Heartless by Mary Balogh Page A

intended to ask her to walk with him again? Or drive with him?
    The answer to all his questions was a decisive no. He had said he would call on her this morning. The afternoon was the more normal time for social calls. And he had said he had a matter of some importance to discuss with her. A walk? Hardly. He had asked if she was of age. And then—Luke grimaced and gave up the effort to finish eating the final slice of toast—he had said that he need not, then, consult her brother before discussing the important matter with her.
    No, indeed. The lady would have to be an imbecile not to have understood his meaning, and he suspected that Lady Anna Marlowe was not that even if she did not have any great depth of character.
    He had done it, then. Having spent ten years building a life for himself in which he was independent and a law unto himself, he had capitulated within three days—
three days!
—under the burdens of ducal and family responsibilities. He did not want any of them. He wanted to go back to Paris and resume the way of life which had suited him for many years. He wanted to forget England and his family. He wanted George alive again and the father of ten healthy sons. He wanted to be simply Lord Lucas Kendrick again.
    But one could not always have what one wanted. He could not go back. Worse, he could only step forward now in the direction he had set for himself last night with an impulsiveness that had been foreign to him since his boyhood. And yet not so impulsive after all, perhaps. Events had been pushing him toward it since before his return and certainly since then.
    He could only wish that he could go upstairs now to dress and proceed on his way to Lady Sterne’s with all haste. He wanted the matter over and done with now that he had made it inevitable. But one could not call on a lady this early in the morning. He did not know how he was to fill in the hour or so until he could decently go.
    But the problem was solved for him by the announcement that his brother had called and was begging the favor of a word with him. Luke got gratefully to his feet and tossed his napkin onto the table.
    â€œAh, Ashley,” he said, strolling into the hall, where his brother was standing, examining a sculpted Venus, whose flowing and transparent draperies were so molded to her body by an unfelt breeze that she might as well have been naked. “Come into the library and tell me to what I owe the honor.”
    Lord Ashley Kendrick grinned at him and strode toward the room indicated. “I was not sure you would be up at this hour, Luke,” he said. “Egad, but that is the devil of a fine morning gown you are wearing. ’Tis almost as bright a red as the coat you wore to the Diddering ball.”
    â€œHave a seat.” Luke indicated a chair beside the fireplace and took the one across from it. His brother, he noted, tall and slender and handsome, wore his fashionable clothes with a somewhat careless air. A typical Englishman.
    â€œThat was the devil of a fine play at Covent Garden last evening,” Ashley said. “Fine music too.”
    â€œI thought so,” Luke agreed. “But then, I do not believe I have ever seen a poor production of that particular play.”
    â€œZounds, no,” Ashley said. “And Lady Anna Marlowe is the devil of a fine lady. Doris said so on the way home and Mama agreed. I believe she has hopes.” He flashed his brother a charming and mischievous smile. “Hopes of your becoming respectable at last, Luke.”
    â€œIndeed?” Luke said softly, raising his eyebrows. He had been watching his brother’s hands opening and closing on the arms of his chair. There was a general air of tension about him despite the bright geniality. “But you did not call here to discuss the play or to compliment me on my taste in women, my dear. What is on your mind?”
    Ashley grinned again. “Nothing of any great import,” he