Lucian sipped from his mug, keeping his expression bland. “It does, doesn’t it?”
David leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Care to explain why?”
He didn’t, particularly. He could have honestly answered,Because Fortune is a bitch. Because my cunt of a cousin made sure of it.
Both happened to be true. But the words Lucian selected were, “Because I am an idiot.”
That was true as well.
He downed the last of his coffee, then stood. “Speaking of which, I have wooing to do.”
Lucian tried to pay for his coffee, but Vander wouldn’t let him. He finally gave up and wished his friends a good day.
Outside, a glossy black carriage with red velvet upholstery and a gilded crest on the door was waiting at the curb. Lucian almost walked by it before recalling that it belonged to him. What a mad turn of events the last week had been! He’d gone from walking everywhere because he could seldom scrape together enough coin for a hackney carriage to being a lord.
It was an unimaginable change of fortune. Indeed, Lucian had never conceived the possibility of it.
Which was why he had burned his bridges with Rosalie so thoroughly.
In retrospect, that had been a mistake. But ultimately, it did not matter if she hated him. She would be marrying him, regardless. Marrying Rosalie was the last puzzle piece he needed to slot into place in order to bring his plan to fruition. He would therefore stop at nothing to have her.
The carriage drew up to Deverell House and Lucian climbed down. Two giggling young ladies, one with brown hair and one with red, rushed up to meet him.
The brunette hooked her arm through his. “Good morning, my lord.”
Lucian managed to give her the slip, but the redhead seized him by the other arm. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day, you know.”
The brunette batted her eyes at him. “Will you beourValentine?”
Lucian’s face remained stony. This wasn’t the first time he’d found a pack of young ladies lying in wait outside his house. It seemed that there was a certain fascination with the gentlemen featured in that blastedRake Reviewcolumn, and he had become all the mode.
At least his most recent admirers seemed to be of a more respectable class than the harlots who had accosted him on the way to Rosalie’s house, and they were not brazen enough to kiss him in broad daylight. But Lucian had no interest in them, and his stores of patience were growing thin.
“Ladies,” he said darkly, “I will thank you to unhand me. As I believe you are aware, I am betrothed to another.”
This only inspired another fit of giggling. The brunette brushed his upper arm, which she had seized again. “I heard that your Lady Rosalie is none too keen to be your bride.”
The redhead tilted her head toward his ear. Her overly sweet perfume made him wrinkle his nose. “She doesn’t appreciate you,” she purred in a voice she doubtlessly intended to sound seductive rather than insipid.
Lucian was struggling to disentangle himself without hurting the annoying chits. “The key point is that I appreciate her. I have eyes for no other woman. There is no hope for you, so you may as well go home.”
The two girls exchanged a starry-eyed glance. “He’sdevotedto her!” the brunette exclaimed.
“It’s so romantic!” the redhead agreed.
Lucian was tempted to roll his eyes but instead opted to seize the opportunity presented by their momentary distraction. He twirled the redhead into a spin, as if they were dancing, and sent her careening neatly into her companion. They both gave a startled cry and let go.
Lucian rushed up his front steps. Collins was waiting with his hand on the doorknob, ready to slam it shut behind his master.
But then, Lucian recalled something one of the ladies had said. He turned just shy of the entrance and addressed the brunette. “You said that you had heard Lady Rosalie was not keen to marry me. Wherever did you get such a notion?”
Sadly, the rumor was correct. But Rosalie had done an admirable job of feigning delight during their betrothal ball.
So, why did these girls believe otherwise?
The brunette was smiling. “Oh, that! I heard it from your—ow!”
The redhead, who had stepped on her foot, fixed her companion with an accusatory glare. “We’re not supposed to mention that,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Remember?”
