The Footman and I - Valerie Bowman Page 0,77
forgot to say it that night under the staircase in the servants’ hall.” Her tone turned wistful.
He opened his mouth to say just that. “I didn’t want to tell you until you knew who I really was.”
She put up one hand. “Please. Don’t.” Tears sparkled in her dark eyes.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and nearly growled with frustration. How could he get her to understand? How could he convince her of how he truly felt? She was choosing to see the worst in him.
She didn’t want to hear them, but the words I love you incinerated on his tongue.
His throat burned. He shook his head. For the first time in his life, words completely failed him.
She struggled to her feet, declining the hand he offered. “I can’t believe you. If you told me you love me, it might be just another lie.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she brushed past him and raced from the room.
Lucas watched her go and along with her, his hopes and dreams for a marriage full of love with a woman who he knew without a doubt would have been true to him forever. A mixture of anger and grief mixed in his chest. He clenched his fist and leaned his arm against the nearest bookshelf, resting his head upon it.
“You’re wrong, Frances,” he said to the empty room. “I love you desperately.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I’ve come for the brandy bottle.” Bell threw open the door to Lucas’s guest bedchamber on the second floor. It had been over an hour since Lucas’s scene in the dining room, and Bell had obviously got wind of it.
Lucas blinked calmly at the ceiling from his position lying prostrate on his bed. “There is no brandy bottle.”
Ignoring him, Bell proceeded to search around the mattress, beneath the pillows, in the bedside drawers, and even under the bed. “The devil you say,” he finally conceded, taking a seat in a large chair near the fireplace that faced the bed.
“I’m not jug-bitten,” Lucas replied woodenly, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded neatly on his middle.
“I can see that,” Bell replied. “But I must say I’m surprised.”
Lucas let out a loud groan. “What good would getting foxed again do?”
“An excellently rational point. I do believe there’s hope for you yet.” Bell grinned at him.
“I’m certain you’ve heard,” Lucas drawled. He was lying diagonally across the mattress, still fully clothed as a footman, save for the wig and jacket he’d discarded in the dining room.
“Heard that you made a preposterous scene in the dining room earlier? Or heard whether you’re betrothed to Miss Wharton?”
“I am decidedly not betrothed to Miss Wharton, and I did make a preposterous scene in the dining room earlier.”
“Is it true that you threw your wig in the soup?” Bell sighed. “Seems overly dramatic to me, but what do I know? Spies tend to like things quiet and drama-free.”
“Yes, well, you’re the one who suggested I serve dinner tonight,” Lucas pointed out.
Bell rested one booted foot atop the opposite knee. “True. But I had no idea the soup would suffer.”
“Who gives a toss about the soup?” Lucas bit out.
“Clearly not you,” Bell retorted, “but I digress. I’ve come to ask you what you plan to do next.”
Lucas frowned at the ceiling. “What do you mean, what do I plan to do next?”
Another sigh from Bell. “I’m no matchmaker, but even I can tell that your courtship with Miss Wharton appears to be going poorly at the moment.”
“She hates me.”
“Hmm.” Bell tapped his cheek. “Perhaps poorly wasn’t a strong enough word then.”
“I cannot blame her for hating me.” Lucas lifted his palms to rub his eyes. “But she wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain.”
“‘Love is your master, for he masters you. And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise,’” Bell recited with a flourish of his hand.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Spare me your Shakespeare quotations at a time like this.”
“On the contrary, I believe a time like this is the perfect opportunity to quote Shakespeare. But my question still stands, what do you plan to do next?” Bell folded his hands together in front of him and blinked at Lucas as if expectantly waiting.
Lucas dropped his forearm across his brow. “I plan to bloody well get the hell out of here tomorrow morning. That’s what I plan to do next.”
“Quit?” Bell’s voice held a note of surprise. “That doesn’t sound like a Navy man to me.”
Lucas arched a brow and