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“That’s what took you so long. You spoke to Lord John.”

“I had to ask him to send a rider with the letters. One I wrote to my parents, and I asked Ada to write the other to Vanderville. I told her to ask him to meet her here so she could explain.”

Duncan raised his brows. “What did Lord John think about his nursery maid trying to kill his son?”

Lucy made a face. “He held his temper, but I don’t think she’ll retain her position here when all is said and done.” She rolled her neck and arched her back, drawing his attention to the fact, once again, that she was wearing form-fitting breeches, not skirts.

“I’ll be glad when this is over and done. I’ll sleep for a week.”

Duncan pulled his gaze reluctantly away. “You can sleep now. We have a few hours.”

She shook her head and stifled a yawn. “We need to make a plan.”

“I have a plan. We find a place on the side of the road and ambush him when he comes along the drive.”

“Good plan.” She pressed a hand against her back and arched her hips. “Is there some reason we can’t ambush him here, where it’s more comfortable?”

“He’ll be on his guard when he arrives here. Stop doing that,” he warned.

She narrowed her eyes. “Stop doing what? Asking questions?”

“Stop stretching and reaching and generally catching my attention.”

She went rigid. “You think I’m trying to catch your attention?”

“No, but I can’t help but notice anyway. The way you look in those breeches...”

Now her eyes widened with interest. “Oh? How do I look?”

Duncan tried to think of a suitable word. “Delicious.”

She moved closer to him, and Duncan could have sworn she purposely swayed her hips. “Have I been distracting you all night?” she asked, coming to stand before him. She cocked one hip and put a hand on it.

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m a professional.”

“A professional scoundrel.” She gave him a dimpled smile.

“Not anymore. I can control myself.”

Lucy reached out and ran a hand down his chest. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Duncan’s skin burned where her hand touched it over his linen shirt. He might as well have been wearing nothing at all. Even though her hand stopped mid-abdomen, he felt heat radiate to every part of his body. His heart hammered in his chest. “We had better prepare our ambush.” His voice sounded shaky in his ears.

“There’s time. You said so yourself.”

He couldn’t seem to stop his hand curling around her waist. There were no heavy layers of skirts and petticoats between his hand and her hip, and he felt the sweet curve of it. “Time for what?” he asked.

“A kiss.” She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “To start.”

“One kiss.”

Her arms went around his neck. “If I’m only to have one, you’d better make it good.”

Duncan settled both hands on her hips and drew her closer. Then he lifted one hand and used his fingers to push a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. His hand lingered, palm on her soft cheek. Her gaze softened, and her eyes closed. He watched her lips part and couldn’t resist lowering his mouth to hers.

He'd wanted to kiss her slowly and gently, but it seemed as soon as their lips met, a shock of desire jolted through him. His gentle mouth turned hungry as he nipped at hers, finally taking it with a possessiveness he hadn’t known was within him. Her mouth opened, deepening the kiss, and their tongues met in imitation of what their bodies were craving.

She pressed against him where their bodies met, the heat of her stirring his cock until it strained against his breeches. The scent of her, heady and tart, surrounded him. He was falling into an abyss of pleasure, and just when he tried to extricate himself, her fingers dug into his hair and pulled him back down—down into the lushness of her lips, down into the flick of her tongue, down into the soft gasp of her breath when he squeezed her bottom.