Chapter Two

H art slapped the newspaper down on the polished table. He took a sip of his tea and contemplated the words on the page. Lucy was getting married. Good for her. But Fitzwilliam? What a spineless jackanape. The man had no discernible skills except spending his father’s money at the tables. What did she see in him? And why hadn’t he, Hart, been contacted about the contract? Everyone knew Lucy was under the protection of the Duke of Hartwick. He shook his head. Didn’t matter. He would make sure Fitzwilliam couldn’t get his hands on Lucy’s inheritance. Then his duty to see her safely married would be done.

The morning sun glinted off his glass of juice. Hart reached out and twisted it back and forth, watching the refracted light make a pattern on the table. Someone as vibrant as Lucy should never shackle herself to a man as pedestrian as Fitzwilliam. Of course, it was none of Hart’s business whom she chose. He had much more important matters to take care of while he was in town. He had stewed long enough over the letter that he had found in his father’s desk at Belstoke. Finding and exacting revenge against whoever had murdered his family was his purpose now.

Two hard raps of the door knocker echoed down the hallway. Who could be calling on him? No one knew he was in town. He closed his eyes and sighed. Trudy. He was a fool to think Aunt Trudy hadn’t heard of his arrival from the servants. But the imperious voice that rang out in the next moment was not that of his great aunt.

“Mr. Townson, I don’t care if he is not receiving. He will receive me. Now kindly step out of my way.”

The door to the breakfast room swung open, and there Lucy stood like the first blush of spring, fresh and pretty in a gown of pale green. Her cheeks were pink from the crisp morning air, and a few of her tousled mahogany locks had escaped their pins. She likely walked over from the Portman Square house; Lucy always eschewed riding in a carriage if the destination was walkable. She froze in the doorway, looking adorably uncertain for a moment before she schooled her features into a polite mask.

Hart stood. “Hello, Lucy.”

“Hello, Hart.”

Torn between the pleasure of seeing her and regret at his behavior the last time they had been in the same room, Hart stood silent, his brain refusing to function properly. The silence between them stretched out uncomfortably. Finally, he swallowed the dueling emotions that clogged his throat, and his manners kicked in.

He gestured to the seat across from him. “Please come in and join me. Tea?”

Lucy hesitated, and he thought she might turn and flee his presence. Would he blame her? Hardly. Neither his visage nor his disposition had improved much over these last many months, but at least he could try to act the gentleman. He offered her a smile. Lucy let go of the door handle and entered the room. She slid gracefully into the chair and nodded.

Glad to be able to sit down, he drank in his fill of her beauty, which he had been denied for almost a whole year. Her gaze scanned over him as well. He ignored the urge to run a hand over his hair, which he knew was a long, wild mess these days. And how long had it been since he had shaved?

A footman poured Lucy tea. “Thank you, Timothy.” She gave the man a smile, but it faded as she turned her piercing blue eyes back to Hart. “You have been back in town for a week.” Her statement flatly laid out her disappointment.

“I did not think you or Trudy would want to see me.”

She pressed her lips together into a thin line as though she were keeping herself from replying.

Then she sighed. “Trudy would love to see you. It’s very bad form to not have called on her immediately, considering your long absence from our lives.”

The reprimand stung, partially because he knew she was right. He should have gone to see his aunt. And partially because she quite deliberately did not include herself as someone who wanted to see him. He regretted that he’d hurt her that day when she had told him of her tendre for him, but it had been for the best. She was getting married and moving on with her life as she should. Severing her schoolgirl attachment to him had been the right thing for her future.

“I apologize. I will go see her. I promise.”

Lucy nodded. She studied him over the rim of her teacup. “Why are you in town, Hart?”

He thought to dissemble, but as she narrowed her eyes, he decided against it. He cleared his throat. “I have found a new lead to what caused my father and brother’s deaths. I’m here to follow the thread.”

“Are these the same people that tried to kill you?”

He nodded. “I believe it is all connected.”

Lucy leaned forward, her hands clasped together tightly on the table. “Then you must give the information over to an investigator. Someone whose job it is to catch criminals.”

“No, this must be investigated delicately.”

“But, Hart, we are speaking of criminals. You must think of your own safety. You have the ability to hire someone to handle this. All the resources that are at your disposal—”

“This is personal,” he bit out.

“I see that nothing has changed. You still have no use for other’s opinions.” She shook her head. “Clearly, you mean to do some personal damage. Some sort of revenge.”

He took a sip of tea and tried to compose his expression. None of this had to do with her. “I am simply going to follow the lead and ascertain if it’s true.” He gestured to the newspaper in front of him. “I read that felicitations are in order.”

She sighed, and her lips thinned into a slash of frustration. “That is why I am here. That piece of gossip is a lie. I need your help.”

“What do you mean? A lie?”

“Fitzwilliam doesn’t know how to take no for an answer,” she muttered.

Hart leaned forward. “Lucy, tell me what happened.”

“Last week, he assaulted me at the Jackson’s ball. I was stupid and took some air in the garden. He came up behind me and grabbed me. He made it plain that he wanted to be caught in a compromising position with me so that I would have to accept his proposal.”

Bastard! Hart clamped his lips together. “He had already asked for your hand?”

She nodded. “And I had already turned him down. Well, I don’t like being coerced, so I used my defensive moves and hurt him so he would let go. Then I hurried straight back to Aunt Trudy.”

He couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising in surprise. “What defensive moves?”

“Father taught me several moves that can be accomplished in skirts. My mother, too. He wanted to make sure that we could defend ourselves from drunk sailors in port when he wasn’t at home to protect us.” Her lips turned up in a wicked smile. “Turns out they work on overzealous lords as well.”

Hart leaned back in his chair. “I approve. And I would very much like to see these moves of yours someday. But how would this incident lead to your engagement?”

She huffed. “Trudy warned me I had stepped too hard on his manly pride. He sent that tidbit to the paper without ever speaking with Trudy or me. Perhaps he thought I would be too embarrassed to set the record straight? The trouble is, I don’t think there is anything I can say to make him stop harassing me. This is why I am here. I need your ducal clout. Can you please make him go away?”

“Certainly. I’m appalled at his tactics. Do you want me to shoot him?”

“Yes!” Her laugh melted the tension between them. “I mean, no, not actually. Just scare him off.”

“He did not see me about the marriage contract, so there is no engagement as far as I’m concerned. I will take care of this immediately.” He gestured for the footman to approach. “Have Mr. Townson send a summons to Lord Fitzwilliam.”

Lucy sighed and her posture relaxed. “Thank you, Hart. I may have defensive moves, but as a lady, I have no offensive ones. Why is it that men think they can just make all the decisions? Just take without permission? That’s what he said. He was used to taking what he wanted.”

Hart curled his hand into a fist. How satisfying it would be to wrap that fist around the man’s throat. The thought of Fitzwilliam’s greedy hands touching Lucy made him see red.

“Hart, you look positively thunderous. Don’t kill him. Trudy would be very cross with you.”

“And you? Are you still very cross with me?”

Again, the silence between them stretched. “I-I’m hurt at the way you cut us out of your life. And not just us, Grisham told me the same. No letters, nothing.” Her shoulders drew up tight again, and he chided himself for reminding her she was angry with him.

He nodded, accepting her words. Incapable of fixing the damage he’d done to their friendship, if it had even been that. His self-subscribed role as her protector had not allowed even that level of intimacy. She needed his help, and that sent a surge of warmth through his battered chest. He would always watch out for her safety, for her happiness, but he could accomplish that from the shadows. She sat here lovely and so fierce and full of life. She didn’t need a moody bastard like him returning to her life.

Lucy let out a small huff. “Hart, what have you been doing this past year?”

Raging, drinking himself into short bouts of fitful sleep, fighting against ghosts, crawling his way out from a deep hole of melancholy. The only thing that motivated him to pull from his own dark thoughts and set the liquor aside was his newly formed obsession to gain justice for his family. Everything else in his life was ruined. This was his new purpose.

But he could never explain any of that to Lucy, so instead, he said, “Healing.”

Her head cocked to one side, then she shook it as she rose to her feet. “Fine, then I will leave you to it. Good day, Your Grace.”

He rose as well and watched her stride toward the door. She paused as the footman opened it for her, but she didn’t turn around. “Thank you for taking care of Fitzwilliam. I do appreciate it.” Then with a swish of her green skirts, she was gone.