The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,83

could eat, and brushed her coat until it shone. He’d showed her nothing but love and kindness to her last day, and held her head in his arms when she passed.

Opal’s story had a happy ending, but he knew that for as long as he lived, he would never forget that terrible fear in her eye. It was the same fear he saw now, in the distressed violet eyes of the Duchess of Glastonbury.

“I–I have a knife, and I’ll use it! I swear I will!”

His gaze automatically slid to her shaking right hand, where she held…

“Are you threatening me with a paint brush?” he drawled.

“N-no,” she said, brandishing her makeshift weapon like a sword. “It’s a knife. A very s-sharp knife.”

“It looks like a paintbrush to me,” he said, not unkindly.

Her snow-white cheeks flushed a very attractive shade of pink. “Well, it’s not! So you should just-just run away!”

Lucas shook his head, and there was genuine regret in his voice when he said, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

“W-why not?” she whispered.

He knew he should keep his distance from the duchess. But he’d always been drawn to frail, beautiful things.

And Persephone Stillwater was no exception.

She gasped when he emerged from the shadows. The small, helpless sound drew his attention to her mouth. He was fascinated by her plump top lip, curved in the shape of a cupid’s bow. By the ton’s strict standards of beauty it was no doubt considered an unfortunate blemish in an otherwise flawless countenance.

But to Lucas, it was perfect.

She was perfect.

She was also terrified.

The paintbrush she’d been threatening to run him through with fell to the ground when he gently cupped her chin and tilted her head back. Her skin was soft as satin. Her lashes, long and full. Her eyes, wide and wary.

She studied him as a frightened rabbit would a hungry wolf, but he thought he detected a glint of fierceness amidst all that fear. Her spirit had been bruised, but it wasn’t yet broken. He didn’t know why that should fill him with relief. His concern wasn’t for Persephone’s welfare or wellbeing. He needed only to return her to her husband in one piece, and collect his reward.

But as he gazed down upon her pale face, Lucas knew in his heart he could no more turn her over to the duke than he could have returned Opal to the earl.

Persephone was his now, whether she realized it or not.

And Lucas always protected what was his.

“Why not? Because you’re the Duchess of Glastonbury,” he said huskily, his thumb brushing across her pale cheek. “And I’ve been hired to kidnap you.”

Chapter Two

Dear heavens.

As Percy stared wordlessly up into the golden eyes of her captor, she wondered if anyone would hear her if she screamed. Helena was not due back from the theater for another two hours. Mr. Hodgson, the widower who lived next door, was notoriously hard of hearing. But maybe if she yelled loudly enough…

“No,” the golden-eyed stranger said mildly when her lips parted.

Percy blinked. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You were about to call for help, in which case I would be forced to put a gag on you, and it’d be a right shame to cover up that pretty mouth.”

She gasped.

He grinned.

“I am going to let you go now, love. Do us both a favor, and don’t try to run.” He released her and stepped back, his hands lifted innocently in the air.

But Percy wasn’t fooled. She knew there was nothing innocent about this…this scoundrel. He was taller than her by at least twelve inches, and ruggedly built, with broad shoulders and a wide chest that tapered to narrow hips and long, muscular legs enclosed in black calfskin breeches. His dark brown hair was pulled back off his temple with a simple leather tie, revealing flat, thick brows, and eyes the color of the sun moments before it sank below the horizon. His nose was slightly crooked in the middle, indicating it had been broken at least once, and a silver scar in the shape of a hook peeked through the bristle along his hard jawline.

His attire was as disreputable as the rest of him. She’d never seen Hessians so worn, and he hadn’t even bothered with a cravat, leaving his bronzed throat exposed for all the world to see. His coat was black, like his breeches, and fell all the way past his knees. The blood drained from her cheeks when he shifted his weight, and the edge of his coat slipped