Page 46 of The Duke of Deceit

“Your Grace!” a man’s voice called out across the gardens. “Your Grace, you’re needed back at Brixton House. There’s a message for you from Ealing.”

Lucien’s heart skipped.Christ!Of all times—“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back, and then we’ll talk.”

“I have nothing more to say to you.” Her voice broke with emotion. “Ever.”

He deserved that, too. But now, other fires needed to be put out. He ducked out from beneath the willow’s branches and stepped back onto the path just as a footman turned toward him. The man hurried forward.

“What is it?” Lucien demanded, painfully aware of Jess’s presence only a few feet away. But at least the end of their conversation had quenched all signs of his earlier arousal.

“A message, Your Grace.” The footman handed over a sealed note. “Your butler brought it and said to tell you it concerns Ealing. He’s waiting for you, sir, at your carriage.”

His blood turned to ice. Whatever had happened there, it couldn’t be good. He waved away the footman with his mumbledthanks, then broke the seal and opened the note. His eyes scanned the message from Mr. Porter.

Not good at all.

Pulling in a deep breath, he reached back for the willow branches and held them up for Jess. Their time here was done. Whatever moments they’d shared were now over and could never happen again. The proof of that lay in the note in his hand.

“I have to leave,” he said. “Immediately. Linger at the back of the garden for a while, then return to the party when you’re ready. Tell everyone I parted from you as soon as I led you outside, but you wanted time to see the flowers.”

With a slow nod, she stepped out into the sunlight. When she blinked rapidly, he knew it wasn’t from the sting of the bright sun.

“You said you would announce to the party that rumors of our engagement were false,” she reminded him. Her voice was as icy as winter. “That’s the least you can do after—”

“No time now.” He pounded one last nail into his own coffin… “But we’ll discuss our marriage settlement when I return,” he called out as he walked a few feet backwards down the path toward the house, just so he could have one last look at her, “should you wish to continue your mission to destroy me.”

Then he turned his back to her and strode away. Every step that increased the distance between them was agonizing.

Chapter Fourteen

Jess stood infront of her easel with the tip of her paintbrush raised in the air. But instead of applying any brushstrokes, she it held unmoving less than an inch from the canvas. She’d been standing like that, still as a statue and staring at her unfinished painting, for a good ten minutes. Then she heard the long case clock in the hall strike ten and knew—she’d been standing there like that for more than half an hour.

She didn’t know whether to be furious at Lucien or furious at herself, whether to pound her fists against the wall or crumple to the floor in sobs. So she simply stood there, staring at the watercolor of white orchids she couldn’t bring herself to finish.

Viscountess Bromley was right about him.Hisspots would never change.

Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a soft cry. She put down the brush and stepped back, then pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead and the headache that had been pounding away there for the past two days, ever since her encounter with Lucien at the garden party.

Oh, she was a perfect fool! How could she have fallen for his charms? When he’d spoken about his father and his past, she was certain she’d glimpsed something real in him, something…humanbeneath the blackguard’s surface.

But she’d been so very wrong. His heart wasn’t black or dead.

He possessed no heart at all.

She wiped her hands on her apron, giving up on working any more today. Any moretoday? La! It wasn’t yet ten o’clock. But then, a person’s mind played all kinds of time tricks when she hadn’t slept in two days. Or when she couldn’t drag her mind away from a terrible, horrible, utterly no good, impossibly handsome, irritatingly intriguing man.

With a soft curse, she untied her apron and threw it over a nearby wooden chair. She should have known better than to fall for his charms. After all, everything she’d learned about him only proved that he was nothing more than the despicable scapegrace and rakehell society knew him to be.

I never want to see you again…Of course, he hadn’t cared that she’d flung such a horrible resolution at him. Caring would imply that he felt guilty, and she wasn’t at all certain he felt remorse over anything he did.

“Unless it was paying too much for a prostitute,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“Pardon, dear?” Aunt Matilda paused in the doorway, a tray in her hands.

“Nothing.” She forced a smile for her aunt and waved her into the room, then gestured at the tray. “What do you have there?”

“Your breakfast.” Matilda set the tray down on the small card table where Jess often sorted her art materials and finished her sketches. “You didn’t join me yesterday morning either. This morning, I thought I’d bring the food to you.”

Guilt pricked her. “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”