Page 9 of To Break the Rules

To her consternation, he held out his arm, an expectant expression on his harsh features that dared her to back down.

“A pleasure, my lord,” she said, batting her eyelids at him in a manner to ensure he knew she was lying, but wasn’t about flee.

Lucia placed her gloved hand upon his arm, noticing his coat was rather less wrinkled than the last time she’d seen him, and that he was cleanly shaved.

“I see more effort is made for Bond Street than for the ballroom,” she said, showing her teeth as she smiled up at him.

He returned her expression in full, giving her the unnerving impression of a smiling tiger. As she took in his too-long dark hair, his weather-beaten features, and rather shambolic appearance—and not to forget that wicked glint in his eyes—she decided she could imagine him at the helm of a ship, plundering and pillaging his way across the oceans. Yes, most certainly the man could be a pirate.

“I’m afraid I cannot take the credit,” he said with quiet gravity, “as I have recently inherited a valet.”

“A valet?” Lucia repeated, gasping and feigning astonishment. “My, my. The poor man.”

“Indeed, out of the frying pan into the fire,” he said with a mournful sigh. “The Cavendishes are known for their ill tempers and lack of finesse.”

“Oh dear, are you expecting me to repudiate such a claim?” Lucia asked, looking up at him with a grave expression. “For I fear I cannot in all conscience do such a thing. I do so hate dissemblers.”

He stared down at her and Lucia felt a frisson of alarm at the quality of his gaze. It was as though he were looking right through her.

“Do you?” he asked, the question little more than a murmur, but said with such a note of enquiry that Lucia felt certain he knew everything she was hiding.

It was impossible, of course, but the sensation of being found out was so unsettling that a scarlet blush seared her cheeks.

“I think that is far enough,” she said, removing her hand from his arm. “I fear you will not be welcome at our next port of call. Thank you so much for bearing us company. Good day to you, my lord.”

A glint of satisfaction lingered in the knowing blue of his gaze as he gave them a formal bow. “Your servant, Miss de Feria, Miss Hunt.”

Lucia simmered with irritation as she watched the insolent, aggravating man stroll away from them.

“Argh, I hate him,” she muttered, glaring at Matilda, who was laughing openly now.

“Why?” she asked, looking after the viscount with amusement. “I think he’s rather a breath of fresh air.”

Lucia looked at her friend in bewilderment. “You’re not interested in him, surely?” she demanded as Matilda pursed her lips.

She gave Lucia a considering look and shrugged a little.

“I don’t know. Maybe. He’s the kind of man who might overlook my reputation, I suppose.”

Lucia frowned, a strange and unsettling sensation uncoiling in her stomach at the possibility of Matilda in the arms of the overbearing lout who’d just quit their company. Distracted by a sudden burst of laughter, she turned back to Matilda, who was staring at her with a pitying expression.

“Oh, dear me,” she said, her lovely eyes glittering with mirth. “No, I’m not interested in him, dear Lucia, so you can stop looking like you swallowed a wasp.”

Lucia stiffened, outraged at the idea she cared. “Whatever are you implying?” she demanded, glaring at Matilda. “I couldn’t care less whether or not you have an interest in him, outside of the fact I would question your sanity.”

Matilda bit her lip, so obviously disbelieving and amused that Lucia felt herself flush. Unwilling to consider the question with anything resembling an open mind, she turned tail and stalked away.

***

Matilda sighed as she watched Lucia storm off in a huff. The poor girl. It had been obvious to her when Lucia and Cavendish had met that the air had crackled with the force of their attraction. She could well understand Lucia’s distress at the idea; there was nothing pleasant in discovering an attraction to a man you didn’t like. Though it was even worse if you loathed him. How it was even possible she could not fathom, but it was.

She knew.

Realising with a start that she was dithering outside of the legendary Gentleman Jackson’s boxing club, and its neighbouring fencing academy, Angelo’s, Matilda roused herself to walk on. Her reputation was tattered enough without adding the rumour that she lingered outside such places. Having momentarily lost her bearings and sight of Lucia, Matilda turned on the spot, and walked straight into someone exiting the fencing club.

She stumbled, made an exclamation of surprise, and then yelped as her ankle turned.

“Blast!”