He flashed her a smile he did not feel. “I am happy to know my dexterous hands have enabled you to find your…footing, my dear Miss Montgomery.”
She pinned him with a glare. “I could not ask for a better partner,” she seethed through gritted teeth.
“Nor could I,” he growled right back at her.
“Shall we attend dinner?” Winchelsea asked hopefully, aiming his smile exclusively in the direction of Miss Montgomery. “I confess I am quite heartened that the two of you have settled into a working partnership with such ease.”
Oh, they had settled into a partnership, Lucien thought grimly. But perhaps not in the manner Winchelsea would prefer.
“One can never be certain,” his superior added, “given the disparity of station and nationality, to say nothing of the undeniable fact that Miss Montgomery is female. Though her record is flawless, and she is unparalleled in her successful cases.”
“Men do not accept women as their equals,” Miss Montgomery said, her gaze raking over Lucien. “There is no need to dance around the subject with me, Winchelsea, for I have been fighting against the current for the whole of my life. Resistance does not daunt me. Rather, it heightens my persistence. Whenever I am doubted, my determination to prove the naysayer wrong prevails.”
Her words were meant as a reprimand toward him, and Lucien knew it. But she could not know he did not doubt her. Nor could she know his respect for her capabilities was unparalleled. The woman before him was so much more than a lovely face and an amalgamation of luscious feminine curves. She was more than her kiss, more than the surrender she had given him. Far more than the way she made him feel. She was more than lust. She was also intelligent, brave, and a damned fine agent. Her sex did not matter one whit. She was incomparable.
How could she not see it? How had he not seen it before?
So many words crowded on his tongue, but he could not seem to formulate a proper response. And the Duke of Winchelsea was ever at the ready. He rose, circled his desk, and offered Miss Montgomery his arm. Lucien rose as well.
“Allow me to escort you to dinner, Miss Montgomery?” he asked with the air of a swain.
Devil take it.Lucien found himself scowling as he watched her settle a bright smile upon Winchelsea and take his proffered arm. And then he continued to scowl as Miss Montgomery and Winchelsea presented him their backs. She leaned her head toward the duke’s and laughed.
The sound was beautiful. Melodious. It trilled down his spine. Had she ever laughed like that in his presence? And had she ever smiled at him thus? The bile rose in his throat, along with a vicious, rampaging surge of jealousy.
Three nights ago, he had held this vibrant, beautiful creature in his arms. He had kissed her, stripped her, suckled her nipples. He had brought her to a crashing, body-ravaging spend. And now, he was staring at her elegant back, forced to acknowledge her gown this evening was not at all shapeless, but rather well-fitted and crafted of fine silk, with the spare trim of ribbons and the occasional fringe.
Which was just as well, for this magnificent woman did not require adornments.
His gaze flitted to her waist. She was not wearing a corset this evening either. He could tell. And damn him if his cock didn’t ache and throb at the realization.
“Arden?” she called to him in her honeyed drawl.
He realized, quite belatedly, that Winchelsea and Miss Montgomery had almost reached the door to the study, while he had remained rooted to the spot, misery overtaking him as he watched them go. This, surely, was his punishment for nearly losing his control in her presence. Perhaps she and Winchelsea would marry, and she would bear him a dozen dark-haired babes, who would grow to be seven feet tall and lumber about in an ungainly fashion.
Bloody fucking hell.
He brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his coat sleeve. “Lead the way.”
Dinner proceeded in an unhurried fashion. The courses were uninspired and bland, but even had they been lovingly crafted by the finest French chef, Lucien would not have tasted them. Winchelsea hung upon every word Miss Montgomery spoke. Miss Montgomery avoided Lucien’s gaze and consumed her dinner with considerably less gusto than she had evinced on previous occasions.
She laughed at Winchelsea’s tepid attempts at making sallies.
She spoke fondly of New York City in her melodious drawl.
Lucien could not help but to think about how her sweet pink nipples matched the color of her lips.
“And that is when I fell from the tree,” Miss Montgomery told Winchelsea with a laugh, currently in the midst of regaling him with tales of her girlhood.
She had been an orphan, he reminded himself, thinking once more of a young Miss Montgomery. Had she always been as determined as she was now, with more backbone than most gentlemen he knew? Against his will, he envisioned her as a girl, climbing a tree, intent upon her quarry. And he was charmed, in spite of himself.
The Duke of Winchelsea was smitten too, his glowing admiration for her evident upon his face. “Were you injured, Miss Montgomery?”
“Fortunately, the branch was low, and I landed on my feet,” she concluded, smiling. “But I certainly learned my lesson. From that day on, I have never climbed a tree to pick an apple while wearing skirts.”
Lucien would be willing to wager Lark House, and all his funds, she wore trousers instead. And that the damned womanalwayslanded on her feet.
“An excellent lesson. We may consider ourselves fortunate you survived your apple-picking adventure unscathed and are here with us to tell the tale,” Winchelsea said warmly, chuckling.
