Chapter Six #2
She turned those guarded hazel eyes on him. “I was under the impression that it was common practice for ladies to ask gentlemen about themselves. Is that not how the game is played?”
Lucas’s lips twitched. Her tone carried the faintest thread of sarcasm, veiled beneath a layer of composure that might have deceived any other man. “You are not mistaken, Miss Tremaine. But it works best when the lady allows the gentleman to ask questions in return.”
“I am not stopping you, am I?”
“No, though you do not strike me as one inclined to answer them.”
This time, her lips were the ones that twitched, as if she were fighting a smile. They had returned to Room One, since she claimed she had not properly admired Banks’s collection. He doubted she was paying much attention to it now. He liked to think it was because of him.
“Am I wrong?” he pressed, hoping to coax that smile.
She faced him, raising one brow expectantly. “I would not say so,” she admitted. “But you must see where I stand on the matter—and you have yet to reveal anything of yourself.”
“So if I were to ask your favourite colour, you would not tell me?”
Those perfectly arched brows of hers knitted together. “Well, I cannot fathom why you would care for such a thing.”
“Simply because I wish to know you better. What of your favourite flowers?”
Her frown deepened. “Does this desire to know me better serve your mysterious scheme—the one you refuse to explain?”
“Nefarious, you mean?” he teased, laughing under his breath. “It is anything but though, I assure you.”
“Your assurances mean very little, I’m afraid.”
“Well then,” he said lightly, “let us see how long you can keep singing that tune.”
“You underestimate me, Your Grace.” She turned back toward the display. “My stubbornness is rooted in a steadfast need to prove others wrong.”
“As is mine.”
That earned him half a smile—just enough to make his chest feel absurdly light. The afternoon had begun in rocky fashion, but at last she seemed to be warming to him.
“Oh, Lucas!”
He closed his eyes briefly. Confound it, no.
He didn’t turn, clinging to the faint hope that his ears deceived him. But Elowen’s startled expression told him otherwise.
“Isn’t that your cousin, Miss Beaumont?”
He hoped it wasn’t. Because if it was, she owed him ten pounds.
“Lucas! Miss Tremaine!” came Catherine’s bright voice. She all but bounded toward them, beaming. “I wasn’t sure you would still be here. What a delightful coincidence!”
Lucas turned slowly, his smile fixed and strained. “Catherine, what are you doing here? I thought you said you would visit the museum later.”
“Yes—but I never said how much later,” she chirped, a wicked glint in her eye. “And of course, I did not come alone. Lord Westbrook is with me, and my maid chaperones, so you needn’t worry.”
“I am not the one who should be worried,” he muttered through his teeth.
Catherine ignored him. She slipped her arm through Elowen’s, who now wore her mask of composure once more. Lucas hadn’t noticed that she had let it drop.
“Miss Tremaine, how lovely to see you again. I hope my cousin hasn’t bored you beyond endurance.”
“On the contrary,” Elowen said, to his shock, “he has proven far more interesting than I first gave him credit for.”
“He has?” Catherine gasped, delighted.
Elowen shrugged lightly. “Whether that is a compliment remains to be seen.”
Lucas deflated while Catherine dissolved into laughter. At that moment, Henry appeared, looking cheerfully perplexed.
“What have I missed?” he asked. “I stepped away to greet Sir Johnson and return to find you all laughing without me.”
“You missed nothing of importance,” Lucas said dryly. “Catherine’s laughter is at my expense.”
“Then I insist on hearing everything,” Henry grinned.
Lucas resisted the urge to groan. Everything had been going so well. Another hour, perhaps two, and he might have coaxed a genuine smile from Elowen. Now she was retreating behind that wall again, and he hadn’t the faintest idea how to breach it.
“Have you been here long, Lord Westbrook? Miss Beaumont?” Elowen asked politely.
“About an hour or so,” Henry replied. “We wished to view a few exhibits before seeking you out.”
“I thought you said you did not know we were still here,” Elowen said.
“We hoped you would be,” Catherine added with a mischievous little laugh. It fooled no one.
Elowen flicked a glance at Lucas, and he could have sworn there was a flicker of humour in her eyes—gone so swiftly he wasn’t certain he hadn’t imagined it.
“Shall we continue together?” Henry suggested, gesturing grandly.
Lucas saw no graceful escape. He swallowed his sigh, tamping down the wave of disappointment that threatened to show. So much for solitude.
“Miss Tremaine! Ah, a sight for sore eyes!”
And just like that, the day took a still sharper turn for the worse.
Lucas stilled, his expression hardening as Lord Cherrington strode toward them, all broad smiles and polished self-assurance. He offered polite nods to the rest of their party, but his focus—his possession, rather—was entirely on Elowen.
“It seems fate conspires to throw us together, Miss Tremaine,” Lord Cherrington declared. “It is as if the moment you cross my mind, you also cross my path.”
“Then perhaps you ought to stop thinking of me, my lord,” Elowen murmured. “For this begins to feel rather uncanny.”
He laughed as though she’d paid him a compliment. “Is it not? But let us make the most of it.”
“I am afraid I already—”
“Nonsense, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and patting the back of it. “I do not mind the company. Come, you must see this—an exhibit of foreign coinage, donated by my great-grandfather after his travels in India. You will be fascinated, I am sure.”
Without awaiting her consent, he swept her away, scarcely sparing the others a glance. Then, halfway across the gallery, he looked back as if belatedly recalling their existence.
“Come along, everyone,” he called cheerfully.
Lucas stared after them, his ears incredibly hot all of a sudden.
“Lucas?” Catherine’s face appeared before him, her eyes alight with mischief. “You look positively flushed.”
“It is rather hot in here,” he muttered.
“I could have sworn I felt a draft just now,” she said innocently. When he narrowed his eyes, she stepped back, her grin widening. “Or perhaps not. We should follow, should we not? Miss Tremaine is in your care, after all.”
What he truly wanted was to stride after Lord Cherrington and tear Elowen from his grasp. But he could hardly make a scene; she would loathe the attention it brought. She was already watched closely enough, and she bore the scrutiny of society like a weight upon her shoulders.
So, he mastered his temper and followed at a distance, beside Catherine and Henry, his gaze fixed on Elowen and the marquess ahead.
He told himself it was strategy that kept his attention on her—though he wasn’t entirely certain he believed it.