Lucas didn’t slow down. “Good afternoon, James, and thank you for your service,” he said to the footman on his way out, tipping his head in the servant’s direction. “Please tell Clayton I owe him a brandy glass.”
“With pleasure, my lord,” James replied with a nod and a bow.
Lucas hadn’t got three steps down the corridor before he let out a string of muffled curses that he knew for a fact would make one of the most highly seasoned jacks in the Royal Navy blush. What the hell had just happened back there? He was thoroughly disgusted. Disgusted with Sir Reginald and all the imperious blowhards like him, gentlemen of the ton, who went around making pronouncements as if they were gods. But mostly Lucas was disgusted with himself, because he knew that what Sir Reginald had said about his espousing the bill for his brother was entirely true. Frances was right. Noblemen were self-entitled horse’s asses. And he was one of them.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sneaking down to the servants’ hall without being seen was no small feat. Waiting to find a particular servant and whisper at him to come speak with you without anyone else noticing was an even larger challenge. But Frances was nothing if not determined. If her mother found her, she would be locked in her bedchamber till her wedding day, but she’d had to take the chance. If only to see Lucas one more time. Frances had little idea what she’d say to him when she found him, however. She only knew she had to tell him the truth. He deserved to know what she was going to do.
She’d been hiding beneath the staircase belowstairs for the better part of a quarter hour before Lucas walked past. He had a frown on his face and looked to be in the devil’s own mood. She called his name in a loud whisper.
Lucas froze and his eyes widened. He glanced over and narrowed his eyes into the darkness. “Frances? What are you doing here?”
He glanced around to see if anyone else had seen her before hurrying over to join her beneath the staircase. “Are you all right? Your mother didn’t beat you, did she?” A thunderous look covered his face.
“No, nothing like that. She cried actually,” Frances replied, wringing her hands.
Lucas winced. “I hate to hear that.”
Frances took a deep, steadying breath. “I came to tell you something, Lucas,” she whispered. “And I fear I don’t have much time.”
“Go ahead,” he prompted. He’d grabbed both of her gloved hands and was holding them, rubbing across her fingers with the tips of his thumbs. His touch gave her strength. But it also made what she was about to say that much more difficult.
She stared up into his handsome face. Oh, dear. This was not going to be easy. It seemed even more daunting now that she was standing in front of him, breathing in the scent of his cologne, and wanting to do nothing more than wrap her arms around his neck and beg him to take her away from the horrible predicament.
Lucas squeezed her fingers and searched her face. “Are you all right, Frances?”
She was not all right and she wasn’t certain she ever would be again, but she managed to nod. “Lucas, before I tell you, will you…kiss me first?”
His green eyes widened to small orbs and he took a definite step back, still holding her hands. “No!”
She pulled her hands from his and plunked both fists on her hips. “Well, you don’t have to be insulting about it,” she replied, but her smile belied the content of her words.
He smiled too. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Frances, believe me it’s not. It’s just that…the last time I gave into that temptation it ended horribly as you might recall.”
“Oh, yes, I recall.” She stared wistfully past his shoulder. She understood why he was reluctant to kiss her again, but she’d just realized it would have been their last kiss.
He rubbed a knuckle against his forehead. “What did you come to tell me?”
She took another deep breath, pressing her palm against her middle as if that simple act would calm the riotous nerves inside. “My parents intend to announce my engagement to Sir Reginald as soon as my father arrives.”
“What?” Lucas’s eyes scoured every inch of her face. “What do you mean?”
“My mother has unofficially accepted Sir Reginald’s suit. We’re merely waiting for my father to make it official.”
Lucas’s eyes were moving so quickly, Frances could tell a hundred thoughts must be racing through his mind. “When does your father arrive?”
“Tomorrow,” she replied.
“You intend to marry Sir Reginald?” It was posed as a question, but Frances could tell he was saying it aloud as if to confirm it in his own mind.
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, it’s my choice.”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and searched her face. “You want to marry him?”
She turned away from him and bit her lip. “You don’t understand, Lucas. My family needs the money. It turns out I have no dowry. None whatsoever. My father has gambled it all away.”
He blew out a deep breath from his pursed lips as if he was trying to control his temper. “All of it?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Everything.”
Lucas’s next words came through clenched teeth. “And Sir Reginald, that ass, doesn’t care that you don’t have a dowry.”
She nodded again. “Not only that, apparently he’s agreed to pay my parents a significant sum.”
Lucas cursed under his breath. His nostrils flared. “So, he’s buying you?”
She let her chin drop to her chest. She’d expected Lucas would be angry, but she hadn’t guessed his words would be quite so harsh. “I know how awful it sounds. I have no choice.”
He paced away from her, his hands on his hips. “When is the wedding to be?” he ground out.
She took another steadying breath. “As soon as possible. The sooner we wed, the sooner my father will get the purse.”
Lucas
