The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,95
taken with ye. My name’s Elizabeth, but you jest go right on ahead an’ call me Bessie. Everybody does.”
“Hello, Bessie.” Bemused, Percy tucked the catalogue under her arm and slid off the bed. “Who is Mr. Black?”
“Why, yer sweetheart, of course.”
“My sweetheart?” Percy’s brow furrowed. “But I don’t have a–”
“She means me,” Lucas drawled as he appeared in the doorway and gave Bessie a wink. He’d changed yet again, this time into a simple white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms and snugly fitting black breeches. His hair was pushed back off his temple, as if he’d been wearing a hat, and his Hessians were splattered with mud. “Did you enjoy your nap, love?”
“As much as I could, given the circumstances,” she replied stiffly.
“Excellent.” His teeth flashed in a grin. “I’ve brought Bessie in to be your lady’s maid. Anything you need, she’s your gal. Isn’t that right, darlin’?”
“That’s right.” Bessie beamed when Lucas looped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I’ve never worked fer an honest to goodness duchess afore. It’s an honor, Your Grace. A real honor.”
Percy’s lips parted. “Oh. I…that’s nice of you, Bessie, truly, but I don’t need a lady’s maid. And I’m not…that is to say…I prefer not to be treated like a duchess.”
Bessie gave a peal of laughter and slapped her thigh. “That’s a good one, Your Grace. ‘Not be treated like a duchess.’ Aye, I’ll have to remember it.” She nudged Lucas with her elbow and gave him a sly smile. “Beautiful an’ a sense of humor. I can see why you’re smitten with the lass.”
“Did I say I was smitten?” he asked mildly. “I can’t seem to recall.”
“Maybe not in so many words,” said the maid with a conspiratorial glance at Percy. “But I’ve been around long enough to know a thing or two. Trust me, Your Grace, the man is as infatuated as they come.”
Your Grace.
How Percy despised those two words.
They were a piece of a past she didn’t want to remember. A part of a woman she never wanted to be again. Her title was like a splinter under her skin. She would have yanked it out if she could, but it was buried too deep for her to reach.
“Should we draw ye a bath, Your Grace?” asked Bessie, blissfully oblivious to Percy’s rising discomfiture. “I’ve some rose soap that will make yer hair shine like a mirror. Made it myself. Easy enough, if ye have the patience. And ye have enough roses. I’ve found it’s best to combine the petals with the lard before they’ve completely dried out. Brings out the sweetness in them. Unless there’s another fragrance ye would prefer, Your Grace?”
“Please stop calling me that,” Percy whispered, her stomach twisting unpleasantly.
Lucas’s gaze sharpened.
“Bessie, darlin’,” he murmured without taking his eyes off of Percy, “could you give us a minute?”
“O’ course,” the maid chirped. “I’ll be right downstairs preparing dinner if ye need me. Herb-roasted chicken with garlic potatoes and some of that asparagus ye like picked fresh from the garden this mornin’, so if ye do any hanky panky be quick about it.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” As soon as Bessie had left the room, Lucas walked up to Percy and gently took the catalogue from her trembling hands. Setting it aside on the bed, he nudged her chin up with his finger.
“What’s wrong, love?”
If he’d made some witty remark, she might have been able to hold onto her composure. But the genuine concern in those wolfish eyes proved to be her undoing. On a muffled sob she whirled away from him and would have run to the corner of the room like a wounded animal seeking shelter, had he not caught her in his arms and dragged her against his chest.
Percy didn’t fight him. Oddly, the thought never crossed her mind. Maybe because some part of her recognized that Lucas wasn’t a threat, and as tears streamed down her cheeks she clung to his strong frame as if he were a mast in the midst of a wild, turbulent storm.
When the worst of the clouds had rolled away and the seas had once again calmed, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and peeked up at him from beneath her wet lashes. “I’m sorry. I–I don’t know what came over me.”
“You never need to be apologize to me.” He brushed her hair out her face, and although his touch was soft, his voice was stern. “Do you understand?”