Page 44 of Unmasking the Diamond
The moment her boots touched the ground, she withdrew her hand, quick and firm, as though contact with him had burned her. Taking a deliberate step aside, she placed a safe, proper distance between them. “Good day, my lord.”
He only smiled, infuriatingly unbothered. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t escort you inside?”
“A tolerable one,” she retorted.
“Ah, but I prefer to see you safely across the threshold—just in case you are absconded with and carried off to Gretna Green.”
“That is highly unlikely.”
“Unlikely, yes,” he said with mock solemnity. “But not beyond the realm of possibility.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together. Luca was impossible. The more she argued, the more determined he became, as though their verbal sparring were a game he meant to win. “Very well,” she muttered.
His grin widened, satisfied. “I see I am wearing you down—one argument at a time.”
“I am merely tired and would like a nap sooner or later,” she countered.
His chuckle was warm, too warm. “After you, Charlotte.”
She froze, her gaze snapping to his. “Shh…” she hissed in a whisper. “What if someone overheard you?”
He leaned in, lowering his voice to match hers. “Considering no one is on the pavement, I think we are safe from eavesdroppers.”
Her heart thudded at his nearness, but she forced herself to hold her ground. “I would prefer if you only call me by my given name when we are alone.”
“Not me,” he replied. “You may call me Luca whenever you wish. You could even scream it from the rooftops.”
“Are you ever serious?”
“With you? Never.” He winked.
And there it was—back to winking. She brushed past him with a huff, gathering her composure as she ascended the townhouse steps. At the door, Malone swung it open and stood aside to admit them.
Charlotte spun back, desperate to reclaim control. “As you can see, I am inside and safe. There is no point in you lingering any longer.”
He tsked, clucking his tongue as though she had disappointed him. “Are you so eager to be rid of me? I am rather parched. A cup of tea would be most welcome.”
“We are out of tea,” she replied.
His brows shot upward. “Out of tea? That sounds like a national emergency. What is a British household without tea?”
Before Charlotte could fashion a cutting reply, a voice cut across the hall.
“Charlotte.”
She turned to see Jane standing in the doorway, her brows drawn with worry. “The Duke of Brackenford is waiting for you,” her sister-in-law informed her.
Her heart sank, dread twisting in her stomach. She felt Luca lean ever so slightly closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Would you like me to stay?”
Yes. The answer thundered inside her chest. But she must not sound too eager. “If you would like,” she replied, careful to layer her tone with nonchalance she did not feel.
He offered his arm. For once, she did not argue. She placed her hand lightly upon his sleeve, grateful for the solidness of him.
As Luca guided her towards the drawing room, Charlotte dared a whisper. “Thank you.”
His answering gesture was simple, just a light pat of his hand over hers, but it sent a strange ripple of warmth through her chest. It was ridiculous, of course. She ought not to take comfort from him—least of all from him—but the steadiness of his presence lent her a courage she did not possess on her own.
The doors opened, and the air inside the drawing room thickened. Standing near the mantel, as though he owned not only the chamber but every soul within it, was the Duke of Brackenford. His expression was one of practiced boredom, and yet his eyes sharpened the moment they fell upon her.
