“You certainly are slow, are you not?” Lucas was losing his patience. “Next waltz, save the chit from her tyrant and I’ll rescue you—will that suffice for a plan?” he enunciated through clenched teeth.
“Of course,” Meyer replied readily, his expression shifting from surprise to appreciation. “Many thanks.”
“Was that so difficult to cultivate, as far as plans? Dear Lord, and you are the future Earl of Greywick. God save us all.”
Meyer reared back slightly, his brows pinched. “I take offence, sir.”
“You should take notes, rather. Now, go and make sure you follow directions like a good lad.” Lucas pushed off from the pillar, watching with delight as the verbal barb hit its mark.
Without waiting for a response, he left Meyer and wandered back toward the door, giving him a better view of Lady Liliah.
Her color was high, as if just on the edge of mutiny, and Lucas bit back a grin. He doubted he’d have needed to spell out the plan to her like he had to Meyer. No. She’d have run headlong into the fray with her own twist to the plot.
It was devious.
It was delightful.
It made him want her even more.
Damn it.
As if feeling his regard, she tilted her head ever so slightly, much like she had when he had found her in the balcony at the last ball. Glancing behind her, her intelligent gaze scanned the room before meeting his. Arching a brow, he waited for her response.
Her father’s hand squeezed her wrist.
She winced—but rather than turn away, she lifted her chin defiantly, meeting Lucas’s gaze with a boldness that made him painfully aroused.
Her gaze shifted to her father, and she nodded once as the strains of the first waltz lilted through the air. She glanced back at Lucas, and he nodded once to her, a slow, intentional movement.
I remember.
And remember he did. The Duke of Chatterwood might make their tryst slightly more complicated to arrange, but as far as Lucas was concerned, that made it all the sweeter.
May it never be said he didn’t rise to the challenge.
Rather, he welcomed it.
Meyer approached the duke, bowed politely, and offered his arm to Liliah.
Lucas was too far away to hear the words, but the intention was clear. Liliah’s shoulders froze, even as her chin lifted in an almost rebellious tilt, yet she followed him out onto the dance floor. Lucas made his move. Maneuvering around the ballroom, he skirted the edge where the milling people met the open dance floor, and selected a location opposite the duke, who, with any luck, wouldn’t notice that Meyer would be replaced with another gentleman. As the dancers swirled around in a circular motion, Lucas spotted Meyer, and waited for his notice. As soon as he made eye contact, he nodded toward the farthest corner, and upon Meyer’s small nod, he stepped closer to the dancers. Meyer was quicker to catch on than before, and led Liliah closer to the edge of the dance floor, and as he held his arm out for Liliah to twirl, Lucas stepped in, grasping her hand and setting Meyer free.
“Good evening,” Lucas said, grinning unrepentantly.
Liliah’s expression widened with surprise. “Well, good evening!” she remarked, her beautiful face illuminated with delight, the frozen posture of her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “How unexpected, and in the best of ways.”
“I do aim to please.” He spoke with double meaning.
Liliah blushed slightly. “How fortuitous for me.”
Lucas chuckled as he led them back into the throng of dancers. Yet he sobered as he glanced at her wrist. “Are you injured?”
“Pardon?” Liliah asked.
“Your wrist.”
“Ah, you miss little, do you?”
“Perhaps.”
