Heat flooded his face, then surged a second time when he realized he was actually blushing. He waved a hand at the painted sign over the door of the shop to distract Lucy. “Gillray dealt exclusively with Hannah Humphrey. Admirers of his work purchase his prints here, at Humphrey’s Print Shop. Mrs. Humphrey died last year, and now her nephew George has the shop.”
“But this is wonderful, Ciaran!” Lucy gripped his arm with one hand and pointed to the window with the other. “Look, it’sVery Slippery Weather, with the poor gentleman who’s fallen down, without a single person lifting a finger to help him, and…” Lucy slapped her gloved hand over her mouth to smother a choked laugh. “Ladies dress, as it soon will be. Oh, dear. That’s terribly naughty, isn’t it?”
The lady in the print had very tall feathers perched on her head, a very low décolletage—so low her breasts were tumbling out of it—and skirts split open nearly to her waist, revealing a plump thigh and the curve of her bottom. “Terribly. Now you see why this is such a scandalous adventure. Shall we go in?”
Lucy hung back. “Are you certain I can? That is, is it proper?”
A few rogues were standing about in front of the shop, guffawing at the prints, but they didn’t take any notice of Ciaran or Lucy as he led her to the door of the shop. “Proper enough.”
No one would accuse the crowds that often assembled outside Humphrey’s to gawk at the prints of being fashionable, or even respectable, but the inside of the shop was the height of elegance. A genteel-looking gentleman—likely George Humphrey himself—was standing behind a wide mahogany counter polished to a high gloss. “Good afternoon.” He offered them a polite smile. “May I help you?”
“Yes.” Ciaran took Lucy’s hand and drew her forward. “Do you have Gillray’sThe Famous Battle Between Richard Humphreys and Daniel Mendoza? The lady here is fond of a bare-knuckle bout, and a pugilist in her own right.”
“A pugilist?” The man glanced at Lucy, who was looking particularly ladylike in her dainty straw bonnet with her pink silk ribbons, and chuckled. “She doesn’t look much like a pugilist.”
Ciaran grinned at Lucy and rubbed his finger over the side of his nose. “You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but she’s got a vicious kick. Rumor has it she once broke a man’s nose.”
Chapter Fifteen
Five days later
Lucy was sitting on her bed with her feet tucked under her skirts and the Gillray print Ciaran had given her balanced on her knees. She traced the edges of it with her fingertips. Perhaps not every lady wished to be given a print of a bloody, bare-knuckle bout, but it meant everything to Lucy.
Ciaran was the only person in the world who could have given it to her. The only one who knew her well enough to know how perfect a gift it was. If only—
“Lucy?” There was a soft knock on her bedchamber door, and a moment later Eloisa peered inside. “Oh, you’re awake. I thought you might be resting.”
“No.” Lucy lay the print on the bedside table with a sigh.
They’d been out all afternoon with Ciaran, Lord Vale, Lady Felicia, and Lord Markham, riding in Richmond Park. The day was fine and they’d lingered for some time, but it wasn’t Lucy’s body that was trembling with exhaustion.
It was her heart.
It was so much harder than she ever could have imagined, acting as though she wasn’t in love with her pretend suitor, and it grew harder with every day that passed. Every time he smiled or laughed, every time he touched or teased her, she fell a little deeper under his spell.
Their courtship wasn’t real. In her head, Lucy understood that.
But in her heart…
Well, hearts were foolish organs, weren’t they? Even now hers gave an insistent thump just at the thought of him.
Lucy hadn’t any doubt she’d outwit her uncle and escape Lord Godfrey, but would she ever truly be free of Ciaran? Would her heart ever recover from him? Wasn’t she in more danger from him than she’d ever been from Lord Godfrey?
Perhaps this pretend courtship hadn’t been such a brilliant idea, after all.
“Where did you get this?” Eloisa had taken up the Gillray print and was studying it, a faint frown on her lips.
“Mrs. Humphrey’s Print Shop, on Bond Street. Ciar—ah, Mr. Ramsey gave it to me.”
“A print of a prizefight? What an odd gift.” Eloisa returned the print to Lucy’s table and sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I suppose that’s where you and Mr. Ramsey disappeared to the other day. I did wonder.”
“Did you? I wonder you noticed anything at all aside from Lord Vale,” Lucy teased gently, anxious to turn the subject away from Ciaran.
She expected Eloisa’s nose to turn up and a scold to leave her lips, but to Lucy’s surprise, her cousin didn’t offer her usual immediate denial.
Instead, Eloisa only let out a soft sigh. A soft,yearningsigh.
Lucy’s eyes went wide. “Eloisa? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
