said anything like that to me.”

“He damn well should,” Thornecliff said, the force of his words making Lucy jump.

When he finally looked at her, his eyes were blazing with some strong emotion she couldn’t put a name to.

“Whether he says it or not, he missed you. Your family missed you when you were gone.” Some of the light died out of his gaze, and he looked away once more as he muttered, “Your family wasn’t whole without you here. You deserve to hear it said aloud.”

Arrested, Lucy sank back against the velvet squabs and stared at the strong, masculine beauty of his profile. It almost sounded as if he knew something about what it was like to return home after an absence, only to find that no one seemed to have noticed it.

Could this have something to do with the mysterious falling out with an uncle that Fitz had mentioned?

But before she could delve more deeply into it, the carriage pulled into the heart of Covent Garden, where instead of townhouses and mansions, the streets were lined with theaters, coffeehouses, gentlemen’s clubs, and the most dangerous den of iniquity in London: Sharpe’s.

“Before we go inside,” Thorne said as the carriage rolled to a stop before an imposingly grand building, “there is one rule I should like you to be aware of.”

Lucy didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t do well with rules.”

“Nor do I,” he agreed, “but here, they come in handy. No respectable woman would be seen at Sharpe’s. So, when the other patrons see you, they will naturally assume…”

“That I am not respectable,” Lucy finished for him. She shrugged, unconcerned. “That’s all right, I’m a woman of independent means. I needn’t care about my reputation.”

He inclined his head. “That is your prerogative, but what you must have a care for tonight is your safety. Gentlemen who see you at Sharpe’s will assume you are a woman whose time, shall we say, may be purchased.”

“In this dress, at least they’re likely to assume I’m expensive,” she said with a grin.

“This isn’t a game. No one will dare approach you while you are on my arm. But I must insist that you remain at my side at all times. I could not guarantee your safety if you were to wander off.”

Lucy had to shove down an atavistic curl of pleasure at Thornecliff’s promise of protection. If she remained at his side for the entire evening, that would make it difficult to pursue her investigation into The Gentle Rogue’s identity.

Rather than outright lying, she temporized with, “I shall do my utmost to have every care for my own personal safety. Having managed to travel unscathed all across the Continent, I think I can be trusted to handle one English gambling den.”

He only stared at her, unmoving, for long moments while Lucy fought not to fidget.

Unable to bear it, she finally cocked a brow at him and said, “Having second thoughts? You can wait in the carriage, if you’d prefer, but I’m going in.”

She moved from her seat and reached for the door handle, and his hand shot out to manacle her wrist.

“Not without me, you’re not.”