“What’s your advice, Worth,” Bell asked next, “given that you’re the subject of this particular attempt at blackmail?”
Worth contemplated his own countenance in the small looking glass on the wall opposite the window for a moment and straightened his cravat before he spoke. “I say you inform Sir Reginald that I will indeed vote for him for the chancellor role.”
“Really?” Bell’s brows shot up.
“Of course,” Worth replied. “Tell him that, Kendall, then I’ll maneuver to get the duchy vote moved after the Employment Bill vote, and by the time the bastard realizes he’d been lied to, it will be too late.” He gave them all a triumphant smile.
“Spoken like a man who doesn’t care how many enemies he makes,” Clayton retorted, shaking his head.
Bell scratched his chin. “No one’s asked me, but for what it’s worth, I say you tell Sir Reginald he can go straight to hell.”
“That’s hardly helpful,” Clayton replied.
“That’s why you’re the best politician in the room, Clayton,” Worth pointed out with a grin.
Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He shook his head, staring at the wooden floorboards. “That bastard. I can hardly stand to look at him, let alone speak to him again.”
“What do you plan to say to him tomorrow, Kendall?” Clayton prompted.
Lucas lifted his head and met his friend’s gaze. “I think I know what I must do. I’ll tell you all after I meet with him.”
“Well, then,” Bell asked, leaning back upon his wrists. “If you’re settled on your course of action regarding Sir Reginald, what is your course of action regarding Miss Wharton?”
Lucas expelled a deep breath. “Regarding Miss Wharton, I have one last lie to tell.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Just one more day. That’s what Lucas promised himself when he made his way to the library the next morning. He intended to tell Frances that he had to leave. Lucas the footman’s father was ailing in Northumberland. It would be the final lie he told her, and it already sat like a dead weight upon his conscience.
He would leave that afternoon, immediately following his second meeting with Sir Reginald. Leaving was the right thing to do. Lucas was certain of it. He needed time and space. Time to make sense of the last several days and to decide upon the most honorable way to tell Frances the truth without upsetting her more than he had to, and space to stop making additional mistakes such as kissing her again. He would go to his own estate in Kent and think through all of it before returning to London in autumn for the vote in Parliament and his reckoning with Frances. At this point, he looked forward to neither.
He’d promised Frances that he’d meet her today. That promise and his disgust at the thought of leaving her without saying good-bye were the only two things that made him keep walking toward the library.
He’d already written the note to Frances from Kendall telling her he couldn’t meet with her. He’d spent the night on the fourth floor in case she decided to wait outside his room again. He would ask James to ensure she received the note the moment his coach pulled away from Clayton’s drive.
Lucas was risking something, meeting her today. Her maid interrupting them yesterday had been nothing if not a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. If the young woman had only walked in a moment sooner, she might well have caught them kissing. As it was, she probably suspected something similar had happened. Lucas had been unable to sleep last night playing the scenario through his head.
What would have happened had Albina caught them in an embrace? They could have asked her not to tell anyone, but could they trust her? The most likely scenario would be that a scandal would result, and Frances’s reputation would be ruined. If she was caught kissing a footman, no man in the ton would have her. Not even that snake, Sir Reginald.
Of course, Lucas could offer her the protection of his name and marry her, but telling her his name would be the problem. She detested who he really was. That would hardly be the answer to such a debacle.
He should have stopped the kiss, shouldn’t have allowed it in the first place. He’d come close to resisting her, but in the end, the feel of her soft warm body pressed against his and her lips insistent and urging had been his undoing. He wanted her, he always had, and she felt right in his arms, which made the fact that he had to leave her even more loathsome.
When Lucas entered the library, the room was empty. Alarm tingled through his veins. Had Albina seen something after all? Had she told Frances’s mother?
In keeping with his usual routine, he set the logs next to the fireplace, removed his coat, and tossed the wood onto the pile.
Perhaps she was merely running late. Perhaps she’d decided to wait outside Lord Kendall’s room again. He expelled his breath. At least Lucas wasn’t in the room.
He finished with the logs, replaced his coat, and wandered over toward the table where she should be. He slid his hands into his pockets and stared out the windows absently into the gardens. Alarm had begun prickling along his skin once more when a noise from within the alcove caught his attention.
He turned swiftly to see Frances peeking out. She stepped out of the space wearing a pretty white gown, a pink flower tucked behind her ear.
“Well, are you going to join me, or aren’t you?” she asked, a beautiful smile on her lips.
Lucas couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “I’d no idea you were here.” He strode over to her, but stopped just outside the alcove. It was safer outside the alcove. He wouldn’t be so tempted to kiss her one last time.
“I could tell,” she replied. “It took you long enough to toss those logs on the fire. By the by, what did Lord Clayton say in his note yesterday?”
Lucas dropped his chin to his chest and scratched the back of his neck. “He just needed to see me for a bit.” That much at least was true.
“I missed you in the dining room last night,” Frances said next, a coy tone in her voice.
Lucas lifted his chin and looked at her again. “I was, ahem, reassigned again.” That was somewhat true too. He simply failed to mention that he’d been reassigned to his bedchamber because of his hidden identity.
She plucked at one of the soft brown curls that sat on her shoulder. “You haven’t missed much. It’s mostly been a lot of love-sick young ladies swooning over Lord Kendall, who hasn’t even had the decency to deign to join them.”
“Really?” Lucas asked, clenching his jaw as the guilt gnawed at him. “What excuse was given?”
“None that I ever heard,” Frances replied with a sigh. “The only thing Lord Clayton said about Lord Kendall was that he doesn’t intend to stay long. But that certainly didn’t keep the young ladies from talking about him all night. Both nights.” She rolled her eyes.
“Was the conversation more interesting than Sir Reginald’s talk about the prince at least?” Lucas ventured, doing his best to smile.
“Hardly, but I wasn’t spared that either. Sir Reginald sat next to me again and did an awful job of attempting to be charming. Then he asked me to go walking with him in the garden this morning.”