Chapter Thirty

L ucy increased the pressure of her kneading, and Hart groaned, but in a good way that meant she had loosened the muscle she massaged. The soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. She had finally gotten around to working the salve into his right shoulder and arm muscles.

Hart leaned his head back against her stomach and looked up at her. “I plan to go to the bank this morning and check the safe box we have there. Perhaps the journal is in it.”

“What do you keep at the safe at the bank as opposed to the safe here at the house?”

“Mostly money and family jewelry. But you never know. It certainly would be a secure place to hide the journal.” He reached up and took her hand from his shoulder. His thumb ran over her ring finger. “This unadorned finger is a travesty. I will rectify that today as well.”

“You don’t have to get me a ring,” she replied half-heartedly because, really, the idea of wearing Hart’s ring made her heart sing.

“Nonsense. As my duchess, the jewels are yours now. Do you want to come with me and pick something out yourself?”

She reached down to wrap her arms around his neck. “No, you choose. This will be your first test as a husband.” Grinning, she gave him a peck on the cheek. Then she returned to massaging his shoulder. “Give me a few more minutes with this, and then we can eat breakfast.”

“Naked?”

Lucy smacked the back of his head lightly. “You are such a hedonist.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

After she finished his massage, they sat in their robes at the small round table in her sitting room and had breakfast. The morning’s newspapers lay on the tray. Lucy picked up the Piccadilly Press while Hart took the Times . After perusing the headlines, she turned to page three for the scandal sheet. She was still peeved about that unflattering caricature. The first section of tidbits was largely a recap of events she had not attended last week. Then she saw their names.

The newly married Duke and Duchess of Hartwick briefly attended the Hollins’s twenty-fifth anniversary party on Thursday. They deigned to speak with a few guests before disappearing for most of the party. I dare to say that the duchess is setting a bad example for all the young ladies out this season; mire yourself in scandal, and perhaps you too may be scooped up into marriage by a duke. Although, we all know his desperation to have an heir most likely inspired his proposal. For who would marry such a beast?

Lucy knew her mouth hung open in astonishment, but she could not stop sputtering. The nerve of the man! Any woman would be lucky to marry Hart. He was wonderful, kind, a bit moody, but so caring for those he considered in his domain. She slapped the paper down on the table. “They can go to hell,” she muttered.

“What is it this time?” Hart’s amused voice cut through her indignation.

Lucy slid the paper across the table. She watched Hart’s expression darken as he read the piece. He looked up from the paper, his grey eyes flinty with anger. “This time, we are going down to this scandal rag. If he ever mentions your name again, I am going to tear the man to pieces.”

Hart looked positively murderous. Lord, she loved this man. She clapped her hands together in glee. She had a few things to say to the newspaper editor herself.

*

Lucy felt far less confident standing in front of the door to the newspaper. The townhouse itself was narrow, squashed between two others as part of a long row down the street. The place looked entirely unassuming, but above the door, a shingle proclaimed it was indeed the Piccadilly Press. Lucy scanned the residential street. Perhaps this was a poor idea. What if they angered the editor, and he printed more lies about them?

A feeling of outrage bubbled up in her chest at what had been said in today’s edition. She squared her shoulders. This man had maligned Hart at every turn. It was unfair and cruel to use Hart’s scars to entertain their readers. It stepped past the bounds of common decency. She stepped forward and knocked.

A few moments later, the door opened, and a small boy peeked out. “Hullo, who may I ask is calling?”

Lucy stared down at the child in shock. The boy was a miniature version of Hart. The grey eyes fringed with dark lashes, the black hair, high cheekbones, and even though softer in the boy’s features, the square chin that all the Hartwick males had. Lucy glanced over at Hart, who also stared at the boy.

“Robert, I told you never to answer the door without a grownup.” A female voice came from inside. The door opened fully, and a woman stepped forward with a smile. She looked up at Hart and gasped. Her smile disappeared, and she reached for the boy and shoved him behind her.

Lucy grasped Hart’s arm, forcing him to look at her. She raised her eyebrows in question.

Hart glanced at the woman and then back at her. “I have never seen this woman before in my life. I swear.”