‘Oh—you’re one ofthosegirls.’ He gulped down more of the champagne and had the gall to look at her, amused. ‘The pious and sanctimonious sort.’ Then he frowned as his eyes briskly swept the length of her. ‘Although, if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look typically like the pious sort looks. You’re too...’ He deposited the bottle carefully beside him and then drew an exaggerated hourglass in the air with his hands while staring her dead in the eye. ‘It must be dashed inconvenient for you.’
‘I’m sorry?’ She wasn’t sure whether she was appalled, confused or intrigued.
‘To have a saucy tavern wench’s body but the soul of a nun.’ Hope couldn’t decide which insult was worse. ‘I’ll bet you have to beat the men off with a stick.’
Because his gaze hadn’t once dropped to her bosom despite the fact it was now level with his eyes, the truth leaked out before she could stop it. ‘Sometimes I wish I carried a stick. A big one.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ He nodded. ‘Especially when you’re put together like Eve tempting Adam. Men are simple creatures, by and large, who reliably tend to be ruled by their urges and nothing fires an urge more than a woman aswomanlyas you.’ He wafted his large hand to encompass her without once breaking eye contact. Then he frowned and stood, his fingers suddenly tugging one of the stray curls she had arranged to frame her face and holding it up to the moonlight to scrutinise as if it were a scientific specimen. ‘Is this ginger?’
‘I prefer the term red.’
‘Of course you do. Because ginger is spicy and you’re a prude. But whatever name you call it, I don’t suppose it helps your predicament any. The face, the figure...’ He tugged her curl again. ‘And all this hair combined would make even the most celibate of saints pant and drool like a dog. You have my sympathies, madam, because I was cursed by the Almighty to look like trouble.’ The corners of his lips twitched and his dark eyes hooded, making him look sinfully handsome as well as naughty. ‘Although to be fair to him, I am more trouble than I’m not, so perhaps you can judge some books by their covers, Miss...?’
‘Brookes.’ She waited for recognition to dawn because everybody knew her parents, or lately her sister Faith whose engagement he was clearly attending.
It didn’t. Instead he stuck out his enormous hand and used it to pump hers. ‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Brookes.’ His skin was warm and calloused, which made a very pleasant change from the sort of hands she was used to shaking. ‘I am Lucius Nathaniel Elijah Duff. Which is a dreadful mouthful and all much too stuffy, so please call me Luke. I don’t suppose you have a Christian name, do you, Miss Brookes?’ His mischievous dark eyes danced with amusement as they held hers. ‘At least not one you’d allow any old fellow to use with impunity, what with you being one for temperance and propriety and all that.’ And now he was plainly teasing her, which was new when most men simply made improper advances and stared at her chest.
‘It’s Hope and you are quite correct, sir, I absolutely do not give you leave to use it.’
‘That is no doubt very prudent, Hope, for I am not to be trusted.’ He sat back on the wall of the pond and smiled. ‘So what are you hiding from?’
‘Panting, drooling dogs.’ She found herself smiling a little back at him before she stopped it. ‘One particular hound to be more specific, who cannot take no for an answer. You?’
‘Determined well-bred ladies in want of a husband. One particular well-bred lady to be more specific, who has a problem with the word no too.’ He chuckled at her obvious surprise. ‘I know, Hope. It’s completely ridiculous and entirely unbelievable that any well-bred woman would contemplate shackling themselves to me for all eternity—but it also happens to be the absolute gospel truth. After thirty years of being considered blessedly and wholly unsuitable to all and sundry, I find myself suddenly eligible and sought after by the exact sort of woman I have always avoided and who have always avoided me back.’ He took another drink from the bottle and shrugged as if he was totally baffled by it all. ‘It’s most disconcerting.’
For reasons she didn’t understand, Hope sat back down too. He might be big, drunk and uncouth, he might also look a bit too brooding and dangerous for Mayfair, and there was no doubting he wasn’t the least bit gentlemanly, but there was something about him which called to her. ‘How did you suddenly become eligible, Mr Duff?’
‘I have becomeobscenelyrich, Hope.’ His tipsy tongue tripped endearingly over theobscenely, making her laugh. ‘I have so much money nowadays, I am practically wallowing in the stuff and I’m blowed if I know what to do with it.’
‘Well that will do it. There is nothing like deep pockets filled with coin to make a debutante’s heart flutter.’
He slanted her a very appealing glance. ‘You’re not a debutante, are you?’
‘Good gracious no! I am far too old and cynical for all that. Though even if I were, I still wouldn’t be tempted.’ In the five years since she had first entered society, and after five years of being reduced to nought but a buxom body to be lusted over by practically every gentleman she encountered, she had been quite put off the lot of them. While other girls dreamed of snaring husbands or romance, she now dreamed of nothing of the sort. The thought of being pawed and panted over by a glassy-eyed man who only ever saw her as a pair of breasts filled her with horror. ‘Nor am I aristocratic enough to be a debutante. Or at all, in fact, Mr Duff.’ An aspect of her character she proudly wore like a badge of honour. ‘One of my grandfathers was a mason, the other a draper.’
‘And your father?’
‘He’s...’
‘Mistress Vixen...?’
The unwelcome voice came from the direction of the terrace and Hope instantly deflated like a balloon. She buried her face in her hands and willed herself invisible. ‘Oh, heaven help me!’
‘Mistress Vixen?’Lord Harlington practically sang the words as he tiptoed nearer, and she realised that if he had tracked her down into the garden, he also probably thought she had come out here on purpose to lure him for a tryst.‘I know you are out here...’
‘Mistress Vixen?’ Her enormous, inebriated companion clearly found that hilarious and nudged her as he laughed. ‘Is that what your drooling hound calls you? That’s priceless.’
‘It is not a name I have ever encouraged.’
‘I should think not. It’s terrible... But very funny.’ He slapped his knee as he laughed. ‘There’s no mistaking what he’s after, is there?’ He playfully butted her shoulder with his. It was so solid it felt like a brick wall.
‘Sadly not. I can think of many adjectives to describe Lord Hubert Harlington, but subtle isn’t one of them.’
‘Hubert is it?’ His dark brows raised a notch. ‘Were you and he once...you know...?’
‘No!’ She was horrified by the mere suggestion. ‘Absolutely not! I have never done a thing to encourage him!’ Or any other man for that matter. Not that that ever seemed to matter when she was cursed with red hair, big lips, wide hips and an unnecessary amount of cleavage. ‘I cannot stand the sight of him. But the more I tell him off about that dreadful nickname, the more he uses it and the tenacious idiot refuses to leave me alone no matter how much I rebuff him.’ As she stared indignantly, and her eyes took in the sheer size and intimidating girth of the man sat much too familiarly beside her, another idea formed.
A frankly brilliant one.
