had he seen eyes like these? Had there ever been eyes like these, so darkly blue as to be closer to sun-washed violet, so alive, so fearless and amused, daring him to—to what? The heart-shaped face in its frame of wonderfully dark hair, the perfectly centered nose, the slightly bee-stung lower lip, the single dimple that came and went in her right cheek. The skin that spoke of fresh peaches doused in cream, and sprinkled with a dusting of freckles that invited him to touch, to trace them with his fingertips, the tip of his tongue…
“Yes,” she said, biting that bottom lip between her fine, small white teeth for a moment as she ran her gaze over his features, “I believe I can see the wisdom in that statement. Although, as I already know where I’ve been, I’m always much more interested in what lies ahead. You may let me go now.”
Lucas, a man who could not remember the last time he’d been flustered, and knowing the answer was never if the other person involved was a female, was finding it difficult to think of anything to say.
“Lucas?” Fletcher gave his friend a gentle jab with his elbow. “She says you can let her go now.”
He brought himself under control, but not without conscious effort. “Yes, of course. Forgive me, young lady. I merely wanted to be certain you hadn’t been injured by our…collision.”
“I believe I shall survive, sir, thank you. Ah, and here is my sister, frowning, and with a good scolding eager to escape her lips as she points out, for at least the tenth time, that we are not at Ashurst Hall anymore, and I cannot just behave as if London is our familiar village. Although I don’t see why not, do you? It’s not as if a person is likely to encounter anyone too dastardly right here on Bond Street.”
“I wouldn’t say that, miss. We could be quite dastardly, I’m sure, if we just put our minds to the thing,”
Fletcher said, winking at Lucas, who believed his friend was enjoying himself entirely too much.
“Ashurst Hall, you said?” Lucas pursued, turning back to the young beauty, whose luscious skin was now lustrous with the misting rain. She was fresh as a strawberry just plucked from the fields, yet the intelligence evident in her eyes told him she might be young, but she was neither shallow nor silly. “Then I may assume that the Duke of Ashurst is known to you?”
“You might assume that, yes. Rafael is our brother. And now that you have the advantage of me…?”
“A thousand pardons,” Lucas said as the beautiful young blond woman who’d been addressed as Lydia joined them beneath their now trio of umbrellas. Sisters? Yes, he could see the resemblance, but at first blush this one seemed to lack the dangerous fire of her sibling. “Lady Lydia, if I heard the name correctly? Please allow me to introduce myself and my friend here.”
“My lords,” Lydia said moments later, dropping into a graceful curtsy while motioning for her sister to do the same. “And in return may I present my sister, Lady Nicole Daughtry.”
Nicole. From the Greek, Lucas was fairly certain, and meaning “victorious people.” Yes, it suited her. He could see her riding at the front of her own army, rather like Eleanor of Aquitaine. The queen, to inspire her troops, was rumored to have ridden barebreasted.
Lucas shook off that disquieting thought and bowed to the young woman.
“A distinct pleasure, Lady Nicole.”
“Yes…” she said, smiling at him as if she totally agreed that the pleasure was his, the minx. It was difficult to believe that the duke let this one out without a leash. She looked down the length of his body and back up again. “Did you happen to notice, my lord, that you’re standing in a puddle?”
Fletcher gave a bark of laughter as Lucas looked down to see that a drainpipe aimed toward the gutter had been emptying rainwater the entire time they’d been standing here, and a dip in the flagway had served to collect quite a bit of that rainwater around his new boots.
“Why, yes, Lady Nicole, I did know that. I’ve made it a point to always stand in puddles. They’re rarely crowded, you understand.”
The dimple appeared, and that small, quick bite at her lower lip came and went almost before Lucas could see it. Almost.
“But I’m standing in it, too, my lord.”
All right. If she wanted to play, he would not disappoint her. “Which now makes it our puddle, doesn’t it, Lady Nicole?”
“I’m not sure. As my twin here could tell you, I have never been all that comfortable with sharing. You might wish to step back, my lord.”
She was giving him a warning? Him? He was the Marquess of Basingstoke, and she was a young miss fresh from the country. He should be warning her, although of what, he couldn’t be sure.
Fletcher nervously cleared his throat. “Yes…ah, um, yes indeed. Well, stap me if I haven’t just remembered something. We have that appointment, Lucas, as I recall. Going to be late, and you know how his lordship frowns when we’re late. And the ladies will take a chill, there’s that, as well. We shouldn’t keep them.”
“Indeed, no, we shouldn’t,” Lucas said, agreeing with his friend’s fib, as he already had a plan in mind to see Lady Nicole again. He turned to Lady Lydia, who might not have much influence over her sister, but who probably could be relied upon not to scramble his brains and tie his tongue into knots. “It would be our distinct pleasure to wait on you ladies tomorrow, if your brother will give his permission for the four of us to drive out to Richmond. Would you be amenable to such an arrangement, Lady Lydia?”
“If she knows what’s good for her, she will,” Lucas heard Lady Nicole whisper under her breath as she covered her mouth with one gloved hand, and once again Fletcher cleared his throat, this time to cover a laugh, no doubt.
“I should imagine you will have to apply directly to our brother, my lord,” Lady Lydia said, earning herself a weary shake of the head from her sister. “We dine at home in Grosvenor Square this evening, and if you and Lord Yalding are free, we would be honored if you’d join us. You can ask him then.”
Lucas glanced toward Lady Nicole, who was now looking at her sister in some astonishment. He quickly agreed, thanked Lady Lydia and then escorted the ladies to their waiting coach, the one with the ducal crest on it.
“What a mischievous piece of work that one is,” Fletcher said as they watched the coach pull off into the light afternoon traffic. “And what was all that ridiculousness about puddles? Not that it wasn’t all innocent, I suppose, but I was beginning to feel like a voyeur, listening to the pair of you. She’s nearly a child, Lucas. Not your usual sort at all.”
“A child, Fletch?” Lucas turned to head to his own coach, for he needed to go back to Park Lane, spend some time alone to consider all that had just happened to him. “That one has never been a child.”
“No, I suppose some females are like that. But they aren’t usually sister to a duke, if you take my meaning and no offense intended. And I’m supposed to be keeping the other one occupied so that the two of you can keep on speaking whatever private language you were spouting back there?”
They both handed their umbrellas to the waiting groom, who would return them to the nearest umbrella shop to be dried and refolded and be supplied with replacements. Umbrella shops were probably the most prosperous enterprises in the city this year.
