Page 24 of When Dashing Met Danger

The thought actually made Lucia ill. Her stomach rolled as she recalled Reginald’s slobbery kisses and hot breath. Oh, God, this was a mistake! How could she marry him, share his bed night after night, let him touch her? She wanted to retch at the mere thought. He was saying something else, something about etiquette, but she didn’t hear. She could only watch his lips move and remember they were fat and droopy.

Her revulsion seeped away as she thought of Alex’s lips—firm and sensual. He’d almost kissed her tonight. A shiver ran up her spine, and she made no effort to repress it. She’d been kissed before, stolen kisses with men of her acquaintance prior to her engagement to Reginald. Kissing was pleasant, but she grew bored if it went on too long. But none of her previous experiences prepared her for the feelings a mere touch from Alex inspired.

Every inch of her body, every single hill and valley, had been infused with heat and life at his glance alone. And at his touch.

His hands hypnotized her. When he’d traced the curves of her mouth ever so slowly, tantalizing her with the pad of his thumb, she’d forgotten everyone and everything else in existence. Shameless, she’d wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on her skin, his arms holding her. There was nothing tedious about the Earl of Selbourne. If she forgot to breathe when he pressed his thumb to her lips, what might happen when he replaced that thumb with his mouth?

Lucia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she kissed him when she’d had the chance? Throw caution to the wind and act on impulse. There might never be another chance, and she knew she’d never feel this way with any other man.

Then she thought of Amelia Cox. Was Alex kissing her on the terrace under the gaudy Chinese lanterns even at this moment? Were his hands caressing those generous curves? You’re a fool, Lucia, she chided herself. Why would he want her when he had women— many women if the rumors were true—like Amelia Cox who “knew how to please him”? Lucia shook her head. She was an irritation to him, nothing more. Hadn’t he made that abundantly clear? It was only her imagination leading her to believe he wanted to kiss her.

“What are you thinking, Lucia?” Reginald asked. “Are you listening to me? You have the strangest expression on your face.”

Lucia looked at Reginald with renewed determination. She would make this marriage work. Amelia Cox and the bloody Earl of Selbourne be damned! Her father was counting on her, and she wasn’t going to disappoint him this time. And just as soon as she found her brother, she’d never have to talk to the arrogant earl again. Until then, she’d tolerate Selbourne by keeping her father’s pleasure, when he realized she’d been instrumental in locating John, foremost in her mind.

Lucia looked at Reginald and gripped the velvet seat beneath her with both hands.

“I beg your pardon, darling. I was just thinking of the duke’s ball. I do hope we can dance a reel together.”

Reginald smiled. It was an indulgent smile, one he might give a child or a mental patient. “Silly goose. For a minute there I thought you were thinking of something important.”

Chapter Nine

As he neared the corner of Cork Street, Alex clenched his jaw and issued a polite nod to Lady Elizabeth Foster. Her retinue of servants, courtesy of her lover, the Duke of Devonshire, stood aside so he could pass. It was half past ten, and he hadn’t stumbled into bed the night before until nearly dawn. After the Seatons’ ball, he’d made a half dozen additional appearances at various ton functions, hoping to glean information from the Society gossips about Dashing. It had been a waste of his time, and he had little hope for his errand today.

He clenched his jaw when he saw the Duchess of York waving at him, a dozen of her beloved dogs pulling her along the sidewalk. He’d been in London less than a week and already he felt mired in social quicksand. Bloody hell. You couldn’t spit in London without it making the Morning Post. He managed to skirt the duchess and her yipping dogs and turned the corner onto Cork Street, where the fashionable tailor—stuffy if Alex had anything to say about it— Schweitzer & Davidson was located.

He’d taken no more than three steps when he bit back an oath. The devil take him if Lucia Dashing wasn’t perched on the stoop, azure blue eyes surveying the street like a cat’s. And, like a cat, she managed to look completely innocent—attractive even in her pale blue and white checked dress. Though the morning was annoyingly sunny, it was still chilly, and Alex frowned at seeing that she wore only a flimsy white wrap over her light dress. On top of the golden curls framing her face she’d donned a slouch straw hat and tied it with blue ribbons.

Her footman saw him first and nodded as he approached. Then, with sleek grace, Lucia turned, angling her frilly white parasol to flash him a stunning smile. His breath caught for an instant at the way her face lit up, and he almost smiled back, half tempted to sweep her into his arms. But then she closed her parasol, and he caught the mischief sparkling in her dark blue eyes. Alex scowled, reminding himself that underneath their silky fur, cats had teeth . . . and claws.

“Good morning, Lord Selbourne,” she purred when he’d taken several more steps.

“It was,” he growled and bore down on her.

Throwing her footman a warning look, Alex grasped Lucia’s elbow and pulled her away from the servant’s hearing.

“Unhand me, sir, or I shall have to call Graves.” Lucia stumbled and twisted away from him.

“Go ahead. I’m itching to hit someone right now.” But it wouldn’t be the footman. At the moment, the servant was pretending not to notice Lucia’s squeals of distress, appearing fascinated by the sleeve of his blue and gold livery.

She jerked her arm again, but he held fast, backing her into the tailor’s window.

“Oh!” she gasped when she bumped into the glass. “You’re certainly in a foul mood this morning.”

“Am I?” He kept his voice level. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Neither can I,” she said with a toss of her hair.

Alex caught her chin between two fingers. “Is there something about my instructions last night you failed to understand?” He leaned closer, their faces inches apart. “I distinctly recall ordering you to cease all interference in this matter.”

“Interference!” she hissed.

He could almost see her unsheathe her claws. Bloody hell, but he liked her, liked her defiance, her spirit.

“This is my brother’s life we’re discussing. I have a right, yes, even a responsibility to find out what’s happened to him, and neither you”—she poked him in the chest—“nor my father, nor the King of England, bloody George the Third, is going to stop me from helping my brother!”

“Is that so?” Alex glanced down at her pale finger against the dark material of his coat. She had a kitten’s claws—tiny, untried, and razor sharp.

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