“Perhaps,” Clayton allowed, “but you may want to consider Sir Reginald’s connection to the prince.”
“What does the bloody prince have to do with it?” Worth replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
Clayton took a deep breath and addressed his remarks to Lucas. “Look, you obviously don’t want to cater to his disreputable intentions, Kendall, but that doesn’t mean you still can’t play the game. Tell Sir Reginald you’ve decided to bow out of this particular match. He can vote on the bill any way he sees fit and may the Chancellor of the Duchy go to the best man. That way, you won’t burn any bridges.”
“Spoken like a true politician,” Worth said with a dramatic eye roll.
“What’s your advice, Worth,” Bell asked next, “given that you’re the subject of this particular attempt at blackmail?”
Worth contemplated his own countenance in the small looking glass on the wall opposite the window for a moment and straightened his cravat before he spoke. “I say you inform Sir Reginald that I will indeed vote for him for the chancellor role.”
“Really?” Bell’s brows shot up.
“Of course,” Worth replied. “Tell him that, Kendall, then I’ll maneuver to get the duchy vote movedafterthe Employment Bill vote, and by the time the bastard realizes he’d been lied to, it will be too late.” He gave them all a triumphant smile.
“Spoken like a man who doesn’t care how many enemies he makes,” Clayton retorted, shaking his head.
Bell scratched his chin. “No one’s asked me, but for what it’s worth,Isay you tell Sir Reginald he can go straight to hell.”
“That’s hardly helpful,” Clayton replied.
“That’s why you’re the best politician in the room, Clayton,” Worth pointed out with a grin.
Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He shook his head, staring at the wooden floorboards. “That bastard. I can hardly stand to look at him, let alone speak to him again.”
“What do you plan to say to him tomorrow, Kendall?” Clayton prompted.
Lucas lifted his head and met his friend’s gaze. “I think I know what I must do. I’ll tell you all after I meet with him.”
“Well, then,” Bell asked, leaning back upon his wrists. “If you’re settled on your course of action regarding Sir Reginald, what is your course of action regarding Miss Wharton?”
Lucas expelled a deep breath. “Regarding Miss Wharton, I have one last lie to tell.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Just one more day. That’s what Lucas promised himself when he made his way to the library the next morning. He intended to tell Frances that he had to leave. Lucas the footman’s father was ailing in Northumberland. It would be the final lie he told her, and it already sat like a dead weight upon his conscience.
He would leave that afternoon, immediately following his second meeting with Sir Reginald. Leaving was the right thing to do. Lucas was certain of it. He needed time and space. Time to make sense of the last several days and to decide upon the most honorable way to tell Frances the truth without upsetting her more than he had to, and space to stop making additional mistakes such as kissing her again. He would go to his own estate in Kent and think through all of it before returning to London in autumn for the vote in Parliament and his reckoning with Frances. At this point, he looked forward to neither.
He’d promised Frances that he’d meet her today. That promise and his disgust at the thought of leaving her without saying good-bye were the only two things that made him keep walking toward the library.
He’d already written the note to Frances from Kendall telling her he couldn’t meet with her. He’d spent the night on the fourth floor in case she decided to wait outside his room again. He would ask James to ensure she received the note the moment his coach pulled away from Clayton’s drive.
Lucas was risking something, meeting her today. Her maid interrupting them yesterday had been nothing if not a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. If the young woman had only walked in a moment sooner, she might well have caught them kissing. As it was, she probably suspected something similar had happened. Lucas had been unable to sleep last night playing the scenario through his head.
What would have happened had Albina caught them in an embrace? They could have asked her not to tell anyone, but could they trust her? The most likely scenario would be that a scandal would result, and Frances’s reputation would be ruined. If she was caught kissing a footman, no man in thetonwould have her. Not even that snake, Sir Reginald.
Of course, Lucas could offer her the protection of his name and marry her, buttellingher his name would be the problem. She detested who he really was. That would hardly be the answer to such a debacle.
He should have stopped the kiss, shouldn’t have allowed it in the first place. He’d come close to resisting her, but in the end, the feel of her soft warm body pressed against his and her lips, insistent and urging, had been his undoing. He wanted her, he always had, and she felt right in his arms, which made the fact that he had to leave her even more loathsome.
When Lucas entered the library, the room was empty. Alarm tingled through his veins. Had Albina seen something after all? Had she told Frances’s mother?
In keeping with his usual routine, he set the logs next to the fireplace, removed his coat, and tossed the wood onto the pile.
Perhaps Frances was merely running late. Perhaps she’d decided to wait outside Lord Kendall’s room again. He expelled his breath. At least Lucas wasn’t in that room.
He finished with the logs, replaced his coat, and wandered over toward the table where she should be. He slid his hands into his pockets and stared out the windows absently into the gardens. Alarm had begun prickling along his skin once more, when a noise from within the alcove caught his attention.
