The only explanation for Dufton to be in that part of England was that he had somehow found out about Marsden. The earl was depraved and cruel, but he was far from stupid. Which meant Harry would need to meet with Waterstone. Play nice, when what he really wanted was to punch the man in his aristocratic nose.
Harry pulled out his watch and checked the time, satisfied he still had an hour until his next appointment. The walk had been beneficial, focusing him on what needed to be done. If Waterstone continued to toy with him, he would find himself forced into an untenable position.
Deciding to go the long way around, Harry laughed as a young boy accidentally hit him with a ball. Arthur, as the lad introduced himself, apologized profusely, then asked Harry if he wanted a game of toss.
Harry complied. When was the last time he’d felt such childlike delight in something as simple as a ball? A lifetime ago.
He gave Arthur some instruction on how to flick his wrist, then straightened. At first, Harry thought that lush form only a trick of the light, one brought on by thoughts of Waterstone. But—good god, her eyes were so blue—she wasn’t an illusion. A hand raised from her side in greeting.
Lucy.
Harry’s entire body took a deep, painful sigh. The sensation blossomed somewhere in the region of his chest and spread out along his limbs, the same as the day he’d guided her around the stones. The entire time they’d walked, he’d had to struggle to keep from touching her. He’d never wanted anything sodesperately in his entire life. And Harry had been desperate a great many times.
He studied her from across the grass.
Snobbish twit.
The sting of her rejection returned, along with the shame of his own stupidity. Before him stood the one thing Harry would always want and couldneverhave. No matter his success or wealth. Or whether he knew which bloody fork to use. He wasn’t fit to touch her skirts.
He hated her for it.
5
“You seem quite enthralled. What has caught your attention, I wonder?”
The sound of Dufton’s voice had Lucy’s gaze jerking back from Estwood’s obvious disgust at the sight of her.
He has good reason, Lucy.
She drew her attention away from the only man who’d ever merited it. Lucy hadn’t known it would hurt so much, toseehow much he despised her. “My lord,” she murmured.
“I didn’t realize you were acquainted.” He nodded his head just slightly in Estwood’s direction.
Lucy kept her gaze lowered, retreating at the animosity in Dufton’s tone. “Mr.Ethtwood?” The lisp returned, horrible and far too loud. She composed her features into mild confusion while trying to force her tongue to stop sticking to her teeth.
Dufton peered at her. “Come now, Miss Waterstone,” he drawled. “You were listening at dinner the other evening, weren’t you?”
Instinct, finely honed after years with Father, screamed at Lucy to say as little as possible.
Compose yourself.
“Oh,” Lucy replied, giving the impression of a dimwit. “I was watching the boy with his ball.” She pointed.
“I’m sure you were. But even you are not so stupid as to be unaware of the rivalry between your father and Harrison Estwood. Well, possibly you are. You don’t strike me as terribly intelligent.” Dufton took Lucy’s arm, spinning her abruptly. Fingers bit into her skin, dragging Lucy in the direction of the waiting carriage.
“My lord,” she breathed, surprised at Dufton’s sudden change in manner.
His grip intensified, bruising her skin. “Now would be an excellent time to inform you, Miss Waterstone, that I do not care to be lied to.” He pinned her against the door of the carriage.
“I’m not ” She flinched at the ugliness contorting his handsome features.
“Tsk, tsk, Miss Waterstone.” Dufton shoved her into the carriage. “We should discuss my expectations of our impending union.”
“I haven’t agreed toto” she stammered, her tongue refusing to obey, given her distress.
Flinging her into the seat across from him, Dufton waited until Lucy righted herself before speaking. “You seem completely oblivious to your situation, Miss Waterstone. Given you aren’t clever enough to figure things out on your own, allow me to apprise you of certain matters.”
I’m not a nitwit, Lucy wanted to scream, but instead, she merely regarded him from beneath the safety of her lashes, heart pounding. She retreated, as she always did, into excessive reserve. Clasping her hands, she stayed perfectly still and silent. Invisible. Beneath notice. A trick she’d learned from living with Father.
