Page 7 of The One With the Scoundrel of a Duke (Wicked Widows’ League #31)

T HAT WAS THE MOST unique toast Lucas had ever heard. And if he was being honest with himself, it had been the only one that had ever come close to nudging his heart. Not that he was willing to admit that to himself. Or anyone else for that matter.

Being orphaned at such a young age, his heart had been closed for many years.

He just hadn’t been a student of any kind of love before in his life.

Oh, he had been a student of pleasure, that was for certain, but love had no place in those spaces.

It was purely carnal delight. And it had been working for him and his lifestyle for some time now.

His body was alive and well, active and satisfied.

Or so he thought. It was the rest of him that was a little less alive and a little less well.

If that was even a thing.

So, yes, his heart lay dormant, and he didn’t hold out much hope for reviving it.

Yet a compulsion was gripping him. Something telling him that he needed to talk to this woman. Know her more. In what capacity, he wasn’t sure. Though his cock was sure, his mind wasn’t.

What would be his goal in getting close to her? Was now time to work on diminishing his rake reputation? If so, was she even the right woman to do it with? It wasn’t like she was an innocent. Of course, there was no outlandish scandal attached to her name…but still.

He didn’t know his end game. Only the short game. The first play. Limited to only the first move in fact. And that was to approach her and get an idea of what kind of liaisons she was open to.

The dance after the reception was the perfect place to secure time alone with her because she couldn’t politely refuse to dance with him.

Well, she could, philosophically speaking, but he didn’t think her the type to cause a scene.

Or rather, not a scene with such negativity.

Her toast had been a scene of sorts, but it was wrapped in benevolence.

Of course, it wasn’t his normal behavior to make an overly eager first move, so when the music started, he waited until a few dances had passed before approaching her.

Pushing his hair back out of his, he strode up to her offering a sherry. After she took the glass with a soft nod, he stood at her side as they watched the dancers.

“Do you always make a habit of bringing music everywhere you go?”

“Hmmm…I wouldn’t say everywhere .”

“What about that hum?”

“Hum? Which hum?”

“You just hmmmmed.” His lips couldn’t stop from curling in the corner. “You didn’t notice your hum?”

She bit her lip stifling a smile. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Then I think you must bring music everywhere you go.”

She shifted her glass from one hand to the other, and then back to the first before deciding to take a sip.

“How could you possibly say everywhere after only hearing that single toast?”

“The evidence speaks for itself.” As a footman walked by carrying a tray of mini desserts he grabbed one for each of them. With his palm out, extending the offer of a petit four for her to take, he continued. “The hum—”

“Alleged hum.”

He smirked. “The alleged hum. The toast. The ceremony.”

“Three times is still not everywhere.”

“But that isn’t all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

He studied her face as she slightly scrunched her lips and drew her brows together in thought. “I must say, I can’t think of a fourth time.”

“It was a few weeks ago.”

“A few weeks ago?” That really seemed to have stumped her.

“Yes. We were on the street together—”

She winced as she interrupted him. “I think you have me mistaken for a different woman.”

“I most certainly do not. I would remember if it was you.” Bringing the petit four to his lips, he took a bite as he let his words sink in.

But rather than soften her look, her face tightened, and if he didn’t know better (which he wasn’t certain if he did or didn’t) he would say that she had just built up a wall. And if not a wall, most assuredly a curtain had been drawn.

“Oh?” As she lifted the dessert to her mouth, he watched her lips work their way into a circle wide enough for her to take a bit. His cock twitched in appreciation. “Why would you remember me?”

Well, now…there were at least two ways about this. Tell her something poetic, alluding to her beauty. Wax on about the great magnetic pull that she had on him. Or say something succinct. Nothing overly dramatic or transparent. Just something objectively factual. Yes. That seemed the best option.

“You must know you’re beautiful.” He shifted his stance so that more of his body was facing hers now, and he could see the fluster in her face.

“What is a woman supposed to say to that?”

“Thank you?”

“That feels a bit arrogant.”

“Not at all. It’s a fact. You’re beautiful. I’m handsome. Everyone here knows it.”

She scoffed at that, or perhaps it was a laugh, he wasn’t entirely sure because it was muffled by her hand.

He chose to believe it was a laugh, so he winked at her. “There’s no point in denying certain truths in life. It’s like your singing toast. Some people could think you were doing that out of conceit—”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know. And the few that might think otherwise are more than likely jealous. All the same, they exist. But the truth is, you have a gift. And you were simply sharing that gift with the world. Why should anyone fault you for that?”

“What should they do?”

“Say thank you.” He finished off the petit four and took a sip of his drink. “They should say thank you by applauding, the same way you should say thank you when I give you a compliment.”

“I thought you were just stating a fact?”

“It can be both.” Purposely, he brushed her shoulder with his.

“I suppose,” she murmured while keeping her eyes trained on the dancers even though he knew she could feel him looking at her. “Then…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now,” —taking their empty glasses and placing them on a passing tray, he extended his hand palm up again, this time empty— “May I have this next dance?”

Although she gave him a sideways glance, she put her hand in his. “Yes.”

When she slipped her hand in his, Lucas felt something shift beneath his feet.

As though the weight of holding her hand—as lightly as he did—was putting undue pressure on one side of him.

Had he lost his balance? But if it was just his balance, what the devil was that tugging sensation in his chest?