The Unexpected Duchess(48)

If it did, Derek didn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, he led her back over to where Lord Berkeley stood and handed her off. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, kissing the back of her hand. Lucy’s skin burned where his lips touched her.

Lord Berkeley acknowledged Derek and handed Lucy her champagne flute. She thanked him prettily. Derek drifted off in the crowd and Lucy couldn’t help but watch him leave.

“A friend of yours?” Lord Berkeley asked.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” Lucy replied, taking a sip of her champagne. “More like someone I trade barbs with.”

“I heard that you and he had a word challenge at a ball in London.”

Lucy nearly choked on her drink. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. “Um, yes. He … fancies himself a wit.”

“And you, my lady, you’re quite adept with words as well, are you not?”

Lucy took another sip for good measure. She smiled at him. “I do my best, my lord.”

Thankfully she was spared from more questions about Derek when Lord Berkeley asked her to dance again. Another trip around the floor with little conversation, but he was a lovely dancer just the same. And it was nice to have a break from having to spar with someone. For a bit.

* * *

Derek knocked back his third brandy of the evening. He clunked the snifter down on the tray of a passing footman and resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth. He’d done that during his army days often enough, but in the ballrooms of Bath, that was not quite the social standard.

He eyed Lucy Upton across the floor. She was dancing with Berkeley, smiling, and seemingly having a wonderful time. What was it about her interaction with the viscount that was driving Derek mad? Normally at these things, he made an attempt to court Cassandra, Lucy came and fought with him about it, and all was right with the world. He nearly groaned. How wrong was that? Tonight, Lucy seemed as if she didn’t have a care and Lady Cassandra was unoccupied most of the evening, yet Derek could not seem to bring himself to go to her and ask her to dance. Not tonight. Why? Was it because he’d learned that Cassandra was in love with Julian?

Derek wanted to believe that was the case, but he knew it wasn’t true. He hadn’t cared in the least the last two nights when he considered Cassandra’s feelings for Julian. He didn’t love Cassandra himself, so he didn’t begrudge her her feelings for Swift. Damn it. Why couldn’t he put one foot in front of the next and go ask Cassandra to dance? That was the next step in this courtship. To get her alone with him, away from the prying eyes and Lady Lucy’s sharp tongue. And tonight was the perfect opportunity for that. Lucy was—he glanced over to see her dancing with Berkeley still—completely preoccupied. Why did that thought make his chest burn? Make him want to connect his fist to Berkeley’s fine, aristocratic face?

Damn it. Berkeley was the sort of man whom Lady Lucy and Lady Cassandra belonged with. He came from an impeccable family with an impeccable name and a long lineage of service to the Crown. He knew all about proper titles, and proper manners, and proper everything. He was just the sort of man Derek would never, could never, be. But those men were everywhere he looked. They always would be. Why did he care so much that Berkeley in particular was spending time with Lucy?

Derek growled under his breath and called to a footman to bring him another brandy.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX



Lucy awoke to the startling sound of something hitting her window. A clatter, then silence, followed by another clatter.

“What in the world?” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, tossed back the covers, and pulled on her robe just as another clatter hit the glass. She hurried over to the wall, pushed up the window, and leaned out.

Derek stood in the backyard holding a candle. She could barely make out his face in the soft glow. “What are you doing?” she called in a half shout, half whisper.

He staggered a bit. “Throwing pebbles at your window, what do you think?” he called out jovially, perhaps a bit too loudly.

She eyed him warily. “Well, for one thing, you’ve got the wrong window. Cass’s chamber is in the front of the house.”

“I know.”

“Shh.” Lucy waved her hand at him. “Do you want to wake the entire house?”

“No. No. No,” he sort of sang back.

Lucy leaned farther out of the window so he might better hear her. “I won’t even ask how you know where my window is, let alone Cass’s. I don’t want to know.”

“I am extremely crafty, my lady,” he announced, taking off an imaginary hat—just where was his hat?—and bowing once more.