Passion. He slammed another fist into the poor chap in front of him. The lad needed to learn to use his left with a bit more skill. He’d tell him as much after the match concluded.
Passion was what Derek had experienced with Lucy Upton this afternoon in his bloody rented drawing room of all places. Damn it. He hadn’t felt that on fire for a woman in … perhaps forever. It made him angry. Why? Because he’d felt out of control with her. He was never out of control. In fact he prided himself on being completely in control at all times. Lucy Upton made him feel lacking in control. It had been as if a force had come over him. He’d been unable to keep his hands off her. And damn it, he knew why.
The woman drove him mad. She was bossy, strong, and controlling. She was too sure of herself by half and she refused to back down. Derek was completely unused to anyone who wouldn’t retreat in the face of his will, especially that slip of a woman. Hell, he’d frightened seasoned generals in battle, but for some reason Lucy Upton was completely unintimidated by him. Her reputation preceded her. A wasp’s tongue was what they said about her. Wasp was an apt description. He’d been stung by her more than once now. But instead of it making him want to stay away from her the way it appeared to affect his fellow peers, Derek was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. To his chagrin, he found that he actually looked forward to his interactions with her, and for more reasons than one. Why did she have to be so bloody beautiful on top of it all? She was a challenge. A female challenge the likes of which he had never encountered. And it intrigued him.
Derek threw another punch that connected solidly with his opponent. Damn it. He’d already made his decisions. He didn’t want a challenge. He wanted peace. Another punch. And quiet. Another punch. No more fighting. A fourth punch. He’d had enough of fighting. Lucy Upton was the kind of woman who wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace. She could have her bloody Lord Berkeley. So why did Derek crave her?
The chap across from him was a bloodied mess and acknowledged defeat. Too bad he wasn’t Berkeley. Derek apologized profusely for breaking his nose. Poorly done, that. He hadn’t meant to hurt the lad. But his mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of Lucy Upton. Damn it.
Derek gathered his belongings and left the club. He took off on foot back to his town house. What about Lady Cassandra? He was supposed to keep courting her. Had promised Julian. But what sort of a scoundrel would he be, courting Cassandra after what he’d done with Lucy this afternoon? Damn it all, why had he done those things with Lucy? He was a highly trained military officer. He had no excuse for his loss of control around her. And the passion with which she’d responded to him—it made him hard again just thinking about it.
Blast it. What was he going to do? Things could not continue this way. That much was certain.
Apparently Lady Cassandra was ill. He believed that now. And though he didn’t wish an illness on her, it did afford him time. Time to think. Time to decide what to do next. About both ladies.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Later that afternoon, Jane and Lucy sat in chairs facing the bed in Cass’s bedchamber. Jane was reading Wollstonecraft to their ill friend while Lucy pretended to embroider. In truth she was merely poking the needle through the material and picking the thread back out again. Over and over. She’d attempted the same stitch a dozen times. Oh, it was no use. Guilt rode her hard. She couldn’t embroider. And the words Jane read weren’t holding her interest, either.
What would Derek do now that that had happened between them? What would he say to her? What would he say to Cass? How would everything progress from here? Oh, she was a miserable human being for doing what she’d done today.
“Lucy, has Lord Berkeley come to call?” Cass asked with a sly smile moments after Jane stopped reading and shut the book.
Lucy looked up nervously from her stitching. Lord Berkeley. She hadn’t even thought about him since her afternoon with Derek. Lord Berkeley had been the first decent suitor she’d had in years and now she’d gone and acted like a harlot with another man. Now, that was a pickle.
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, he came to call. Twice,” she answered Cass.
“And what happened?” Cass asked. “I cannot believe we’ve been sitting here all this time and you haven’t mentioned it.”
“Yes, what happened, Lucy?” Jane asked, leaning forward.
“Oh, we had tea yesterday and it was … it was … nice.”
Jane stuck out her tongue. “Ugh. Nice?”
“It was,” Lucy insisted.
Cass scrunched up her nose. “Somehow ‘nice’ doesn’t sound so nice.”