Page 27 of The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

“So, that is it?” he asked. “You will not abide by my offer, and instead, agree to wed old man Abercorn?”

“I have agreed to nothing, Your Grace.”

“Roderick.”

She stumbled a step at the change in conversion, her back pressed against a shelf of books labeled: Adventure.

“Call me Roderick. And I assure you, Camden is quite adamant you wed, and soon.” He could not look away as her brow pulled sharply down, and then her face relaxed as if her thoughts were far away…all to return her eyes to him. “Come now, you cannot think a marriage to Abercorn would suit you.”

“I am uncertain a marriage to any man will suit.” She pressed her gloved finger to her lips as if she didn’t trust herself to go on.

Blast it all, but he wanted her hands exploring his neck, tangling in his dark locks, and traveling down his back.

“However,” she continued, drawing his attention back to the present—their reality, as it were. “I do see the merit in agreeing to your proposal.” His spirits soared at her words, but why? “At least until I can find a way out of this nonsense.”

Her meaning was clear: marriage to him was not to her liking.

“And marriage to Abercorn would be what, precisely?”

“Unthinkable.” Her shoulders sagged. The weight of it all finally too much for her.

Roderick could imagine the taxing weight upon her given no option but to wed, and to select between two men not of her choosing. His betrothal to Lady Daphne had been done under similar circumstances; a duty to uphold his family’s honor by securing the necessary funds to steer clear of debtor’s prison. They’d made the best of their bad situation, he and Daphne. She was sweet, demure, and proper. Everything a man should long for in a wife; however, not once did he have the overwhelming sensation, the all-encompassing need, to take her in his arms and kiss her.

However, at this very moment, an irresistible craving drew him to Lucianna. He wanted to pull her against him, set his lips to hers, and give her the proper kiss he’d attempted in the gardens. However, this exotic English flower came with thorns—barbs capable of mortal injuries to any man who attempted to pluck her.

The question was: Did Roderick think it worth the wounds to try and claim her?

“If I am unable to waylay my father or speak some sense to him, I will wed you, Montrose.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Lucianna seemed to change before his very eyes. Her shoulders were now stiff with resolve.

“I am certainly happy you would choose me over the aging duke.”

“I cannot say I did not consider many things in this decision.”

“I would very much like to hear what sets me apart from Abercorn.”

She eyed him closely before responding, as if gauging his off-guard manner before speaking. “Are you a murderer, Your Grace?”

“Not that I am aware of, my lady.” He kept his voice neutral, refusing to show the shock that coursed through him at her absurd question. “Are you?”

She waved her hand and stepped away from the shelf. “Heavens no, do not be obtuse.”

Him, obtuse? The woman had an odd way of deciphering who was being dim-witted.

She took his arm and continued down the long aisle, her free hand dragging along the spines of books as they passed. “Do you have a tendency to lie to your peers and the magistrate?”

“I cannot say the opportunity has ever presented itself, so I am unsure how to answer that question honestly.”

“Are you for or against pushing someone down a flight of stairs?” Her steps slowed further with this question.

Roderick pulled her to a stop. Her eyes widened as if she sensed she’d gone too far—said too much. “What in the bloody hell are you speaking of?”

Lucianna averted her stare, remaining silent.

“For the love of all that is holy, Lucianna, what is this all about?” Roderick demanded. He reached out and placed his fingers gently on the side of her face, bring her stare back to his. “Lying…murder…what are you trying to say?”

She lowered her eyes, staring at his neckcloth. “These are all things Abercorn is guilty of.”