The Unexpected Duchess(49)

Had he stumbled again?

Lucy narrowed her eyes on him. “Good heavens, you are foxed!”

“No!” he called back with a look she could only call disgruntled on his face.

“Yes, you are.” She couldn’t help the little smile that popped to her lips. “You are. You’re drunk as a wheelbarrow.”

He put his hands on his hips. “Come down here.”

She laughed at that. “I don’t think so. I’m wearing my night rail and a robe and it’s the middle of the night. It’s entirely indecent. What do you think you’re doing here at this hour?”

“Come down here,” he called again. “I want to see you in your night rail. Indecency doesn’t bother me.”

Had he just waggled his eyebrows at her? Oh, heavens, he really was drunk as a wheelbarrow. It was a sight, to be sure, an unexpected sight, to see the Duke of Claringdon foxed, slurring his words, and good Lord was he pulling off his cravat? She leaned against the window frame and watched him. It was a bit fascinating. He was quite a pleasant drunk, she thought with some irony. Why had she assumed he’d be cross? Not that she’d ever pictured him drunk. He burst into song just then, confirming her suspicions that he was quite jovial while in his cups indeed.

“Shh,” she called down. “You’ll wake Garrett and he’ll probably call the night watch.”

“No, he won’t. He’s a good chap, Upton. Knew him in Spain. Good chap. Good chap.”

Lucy hid her smile behind her fingertips. “What are you doing out there? Why did you come here tonight?”

“Why? Do you wish I was Berkeley?”

Lucy sucked in her breath. It wasn’t possible, was it, that Derek was jealous? Oh, my, this made things even more interesting. More interesting, indeed.

“For some reason I highly doubt Lord Berkeley would do such a thing,” she offered.

“You’re right, because he’s dull,” Derek said. “And he wouldn’t want to muss his perfect proper hair.” Derek had finally tugged his cravat from his neck and was busily wrapping it around his hand.

“What precisely is proper hair?” She squinted. “What are you doing with your cravat?”

“I’m using it as a tourniquet,” he announced, “as I am in need of one.”

Lucy gasped and leaned farther out the window in order to get a better look. “Are you hurt?”

He held the hand he’d been wrapping aloft. “My fist is bleeding.”

“Why?”

“Punched a tree.”

She furrowed her brow. “What? Why?”

He leered at her. “Come down here and I’ll tell you.”

She smothered another smile. He must not be hurt too badly if he continued to be so contrary. “Not possible.”

“I’m coming up then!” He set something in the grass. Was it another drink?

Lucy stepped away from the window. “No!”

But he wasn’t listening. He’d already begun scaling the tree in front of her window. He grabbed a low-hanging branch, levering himself up. His shirttails came out of his waistband, affording Lucy a dark but tempting view of his midsection. Six muscles stood out in sharp relief against his taut skin. She pressed her lips together. “Oh, I wish I hadn’t seen that. I’m not going to be able to forget that,” she whispered, shaking herself.

“You’ll kill yourself,” she called to him.

He’d already made it up to the second set of branches. “No, I won’t. Believe me. If I didn’t kill myself in the wars, I’m not about to let a blasted tree end my life.”

She had to smile at that, too. And she had to admit, he did seem rather adept at climbing given the fact that he was drunk and injured.

He made it to the third set of branches and swung himself out to the farthest limb, the one closest to her window.

Lucy gasped. “Be careful!”

He grabbed the branch and swung himself into the opening, legs first. Lucy stepped back to allow him room and then lurched forward to grab him around the waist. She held tight, pulling him with all her force so he wouldn’t be tugged back out by the momentum of his swing. Once he realized she had him, he let go of the branch and worked his way entirely through the window with Lucy’s help.

As soon as Lucy ensured he was safe, she let go and stumbled back. She put her fingers to her lips and watched him sitting on her sill. He had a roguish grin on his face and looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.

“That was dangerous and stupid,” she said. But she couldn’t help but glance at the deep V of skin exposed from where his cravat had been. She swallowed. Hard.