Page 29 of The Duke of Deceit

“I never signed that letter.” No, because that would be forgery, and even she wasn’t mad enough to do something like that. She’d simplyimpliedthat it was from the duke.

“But you sent it. My point has been made.” Auntie pinched lightly at Jess’s cheeks to put color into them. “So you will take this opportunity to do what you should have done last night.”

“Pardon?” she squeaked out. Surely, Auntie knew nothing about what she had wanted to—

“You will call an end to all this nonsense you’ve been doing to him,” Auntie explained. “You cannot win, not at this.” Sadness filled her eyes even though she didn’t meet Jess’s gaze, focusing instead on straightening the runaway collar of her pelisse. “As I’ve said before, Amanda is not meant for a man like him.”

Jess’s eyes and nose stung at that soft rebuke. If her sweet, beautiful, and kind sister wasn’t good enough for someone of Lucien’s status, then Jess would never be. Not that she wantedhim—she did not!

“And donotslouch. No duke likes a slouch.”

Jess blinked. “What on earth are you—”

But Matilda had already linked her arm through Jess’s and pulled her toward the hallway. Auntie proved far stronger than Jess would have given her credit for, and far more obstinate.

The harsh reality struck her like a slap. There would be no getting out of this.

Chapter Ten

The Duke ofCrewe turned to greet them as they entered the drawing room. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Jess paused beneath the power of his smile and the heated memories of last night that flooded back unbidden, only to be prodded on by Matilda. She remembered herself and curtsied when Auntie elbowed her in the ribs.

“Miss St Clair.” He bowed to Jess, then turned toward Matilda with his best charming smile. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lucien, Duke of Crewe.”

“This is my aunt,” Jess introduced. “Miss Davidson.”

“Your Grace.” Auntie sank into a teetering curtsey so low it would have done the queen proud. So low that Lucien reached out quickly to catch her by her elbow, and Jess had to help her straighten back up.

Only then did she catch the true motive behind Matilda’s curtsey—to come closer to Lucien so she could give him a scrutinizing once-over because she’d left her lorgnette in her bedroom.

But then, Jess didn’t blame her for wanting a closer look. He appeared impossibly handsome in a cream-colored waistcoat and trousers beneath a tan kerseymere jacket and a snow white cravat so precisely knotted that she wondered if his valet had formally been a sailor. A ruby cravat pin was the only dash ofbold color anywhere on him, from highly polished Hessians to the raffish way a lock of his black hair fell across his forehead. Her fingers itched to brush it back into place with his other thick curls which were slightly disheveled, as if stirred in the wind from an early morning ride.

But he hadn’t ridden over on a saddle horse. Even now, she could see through the bow window his grand town coach waiting in the street in front of their townhouse. He’d come in style, as if paying a real social call instead of…well, whatever this was.

No, she decided with consternation. The man was just naturally handsome without even having to try.

She let her gaze slowly travel back up his tall body to take stock of him once more. His large presence in their small drawing room disconcerted her. So did the gleam of amusement in his eyes and the curl of his sensuous lips at catching her staring at him.

Good Lord, she wasstaring! She turned away as heat flushed her face.

“I was just admiring this piece. It’s very well done.” Lucien started the conversation by gesturing toward the painting over the fireplace. “Who is the artist?”

Matilda beamed as she darted to Jess’s side and led her forward. “Jessamyn painted that.” She practically shoved Jess toward him. “Isn’t it just lovely?”

Curiosity crossed his face. “You’re an artist?”

“An illustrator mostly,” Jess answered. When Matilda elbowed her in the ribs, she corrected, “But I do enjoy painting.”

He looked up at the work again, this time letting himself take a much more critical appraisal of it. He nodded with approval, and Jess couldn’t help feeling pride seep warmly through her.

“You should enter it into the Royal Society’s summer exhibition,” he murmured, his gaze moving slowly from thedepth of the view to the cottages and red poppies in the forefront.

“I just might.”

He turned toward her, and for a moment, their eyes met. In that silent touch, she remembered the soft temptation of his mouth, the velvet purr of his voice in the darkness, the warmth of his body, the deliciously masculine scent of him… An electric spark raced through her, and she trembled in its wake.

“Jessamyn excels at botany illustrations,” Matilda gushed. “In fact, she’s creating a book of them right now.”