“Oh, of course,” Lucian replied, laughing. “How silly of me not to know it.”
Gemma laughed. She never would have imagined a man as proper as Lucian using the wordsillyor laughing at himself the way he was doing now.
“I’ve had the name picked out since I was nine years old,” she continued. “I always quite liked the idea of the Lord Protector. I think it’s an excellent name for a dog.”
“Ah, so named after Cromwell?” Lucian said. “I see you know your history. And knew it at nine years old? Impressive.”
“I see you know your history too,” she countered, unwilling to examine the pride that had swelled in her chest when he praised her knowledge. “Did you ever have a dog?” she quickly asked.
Lucian took a sip of wine and nodded slowly. “I did,” he said. “My father quite enjoyed hunting fowl. He had a pack of spaniels to fetch the birds.”
“And did you like the dogs?” She was fully prepared to hear him say they’d been a loud, dirty mess that he left to the servants.
Which was why her brows shot up when he replied, “Indeed, I liked them so well I went chasing after them the first time I saw them go after a bird,” he said, laughing again.
Gemma couldn’t help her own laugh. The idea of a young Lucian chasing after a pack of dogs was humorous indeed. “How old were you?”
“Let’s see.” He drew up his knees and hung his arms over them. Another completely unexpected pose. “I couldn’t have been more than six or seven.”
Now she was truly curious. She couldn’t help it. “What happened when you caught up to them?”
Lucian sighed. “My father had failed to inform me that the dogs knew precisely what they were about, so when I saw them in the stream, I jumped in after them, thinking they needed help. I was worried about them, you see.”
Gemma’s hand shot up to cover her mouth. She wasn’t sure which was more surprising: that Lucian had been worried about dogs or that he’d jumped in a stream. Surely, he’d never been young or impetuous enough to do such a thing. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, yes, I did,” he assured her, nodding.
“What happened next?” Gemma searched his face, suddenly quite interested in hearing the rest of the tale.
“My father finally came looking for me and found me treading water in the freezing stream, wondering where all the dogs had gone. Meanwhile, they fetched the bird and returned to father’s side. I was the only one foolish enough to remain in the stream.”
Self-effacing? Was this truly Lucian Banks? He didn’t have a twin brother, did he? “How did you get out?” she prodded.
Another long sigh. “Father whistled and sent one of the dogs in to fetch me. It’s quite sobering to be rescued by a dog, I can assure you.”
Gemma laughed again and shook her head. “My father had hunting dogs too,” she told him, taking another sip of wine. “But he would never allow me a special pet.”
“That seems wrong,” Lucian said, frowning again. “But I understand perfectly. My father never allowed me anything that would reflect poorly on him. His hunting dogs were prized, of course.”
Gemma nodded. Their fathers sounded quite alike, actually. And it explained quite a bit that Lucian’s father had been obsessed with his reputation. No wonder his son was too. “My father never did anything for anyone other than himself…or Richard.” The moment she’d said the words, Gemma regretted them. Why was she sharing this much with Lucian? They may have had arrogant, entitled fathers in common, but Lucian would only use that knowledge against her and her family.
Lucian’s smile vanished. “Richard was your eldest brother who died?”
Gemma nodded. “Yes, several years ago. Honestly, I barely knew him. He was much older than me.” There. That was vague enough. And true. What she did remember about Richard was that he had been treated like a prince in their household, while Griffin was ignored. She shook her head at the unwanted memory. If only Father had known that Richard would be killed and Griffin would be the duke. He would have treated Griff much better. Father had never done anything that didn’t benefit himself. It sounded as if Lucian’s father had been the same.
“I’m sorry your brother died,” came Lucian’s deep, solemn voice. “I met him a time or two at school.”
“Then you know he was—” She really shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.
“Difficult?” Lucian offered.
“Yes.” She nodded. Difficult was the perfect word. She shook her head. Shehadn’tbeen particularly close to Richard, but the memory of his death made her throat tight just the same. Now, she wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What was India like?”
Two hours later,Gemma realized that she’d been completely mesmerized by Lucian’s ability to tell stories. He’d related tale after tale about his time in India. The sights, the sounds, the colors, the scents. It was nearly as if she’d been there herself, tasting the food, feeling the sticky heat, and hearing the buzz of insects at night. And Lucian had spared no detail. He answered question after question about his journey to India while Gemma paid rapt attention the entire time. They’d finished the entire bottle of wine.
