the control.
She left the room for a moment and then returned with a bonnet in her hand and an older woman—swathed in all black, her gray hair pulled beneath an equally bleak-looking bonnet. The woman frowned as she entered the room, her gaze sizing him up.
“This is Mrs. Maddox. She’ll be joining us.”
As they moved from the parlor into the entryway, Miss Welby whispered, “A fair bit of warning, she has a hatpin, and she has been known to use it on gentlemen who overstep their bounds.”
“Your concern is most heartening.”
She glared at him as she tied her bonnet. “Suit yourself. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His carriage waited for them outside on the curb. He’d been sure to bring the large carriage, painted in the family colors, their gold crest emblazoned on the side. Everyone would know he’d been to see her this morning—everyone including Mr. Charles Hurst.
Inside the carriage, Miss Welby leaned against the squabs, Mrs. Maddox beside her. Lucas settled into his seat, his back to the horses, and rapped on the roof of the carriage.
As they lurched into motion, Lucas sat back, his legs stretched out in front of him as he studied Miss Welby openly. Red curls tumbled out from her bonnet in a chaotic mess, and he wondered if it was a deliberate attempt on her part to appear unappealing. She couldn’t have made a graver mistake. If anything, it made her look more enticing, more wild and unrestrained.
He liked that about her. As aggravating as it was, she was open, honest, and completely at ease in his presence. Few people were at ease around him.
Miss Welby was diverting in more ways than one—a rare quality in a woman. Perhaps it was because she was born in trade, without the trappings and predisposed opinions of a true lady. Whatever it was, he found her utterly intriguing.
“Sit beside me,” he said.
Her gaze flicked to the old woman, then back to him. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”
He reached across the compartment, lifted her up, and deposited her onto the seat beside him. She squeaked, then smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Must you toss me around like a ragdoll?”
He brushed one finger down her soft, flushed cheek. Madame Devy’s shop was only a few short minutes away, and he needed to make use of the relative privacy while he had it.
Mrs. Maddox drew in a shocked breath. “Miss Welby, return to your seat at once!”
Miss Welby glanced at him and swallowed, curiosity shimmering in her vivid blue eyes. She glanced at his lips, then back up into his eyes. Her gaze collided with his. “It’s all right. He won’t hurt me.”
He inched closer. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
He had every intention of hurting her, in the most primal and exquisite ways. Images of her bent over his knee, his hand gliding over her pretty little arse, flooded his mind. He’d spank her, and bite her, and fuck her until she was writhing beneath him, begging for more.
Yes, he’d hurt her. And she’d enjoy it.
Reaching out, he brushed a tendril of silky hair off her shoulder. His fingers lingered, smoothed across her collarbone. Heat sparked where their skin touched, and her eyes widened. She felt it too.
Just as the carriage jerked to a halt, a sharp implement jabbed him in the thigh. Pain shot through his leg, and on instinct, he bolted to his feet, hitting his head— hard —on the ceiling of the cab. “Ow, damn. Christ .”
Clutching his thigh, he removed his hand just enough to see a red pin-sized mark forming. He was bleeding. That old witch had thrust a hatpin into his thigh! Damnation.
Miss Welby laughed, just a trickle of sound that filled the small space. “I tried to warn you.”
Still standing—which was no simple feat—he turned and snatched the hatpin from the dragon’s hand. “You’ve just stabbed a duke of the realm, madam,” he seethed. He waited for the realization of what she’d done to come over her. It didn’t.
Lips pressed
She left the room for a moment and then returned with a bonnet in her hand and an older woman—swathed in all black, her gray hair pulled beneath an equally bleak-looking bonnet. The woman frowned as she entered the room, her gaze sizing him up.
“This is Mrs. Maddox. She’ll be joining us.”
As they moved from the parlor into the entryway, Miss Welby whispered, “A fair bit of warning, she has a hatpin, and she has been known to use it on gentlemen who overstep their bounds.”
“Your concern is most heartening.”
She glared at him as she tied her bonnet. “Suit yourself. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His carriage waited for them outside on the curb. He’d been sure to bring the large carriage, painted in the family colors, their gold crest emblazoned on the side. Everyone would know he’d been to see her this morning—everyone including Mr. Charles Hurst.
Inside the carriage, Miss Welby leaned against the squabs, Mrs. Maddox beside her. Lucas settled into his seat, his back to the horses, and rapped on the roof of the carriage.
As they lurched into motion, Lucas sat back, his legs stretched out in front of him as he studied Miss Welby openly. Red curls tumbled out from her bonnet in a chaotic mess, and he wondered if it was a deliberate attempt on her part to appear unappealing. She couldn’t have made a graver mistake. If anything, it made her look more enticing, more wild and unrestrained.
He liked that about her. As aggravating as it was, she was open, honest, and completely at ease in his presence. Few people were at ease around him.
Miss Welby was diverting in more ways than one—a rare quality in a woman. Perhaps it was because she was born in trade, without the trappings and predisposed opinions of a true lady. Whatever it was, he found her utterly intriguing.
“Sit beside me,” he said.
Her gaze flicked to the old woman, then back to him. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”
He reached across the compartment, lifted her up, and deposited her onto the seat beside him. She squeaked, then smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Must you toss me around like a ragdoll?”
He brushed one finger down her soft, flushed cheek. Madame Devy’s shop was only a few short minutes away, and he needed to make use of the relative privacy while he had it.
Mrs. Maddox drew in a shocked breath. “Miss Welby, return to your seat at once!”
Miss Welby glanced at him and swallowed, curiosity shimmering in her vivid blue eyes. She glanced at his lips, then back up into his eyes. Her gaze collided with his. “It’s all right. He won’t hurt me.”
He inched closer. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
He had every intention of hurting her, in the most primal and exquisite ways. Images of her bent over his knee, his hand gliding over her pretty little arse, flooded his mind. He’d spank her, and bite her, and fuck her until she was writhing beneath him, begging for more.
Yes, he’d hurt her. And she’d enjoy it.
Reaching out, he brushed a tendril of silky hair off her shoulder. His fingers lingered, smoothed across her collarbone. Heat sparked where their skin touched, and her eyes widened. She felt it too.
Just as the carriage jerked to a halt, a sharp implement jabbed him in the thigh. Pain shot through his leg, and on instinct, he bolted to his feet, hitting his head— hard —on the ceiling of the cab. “Ow, damn. Christ .”
Clutching his thigh, he removed his hand just enough to see a red pin-sized mark forming. He was bleeding. That old witch had thrust a hatpin into his thigh! Damnation.
Miss Welby laughed, just a trickle of sound that filled the small space. “I tried to warn you.”
Still standing—which was no simple feat—he turned and snatched the hatpin from the dragon’s hand. “You’ve just stabbed a duke of the realm, madam,” he seethed. He waited for the realization of what she’d done to come over her. It didn’t.
Lips pressed
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