A Wicked Kind of Husband - Mia Vincy Page 0,70

a woman’s laugh, bright like crystal.

“No,” she said. “It can’t be.”

But it was. A moment later, the butler was at the door, announcing Miss Lucy Lightwell and Miss Emily Lightwell.

“She brought Emily?” she said faintly, as another burst of laughter hit her ears, heading up the stairs, if she wasn’t mistaken. She turned to Sir Gordon, who was gathering his papers. “Sir Gordon! Mama is at home alone!”

He nodded, understanding as few did. “I’ll send an express to have someone check on her.” He tucked his dossiers under his arm. “I’ll see myself out. Mr. DeWitt and I will communicate regarding the next steps. Let me know if I can assist you further.”

“I may require your services again very soon,” Cassandra said, marching past him. “As I’m about to murder my sister.”

Chapter 17

Joshua bounded up the stairs after Cassandra, who was already talking as she entered the drawing room.

“Lucy, how could you!” Cassandra was saying. “Have you no idea how dangerous it is, to travel alone from London?”

“Spare me, Mother Cassandra,” drawled a melodious female voice. “I did not come all this way for your nagging.”

The voice belonged to a young woman with glossy dark hair, big green eyes, and delicate features arranged so artfully that parts of Joshua’s brain crashed into each other and he almost forgot how to walk. A red-haired girl with a sickly, anxious air stood by the table, her hand resting on a large, covered basket.

“I like Cassandra’s nagging,” Joshua said. He stopped next to his wife, pressed a hand to the small of her back. This time, at least, she did not pull away. “You must be the legendary Lucy.”

Lucy inspected him from top to toe. “And you must be—Oh my,” she said, looking past him.

He twisted to see Isaac, leaning nonchalantly on his cane with an easy, rakish charm.

Lucy’s eyes flicked between Joshua and Isaac. “Which one of you handsome devils is Mr. DeWitt?”

“We both are,” Joshua said, his mood beginning to lift.

“Two Misters DeWitt!” Lucy stepped forward, all grace and coquetry. “No wonder Cassandra has kept her husband secret these past two years—she had two of you! You greedy thing, Cassandra. And you scold me when I so much as look at the baker’s son.”

“The baker’s son hasn’t the constitution to handle your looks, Lucy,” Cassandra said. “It upsets him and he crushes the bread.”

“Do tell how it works,” Lucy said. “One woman with two men.”

“I could draw you a picture,” Joshua offered, which earned him a wifely elbow in his ribs. He was starting to enjoy himself, despite everything, but before he could tease Cassandra some more, Das sauntered in.

Joshua’s enjoyment faded. No, not Das. Please, not Das.

“Look at you,” Lucy crooned to Das. “You’re brown!”

“Lucy!” Cassandra scolded, but Joshua was curious to see what happened next.

“And you’re pink,” Das said.

“No, I’m not. I’m white.”

“Definitely pink.” Das jerked his chin at the other girl. Emily. “And your sister there is looking rather green.”

Confusion flickered in Lucy’s eyes, and then a slow smile spread over her face. A genuine smile this time, Joshua realized.

“I’m pink, she’s green, and we’re both feeling blue!” Apparently delighted, Lucy danced toward Das. “I like you. Do you know how to waltz?”

“My wife has been teaching me.”

“How sweet.” Her tone turned saucy. “You won’t remember your wife’s name once you’ve waltzed with me.”

“If you think that, then you know nothing of love and a good marriage.”

Lucy’s expression faltered, revealing a vulnerable, lost girl beneath that brain-shatteringly beautiful facade. “Lucy is broken,” Cassandra had said, and he began to understand what she meant.

But then Lucy laughed again and danced back to the basket, which she opened, saying, “I have a gift for you, Mother Cassandra!”

Out leaped something fierce and gray that streaked straight for Joshua. He had barely identified it as a cat when it climbed him like a tree, finally coming to perch on his shoulders, its tail swishing wildly against his face.

Joshua twisted up and around to grab the cat. With a growl, it dug in its claws, pricking his skin through his shirt.

“No, Mr. Twit!” cried Lucy. “Don’t do that!”

“What did you call me?” Joshua asked through a mouthful of fluffy tail.

Lucy laughed and started toward him, hands raised. He instinctively stepped away and, to his relief, Cassandra came to his rescue, nimbly inserting herself between him and her sister. She reached up and patted the cat. He fancied he felt it relax. That is, it unhooked its claws and stopped whipping his cheek.

“Mr. Twit,”

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