“Rest assured that I’m in no jovial mood, Heightfield. This is not a veiled threat, this is an outright demand.” The duke underlined his statement with a chilly gaze.
Lucas tucked his hands behind his back and nodded once. “Why?”
The duke’s jaw ticked as he seemingly ground his teeth together. “Because she is none of your concern.”
Lucas lifted a shoulder. “I beg to differ. I rather find her intriguing and I’m not inclined to quit her acquaintance just yet. Things are ever becoming . . . interesting.” He gave a wicked grin, enjoying the flush of red that reflected the duke’s apparent ire.
“Now see here—” The duke took a few menacing steps toward him. “She is betrothed to the Earl of Greywick’s son. It’s a union that we have long planned and eagerly anticipate! There is nothing that you have to offer that would tempt such a lady.”
Lucas couldn’t restrain a chuckle. He had more than succeeded in tempting Liliah; he’d had the pleasure of thoroughly ruining her.
But one could never be too certain, so he was damned determined to make sure he repeated the process just to ensure a job well done.
“What in heaven’s name are you smirking about?” the duke demanded, a look of disgust marring his face.
“It would seem I’m more informed about your family than you, Your Grace. I find that interesting. Either you are lying to me, or you have no idea. I’m not quite certain, but I will say that it truly is in your best interest for Greywick to win your daughter’s hand.” He arched a brow.
“How dare you impugn my integrity!” the duke bellowed.
“Do you wish for pistols at dawn? I’m more of a rapier man myself, but I’m quite certain that neither would give you an advantage. Besides . . .” He inched closer to the duke. “When I best you, who would ensure the betrothal would continue? Why . . . there would be a mourning period and”—he shrugged his shoulder—“I suppose then you could take your sordid secrets to hell with you.”
“Damn you to hell, Heightfield.”
“Is that a yes?” Lucas challenged.
The duke narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “I’m not as foolish as you think.”
“Such a pity.”
Luke ignored the vein pulsing in the duke’s forehead, instead studying his adversary’s posture. Rigid shoulders, cold expression. He tried to think of a time he’d seen the duke even grin.
He couldn’t think of one.
How was it possible that Liliah was his blood?
“Stay away from her,” the duke reiterated.
“No,” Lucas answered carelessly. “And why do you even care? Anyone with eyes in their head can see that it’s a reluctant match. What do you gain, Your Grace, that you don’t already possess?”
The duke didn’t answer, simply kept a cold silence.
“If you do not wish to discourse, then it would seem that I’ll be left to the devices of my own imagination.” Lucas stepped back and walked around a chair before lazily sitting down. He toyed with the idea of telling the duke about Greywick’s bet, then decided on a different route. “If I had any kindness in my heart, I’d simply assume you were a protective father—however, we both know that true kindness is in short supply within this room, so I must devise an alternative reason.” He paused. “Maybe money, maybe secrets . . .”
The duke gave an irritated grunt.
“But since I’m quite certain you’re not about to visit debtors’ prison, it must be Greywick applying the pressure. And that must mean that Greywick knows something. . . that you wish to remain in the dark.” Lucas shrugged.
“That’s preposterous,” the duke ground out. “Take your leave, I have nothing more to say to you, and you have made your position quite clear.”
“But we’re just now starting to have an interesting conversation,” Lucas admonished as he stood.
“You always were a bastard.”
“Ah, and here we bring up that nasty little secret.”
The duke lost his color and glanced away.
“Remembering that which you wish to forget. Hmm . . . I wonder if that is the secret that Greywick hides,” Lucas whispered softly, watching loathing fill the duke’s expression.
