Page 68 of The Duke’s Wager

The words tasted bitter as she spat them out. “Yes, father.”

He nodded – seemingly rather pleased with himself – and turned to walk away. Lucy sniffed, swallowing back the stubborn tears that would not seem to leave her alone tonight. He was awful, simply horrible, and she despised him, hated him, but he was right.

He had power over her. And that terrified her.

She had never felt true happiness, true freedom. At least, she had not felt it until earlier that night in Edward’s arms. Within seconds, the present was forgotten, and Lucy closed her eyes, her mind transporting her back to the room where she had spent those passionate few moments with him.

She was so afraid of all men being like her father, that she had wasted her years away, turning herself into the Ice Queen. Edward, she now realized, was nothing like her father. And though he was gentle, he was steady like a river. She felt safe enough to be truly vulnerable; she felt safe enough to let go of her false persona and be her true self.

She lifted her chin stubbornly. Her father could threaten and jeer as much as he wanted. She would no longer be afraid. She would no longer be bound by the fear of him hurting her. He had made it perfectly clear that nothing she could ever do would be enough for his approval, so why should she even try?

She would not stay away from Edward. No. She would go to the cemetery before daybreak.

She no longer cared what her father thought or threatened. She was done living the life of a hostage. She would live the life she wanted, and she would see the man she wanted to. For Edward was a man, not a boy. In fact, she mused, he was more of a man than her father would ever be.

She knew that she had to go to her chamber and rest until, of course, she could find a way to sneak out of the house. Instead, her feet made their way to Maria’s quarters.

She had to tell her everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

He could not stop thinking about her. She had felt so right in his arms, so perfect…

Edward closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Even now, as he sat in the carriage, his mind stubbornly transported him back to the magical moments he had shared with her.

There was nothing he wanted more than to be there with her again, to remove the barriers that lay between her and feel her soft skin against his.

He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman before.

Edward was by no means inexperienced. When he had told Julian Pembroke that he was the best lover in London, it was far more than idle talk. He had the guarantees of many a woman he had been with that he was unlike any other.

Never had these women affected him the way he seemingly affected them – and it was how he preferred it.

At least, that was what he had thought.

Lucy Beaumont managed to challenge and change that belief without even knowing of its existence. He closed his eyes, and his fingers lingered over his lips.

Kissing her felt better than anything he had ever felt – it felt right. It felt as though their lips were meant to kiss, as though they were made for each other.

Edward’s eyes shot open. He could hardly believe that he was sitting in this carriage, fantasizing. Yet a dreamy smile had settled on his face, and he shrugged.

He had tried – rather fruitlessly – to push his feelings for Lucy down, he had tried to deny it, to pretend as though they did not exist.

He was not going to do that anymore. Not after tonight, not after spending the wonderful, passionate moments they had together. He wanted more, and he did not want her only once or twice. He hungered for her, and he could feel that this hunger would never be satiated.

She was the one for him. He could feel it. This, he mused, was what his father had felt. And he understood, after all these years, the man’s misery when he lost his mother.

He would not lose Lucy. He could not lose her. He wanted more than secret conversations and stolen kisses. He wanted everything with her.

Edward Lockhart, the ladies’ man of London, was in love.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the carriage stopped at the gentleman’s club. He had sent a message to Alfred to meet him there. As he had expected, his friend was already inside – a glass of brandy in his hand.

Alfred stood. Edward supposed that his appearance had made it rather obvious that something was amiss. He joined the other man silently and sat down, ordering a glass of whiskey, and downing it in a single gulp.

“What is the matter, man?”

He was still rather uncertain how he was supposed to tell anyone – least of all the jovial friend of his – all that was taking up space in his mind.