Fury blazed in Arran’s eyes, and she stumbled.
“It did not occur to me that none of you would recall me. I should have,” she added. “I’m just a serving girl. And no one did, and—”
Arran ground his teeth.
She spoke faster. “There was so much confusion and someone mistook me for Campbell’s sweetheart, and I couldn’t get my thoughts clear or my words in and—” Her shoulder sank. “And then I didn’t know how to correct the misunderstanding.”
Her throat moved painfully.
“Lie.”
She looked blankly at Arran.
“It was alie, madam.” He glanced down the bridge of his refined aquiline nose. “Call it what it was.”
Lucy drew back her shoulders. There was no way to bring down the protective walls he’d erected. Not this time. Well, she had regrets about how she’d conducted herself, but she’d be damned if he made her a villain.
“It was a misunderstanding at first, Arran. A lie of omission that, after my failure to correct, became a lie.” Lucy notched her chin up and met his punishing gaze directly. “Hate me for my mistakes and for wronging you, but I will not let you repaint the entire situation as some nefarious plot I constructed. It wasn’t.”
An illusion of a smile, warm and not cruel—some vision she yearned to see—ghosted his lips.
Or…maybe not.
“What was the plan, Lucy?” he asked flatly.
“The…plan?” Lucy shook her head. “I’m not sure what you—”
“Did you think to come in as Campbell’s savior and make m—” Her ears picked up on that one syllable. “My damned family fall in love with you? That Campbell would fall in love with you?”
“There was no plan.” Her chin trembled. “I never had one in my life, on account I never n-needed one, Arran.” A numbness left her feeling empty inside.
They stared at one another. It was a grim-faced Arran who looked away first.
Lucy stopped him. “Arran?” she said softly.
“I… I want to tell you,” she began when his steely gaze returned to her. “Ineedto tell you…I…did not love Campbell. It wasn’t love.” It was never that.
Something hot flashed in Arran’s eyes.
Cautious hope stirred to life. “It wasn’t love,” she repeated softly, willing him to understand. “I…just didn’t realize it until now. Until y—”
“Do not finish that.” His already closed-off features grew more shuttered.
As if he couldn’t stomach to look at her, Arran looked about. His eyes landed at the center wall where rested the four-poster bed and its white satin harrateen curtains, drawn wide to reveal matching white satin coverlets.
She knew his thoughts because they were the same wicked ones flashing through her mind: Arran taking Lucy in his arms. Him driving her back into the mattress as he’d done with the kitchen table. Her bending, bowing her body for him.
Warmth settled in that place between her legs; her body trembled.
What power did this man have over her that—even teeming with loathing—she still ached for him to take her in his arms as he had last night? A lifetime ago? Time had ceased to matter since Arran McQuoid burst into her life.
He swung his gaze back so abruptly, Lucy didn’t have time to school her composure.
For a moment, shared hungering passed between them. His eyes were a window into her own soul, a tale of yearning so great it drowned out all that had come before and centered them in the now.
His desire proved more powerful than his hate, and Lucy again—foolishly—surrendered to hope.
A harsh, jeering smile formed on his hard lips. “It is unfortunate you were not forthright in the kitchens last night, Miss LeBeau. If I’d in fact known Campbell had no claim to you, I would have satisfied both our itches.”
