“I’m not angry,” he gritted out.
“You sound angry,” his eldest brother said in the most big-brotherly way possible.
Arran fixed a hard glare on the grinning bastard.
“You look it too,” came another remark—from the usually taciturn Duke of Aragon.
“Why, you might as well send Aragon or—” Fleur began.
The two serious fellows—who became all smiles for their wives and children—scowled.
More than usual.
The Earl of Abington slammed his newspaper down. “Oh, by all the jingles in Christendom, would you please go fetch the young lady, Arran, and be done with it?”
Thattrulymanaged to silence the lot of them.
Arran cut his way from the room and headed upstairs to Lucy LeBeau’s rooms.
Arran dismissed the crimson-clad servant stationed nearby. Once the footman had gone, Arran knocked.
There came sounds from within—the patter of footsteps, quiet mutterings as the room’s occupant approached.
Miss Lucy LeBeau drew open the door with such force that had it been anything other than solid oak, the hinges would’ve surrendered on the spot.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of her stopped him cold.
She’d been lovely upon her arrival. But now, framed in candlelight, she was something altogether different.
A vision in crimson and white silk; startling, vivid, impossible to ignore.
The scarlet bodice with its soft puffed sleeves and low square neckline hinted at curves a gentleman had no business noticing. Her white silk skirt fell clean and full; snow against fire. A peppermint confection come to life—sweet, bright, and utterly disarming.
A treat meant to be a feast for a—
“Did you order that servant outside my door?” she demanded, all fiery Scot.
His neck grew hot—guilt sparking for reasons that had nothing to do with the footman he had, in fact, posted there.
Arran rested a shoulder against the Prussian blue wallpaper, a model of idle calm.
He wasn’t.
“Did you think to leave,” he asked, “and then change your mind because of the servant standing guard?”
He only faintly teased her—faintly, because he no longer recalled how to truly tease. He’d once been damned good at it.
“Yes.”
Her frankness nearly knocked him off-balance.
She leaned closer. “I wanted to find Nettie and Tasgall.”
“Who?”
She frowned.
Understanding dawned. “Ah, you’re referring to your servants.”
