The Duke's Desire by Erica Ridley

Author:Erica Ridley [Ridley, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Erica Ridley

Chapter 8

As little patience as she had for the flighty indifference of the aristocracy, Meg had to admit that Lucien was nothing like those lords and ladies.

At least, not while he was still here in England.

When they’d returned from their French break, Jasper was no longer in the drawing room. Nonetheless, Lucien had gone straight back to the books she’d selected for him and picked up his pencil. He wasn’t learning English for himself, he had said. He was doing it for his family. For children who weren’t even born yet.

It was difficult to keep a frosty demeanor in the company of a man like that.

This must have been what he was like as an adolescent. The oldest of his siblings; put to work in a hot, grimy smithy of all places, after a life of luxury and coddling. She imagined he would have picked up each strange new tool without question, throwing himself wholeheartedly into any task, no matter how difficult or odious or painful, because it wasn’t for him. It was for his family.

Lucien was many things, but he was not selfish. He was kindhearted and incredibly loyal. Everything he had ever done had been for someone else. Time and again, he consistently put others’ needs first, even to the detriment of his own. Meg snuck another glance at him from beneath her lashes.

If the aristocracy had to exist… it could use more men like Lucien.

When the minute hand of the pocket watch reached the hour, he sagged forward and touched his forehead to the table.

“Ten-minute break?” he begged.

She took pity on him. “I think that’s enough for one day, don’t you? Why don’t we work out a timetable. Did you want to do this once a week, twice a week…?”

“Every day, if you’ve the time.” He added quickly, “I can pay you.”

Her shoulders twitched. Meg could use the money, but she didn’t want Lucien’s.

“You can pay me in other ways,” she suggested. “If your turgid member would like to visit my balmy feminine tunnel—”

He walked her to the door. “I am not making love to you for tutoring lessons.”

“Who said anything about love?” She clasped a hand to her chest in faux shock. “You overstep yourself, sir.”

“Do it!” Jasper shouted from the other side of the wall.

Lucien cast his gaze heavenward. “My uncle is a terrible chaperone.”

“He really does have good ears,” Meg said, impressed. “And great ideas. Here’s another one: Don’t answer yet. Tonight, when I’m not about, check with your swollen maypole in case there’s a difference of opinion on how to proceed.”

“I am not ruled by my baser instincts,” Lucien said clearly.

She brightened. “So you admit your first instinct is in fact to surge forth like a great steed, plowing the tender field with a scythe of passion.”

“That’s nobody’s instinct,” he warned. “No one even knows what that means.”

“Esteemed scribe Mr. John Cleland knows,” she informed him primly. “He wrote an entire book about it.”

“About—wait. That’s what you’re reading? The book you tried to give to me in the library is all about…”

“I told you it was more interesting than your books.

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