“You know a fight would end in a draw, with us both bloody and weary. You’re stronger, but I’m faster,” Lucas reminded him.
Damn it all, the bastard was right.
“What a mess.” Heathcliff rubbed his hand down his face and leaned back in his chair.
“Women often create problems as much as they solve them,” Lucas offered sagely.
“Oh, shut up.” Heathcliff wasn’t in the mood for his friend’s attempt at wisdom. Only a few months earlier, Lucas would have wholeheartedly agreed with him.
Now he was of the converted sort.
And utterly useless.
“Are you going to tell Liliah?”
Lucas paused. “Tell her?”
“Anything,” Heathcliff answered.
“Perhaps. It depends on what she asks.”
“Traitor,” Heathcliff remarked.
Lucas chuckled. “It will be interesting to find out what my wife discovers regarding what . . .” He paused. “Is it Miss Miranda?”
“Blast, yes. What’s the chit’s real name anyway?”
“Samantha. But under the circumstances—”
“I know, Miss Samantha it is.” Heathcliff waved a tired hand, then thought over the name. Samantha. It fit her.
“Of course, as her brother-in-law, I could demand that you come up to scratch,” Lucas remarked.
Heathcliff’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
Lucas chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and in turn, my wife would have my hide. No, Liliah is convinced her sister needs a love match because she enjoys one of her own.” Lucas preened.
Heathcliff wanted to gag.
“How lucky for her,” he remarked dryly.
“And since you are not that love match, I’m afraid I can’t force the issue.” Lucas dusted off his hands.
“How magnanimous of you,” Heathcliff continued in dry sarcasm.
“However, I must insist that you cease taking liberties with her, you understand.”
Heathcliff nodded. “Consider it done.” He refused to acknowledge the hint of regret that passed through him.
“I have your word?” Lucas leaned forward, spearing him with his sharp blue gaze.
Heathcliff gave a shrug. “Of course.”
Now that he knew the conniving nature of the girl, it would be easy to remain on guard.
No more touches.
No more kisses.
Nothing beyond cool detachment.
He could do that.
Couldn’t he?
He had to.
Yet, even as Lucas leaned back, trying with little effort to hide a grin, Heathcliff had an errant thought.
What if the lie he was telling wasn’t to Lucas . . . but to himself?
