Luci shook her head from side to side. She shouldn’t have spoken of the events surrounding Tilda’s death, or her hatred of the duke. She, with the help of Edith and Ophelia, was determined to see that Abercorn paid for his misdeeds.

Montrose would not interfere with that plan.

For now, allowing him to think she was in agreement with their betrothal would keep Montrose occupied, and her father satisfied—and Luci out of Abercorn’s reach.

“Tell me what Abercorn did.”

The duke’s steel blue eyes drew her, wrapped her in a blanket of security. No matter how false that comfort was or how much she longed to tell him everything, Luci knew it was not true. She did not know him beyond his skill at fencing and his scandalous activities at the opera all those months ago.

Trust was something earned.

The Duke of Montrose had secured nothing with her.

“If you are in danger, I will handle this.” He moved closer still, as if she were in peril in the middle of the bookshop.

His scent of sandalwood and oak washed over her, and Luci breathed him in—deeply. She wanted to believe he would help her. Needed to trust she wasn’t alone in her task to bring Abercorn down and make him pay for the loss of Tilda.

But, first, Luci would need to confide in Montrose…Roderick.

Luci was certain even her dearest friends were hesitant to believe her account of Tilda’s fall down the stairs and Abercorn’s hand in the matter.

Her father was well aware of her hatred for Abercorn but still thought to barter her hand in marriage to gain some measure of control. The marquis thought so little of his firstborn.

“If you wed me, you will be forever indebted to my father.” She leaned back, needing distance. Surprisingly, she cared that her father would have some kind of hold over Roderick. “I cannot ever ask that of anyone. He is my sire, but he is every inch the horrid man Abercorn is.”

“You cannot expect me to walk away after learning all this, not now.” Roderick set his hands on her shoulders and gently caressed away the tension. “If he hurt another person, I am now bound by duty, and my honor as a gentleman, to see he is punished for his crimes.”

A lock of hair fell loose from its pins, and Roderick brushed it back behind her ear, never taking his eyes from her as a shiver ran down her back.

Why did this man seek to help her?

Roderick owed her nothing. He was a pawn in her father’s game to bring more wealth and prestige to the Camden name, just as she was.

“There is much you do not know about me—and my friends.”

“I have witnessed enough to know you are not one to shrink away from the truth.”

He was right, though she wished some days that she could forget Tilda, forget her wedding, and forget the gruesome sight of her falling down the stairs. Most of all, Luci wished she could forget the vacant stare from her friend’s sightless eyes after her soul had left her body. Every moment, Luci dwelled on what she could have done had she noted Abercorn’s ruthless, abusive ways before that night. Yet, as Edith and Ophelia repeatedly told her, none of them had noticed anything off with Abercorn—and Tilda had certainly not shared any disreputable things about her betrothed.

“None of this is your responsibility, Your Grace.” Lucianna moved away from him. If she stayed near him another second, she would come to truly believe he could fix everything, repair her, and make certain Abercorn was brought down. There was no one who could see that happen but her—with Edith and Ophelia’s help.

“If you will not tell me, I will search out my own answers,” he called as she reached the end of the aisle. “I assure you, I will not stop until I find out exactly what happened.”

Luci halted, clutching her handbag before her. Staring at the floor, she knew she had two options: step from the row and into view of anyone else in the shop or turn back toward Roderick. If she returned to him, she could not trust herself to keep her own secrets.

There was so much more to her than what Abercorn had done.

Roderick knew, or at least suspected, her involvement with the Mayfair Confidential. How could he tie himself to a woman who’d written such a scathing article about his scandalous behavior? Did he think to exploit her once they were unequivocally tied together?

And, more importantly, how could Luci even think to confide in a man guilty of such unsavory activities as being seen at the opera with a woman he was not betrothed to?

Her chin lowered.

She was no better than he.

They both had secrets; however, sharing hers would put her—and her friends—in jeopardy.

And Luci knew Roderick’s secret. In fact, she’d made certain all of London knew it.

Why did a tendril of remorse flicker inside her? Never had she experienced even a hint of doubt or guilt over exposing gentlemen of the ton for what they truly were: scoundrels.

“Lucianna?” he pleaded. The raw nature of his tone pulled at her. Begged her to return to his side.

But for what purpose?

To enter into a sham of a betrothal to appease her father and keep Abercorn at bay.

Turning, Luci notched her chin high. “Lord Abercorn killed my friend. He pushed her down the stairs on their wedding night. I am the only person who saw the entire tragic scene clearly. And no one—with the exception of my friends—believes my tale of the events.”

There. She’d said it.

Now she only need wait for him to laugh, chuckle at her absurd accusation. Roderick would insult her in similar fashion as her father; call her a feather-brained, dim-witted, reckless chit. There would be no need to start the charade of a betrothal because even a man marred by scandal would not allow his name to be linked to a delusional female.

Not that it mattered a whit to her. Luci didn’t trust Montrose. It was far more likely she spoke of Tilda’s death to push him away, not draw him close in confidence.

However, he didn’t turn away from her. Nor did he so much as avert his stare or take a moment to think through what she’d shared.

Instead, he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms and pressing them tightly together.

“Roderick,” she breathed. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“The only thing I know how to do…keep you safe.”

His head dipped, and their lips met.

Not like before. Lucianna was not calculating her next move, preparing for a counter-attack, nor planning her escape.

She did not want to flee.

In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be lost in Roderick’s embrace, sheltered from the cruel world around her. Away from the reach of Abercorn, and no longer her father’s pawn.

Here, with the duke’s arms wrapped tightly about her, and his lips upon hers, she could put the need for vengeance behind her. She’d never forget Abercorn’s misdeeds, but they did not consume her.

Roderick consumed her now.

His embrace. His scent. His delicious, crushing hold on her.

It didn’t matter that she’d ruined him before all of society.

It didn’t matter she’d been tarnished by her need to publicly ostracize Abercorn.

Nothing mattered but his arms around her.

Luci was helpless to pull away, to push him away, to fight the connection she sensed forming with this man.

They needed to discuss everything: her involvement with the Mayfair Confidential, her spying on Lord Abercorn with her friends, and her father’s need to control everything he touched. But not now, not here.

Luci’s handbag fell forgotten to the floor, and she clutched at Roderick’s back, pressing her entire length closer to him.

“A-hem?” The male voice cut through the haze surrounding Lucianna, and she reluctantly pulled back from Roderick, fearing the shopkeeper had found them in a most delicate position.

Glancing over her shoulder, it was not Oliver, the shop owner, but Lord Torrington grinning back at her, Edith at his side, while Ophelia hid behind the couple to mask her embarrassed and reddened face.

* * *

Roderick fairly growled at the interruption when their lips parted.

As quickly and surprisingly as it had started, Lucianna leapt away from him as she stared over his shoulder.

His rebuff died on his lips when he turned to see a gentleman so large he filled the aisle with his sheer size, a petite blonde woman tucked into his side, and an auburn-haired nymph doing her best to hide from view behind the couple.

Roderick eyed the lady doing her best not to be seen. He had, in fact, seen her before.

“You.” He pointed to her. “You were the one from the ball. You blocked my path and almost allowed Lucianna to escape.”

“Which would make us,” the massive man interrupted, “the couple whose betrothal ball you attended without invite.”

“Lord Torrington, Lady Edith, and Lady Ophelia,” Lucianna stepped in front of Roderick. “May I introduce the Duke of Montrose?”

“You may, but that will not be enough to pacify our curiosity at his presence.” Lady Edith placed her hands upon her hips and scrutinized him as if he were a costly, rare bolt of fabric. One she hesitated to stare at for too long and didn’t dare touch.

“Yes, Luci, what is going on?” Lady Ophelia asked, her head bobbing around Torrington’s shoulder.

“I—well—he—“ She glanced between her friends, a rosy hue blooming on her cheeks.

“I arrived at the Camden townhouse to call on Lady Lucianna. Unfortunately, my manners escaped me, and I did not send word ahead, asking for an audience.” Roderick felt, rather than saw, Lucianna’s eyes on him. “And so, I offered to transport her and her maid here.”

Though if he’d known he was going to face a battle squad, Roderick may have departed the Camden townhouse alone, his flowers still in hand.

“Why were you calling on Luci?” Lady Edith pried, her eyes narrowing on him once more.

“It is a long story.” He waved away her question. “But since you have arrived, I will bid you all ado and leave Lady Lucianna in your company.”

Lucianna’s arm shot out and snagged his sleeve, mercifully dried from the earlier flower incident. She held him in place at her side. “Montrose will remain. This is not as much his issue as ours. It seems my father is entertaining an offer from Abercorn.”

“For what?” Lady Ophelia finally pushed in front of Torrington.

“For my hand in marriage.”

Both women gasped, and Torrington’s shoulders stiffened. “That cannot be true.”

“I assure you it is, my lord,” Roderick replied.

“The Duke of Montrose has graciously also made an offer for my hand.” She glanced up at him for confirmation. When he nodded, Lucianna continued. “And, so, I will accept his offer…for now. But we must find the evidence we need to see Abercorn taken in by the magistrate. Then this whole charade can be put behind us and Roder—the duke—can return to his own endeavors.”

“What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Roderick didn’t have any other endeavors, at least not the emotional kind—or any other he was willing to share with Lucianna and her companions.

And why did he care if Lady Lucianna and her friends thought he was involved with another woman?

Three sets of rounded stares turned toward him.

The shopkeeper appeared behind Lord Torrington and the women, holding his finger to his pursed mouth, silently demanding silence.

“Oh, I find I like this man very much,” Torrington barked with laughter.

“He does seem quite useful, doesn’t he?” Lady Edith nodded in agreement.

“But he is rather imposing with his dark features and cold, blue stare,” Lady Ophelia said, inspecting him from head to toe. “However, Luci looked like a storybook heroine in his arms. I could hardly tell where her black locks ended and his onyx hair began.”

Were they seriously discussing him in front of him?

“Imposing?” Roderick could not keep up with the group’s banter. “At least I am not the size of a bison.”

All eyes turned to Torrington, not a single person mistaking whom he spoke of.

“Ah, well, I have been called much worse by a far lovelier person, Montrose. You need to do better if you think to wound my delicate sensibilities.” He tapped his finger against his cheek in thought. “I believe an ox was the comparison, though that is very much in line with a bison. Oh, and arrogant and demanding, of course. Am I forgetting anything, my love?”

The blonde, Lady Edith, giggled, lifting on her tiptoes to place a kiss on Torrington’s cheek. “I have apologized many times for calling you arrogant. I still stand behind my oxen reference, though.”

“My lords, my ladies,” the shopkeeper called, bustling down the row toward them, his own silence forgotten as his heeled boots clacked against the hardwood floor. “Please take your rambunctious assembly elsewhere, you are disturbing my patrons who are here for serious pursuits of knowledge.”

“My apologies, Oliver, we will keep our voices down and not disturb anyone.” Lucianna smiled at the shopkeeper, flashing her most angelic, innocent grin, and the man practically wilted where he stood. “If we promise, may we stay?”

Oliver eyed the group, his stare lingering on Lord Torrington a moment longer than the others before he conceded with a nod. “But keep it down, and don’t clutter the row if someone comes looking for a book. I have bills to pay, after all.”

“Of course, sir.”

“We wouldn’t dream of costing you business.”

And finally, from Torrington, “Thank you.”

“This way,” Ophelia waved toward the back of the shop and pushed through the group, making certain not to make eye contact with Roderick. “There is an alcove toward the back where we can speak privately.”

Roderick raised his brow at Lucianna, who only shrugged but followed her friends.

He hung back to allow the women to proceed him into the rear of the shop. That it allowed him a moment to take in the sway of Lucianna’s hips as she linked arms with Lady Ophelia and Lady Edith was only good timing. With their heads tilted together, the trio of women whispered as they hurried to the alcove.

What wasn’t as advantageous, was Torrington matching his slow strides, his hands clasped behind his back.

“They are a formidable group, are they not?” Torrington said in a low tone.

Roderick eyed the women, uncertain what he’d gotten himself involved in and what type of trouble awaited them. “Are they always this…aggressive?”

“Only when they have their minds set on something,” Torrington replied, nudging Roderick onward. “Not long ago, it was me. Thankfully, now, it is…well, you.”

“Me?” Roderick halted as they exited the row of books, and Torrington was able to step next to him as opposed to walking a step behind.

“Oh, make no mistake, Lady Lucianna has her sights set on you.”

The woman was confusing. One moment, she was running from him, the next she’d bitten him, and then she agreed to wed him. “Only a moment ago, she made it very clear she would only agree to a feigned betrothal.”

Torrington patted him on the shoulder and turned toward the women, who’d each taken a seat on the alcove bench as they spoke quietly. “Yes, Lady Lucianna is a bit hard to read; however, she trusts you. It took her weeks to even speak to me.”

Trust was an unfamiliar concept to him, so much more so since his father’s passing.

“I thought this was all about Abercorn and finding proof of what he did…not that I can even say with any certainty what Lady Lucianna is accusing him of.” He watched as the women’s conversation became more intense as their voices rose. Lucianna scowled, and Lady Edith slashed her hand through the air, silencing everyone.

Torrington shook his head. “I fear it took me some time to figure it all out, as well, and it wasn’t until the woman I love“—he tilted his head in Lady Edith’s direction—“disappeared, that I wised up and took this whole Abercorn thing seriously. I’m uncertain if he is guilty of what they are accusing him of; however, the man is guilty of something dastardly.”

“Do you think—“

“Triston.” Lady Edith waved them over, her brow furrowed.

“We best join them before they decide to burn Abercorn’s townhouse to the ground. Or something far worse.”

“What could be worse than setting a house ablaze?” Roderick asked, his shoulders stiffening at the thought.

“Judging from the scowl on Lady Lucianna’s face and the abject terror on Lady Ophelia’s, I think we are about to find out.” Torrington leapt into action far quicker than a man his size should be capable of and called over his shoulder, “We should hurry, before their minds are set.”

Roderick caught up to Torrington as they both entered the alcove, the space having appeared far larger until they joined the women.

“We have decided how to proceed.” The set of Lucianna’s chin and her straight posture was all confidence.

“They have decided,” Lady Ophelia interjected before her cheeks blossomed with heat, almost matching the hue of her long locks.

“There is no other option.” Lady Edith set her hand on Ophelia’s and squeezed. “Our time has run out, and we cannot risk the marquis favoring Abercorn’s pursuit of Luci over yours, Your Grace. The Duke of Abercorn is known for moving quickly to secure what he seeks. His courtship of Tilda only lasted a fortnight before they were properly betrothed, the banns read, and a wedding date set.”

“I still believe there is—“

“There is no other way, Ophelia,” Lucianna cut off the woman’s protest.

“Then what has been decided?” Torrington asked, lowering himself to the bench between Lady Edith and Lucianna.

Roderick ignored the spike of possessiveness that coursed through him at Torrington’s proximity to Lucianna.

“We will knock on his door and simply ask him if he pushed Tilda.” All three women nodded at Lucianna’s proclamation.

“You think it is as simple as all that?” Roderick knew little about the old duke, but outright asking him if he killed a woman did not appear to be the most sensible course of action if they sought to discover what truly happened. “Why would he tell the truth now?”

“Because we plan to expose him in our next Mayfair Confidential column if he refuses to give us answers about the night Tilda died.”

All four nodded in agreement as if writing a risqué column used to ruin men of the ton was not outlandish in any way, but completely commonplace among the group.