A delicate blush warmed her cheeks.
“And when is that happy occasion set for, Lucy?” he put that question to her the way a magistrate would a criminal offender.
The lady dampened her mouth, bringing Arran’s intention to sinfully lush lips; ones a better man would have flayed himself for noticing. “I…”
“Yes, Miss LeBeau?” Arran prompted her for an answer.
“Ignore this one,” the earl patted the young woman’s clean, but worn hand and drew Arran’s attention elsewhere. Those strong, sturdy fingers attracted Arran’s notice far more than they should. Hers weren’t the delicate, flawless, white of a polite lady, but all the more exquisite for them. A man could imagine all manner of wicked delights.
A tightness settled in his groin.
“My boy has a big sense of humor like Campbell.” Not anymore.
Arran’s father perked up. “Did my rascally godson ever share with you the time he met King George IV—though he was only Prinny then. Campbell gave the king such a laugh.” The earl launched into his favorite story about Campbell; his voice faded into background noise.
Arran fought to look away from Lucy—and failed. Every instinct in him tracked her, sharp and unrelenting.
She’d been pretty before in her modest garments. But now? With the McQuoid ladies’ maids’ masterful work, Lucy was…breathtaking. Unsettlingly so. Even more unsettling was his notice of those details.
Her midnight-black curls had been swept into an intricate coronet, rebellious spirals slipping free. One brushed her cheek, drawing the eye to her heart-shaped face. Others trailed her shoulders; one lay nestled in the shadowed dip of her full breasts.
Stunned by the sight of her, Arran realized his father’s presence denied him any chance to interrogate the young woman—to demand answers, to learn how she came to be with Campbell…
And why she was here now.
Chapter 5
She’d gone and stepped into it now.
Lucy was in trouble.
Or danger.
She should’ve corrected their error immediately. The minute they called her Mr. Smith’s sweetheart, she’d had an obligation to set them straight.
For reasons she could not now explain, she’d allowed them to continue with the assumption.
Every last one of Mr. Smith’s family had embraced her as if she had long been among their numbers.
With one exception being…him.
The cold-eyed, suspicious stranger who watched her.
No, not watching her. Sizing her up.
He had a flinty pair of dark blue eyes and a hard, angular jaw. Between that and a pair of broad, heavily muscled shoulders, a narrow waist, and tree trunk-like thighs, the man was all Scot.
Lucy scowled.
Aye, and he had a temper of one too.
A man as surly as this one didn’t have a right to be so, so bleeding handsome.
The faint but cold smile on his unforgivably hard lips indicated he’d caught her notice.
Bloody bugger the fellow.
He was suspicious of her, and had every reason to be, but he didn’t need to be so smug.
