Page 29 of The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

“If you will not tell me, I will search out my own answers,” he called as she reached the end of the aisle. “I assure you, I will not stop until I find out exactly what happened.”

Luci halted, clutching her handbag before her. Staring at the floor, she knew she had two options: step from the row and into view of anyone else in the shop or turn back toward Roderick. If she returned to him, she could not trust herself to keep her own secrets.

There was so much more to her than what Abercorn had done.

Roderick knew, or at least suspected, her involvement with the Mayfair Confidential. How could he tie himself to a woman who’d written such a scathing article about his scandalous behavior? Did he think to exploit her once they were unequivocally tied together?

And, more importantly, how could Luci even think to confide in a man guilty of such unsavory activities as being seen at the opera with a woman he was not betrothed to?

Her chin lowered.

She was no better than he.

They both had secrets; however, sharing hers would put her—and her friends—in jeopardy.

And Luci knew Roderick’s secret. In fact, she’d made certain all of London knew it.

Why did a tendril of remorse flicker inside her? Never had she experienced even a hint of doubt or guilt over exposing gentlemen of the ton for what they truly were: scoundrels.

“Lucianna?” he pleaded. The raw nature of his tone pulled at her. Begged her to return to his side.

But for what purpose?

To enter into a sham of a betrothal to appease her father and keep Abercorn at bay.

Turning, Luci notched her chin high. “Lord Abercorn killed my friend. He pushed her down the stairs on their wedding night. I am the only person who saw the entire tragic scene clearly. And no one—with the exception of my friends—believes my tale of the events.”

There. She’d said it.

Now she only need wait for him to laugh, chuckle at her absurd accusation. Roderick would insult her in similar fashion as her father; call her a feather-brained, dim-witted, reckless chit. There would be no need to start the charade of a betrothal because even a man marred by scandal would not allow his name to be linked to a delusional female.

Not that it mattered a whit to her. Luci didn’t trust Montrose. It was far more likely she spoke of Tilda’s death to push him away, not draw him close in confidence.

However, he didn’t turn away from her. Nor did he so much as avert his stare or take a moment to think through what she’d shared.

Instead, he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms and pressing them tightly together.

“Roderick,” she breathed. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“The only thing I know how to do…keep you safe.”

His head dipped, and their lips met.

Not like before. Lucianna was not calculating her next move, preparing for a counter-attack, nor planning her escape.

She did not want to flee.

In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be lost in Roderick’s embrace, sheltered from the cruel world around her. Away from the reach of Abercorn, and no longer her father’s pawn.

Here, with the duke’s arms wrapped tightly about her, and his lips upon hers, she could put the need for vengeance behind her. She’d never forget Abercorn’s misdeeds, but they did not consume her.

Roderick consumed her now.

His embrace. His scent. His delicious, crushing hold on her.

It didn’t matter that she’d ruined him before all of society.

It didn’t matter she’d been tarnished by her need to publicly ostracize Abercorn.