Page 10 of His Arranged Duchess
Frances clenched her jaw, turning towards the window. Silence descended once again, and Lucien let it sit.
For some time – an hour, perhaps more – they jolted around together in his well-padded, well-sprung carriage. The driverwas rather good at his job and knew exactly where they were going.
They made good time. The journey from Blackstone Abbey to the London chapel where he had just got married was no more than three hours, as it turned out. Faster, if the roads were clear and one’s coachman speedy.
He said nothing and directed his gaze out of the opposite window. Whenever he glanced over at Frances, she was staring out of the window, still and brow furrowed. She had fisted her hands into the material of her skirts, bunching up the fabric until her shoes – green satin encrusted with pearls – were revealed. Oblivious, she bunched up the fabric more, revealing the curve of her ankles, swathed in white silk.
Clearing his throat, Lucien looked away.
“I haven’t got any of my things,” Frances said, quite suddenly. “My things are all packed up in trunks at Mama’s house. We were going to go home and get them after the ceremony.”
“I’ll send the coachman back to fetch them. They’ll be here in the morning. In the meantime, you can continue wearing that lovely gown, and I’m sure there’ll be some linens and such for you to wear.”
For some reason, this made color rise to her cheeks, visible even in the gloom of the carriage. At last, Frances shifted, facing him directly. Her clear green eyes fixed on him, and Lucien found his gut tightening. With anticipation, perhaps? He chose not toexplore the feeling. Now was not the time, and Frances wasnotat her ease.
“Should I be afraid of you, your Grace?” she asked bluntly. “Am I in danger?”
He had expected this question. The whole business was like some villain’s ploy from a novel.
“Not in the slightest,” he responded firmly, then hazarded a faint smile. “I don’t bite, Duchess. Unless you ask me to, of course.”
She did not smile at the joke. Instead, she leaned forward, not seeming even to blink.
“You shouldn’t joke.”
He lifted his hands. “Forgive me. I only meant to lighten the mood. Perhaps we should spend some time getting to know each other.”
She narrowed her eyes. “An excellent idea. Here is something you should know about me, Your Grace.”
“Lucien, please.”
“Very well. Lucien. I hate lies. I despise liars. I expect truth from those around me, and that includes you.”
“Very admirable.”
“And so,” she continued, as if he had not spoken, “I expect an honest answer to this question.”
Lucien said nothing. He knew what the question would be.
She continued, not waiting for him to reply.
“Why did they call you a murderer? Why did Lord Easton accuse you of pushing your father off the stairs?”
Lucien knew that his response to this question was crucial. He had no intention of telling her the truth, of course, that went without saying. However, he would have to saysomething, and it was pointless to waste his breath on an obvious lie that would be easily found out.
“My father was not a well-liked man,” Lucien managed at last, careful to hold her gaze. “He was cruel and vicious, especially so to those he was closest to. My elder brother bore the brunt of his cruelty, but my younger sister and I also suffered. He did indeed die from a fall down the staircase. It was a terrible accident, and you know how people jump to their own conclusions. Some people see Gothic novels everywhere, don’t they?”
“I suppose that’s true,” Frances murmured. “I’m sorry your father was such a vile man.”
“What about yours?”
“I hardly knew him. I have almost no memories of him. But Mama is the best mother I could have hoped for.”
Lucien tried to smile. After all, the moment was passing. But it seemed as though, quite suddenly, there was a third occupant in the carriage.
Get out,he thought furiously at the shadowy figure, that of a large man in stiff shirt-points and bristling whiskers. He could almost hear the metallictap-tap-tapof a silver-topped cane rattling against the floor.
The cane could be lifted in the blink of an eye and brought down on an unsuspecting head, or across the shoulders, or the backs of the thighs. Even as he thought of it, the memories came crowding back in – explosions of pain, fractured bones, bleeding noses.
