“Lucas.” It wasn’t really a question, nor was it a friendly greeting. Perfectly put together—from the top of his tall black hat to the toes of his hessians—Luke’s brother raised one lofty brow and then lifted the eyepiece that had once belonged to their father to scrutinize Luke’s person. “I hope we aren’t interrupting anything.”
Oh, hell, Blackheart wasn’t alone. Two sets of eyes, the identical color of his own, peeked around his imposing figure to smile up at Luke.
He winked at Lucy. Or was that Lydia? Hell, he’d been away too long.
“Did you travel all the way from Crescent Park this morning?” Luke met his older brother’s gaze.
“Of course not, silly,” Lucinda chided. Definitely Lucy. “We slept at the posting inn last night.”
“We expected you would be there as well,” Lydia added helpfully.
Blackheart merely raised his other brow. Of Luke and his three siblings, their father’s heir had been the only one to inherit his almost black eyes. Came in handy for a duke, Luke figured. He couldn’t begin to count how many subordinates Blackheart had put in their place without having to say a single word.
Just as the blighter was attempting to do with Luke in that moment.
Luke merely grinned at his brother.
Because over the years, he had come to be mostly immune to such ducal tactics. Besides, too much time had passed since he’d seen them.
Black’s eyes might have almost twinkled, but he didn’t quite grin back.
Luke, however, had no such inhibitions, and when he opened his arms, both his sisters flew into them. He squeezed one with each arm and then kissed the tops of their perfectly coiffured heads. They were petite like their mother had been but they were definitely no longer little girls.
They were young women now.
“You were supposed to come directly to Crescent Park.” Lucy accused. She was the least reserved of the two.
“Why would I do that when you are perfectly content to come to me?” Following one more item of business, he would likely be shipping out directly again. Luke met Blackheart’s gaze over their sisters’ heads. Blackheart nodded.
“We missed you.” Lydia squeezed him tightly.
Even if Blackheart’s stare hadn’t shifted, Luke would have known Naomi had arrived behind him. Never before had he been so aware of another person. He affectionately unfolded his sister’s from around him and turned around.
In such a short amount of time, she’d tied her silken mane into a neat knot at the back of her neck and donned the same black gown that she’d worn the day before.
To an undiscerning eye, she appeared a proper grieving widow.
But Blackheart would notice that the muslin was wrinkled and that it hadn’t been completely fastened in the back. His brother likely wouldn’t miss the reddened skin along the side of her neck left by Luke’s unshaven whiskers.
Luke had intended to leave similar evidence between her legs that morning.
Although he had missed his family something fierce, they sure as hell could have arrived at a more convenient time.
“Naomi.” Luke took her hand. “This is my brother, the Duke of Blackheart. Black, may I present to you Mrs. Naomi Gilcrest, Gil’s… wife—Gil’s widow,” he corrected himself.
“My condolences, Mrs. Gilcrest.” Blackheart bowed over her hand. “Your husband will be missed. He was a longtime acquaintance of our family.”
Luke appreciated that Blackheart acted with the utmost discretion in all things—more so in this moment than any time before.
“And my sisters: Ladies Lucinda and Lydia.”
His sisters curtsied prettily, as did Naomi.
Luke couldn’t help but watch her approvingly. Even in this late stage of her confinement, she was graceful and poised.
When the time came, he would claim her as his own.
“Won’t you come in? I’m afraid my maid is away temporarily, but I’ve put some water on..." She trailed off, apparently realizing what she’d just revealed.
