Page 41 of The Duke of Deceit

And the world, too, it seemed.

The dappled afternoon light barely penetrated the thick layers of sweet-smelling branches arching over them, and all noise of the party faded away. A roughly hewn bench fashioned from an old crate sat by the tree trunk. It was most likely put there by one of the gardeners Lord Holkham employed to make his wife’s garden one of the best in London or by house servants who needed a place to gather away from prying eyes in the kitchens. Lady Holkham surely was clearly not aware it was there. She would never have allowed such a common accessory in her garden. No, she would have insisted it be gilded and decorated with peacock feathers.

“If we’re caught together,” Jess asked, crossing her arms in chastisement, “do I get to slap you again?”

“That depends.” Lucien sat on the end of the crate and kicked out his long legs, settling in to wait for Lady Holkham to abandon her search and return to her other guests. “Do I get to kiss you the same way I did before?”

In the dappled shadows, he couldn’t see the flush racing across her cheeks.Thank goodness.

She wisely ignored his baiting. The quickest way to extract herself from this current mess was to drive ahead, so… “I hired Mr. Stevenson weeks ago,” she explained. “I needed to learn exactly what kind of man you are in order to find a way to convince you to marry my sister.”

“Force me, you mean.”

“If that’s what it takes.” She’d always been determined to see this through to the end, yet now she found herself plagued by niggling doubts. But she would never admit to those. “You would have done the same to size up an enemy.”

His eyes narrowed on her for a moment. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders. “You’re right, I would have.” He leaned back against the tree trunk behind him. “So tell me…what torturous display of my non-existent benevolence have you planned on unleashing upon me next?”

Guilt pricked her as she remembered the pamphlets she’d ordered, yet she feigned innocence. “What makes you think I have any plans?”

He silently arched a brow.

“Oh, all right.” She heaved out a breath as she sat beside him on the crate and admitted, “I ordered a set of reformist pamphlets in your name to hand out in Westminster.”

“Which pamphlet?”

She bit her bottom lip and fixed her attention on the tip of her shoe just sticking out from beneath her hem. “The Washerwoman of Finchley Commonby Lady Hornblower.”

“The Washerwoman…” His voice trailed off in stunned disbelief and ended with a long blink.

“It’s a wonderfully enlightening tract,” she rushed out the justification, “filled with all the benefits of living a pious and austere life and of the virtues of abstinence from vice.”

“Abstinence from vice?” he repeated, deadpan. “Funded byme?”

She vigorously nodded her head, not daring to look up.My!Her shoe needed a new bow on its toe. “You can be quite generous when it comes to matters of reform for working-class women.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” he drawled. Then he pressed suspiciously. “And what else? Why do I suspect you wouldn’t have stopped with a mere pamphlet?”

She twisted her toe into the ground. “AndperhapsI’d planned to tell Lady Hornblower that you wanted to…give her a large donation to fund her reform work…if she dedicated her next tract to you.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then he laughed, a belly laugh so great that the branches stirred around them. He grabbed himself around the waist and nearly fell off the crate.

Jess scowled in consternation. “It’s not funny!”

“Oh, yes it is!” He gasped to catch back his breath. “Lady Hornblower’s tracts dedicated to me? Good Lord! You really are a merciless chit, aren’t you?”

Her mouth fell open. “I don’t think—”

“The French were less devious at Waterloo,” he forced out between breaths.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she repeated back his earlier words and tried for a haughty sniff.

Instead, it emerged as a bubble of laughter, and her hand flew to her lips to stifle it. It was no use—she couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Oh, they were certainly a pair!

As their laughter died away and the current animosity between them faded, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Would you have really done that to me?”

She smiled with a tinge of embarrassment and looked away, giving him his answer. Then she said, “Well, at least I don’thave to do any of that now. I’ve declared a temporary truce.” She paused before confessing, “I’ve written letters to Amanda, asking for the complete truth—not that I believe my sister is lying, mind you.” Notexactly. More like not telling thefulltruth. “I should hear back within the fortnight.”

“Then you’ll know I’m not lying to you.”