Page 83 of The Duke’s Wager

Lucy searched his eyes anxiously. They were earnest, sincere. He truly cared for her, as he had said in the cemetery.

“You… you truly want to court me?”

Lucy knew that she sounded rather insecure and awfully vulnerable. To her delight, Edward did not seem to take offense at this, nor mind it whatsoever. He leaned even further forward and lifted her hand to his lips once again.

“I want to court you, Lucy. I intend on making you my wife – even if it is the last thing I do.”

Lucy could feel her father’s eyes burning on her. He would have a lot to say, she knew that much.

‘Damn him,” she thought aloud, as she took a step closer to Edward, readying herself to start the waltz. Nothing would ruin this moment for her, least of all her father.

Though she was vaguely aware of the couples on the dance floor around them, they seemed to fade away as the music started. Much like the first time they had danced together, they moved across the dance floor effortlessly – as though they were born to dance together, as though they were made for one another.

She felt at home in his arms, and she looked at him regretfully when the music ended far too soon to her liking.

She wanted to dance every dance with him, wanted to spend the whole night in his arms.

“My darling,” Edward’s whisper was soft and intimate, and it sent shivers down her spine. “Would you excuse me for a minute? I must head to my chambers. There is something I wish to give to you.”

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat.

“Lucy?”

She realized now that she had not answered him yet, and a warm feeling settled in her heart. He would not leave unless he knew that she was alright.

He truly cared.

“Of course, Edward. I will wait for you.”

She watched as he left, her heart beating steadily in sync with the steps he took. She loved him. Perhaps tonight was the perfect time to admit this to him as well. After all, she knew already that he loved her. What had she to lose?

“My lady.”

Edward had barely left the dance floor when the slimy voice of Julian Pembroke broke through her blissful thoughts. Lucy turned to face him, trying her best not to allow her distaste for the rake to be too obvious on her face.

“Lord Pembroke.”

Julian wore his usual miserable sneer – one that clearly said that he thought himself far superior to those around him.

“I see your partner for the evening has left, leaving you to fend off the wolves by yourself.”

“And so here you are.”

Lucy bit back the answer before she could stop herself, but Julian was not offended. Instead, he laughed.

“Oh, my lady! I am no wolf. In truth, I am the one who protects ladies from the wolves of London. Have you not heard?”

She had heard all about Julian Pembroke’s reputation. And it was vile, even worse than the falsities she know knew were said of Edward.

“I have it on good authority, my lord, that when it comes to wolves, you tend to lead the pack.”

Julian laughed again, as though she had told a hilarious joke rather than offend him gravely.

“I believe that your… source is mistaken, my lady. I am truly not as bad as my reputation would have you believe.”

Lucy knew that this was false, and yet she forced herself to smile at him politely. Julian seemed to see this as some form of encouragement, and he held his hand out to her authoritatively – reminding her instantly of her father.

“Shall we dance, Lady Lucy?”