Page 39 of Give Him a Chance

Wait a moment. Is it possible that the man robbed a bank? Have I read of any bank robberies recently?

It was frustrating beyond belief not to know what the man had done to end up in Brighton prison, but Judge Bonner had been most circumspect about the particulars and Lucy had run out of ideas as to how to find out the truth.

Asking Mr. Dixon got her nowhere.

And heat poured through her body as Lucy stared at him across the room, laughing with that woman. Miss Whatever Her Name Was. She was laughing, and he was laughing, and was that not his hand close to hers?

She couldn’t stand it. She had to get out of here.

Lucy did not know how she managed to stumble out of Lady Romeril’s drawing room, but she found herself not in the hallway, but in what appeared to be a music room.

It was cool, and dark, and it was precisely the place she needed to be to stop thinking about—

“Lady Lucy?”

Dixon’s voice was far too close and Lucy started, astonished to find he was a mere foot behind her. How he had managed to cross the drawing room, slip through the door behind her, and close it without her hearing—and all in a heartbeat—she did not know.

Perhaps a burglar, then?

“Dixon,” she said aloud, a little breathlessly, it had to be said, but he had given her a fright.

That was the only reason. Definitely the only reason.

“I do wish you would call me ‘Ber’—” He halted, pressing his lips together and staring wide-eyed, as if startled that the words had come from his own mouth.

Lucy didn’t know what to do with her hands. She couldn’t have them lying about here, could she? What, just hanging by her sides? What had she always done with them? Oh, dear God, what were hands even for?

“Call me ‘Bernard,’” Dixon said quietly, a wry smile lilting his lips. “If I am truly and legally your ward, there’s no need for the distance between us. The least you can do is treat me like a real friend.”

A real friend.

The trouble was, Lucy didn’t want the man to be her friend. No, she had read sufficient romance novels to realize that the affections stirring within her for this rascal—he had to have been a rascal; he was a criminal—was far more than friendship.

Which was ridiculous. She had a justice system to dismantle and rebuild, and the transportation of criminals to end!

She couldn’t waste time, going about falling in love! And the scandal… No earl’s daughter ever married a criminal. Not knowingly, anyway.

“Then you should call me ‘Lucy,’” her treacherous mouth said.

He clamped his lips together a moment but couldn’t help himself. “Not ‘Mother’?”

“Definitelynot ‘Mother.’” She swallowed. “And I’ve yet to see any legal paperwork, so I will stop thinking of you as my ward. F-Friends, then. But even as a friend, I will honor your request and call you ‘Bernard.’ When not around others, of course.”

Bernard smiled, and all she wanted to do was drag her sister into this room and get her to encapsulate the moment in a painting. Evelyn was so talented with a brush, and Lucy wanted to save this moment, this connection between them, forever.

Her stomach lurched. Or maybe she did not want her sister—or anyone else—in the room at just this moment.

“You have been very kind, you know,” Bernard said, stepping toward her.

Lucy took a step back unconsciously, not because she did not wish to be close to him, but because she sodesperatelywished to be close to him. That was probably not a good instinct to follow.

The back of her legs hit something. A piano stool. She was standing by a pianoforte. “Oh, I haven’t done much. Really, I meant to do more than just bathe and clean you up, b-but there hasn’t been time. That is, you’re already…” She paused.

“Already what?”

“Already so… gentlemanly.” She did not dare mention how he’d charmed at least two women at this very party.

“I see.” He nodded slowly, as if thinking it over. “You know, you said all you’ve done is bathe and clean me—”