Page 29 of The Duke’s Wager

Lucy blushed at the memory. During their dance, she had found herself wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him – to feel his hands exploring more of her body.

She’d even thought of wrapping her arms around his neck, as he deepened their kiss.

It was a scandalous thought! One enough to drive her mad with shame…

No. This was a lie. It was certainly not shame she felt when she thought of him – everything but. She could vividly remember the feeling she’d experienced when he first sought her out.

Of course, she had been rather flattered – it was, after all, Edward Lockhart. She knew full well that he could have his pick of the ladies of the ton, yet he had chosen to seek her out.

It was unmistakable – the butterflies that took flight in her stomach, in her heart. When she had turned to look into his eyes, it had been as though she was transported through time. In that moment, she’d been back in the cemetery – and she was not looking at the arrogant, self-assured ladies’ man Edward Lockhart had become in the years since their first meeting.

No, she’d looked at him and he was once again that broken young boy, crying over losing his father. There was something so vulnerable about him – buried deep inside of him.

Then he had asked her to dance, and it seemed rather perfect – they moved well together, and she felt free and light in his arms.

She felt seen – and Lucy could feel her cheeks heating up at this preposterous thought. This was not something she felt often, if ever. Yes, she knew people noticed her, but what they noticed, was her carefully crafted exterior. Her surface, the picture she chose to show them. Edward saw the true her, or so it felt – the woman behind the mask, and it felt as if he found her vulnerability attractive, far more so than her physical features.

The carriage came to a halt at their estate, and she quietly allowed her father to help her out.

Thoughts of Edward remained with her as she made her way to her bedchamber. The thoughts plagued her, gnawed at her soul. He was handsome – there was no denying that. This, of course, she’d known.

Now, however, she realized it was more than that. It was far more than his appearance – his allure reached beyond what the eye could see. There was something about the way he held her, something about the way he looked at her – somehow, he made her feel as though no one else existed, as though he could only see her.

She’d never felt more beautiful and seductive than she had in his arms.

“Oh, stop, Lucy!” She quietly admonished herself while removing the laces of her corset and allowing the dress to fall to her feet.

“The man is a fool! Whatever you thought you felt, it does not exist – he does not exist, at least not in the way you want him to!”

“He can be as handsome as he wants to be. He is still just like every other man out there.”

Lucy grimaced at his insult and his gall to stand there with that surprised look, as though practically calling her a challenge was not insulting enough.

No. Perhaps she had built up an image of Edward Lockhart in her mind, a constructed version of him born out of her need to not be alone, out of a memory that no longer was.

She knew now this: he was just like everyone else.

Gone was his childlike innocence.

Gone was the sweet, kind child she had met all those years ago. In his place, was a cynical, heartless brute – who saw women as prizes to be won, as challenges to overcome.

Her father was right. Lucy almost laughed out loud at the thought. It did not happen often that she agreed with him, and she could hardly believe it now.

It was better to avoid Edward at all costs. For any place of him in her life would only tear her apart.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Good Lord, his head was pounding. Edward opened one eye slowly, then the other. He closed them again quickly.

Why is the sun so damned bright today?

The previous night had gotten out of hand. The last thing he remembered was Alfred dragging him to the nearest club and pouring copious amounts of liquid down his throat.

An uneasy feeling crept up in his stomach, turning it around. “I’m never drinking again.”

Even as he bit the words out, he recognized the lie. He most certainly was going to drink again, albeit perhaps not quite as much as he had consumed the previous night.

A fresh bout of nausea hit him as he stood. He had to find some way of sobering up. He moved slowly, his hand pressed against the wall as he made his way to the wash basin.