When he swallowed down the treat, he opened his eyes.
Lucy watched him closely, her eyes somehow soft and serious. “Ye never did mention where Linnie and Captain Tremaine are.”
Of course, a bounder like him had no right to even fleeting moments of paradise with angels like Lucy LeBeau.
“They’re in London for the Yuletide season.” While he spoke, he grabbed the pitcher and eyed its contents. Nearly empty. He added some cider to his mug. The rest he gave to Lucy. “Steering clear of me.” And for the best of reasons.
Lucy didn’t touch her drink; she just fiddled with the porcelain handle. “Is Linnie…unhappy in her marriage?” she sounded brokenhearted at the prospect.
“On the contrary.” Arran took a drink. “She and Tremaine are head over toes in love with one another.”
Lucy gazed at him with an adorably confused gaze. “What?”
“Oh, yes. Immensely.”
“But…but…?”
“Should they not be?” he asked, lightly teasing her.
“Aye, all husbands and wives deserve a loving marr…” She caught the glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, you’re teasing.”
Arran winked. “I was.”
“I dinnae understand,” she said, her brogue growing thicker. “Why should they be surly towards ye, Arran, if they are happy?”
He was touched by her full-throated defense, but he didn’t deserve her absolution for sins from which he shouldn’t be pardoned.
“Lucy,” he said gently, “I told you about my machinations after Linnie’s union to Tremaine.”
“Aye, ye did!” She exploded to her feet, slashing at the air while the words flew from her fiery Scot’s tongue. “Arran, the actions ye took for Captain Tremaine…for Linnie, came from a place of love.” Lucy didn’t let up. “Jingle and Christmas! Ye were willing to challenge the church, the laws of marriage that bound Linnie to a man who deceived her, in order to see her happy, Arran.” Lucy snorted. “I dinnae see anything but selflessness and good in that,” Lucy spat.
Beguiled by the fervency in which she defended him, Arran couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
Lucy began to pace, whipping back and forth on her heel—and suddenly, Arran couldn’t take his eyes off Lucy for entirely wicked reasons. Lucy’s exquisite mane of black curls danced wildly about her waist—a waist meant for a man’s fingers.
The healthy fire cast a glow upon her modest white skirts, leaving little to Arran’s imagination.
Arran drank.
“He used her the way the English kings have the Scots since the beginning of time, and he abandoned her after they wed.” Lucy scoffed. “And what were yer crimes? You thought to save Linnie from a monster of a husband and reunite her with a gentleman who loved her?”
He was captivated by the healthy glow to her cheeks. The fire in her eyes.
He’d never spied a woman so spirited and as breathtaking as the one before him.
And she carried that outrage on Arran’s behalf.
Lucy stopped quick before him. “And that is another thing!”
He found a soft smile forming on his lips. “And what is th—?”
Lucy collected his hands in her own and dragged him to his feet.
In fairness, he allowed himself to go, saving her the effort. Wanting to go. Fearing he’d follow her to the Earth’s end in this moment and never look back with guilt, shame, or regret.
“Ye said ye committed the greatest betrayal a fellow captain can, but he wasn’t a captain to ye, Arran. He was first, foremost, and most importantly, yer friend and brother of the heart. “Ye saved the mon’s life,” she exclaimed. “That is no crime. Ye gave him a gift.”
How vigorously she defended him.
