Her emerald eyes assessed him deeply, seemingly probing at his soul. What was it about her that made him speak so freely? Lucan clenched his jaw in annoyance, not trusting the way he had relaxed so easily with her. The push and pull grated on him. Something in him fought to warn her, to push her away from him, to preserve the naive sweet girl that she was. Then a more primitive part of him roared in rage at his thoughts. Had his sister been given such thoughts, such considerations?
Wariness shifted in her gaze, and she frowned as if in deep contemplation, then exhaled gently with a small smile. It seemed she reached whatever decision she clearly battled. “You must allow me to take you to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. The Lyon’s Mail is all the rage, and I am quite sure you will enjoy it. The sounds, the laughter, witnessing the amazing talent of the actors, and oh the music… You can call on me and we will go together. I am sure you have a box?”
Lucan looked at her in stupefied amazement. He might have not mingled in high society for long, but he was bloody certain no young lady would invite a man out. Whether he was a duke or not.
“I was told there is indeed a box,” he heard himself saying, as if someone else was speaking.
“Wonderful,” she said on a radiant smile, which had so much genuine appeal, he was charmed.
“Do you have any family you would like to accompany us, Lucan?”
She flushed at his hard stare but did not retreat. His family was never something he spoke about, and only Ainsley, Marcus, and the Reverend knew of them in its entirety. Lucan had determined his life was not fodder for society’s speculation so he had held them close. “No,” he said flatly, to discourage all questions in that regard.
She gave him a look filled with such sympathy, his chest ached. He wanted to tell her to keep touching him as she lightly caressed his arm in a gesture he was not sure he understood. He did not like how the simple quick touch was so pleasurable.
“I am very sorry, Lucan. It must be lonely not to have a family. Mine is very interfering and tells me what to do all the time, but I cannot imagine life without them,” she said with a smile that was kindness itself.
Her satiny skin glistened under the sunlight, her hair shone like gold itself, and the glow in her green eyes tempted him to unwind. A nameless hunger ate at him. For more. With her. And that shook him. He hardly knew her.
“I have a family, Constance.”
Her mouth formed an O of surprise. “Forgive me… I assumed—”
He waved away her apology. “It is I who should beg your forgiveness for being so brusque. I do have a family. I have two younger cousins whom I regard as sisters and an aunt living in Hampshire.”
Her eyes glowed with pleasure, and he released a slow breath. It did not feel as awful as he had imagined, revealing a bit about himself. He found he wanted to tell her something that society did not know, something not so notorious, and quite normal.
“That is wonderful, Lucan. Why are they not in town, if you do not mind me prying?”
“My cousins are still in the schoolroom, and my aunt does not belong to this society,” he said mildly.
He watched her curiosity deepen. She was so transparent in her emotions. She shifted closer to him on the blanket.
“I heard your father was a school teacher?”
The lady was informed. Not many in London knew much of his background. There was a lot of speculation, and some had the right of it, but many had it wrong.
“He was.” Going on an impulse he was sure to berate himself for later, he continued, “My mother was the daughter of the previous Duke of Mondvale, a secret she kept from us our whole lives. I fancied our father knew, but he never said anything either. She was disinherited for eloping with him over thirty years ago. She was an only child and as such, I was the heir.”
“And when the duke passed on you were found, so you could take your inheritance?” she asked somewhat breathlessly.
“It took the crown four years, but they were relentless.”
“A lot of the rumors whispered of you being some long lost cousin, not the grandson to Mondvale himself.”
Lucan nodded, though in truth he was responsible for some of that misdirection. “It seemed he did everything to bury the fact that his daughter had eloped.”
“Do you regret not knowing him?”
Regret? “I knew I had grandparents alive in the world, though not of such elevation. There had been a time when I tried to find out who they were.” When his parents had died, he and Marissa had been alone, penniless, with hardly any food to eat in the winter. He had been desperate enough that he’d rifled through his mother’s belongings, for he knew she periodically wrote to someone and watched the post hoping for a reply. At the first visit to his ducal estate Wynter Park, he had found those letters, bound and unopened in a top drawer in the library. Yes, he had regrets—for not having the satisfaction of telling his grandfather what he thought of his callous disregard for his daughter.