“Yes, there is. Are you angry at me, Lucien?”
He flinched. “Angry? I’m not given to such vulgar emotions. I am not angry at you.”
“Are you sure? You seemed particularly angry at me last night, when you accused me of… of havingfeelingsfor a man I never wanted to marry.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “I wish you could have seen the expression on your own face when you saw that vile man on the platform. You were enraptured at once, horrified and sad and curious at the same time. Tell me, what was I meant to think?”
She clenched her jaw. “I don’t know, but imagining that I am in love with such an odious man, one who had named me in the vilest poem, well…”
“Poem? What poem?”
She blinked at him. “Wait. You hadn’t heard it?”
Lucien bit his lower lip. In truth, he had not been listening at all. He had heard countless poems recited at parties like these, and that one had not struck him as particularly worth listening to. With Frances by his side, flushed and glowing and looking as beautiful as she did, whocouldlisten to a poem?
“I have not,” he answered slowly.
She folded her arms tight across her chest, glancing away.
“He recited a poem about me. He did not specifically say that it was about me, but he used my Christian name. It was an insult.”
Lucien closed his eyes. “You are right. I am sorry, Frances. I had not heard the poem, and I assumed… Well, it was a foolish notion. Imagining you to be in love with such a pathetic man as Easton. I should not have said what I said, and I apologise wholeheartedly.”
She seemed to relax a little. “I’m glad to hear that. And you believe, don’t you, that I do not and never have hadfeelingsfor a man likeLord Easton?”
He grinned, tilting his head to one side. “Even if you did, I could not be angry.”
She blinked, frowning. “And why not?”
He got slowly to his feet, placing his fingertips on the desk and leaning forward.
“Because, my dear duchess, you areminenow. It is my name you moan. Me, who you break apart for. So nothing else matters, really.”
Frances's face reddened at once, and she hastily turned away to conceal her expression. It was too late, however, and Lucien had seen the desire in her eyes.
“If you so say,” she managed at last, her voice tight.
“I do have questions, however,” Lucien continued, leaning back. He had not counted on feeling so… soexcitedat the sight of her reaction. Their stolen moments behind the pillar last night had passed, for him, in a haze of lust and frustration, watching her close her eyes, feeling her body press and respond against him. The expression on her face when her climax reached her had been… well. Besides, the longer they spent there, the more likely it was that they would be discovered.
Frances lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes at him. “Questions?”
“Yes. If it were not the sight of Lord Easton that made you pale so intensely, I must assume it was the poem.”
There. He’d hit on the right thing. Frances flinched, just a little, before she composed herself.
“I can hardly remember the poem,” she answered coolly.
He gave a wry smile. “Indeed, we only heard the last verse. But it did mention your name, didn’t it?”
Frances sniffed. “It might. It was hardly a great ballad. Little more than a limerick, really. It said something about my lies, and that I should expect a surprise. He planned to embarrass me, I imagine,” she continued curtly. “It was just the shock of hearing my own name.”
She’s still keeping some part of the truth from me, Lucien realized, with something of a shock.There’s a secret here thatshe wishes to keep hidden. She does not trust me with her secret, but expects to be shown mine.
Slowly, Lucien lowered himself back into his seat.
“If you don’t choose to share your secret with me,” he remarked, “We shall leave the conversation here for now. However, I have planned another romantic excursion for us in two days’ time.”
She tilted her head. “And which of my conditions do you plan to meet then,Your Grace? How do you plan to impress me further?”