Page 11 of The Defiant One
Lucien raised his brows with feigned innocence. "My dear Andrew, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
"The devil you don't. You deliberately told her I was experimenting on animals, and the next thing I knew she was tearing me apart, limb from limb!"
"Oh. You mean you minded?"
"Of course I minded! It was damned embarrassing."
Lucien sighed heavily, affecting an air of long-suffering patience. "And here I thought I was doing you a favor."
"Doing me a favor?"
"Really, Andrew, how many times have you told me you have no wish to get married? That you are sick to death of pesky females buzzing around you at every social event you deign to attend? That you want nothing more than to get on with your science? The girl seemed to be quite interested in you, you know. Asking me rather personal . . . questions. I merely said what I did to put her off."
"What?"
Lucien crossed his arms and gave a sigh of satisfied boredom. "You ought to be thanking me for my assistance, not condemning it. She did leave you alone afterwards, didn't she?"
Andrew met Lucien's blankly innocent stare. Why did he have the feeling his brother was up to something? "I suppose she did," he murmured, frowning.
"So there. I was only acting in your best interest." The duke sighed and closing his eyes, leaned his head back against the seat as the coach left Rosebriar behind. In the darkness of the carriage, nobody could see that he was smiling. "Besides," he added, "I highly doubt that you will see her again."
Chapter 4
Which was wishful thinking, of course.
For Andrew did see Lady Celsiana Blake again — a scant thirty-six hours later.
He was still abed when he heard a carriage outside on the drive, and the dogs barking, and a small commotion somewhere beneath his window. His first thought was that Lucien had brought in another charlatan to examine him.
Upon hearing a female voice, he realized it was no charlatan at all, but Lady Celsiana Blake.
A charlatan, he thought irritably, would have been preferable.
Andrew pulled the coverlet back over his head and tried to go back to sleep. Bloody hell, what time was it? Eight? Maybe nine o'clock?
He heard the low murmur of Lucien's voice somewhere downstairs. The duke slept no more than four hours per night. Of course he'd be up.
Sure enough, the anticipated knock on his door came moments later.
It was James, his valet. "My lord? His Grace asked me to inform you that you have visitors. Lady Celsiana Blake and her brother, Earl Somerfield, are here. Your presence is requested downstairs."
Andrew flipped onto his side, pulled the coverlet up over his shoulders, and shutting his eyes, burrowed more deeply beneath the blankets. "My presence be damned. Tell His bloody Grace that he can deal with her ladyship. I'm of no mind to ruin my day by starting it off in an argument with some irritating female."
"As you wish, my lord."
Andrew waited until he heard the servant retreating down the hall, then, stretching lazily, went back to sleep.
Or tried to.
Moments later, he was jolted rudely awake by a blinding light hitting him in the face. Lucien was at the windows, yanking the heavy drapes back and letting in the ruthless morning sunshine.
"Really, Andrew. It is frightfully ill mannered to keep guests waiting."
"It is also frightfully ill mannered to get a fellow out of bed only to throw him to a damned carnivore," retorted Andrew. The harsh light seemed to drive through his eyeballs and straight through his head into the pillow beneath him. He sat up, knuckling his eyes and squinting against the flooding brightness. "What the deuce is she doing here, anyhow?"
"Why, I invited her, of course."
"You invited her?"
