Page 17 of His Arranged Duchess
“I used to brush my sister’s hair at night, sometimes,” Lucien murmured, almost to himself. “Hers was dark, and a great deal more tangled than yours.Is,” he corrected himself, frowning. “Hersisdark.”
Frances said nothing. Did this count as talking about his past? Well, she supposed anything was acceptable when it was Lucien talking about his own past. She desperately wanted to know more about his sister, his brother, and the odd fates they’d met. What tragedy had Joan spoken about?
She didn’t bother to ask the question, knowing fine well she’d get no answer.
With a sigh, Lucien let her hair fall through his fingers. He set the brush on the side and stepped back.
Frances felt as though she’d woken from a deep, blissful dream. Her scalp prickled pleasantly, and her skin felt warm. Heated, as if from the inside out. Clearing her throat, she fidgeted with her hair, trying to look unconcerned.
“Right. Well. Thank you very much, you have done an excellent job of brushing my hair. You can go now, I suppose.”
He chuckled, holding her gaze through the mirror.
“Oh? Can I? Do you know, Frances, in London they consider you awallflower. Can you believe it?”
She flushed, rose to her feet and turned to face him. “Well, I daresay I act differently at parties and such. Mama and Uncle C… that is, other friends say that I am quite unreserved around the right people.”
Still grinning, Lucien tilted his head to one side. “And am I the right people?”
She folded her arms tightly. “How on earth should I know? I don’tknowyou, do I?”
His eyebrows flickered. “No, and perhaps I intend to keep it that way.”
There was a moment of silence between them, then Frances sighed, taking a step forward.
“Listen, Lucien. I am sorry for snooping. I will keep my promise, and I won’t do it again. But really, you can’t blame me for wanting to know what sort of man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”
“No,” Lucien murmured, his eyes dark and intent in the firelight. “It’s most understandable.”
Abruptly, he took several steps forward, coming almost face to face with Frances. Well, face to chest, as her eyeline was roughly at his collar, and she was obliged to tilt her head back to look at him. Which shedid, because Mama always said that looking a man in the eyes was the mark of a strong, fearless woman.
Even if Frances did not feelmuchlike a strong, fearless woman.
“I saved you from a boring man, I can promise you that,” Lucien murmured softly. He never seemed to blink, his eyes darting across her face as if he were memorizing every detail. Something tickled at her chin, and the breath caught in Frances’s throat as she realized that Lucien’s finger was curled around her chin, tilting her face towards him.
“I know that you saved me from a boring man,” Frances whispered, a little surprised to hear the words crawling out of her throat. “But that doesn’t tell me a great deal aboutyou.”
What is it about this man that makes me so bold? I certainly wasn’t like that with Nicholas.
Lucien’s smile widened. “I can tell you that I am a man of my word, my dear duchess. And as such, you ought not to tempt me.”
Before she could blink, he dived forward, placing a warm, firm kiss on the back of her hand. Then his touch was gone, and he was striding back across the room, whistling as he went. He paused at the doorway to throw her a wry grin and then disappeared.
The door closed, and she heard the grating of the bolt sliding home.
For some reason, the sound ofhimlocking the door fromhisside offended Frances quite greatly.
“Wretched man,” she muttered, storming across the room to pull the bolt on her side herself. “I quite hate him. Well, perhapshateis a strong word, but I donotlike him, regardless of how handsome he might be.”
Still muttering, she half-tore the dress off herself and pulled on the nightgown set out for her. She crawled into bed feeling itchy, bad-tempered, and with a strange ache that did not quite make sense. The place in the middle of her knuckles where Lucien had kissed her seemed to feel different from the rest of her hand.
She decided to read a few chapters ofCecilia’s Trialsbefore bed.
CHAPTER 7
“Ladies—married ladies, that is—generally take breakfast in bed, Your Grace,” the new maid ventured, pinning the last of Frances’s hair in place.
The girl’s name was Susan, and she was Gray’s granddaughter. She was a pleasant, round-faced girl with a constant air of cheerfulness. From what Frances had seen of other grand ladies and their maids, Susan’s cheerfulness and chattiness would do her no favours in a great house. Maids were meant to be quiet and self-effacing, and Susan was none of these things.
