Trapped with the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #5)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“ I asked,” Lucien said quietly, noticing that the secretary had scurried away and left the door open, “what are you doing here.”

For, instead of finding some arrogant fool who pretended not to truly need his investment, he found a woman. A beautiful one at that. But he gave her an uninterested look.

“I-I believe you know why I am here,” she replied.

He cocked his head in a silent question. But when she didn’t elaborate, his annoyance flared.

“My patience has run thin tonight. Where is the lord who wanted to see me for business?”

The woman slid off the settee set back against the far wall and approached him. She was dressed in an emerald-green gown that hugged her body perfectly, the sleeves capped, the neckline alluringly low and dipping down to a point just before it would be too improper.

“He shall be here soon, Your Grace,” she said, stepping closer and closer. “Perhaps we may have a drink to pass the time? Together, of course.”

There was a moment when her voice quivered, as if she was unsure what to say. And then he noticed the rigid lines of her shoulders, as if she did not know what to do with herself, alone in a room with him.

That is to be expected . Many women don’t know what to do when they are alone with me .

It was why he reveled in taking control—in many ways. However, this was just another woman, like the waitress from earlier, trying to use her charms for leverage.

Lucien only stared back at her coolly.

“Let me serve you a drink,” the woman quickly offered, as if his silence made her uneasy. “Unless there is something else you’d rather do.”

Interesting .

He raised an eyebrow, and she flushed, stumbling through what he assumed was a line that had worked on other men.

Was it his rank that flustered her? If so, her lack of composure before him might make her more interesting. But he only watched as she walked towards a desk set against another wall, her hips swaying, and poured him a glass of whisky.

When she held it out to him, he took it, noticing her trembling hands.

“Come,” she murmured, gesturing back towards the two leather armchairs in the center of the room.

The room was designed like an informal study combined with a parlor.

“Sit with me?” she suggested.

“I am here to discuss business, not sit idly about,” Lucien told her. “I am sure the man who invited me here thought to bring you as a distraction, but my time has been very much wasted. More so by you.”

Uncertainty flickered in the woman’s gaze—another curious thing, for women like her were usually accustomed to harsher words and slight rejections.

Perhaps this one was new to the job.

Instead of answering, she only drained her glass of whisky.

Bold .

But he quickly noticed her wince, as though she were unaccustomed to spirits.

Lucien held back a satisfied smirk, feeling as though he was growing more and more right about this woman.

“No, you are not a gift,” he observed. For a second, she looked outraged that he called her a gift . “You are a trap. Your master, whoever he may be, is attempting to lure me into his proposal. To soften me up.”

He set his glass of whisky down on the desk, not taking his eyes off her. Instead, he approached her, his eyes raking up and down her body.

Her waist was wide, and with how tightly the dress hugged her, he got to see every curve. She was indeed attractive, with sparkling blue eyes that somehow appeared innocent and confident at once, and a hint of a clenched jaw that hardened her otherwise soft features. Her hair was so dark that it was almost black. It curled down her back, prettily decorated with a black ribbon.

As attractive as she was, Lucien was not falling for her tricks. He had seen it happen before, and the business deal was either a false investment, leaving some poor bastard out of pocket and unsatisfied, or it was a poor bargain, and the fool had been tricked into agreeing in the throes of lust.

It was common practice, but Lucien was no fool.

“I am no such thing,” she answered, her eyes meeting his. A soft blush bloomed across her neck and crept up her cheeks.

Lucien hummed. “And this lord you represent, what is his name?”

“I-I did not catch it.”

He could smell the lie as easily as the whisky in his discarded glass—strong, potent, intriguing.

“What business does he wish to speak of?”

The woman only laughed. “I am not here for business talk, Your Grace. Surely you know that is not a woman’s place.”

“And where do you believe that is?”

She leaned forward, her body swaying a little as the alcohol began to take effect. “I am sure you can guess.”

As far as seduction went, she was slightly awkward, her eyes darting around, lacking the confidence of a woman in her line of work.

“Do you often make a point of not learning about your employers?” he questioned.

“I…” She hesitated. “I hardly need to know a great deal when it is not them who my attention is focused on.”

“And, right now, what is it focused on?” Lucien asked her, stepping closer.

Her eyes went wide, and he heard her breath hitch. She swallowed, and her pretty throat bobbed. He felt the urge to tease her mercilessly, but he did not know whether it would be to rile her up or to appease himself.

“I believe you know.”

“Most women in your position are usually more forward with their answers.”

“I wish for my—my interlocutors to be creative. Are you not feeling creative, Your Grace?”

Creative .

Lucien tried to bite back a laugh. As he studied her, he guessed that she was rather if not completely inexperienced. She was too tense, as if she did not know how to be seductive yet tried anyway, and her hands kept twitching at her sides, as if not knowing what to do.

Moving closer, he smirked at her. “I am not usually tempted by virgins.”

Oh, the blush that spread across her cheeks was definitely the blush of a woman who had not been spoken to so bluntly before. It told him enough.

“I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”

Lucien raised a hand and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. He was far enough that he didn’t invade her space, but close enough to see the shudder running through her.

Good .

“Oh, do not lie to me, sweetheart. I can easily detect lies and deception, and I see every time you hesitate. You are barely keeping up this act, are you not?”

“There is no act!” she insisted, her voice tight as she pulled back from him. “I am here to keep you company.”

“Really?” He chuckled darkly. “Because from where I stand, it looks as though you are a lady masquerading as something else. A lady with a more refined palette, unused to the burn of whisky. Perhaps wine?”

“I do not care for wine,” she answered—a foolish answer, for it was too dismissive, holding nothing of the truth. “I-I care for more exotic drinks.”

“I am sure you do,” Lucien drawled, shifting closer to her, enthralled by how she boldly took a step back, as if daring him to continue.

A woman of the night would not step back, but remain steadfast, letting her client approach.

“If you can tell me outright what those drinks are, I shall stop questioning you. What is it you crave out of this conversation?”

Eyeing her, he picked up his glass of whisky, but instead of lifting it to his lips, he lifted it to hers. He did not know what possessed him, but he liked watching how the glass pressed down on her full, lower lip. How her tongue darted out to lap at a droplet, as if she was still stubbornly acting and thought it was what he wished to see.

He pulled the glass away and set it back down. Then, he moved towards her, dancing a familiar backward-forward routine.

“Just one little confession,” he taunted. “What are your tastes?”

“I am sure you will find out,” she said quickly.

“I prefer a more direct approach. Do you not, as well? So as not to leave a client guessing.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he saw a spark of fire that betrayed her pretense. He flashed her a grin, realizing that all he needed to do was reach out his hand, and he’d have her pressed against the wall.

So he did.

When the woman realized that she was backed up against the wall, she gasped, looking around. “Your Grace?—”

“What is the matter?” he cooed. “I thought you wished to spend time together.”

“I-I did. I do .”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to her mouth, and then back to those blue eyes that blinked at him in something akin to wonder.

He watched her eyes widen again as he leaned in. They closed, surprising him, and he let his mouth hover over hers, a mere inch away, before he smiled indulgently.

“I am done waiting,” he told her, drawing back.

Her eyes flew open in surprise, and perhaps a little bit of embarrassment.

Lucien was already crossing the room in several long strides, almost to the door.

“Wait!” The woman hurried over, darting in front of him, her face flushed. “Please, you must stay!”

There was a heavy urgency in her voice, and Lucien frowned, surprised. “Why is that?”

She only bit her lip, not responding.

“What is going on?” he demanded.

“Nothing!” she answered, a hint of sweetness lacing her voice. But it sounded too high-pitched and false to allure him. “Nothing. I-I simply did not get enough of your company. After all, we will see one another after tonight. I… I thought you were going to kiss me.”

Her words were stilted, as if she needed to convince herself before she could convince him.

She was doing a poor job of both things.

Just as Lucien opened his mouth to press her further, she reached out and placed a hand on his chest. He flinched, not out of revulsion but simply at the unexpected touch.

Her hand slid up to his shoulder and then down to his thick bicep. “Might we not enjoy our time together before my employer arrives? I am sure he will need only another moment or two.”

Her fingers squeezed his arm slightly, and he found himself growing slightly aroused by how easily her hand knew what to do, running up and down his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Yet, he still saw through the act, through the nerves she was trying hard but failing to mask.

He ignored her attempts to touch him further and continued on his way to the door. But she was there again, blocking his way.

His patience hanging on by a thread, he leaned in, all predator, while his prey gazed up at him, worry flickering across her face.

“Get away from the door.” His voice was low, as threatening as it had been with Lord Herrington.

When she did not move, he stepped closer.

“Get away from the door, or I shall move you myself,” he warned. When she did not comply, he leaned in. “Perhaps that is what you seek. My hands on you, moving you around. It will be easily done, do not mistake me.”

Her breathing was labored, and he noticed how she squirmed, as if she, too, was aroused.

“You cannot,” she whispered. “Y-You did not finish your drink.”

“I do not care about a glass of whisky,” he told her. “Unless the drink you offer is what you clumsily proposed earlier.”

He was not interested in her, but it was amusing for him to watch her blush even deeper.

“Is that what you wish for? Your tongue lapped at the whisky so easily earlier—what else might it do when presented with an opportunity?”

“Your Grace,” she whispered fervently, her eyes wide.

Lucien didn’t know what was part of her act and what was truly scandalizing her.

“What is wrong?” he asked coyly. “Are you not used to other men being so forward? Or was I right in my guess earlier about you being a virgin?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I do not know if I will believe you, no matter what you say. Either tell me the truth or get out of my way.”

There was a beat of silence where the woman looked trapped—utterly, despairingly trapped. And then the pretense drained out of her, yet that fire he had seen a spark of remained.

So, that was the woman behind the seductive, naive mask.

“My brother is Nicholas Vaughan, the Earl of Montgomery,” she breathed.

That was the last thing Lucien had expected to hear.

He blinked, rearing back. He had not expected to hear the name of his former friend.

“And you are his friend, so you must understand our need for help, as we are in dire straits.”

Lucien only stared at her before he scoffed, glancing to the side in disbelief before turning his gaze back to her. “What did you say?”

“We need help.” Despite the desperation in her voice, her eyes were blazing with determination. “So you must not leave this room.”

“And who are you to give me orders?”

At that, the woman glared at him.

He dug around in his memories of his friendship with Nicholas Vaughan and recalled a mention of his sister.

Elizabeth, or Emily, or something like that. Around ten years younger than him—no, not quite. Just under. That would put her at twenty years old, as Nicholas would be nine-and-twenty now.

Taking her silence as an opportunity to speak, Lucien continued, “The Nicholas I know would have never asked for help, let alone his little sister.”

“I am not his little sister,” she hissed. “My name is Edwina Vaughan. I am my own woman, not an attachment to Nicholas.”

Edwina , that was it.

Lucien listened but recognized her deflecting from the topic at hand. There was more. Her eyes kept darting around as if she expected someone to materialize out of thin air. Who, though? Why did they need such help, and from whom, that she would be so scared to have either of them leave the room?

“If you do not explain your situation to me, then I cannot help you,” Lucien bit out. “And if I cannot help you, then I will leave?—”

Lady Edwina slammed her back against the door, stopping him from reaching for the handle, grasping it tightly. If she thought he wouldn’t reach around her, press her against the door, and slide his hand down her wrist to pry her hand off the doorknob, then she was mistaken.

“So, you admit you will not assist me out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. “I do not recall such a thing about you.”

She was bluffing—she likely didn’t remember very much about him at all.

He laughed. “Oh, Lady Edwina, you are sorely mistaken if you think I have any goodness in my heart—or a heart at all, for that matter.”

Defeat hit her again, making her shoulders slump. He wondered if they would roll back if he touched them to guide them back to their initial position.

“Our finances… It is all a case of poor management after our father’s death last year. Nicholas… he has not had a chance to get the estate in order.”

“Why not?” Lucien asked, his tone harsh and judgmental. “He was always very level-headed.”

Something passed over her face, another concealed piece of the picture, and Lucien sighed, shaking his head.

“I grow tired of your lies and omittances, Lady Edwina. Have a good evening. Do not send your brother my regards.”

With that, he reached around her, eliciting a sweet gasp from her as he pressed close and yanked the door open, despite her putting all her weight against it.

He easily maneuvered her out of the way, and he met her stricken eyes briefly, silently telling her that she was not so heavy that he could not take her weight.

“Wait!” she cried out. “Wait, I-I am sorry. Close the door, and I will tell you.”

“This is your last chance,” he growled. “One too many people have tested my patience today. I am not in the mood for more games.”

“No more games,” she said quickly. “I promise.”

With another snarl under his breath, he slammed the door shut, keeping them in the private room.

He rounded on her. “ Speak ,” he ordered.

And she did.

“The Earl of Stockton has got us in a bind,” she blurted out. “He is the lord you were due to meet, and he sent me ahead to…” She paused, as though the words tasted bitter on her tongue. “Seduce you, so you would be more amenable to doing business with him. He says he has been trying to form a partnership with you for some time and grew tired of your selfishness and thinking he is beneath you, when he sees you investing with other lords.”

Stockton .

Lucien cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are coming with me.”

“No! No, we must stay here. Your Grace?—”

“I will not sit and play the fool,” he spat.

He took hold of her wrist, pulling her easily out of the room.

She continued protesting, but he was already leading her down a back staircase, the one the secretary had led him through earlier. He ducked out of a back entrance only used by staff, where they found a line of nondescript carriages.

He handed her into one and then told the driver his address.

“Where are we going?” Lady Edwina asked, her voice tight with panic as she looked around as if fearing Lord Stockton would follow them.

Lucien sat down next to her. “My townhouse.”

He glared out the window, his eyes also searching for the conniving Earl.

“But—”

“Enough,” he said. “Just be grateful I am getting you away from the Earl of Stockton.”

With that, he rapped his knuckles on the roof of the carriage, signaling for the driver to take off.