Page 22 of The Duke of Deceit

“And that would make me tremble?” she breathlessly asked, her eyes closed and her head bowed slightly.

No, it would make you scream…“Very much, because you would enjoy it a great deal.” He placed a tender kiss to her temple. If their first kiss in the carriage was a warning, this one was a promise. “And I would enjoy watching that pleasure reflected on your beautiful face.”

Her eyes opened, and she straightened as she stared up at him. “A well-trained rake like you? I’m sure I would enjoy it.”

Yet her voice didn’t sound at all certain. Instead, it sounded…wounded? That wasn’t at all what he expected. He frowned. “Jessamyn, are you—”

“Is this how you seduced my sister?” Her words were suddenly harsh, but her voice, with its breathy rasp, told a different story. “With endless charms, empty flirtations, and tempting thoughts?”

The heat she’d stirred inside him died instantly. He took a step back and dropped his hands to his sides, noting that hers had once again clenched into fists. He replayed the last few minutes between them in his mind, searching for the moment when she’d tightened them, and he knew—

When he’d called her beautiful.Mistake.

He tilted his head as he studied her face. “You’re right. You’re not beautiful, not in the classical sense anyway. Your mouth is too pouty, your eyes too big, your nose too pert with a slight upturn at the end…and if we weren’t in the shadows, I’d say you also had freckles.” All true. Yet the combination was strangely appealing and sent tingles aching through him at the thought of holding her against him. “But all together not uninteresting.”

To say the least.Lucien couldn’t remember the last time any woman had intrigued him as much as she did. Devil take him, he had no idea why.

Her mouth had fallen open during his description, and she snapped it shut, then angrily crossed her arms. “Sonotendless charms, then.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not very good at being a rake. I have no idea why my sister was attracted to you.”

His frustration boiled to the surface. “You are the most exasperating, contrary woman I have ever met.” He mirrored her stance by crossing his own arms. “No. I did not employ endless charms, flirtations, and temptations to seduce your sister. I didn’t have to. Your sister was the one who suggested we steal away into the dark garden together. I simply went along.” Confusion darkened her face, yet he didn’t let that stop him from explaining. “Yes, Jessamyn, I had a very scandalous moment with your sister and took far more liberties than I should have. But she instigated it, not me.”

“You’re lying. You took advantage of an innocent miss.” Her eyes glistened in the faint lamplight. “And you got her with child.”

Lucien’s head snapped back as if shehadfinally slapped him. With child—withhischild—

Impossible.

He stared down at her, bewildered and stunned, and desperately searching her face for any sign she was bamming him…Nothing.

“Don’t try to manipulate me by looking surprised,” she chastised. “You knew that already. She told you when she wrote to you three months ago, when she wanted you to marry her and make her baby legitimate. You rejected her.”

That wasn’t at all what the letter had said. Amanda St Claire had mentioned marriage as a way to save her reputation over the incident in the garden, but there was no mention of a baby. Because there couldn’t have been.

“You’re wrong,” he protested.Verywrong. He reached up to touch her cheek in a plea to believe him. “I don’t know what your sister told you, but I—”

Laughter spilled out onto the terrace and interrupted them, followed by Mrs. Peterson and her husband. They both stopped just beyond the doorway. Their laughter died sharply with a gasp from the round matron that he was daring to touch Jess so familiarly.

Damnation. He dropped his hand away and ordered, “Slap me.”

Jess blinked. “Pardon?”

“Slap me, damn it! Hard. Then run back inside.”

He saw the moment she realized what he wanted her to do and why. With a slight nod, she pulled back her arm and slapped him, hard enough that the sound echoed against the house’s stone wall and sent his head flinging back a second time.

Then she shoved past him and strode down the terrace toward the Petersons and the open French doors, slipping by the couple without a word to reach the safety of the ballroom. But the stubborn chit couldn’t bring herself to run.

And Lucien couldn’t bring himself not to watch her go.

Chapter Eight

Lucien leapt downfrom his carriage as soon as the wheels stopped and bounded up the front steps of Brixton House, across the marble portico, and past his butler McGregor who raced to open the door.

“Send Dalton to bed,” he ordered as he handed off his hat, gloves, and coat, then stormed off toward the stairs. “I’ll undress myself.”

The last thing he wanted was to have his valet underfoot tonight. He was in no mood to be patient nor kind.

No, what he should have done was find another fight in one of the Wapping warehouses and let himself be beaten senseless. But he’d gone there so frequently lately he was afraid the crowd would start confusing him for Gentleman Jackson. Or think him mad.