Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

T heir conversation was…baffling for lack of a better word. No one listening to them would believe they were related, let alone mother and son. They were cordial, to say the least. And the atmosphere was tense. Lucy could feel it even from her hiding place.

"Do you know what they are saying? A rake!"

What? Were the tongues blind? Lucy had not seen the entirety of him, but the little she had was enough. He was a man all right, more male than any other gentleman she had come across in all her twenty years. He was a man in every aspect.

Lucy wondered how much longer she had to stay there. Her mother must have gotten worried. She was hot, tired, and thirsty. And she was beginning to get an itch from the curtain wrapped around her. She blamed no one but herself for her predicament. If only she had just ignored the accusing eyes and invisible wagging fingers, she would not be here. Could they be done already?

At that moment, Lucy heard the sound of footsteps. She peered through the curtains and saw that the lady was leaving. She nearly leapt for joy before she remembered the situation she was in. She held her breath, plastering herself to the wall as the lady walked past.

She froze in place as the lady's eyes landed on the curtain. She could swear the lady had seen her. She had been found out. She shut her eyes firmly, willing this nightmare of a ball to be done and over with. Then the footsteps faded as the lady left the room.

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. It was now left for the gentleman to leave. What in the heavens was he still doing? Didn't he want to check what the ruckus was about? Lucy herself itched to find out what it was. She was fast running out of patience and was in dire need of fresh air when she saw the gentleman take off his gloves.

She swallowed the gasp building in her throat at the sight. Even in the dimly lit room and the barrier of the curtain, it was hard to miss. How could he cover such powerfully built palms? She watched him trace the lines of his fingers as if just discovering them for the first time. How odd. He seemed to be in a trance, in a world of his own. His fingers were…trembling?

Lucy felt like she was intruding on a very personal moment. At the same time, she wished she was the one tracing lines on the gentleman's fingers. Oh Lucy, what is the matter with you? She was in a lot of trouble already, and here she was thinking of palms and fingers. Could the day get any crazier?

It was because she was tired. And thirsty. Yes. That was the explanation. It had to be the reason why. And not because the gentleman elicited strange feelings in her.

Her legs were beginning to lose their feeling. She made to shift her weight to her right leg, but it was a gross miscalculation. She stepped on her dress, pulling her weight on it and causing it to tear. Struggling to find her footing, she staggered and fell to the floor, landing flat on her face. She gasped as waves of pain washed over her and remained on the floor as she tried to catch her breath.

Until she remembered where she was.

* * *

Blazes! Who the hell was she? It was without a doubt a she, judging by the small, shapely figure. The figure was hard to miss despite being buried under all that fabric. What in the heavens was he doing getting sidetracked?

Studying her from a close distance, Duncan took in the sight before him. She had long hair that seemed to be spun out of golden silk. Was it him or was it glittering in the dim light of the room? He felt the strong urge to thread his fingers through the finely spun strands of golden hair that fanned about her head.

He tried to ignore the warm buzz in his blood as he surveyed the length of her. She filled out the ugly dress nicely. And it was an ugly dress. Who in their right senses would wear such a thing? To a soiree, nevertheless?

Truly, it was the ugliest thing he had set sights on. It had blotches of color, as if some painter not in their right senses had thrown paint on it haphazardly. He suddenly had the urge to take off the offensive dress that covered her delectable skin. He felt a kick in his groin at the thought.

The lady muttered a string of curses that amused him until she looked up at him, and his breath froze. Her eyes were of the warmest brown, eyes that dripped raw, pure honey, eyes that reminded him of sturdy oak. He felt himself drowning in them until she gasped, a faint sound that brought him crashing back to reality. And then, it hit him.

His hands! His gloves! His mother! Blazes! How much had she heard? And how long had she been standing there, listening to their conversation?! Goodness! What if she knew everything about him? He couldn't have noticed her behind the curtain. And if she'd been listening, then she must have heard it all.

The lady's eyes were rounded in surprise as if shocked to see him there. As if . He eyed her suspiciously, unsure of what to do next. If she was anything like most of the ladies in attendance, he was done for. The rumors would spread. His image would be tarnished. He would never recover from such disgrace.

No. He could not let that happen. The lady had questions to answer.

He stalked towards her, almost menacingly, and didn't bother about the slicker of fear that lit her eyes. He didn't care one bit. His mission was to find out what and how much she knew and stop her from wagging her tongue. Gathering her skirts, the lady scrambled to her feet, struggling to find her balance through the overflowing ugly fabric.

"You there," Duncan nearly snarled as he stood to his full height, merely inches away from her. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" he fired.

"I—"

"How long have you been here?" he thundered, not giving her a chance to reply. "Speak!"

"I didn't…I was only…"

Duncan barely listened as his eyes trained on her bare shoulders. That must have been the rip he heard. How did one get skin so pale? He could swear she glittered under the soft glow of the night. He gulped painfully at the delectable flesh that seemed to call out to him to have, even if just a taste.

He got a whiff of her, an enticing jasmine that filtered his senses and nearly had him reeling. That and…peaches. Yes. It had to be. It was a fruity scent that suddenly had him wishing he was back in his estate with a bowl of peaches. Her scent drew him in, like a stubborn fly to a headless corpse, nearly clouding his senses. Nearly. Until he saw her puzzled face, and all stray thoughts flew from his head.

"Lady, I asked you a question," Duncan growled, irritated with himself for getting distracted.

"I did not mean to intrude, I promise. I only wanted time alone?—"

"You only wanted time alone, or you came here to spy?" He caught a flash of skin and couldn't help but look. His eyes darkened at the sliver of creamy skin that peeked through the ripped slit of her skirts.

Damnation. Hell and damnation.

Heat flashed through his veins, nearly clouding his senses. He felt a slight stir in his groin, one he tried his hardest to ignore. It made no sense. Why, he had seen women even more beautiful and certainly not in a dress so off-putting. So, what was it about her that seemed to make his highly intelligent brain shut down?

He tried to deny it. But, deep down in the recesses of his mind, Duncan knew. That delectable piece of flesh had been seared into his brain forever, much to his irritation. And even worse, he craved the feel of it. On his arm. And wrapped around him.

This was madness. Pure madness.

He had no doubt she planned this, planned this entire sham to look like an innocent wanderer. What type of woman wandered through an estate unchaperoned? And she had been hiding in the room all along! Rage took over, and Duncan let it consume him. Better that than where his mind was determined to go. That was a dangerous road to tread.

"I asked, who are you?" Duncan stepped closer to her when a thought hit him. Could it be…no. It was impossible. His mother would never stoop so low as to orchestrate this poor joke, let alone with a lady of apparent lower social class. No. Try as hard as he could, he couldn't shake the thought out of his head. He hoped dearly that his mother had no hand in it.

She could not do such a thing. Or could she?

* * *

"How dare you accuse me of such?! What manner of gentleman mishandles a lady like this? You have treated me no less than a common criminal!"

Oh, she was sorely mistaken—this was no gentleman. Barking questions at her? And what sort of gentlemen would hold a lady in such a vise-like grip? She was no thief. And even if she was, he had no right to hold her like that. She was a lady for heaven's sake!

Talking about spying! Who did he think he was? And who did he think she was? A lady with so much time on her hands to follow people around aimlessly? Absolutely not! She had had it with everyone treating her like nothing all night. And she would give him a piece of her mind!

But why was he staring at her like that? With such… heat ? Why, he was scowling at her only a few minutes ago. And now, he looked at her with such intensity, that it unnerved her. She tried to hold on to her anger. She hated him already, wanted to do so badly, but it was hard to when the beast of a man had a face that turned out to be not so beastly .

Still, he was an arrogant beast of a man. An arrogant beast with intense blue eyes that seemed to suck her into its depths. A beast with raven black hair that swirled atop his head and gleamed under the moonlight. He was a beast all right, a beast with no manners. But a fine-looking beast, nonetheless. Oh, how she loathed to admit it, but the way he looked at her, the way his eyes burned into her…

"You call yourself a lady, yet here you hide in the shadows, pilfering information to spread among your fellow gossipmongers," he all but sneered.

Lucy sniffed, miffed at being called the very thing she had been escaping all evening. "I am a lady if I do say so myself. And what can you say for yourself as a gentleman who clearly sees a lady in distress and does nothing to help her?"

"But you don't deny being a gossipmonger then?"

How Lucy itched to put the sour fellow in his place, but she wouldn't pour out her frustrations on him. He was clearly dealing with something of his own although that didn't give him the right to take it out on her. She didn't know who he was, but it was obvious from his attire that he was of high class and station. And she hated to be rude. So, she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"I am no gossipmonger. And quite frankly, it offends my senses to be called one."

"Then what were you doing hiding behind the curtain, listening to a conversation that is not of concern to you?" The gentleman was not giving up.

"It is another matter how I came to be there, but I assure you, I neither bear nor listen to gossip of any kind."

"And why should I believe you?" Lucy did not know how that was possible, but his eyes thundered, almost like an angry storm was gathering.

"Because I say so!" an exasperated Lucy half-screamed. She had had enough of the day. All she wanted was to go home and bury herself in the familiarity of her sheets.

"You say you bear no gossip, and yet, you have nothing to defend yourself. How rich is that? There is nothing you can say to deny it. I know what you are," he said too coolly for Lucy's liking. She hated to be associated with those who had scorned her, but she had no idea how to convince him. She certainly would not tell him how and why she came to be there.

"Sir, if you would only listen—" Lucy tried to explain but was cut short once again.

"I will do no such thing as to listen to the likes of you."

"Oh, you…" Lucy trailed off, her patience finally giving way to frustration and then to anger. How hard was it to simply listen? It was no wonder he could speak to his mother in such a manner. Still, the fellow spurred on, undeterred.

"You stand there proclaiming your innocence, but you have yet to give reason or proof as to your presence in this room. And whilst I am willing to let go if given reason, do note that I do not forgive liars nor a gossipmonger."

"Well, if you would only come off your high horse, you would find that I am neither," Lucy declared loudly. "You claim to be a gentleman, but all this while, you have acted nothing like one. You have little care that I'm a lady and have gone all the way to accuse me falsely."

"You still refer to yourself as a lady when you clearly are not."

"Enough of this!" Lucy heard herself yell. She prided herself in her ability to keep cool in all situations. One needed a thick skin to navigate the treacherous waters of society, but whoever this was, he had managed to get under her skin.

"I will not allow myself to be questioned by a man and one such as yourself. I am no spy." The fellow had suddenly gone quiet. "And what do you think you're doing?" Lucy asked in alarm as the man shrugged off his coat.

"In case you did not notice, your dress is ripped. A respectable lady would know to cover herself up or wear something of better quality," he bit out. Lucy couldn't deny it—it stung.

"And of what concern is your coat with my dress?" Lucy whispered, her voice caught in her throat.

"Are you that dim-witted that you cannot see that I am trying to keep you modest?" He ground out in an almost strangled voice. His face was pinched as if he was in pain. Why did he pretend to care about her modesty when he had made it clear he thought the worst of her? What sort of oddity was he, blowing hot and cold? It nearly made her dizzy—dizzy with anger.

"Keep your bloody coat to yourself! I don't need anyone to keep me modest, least of all you!"

"Could you think for a bloody second? You're hardly decent," he glowered.

"I don't care! I don't want anything from you."

"Don't be pig-headed. Have you seen the state of your dress?"

Lucy looked down and saw that truly, she wasn't decent. Her dress had ripped in a straight line from her waist down to her ankle. And her shoulders were bare, to say the least. She couldn't go out looking like this. This was the worst thing that could happen. She would be the subject of gossip again.

"Here. Cover up with this."

Lucy felt the heavy fur of the coat drape on her, and she jumped, shrugging it off. "I said I don't need your hel—" Lucy trailed off as she pushed him away, losing her balance and knocking into him. They both went down with the man turning her over so that he landed on the floor while Lucy landed on top of him. Blazes!

She gathered her skirts, willing her limbs to move faster as she scrambled to get up when she felt an unmistakable hardness poking through her dress.

"Will you stop doing that?" he bit out through gritted teeth as he held her in place with his hands on her hips. Lucy nearly jolted at the fierce heat that seared her skin. As much as she loathed him, she couldn't deny the tingling of her skin under the weight of his palms.

She froze, all energy seemingly zapped from her as she lost herself in the damned beauty that was his face. How did one get eyes so blue, so misty that they looked like endless pools of the clearest seas? And his jaw, that Grecian jaw that looked like it was sculpted by Zeus himself.

And those brows. Why, it should be criminal to have such full brows that women would kill for. His hair? She itched to run her fingers through it, to distill their unnatural stillness.

Lucy couldn't resist looking into his eyes once more, and only then did she register the shock in them. She trailed his line of sight to his hands on her hips. Just like him, she was shocked as well. Why did he elicit such strong emotions in her?

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest as his hand moved to her face, caressing it. His touch was featherlight and soothing, and she nearly sighed as she further leaned into him. His hands dropped to her neck, and she gasped, surprise casting a warm buzz on her. She shouldn't be doing this. And she certainly shouldn't be enjoying his touch. Damn him to hell and back, but he felt so good . Why?

"What are you doing? Get your hands off me, you arrogant brute of a man."

"You are the one who knocked into me when all I did was try to help. You just cannot help but be a pig-headed airhead."

What? How dare he? "How dare you? What gives you the right to speak to me in such a manner?"

"I will speak to you as I bloody well please. Not only are you a nosy spy and gossipmonger, but here you are, also a clumsy pea-brained hen."

Lucy gasped in disbelief. "Why, I have never met a fellow as obnoxious and vexing as you a—" The words died in Lucy's throat as he seized her lips in a searing kiss. Shock registered in her brain, and then, just then, a fiery heat all but consumed her.

Hell. Bloody hell and damnation. He was kissing her. And to her disgust, she wanted it too. She had never been kissed. She felt the familiar stirring of heat pool in her belly as she felt her body spring alive, buzzing with energy.

Had she been living at all? She didn't think so. She felt herself opening up. She could swear she was drinking from the well of life. And she drank happily.

He was sweet. And sour, just like his personality. He tasted like mint, bright and fresh. Her tongue tangled with his, the most sensual and exotic dance she had ever known. He was relentless, not slowing down. She moaned, not quite sure it was her voice. She was lost. And she had also lost the last vestige of her so-called modesty. And sanity.

And she almost wept when they broke apart. She had never done that before, but the intensity in his eyes burned through her, and she wanted nothing more than to plant her lips on his again. Until?—

"Your Grace!"

"It is her! The sister of the adventuress!" another voice screeched.

"Heavens! What is this?"

And Lucy knew there was nothing worse than this. She was done for.