The Firebrand

“Honestly.”

“It was a crashing bore.”

Clearly he didn’t share her passion for debate. She pulled in a deep breath. “I see. Well, then—”

“—until a certain young lady began to speak her mind,” he added. “Then I found it truly interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yes.”

“And…provocative?”

“Most definitely.”

“Did you think it was…stimulating?”

He laughed aloud. “Now that you mention it.”

Her spirits soared. “Oh, I am glad, Mr. Higgins. So glad indeed. May I call you Randolph?”

“Actually my friends call me Rand.”

She most definitely wanted to be his friend. “Very well, Rand. And you must call me Lucy.”

“This is a very odd conversation, Lucy.”

“I agree. And I haven’t even made my point yet.”

“Perhaps you should do so, then.”

“Make my point.”

“Yes.”

Ye gods, she was afraid. But she wanted him so much. “Well, it’s like this, Mr.—Rand. Earlier when I spoke of passionate feelings, I was referring to you.”

His face went dead white. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

“You see,” she rushed on, “I’ve always wanted to have a lover. I never did encounter a man I wanted to spend my life with, and if I took a lover I would simply have no need of a husband.”

“Lucky you.” Some of the color, and arrogance, returned to his handsome face.

She could sense suppressed laughter beneath his wry comment. “But I wouldn’t want a love affair just for the sake of having one. I’ve been waiting to meet a man I felt attracted to.” She looked him square in the eye. “And I’ve found you at last.”

The humor left his expression. “Lucy.” The low timbre of his voice passed over her like a caress.

“Yes?”

“Lucy, my dear, you are a most attractive girl.”

She clasped her hands, thoroughly enchanted. “Do you think so?”

“Indeed I do.”

“That is wonderful. No one has ever thought me attractive before.” She was babbling, but couldn’t help herself. “My mother says I am too intense, and far too outspoken, and that I—”

“Lucy.” He grasped her upper arms.

She nearly melted, but held herself upright, awaiting his kiss. She’d never been kissed by a man before. When she was younger, Cornelius Cotton had kissed her, but she later found out his older brother had paid him to do it, so that didn’t count. This was going to be different. Her first honest-to-goodness kiss from the handsomest man ever created.

Late at night, she and the other young ladies of Miss Boylan’s would stay up after lights-out, whispering of what it was like to kiss a man, and of the ways a man might touch a woman. One thing she remembered was to close her eyes. It seemed a shame to close them when he was so wonderful to look at, but she wanted to do this right. She shut her eyes.

“Lucy,” he said again, an edge of desperation in his voice. “Lucy, look at me.”

She readily opened her eyes. What a glorious face he had, so alive with character and robust health and touching sincerity. So filled with sensual promise, the way his lips curved into a smile, the way his eyes were brimming with…pity? Could that be pity she saw in his eyes? Surely not.

“Rand—”

“Hush.” Ever so gently, he touched a finger to her lips to silence her.

She burned from his caress, but he quickly took his finger away.

“Lucy,” he said, “before you say anymore, there’s something I must tell you—”

“Randolph!” a voice called from the doorway. “There you are, Randolph. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Lucy turned to the back of the salon. There, in the doorway, stood the most stunning woman she’d ever seen. Petite, blond and willowy, she held her lithe body in the shape of a question mark, clad in a beautiful gown bearing the trademark rosettes of Worth’s Salon de Lumière. In a rustle of perfumed silk, she moved toward them, hand outstretched toward Rand.

“I’ve found you at last,” the gorgeous blond woman said, her words an ironic echo of Lucy’s.

Rand’s pallor quickly changed to dull red as he bowed over her hand. “Miss Lucy Hathaway,” he said, straightening up and stepping out of the way, “I’d like you to meet Diana Higgins.” He slipped an arm around her slender waist. “My wife.”

Chapter Two

For a few seconds, only the wailing of the night wind filled the silent void. Something, some bizarre state of nerves in those endless seconds, gave Rand a heightened sensitivity. The pads of his fingers, resting at the small of his wife’s back, detected the smooth, taut silk over the armored shell of her corset. From a corner of his eye, he saw Diana’s expression change from mild curiosity to keen nosiness. And although she probably did not mean to be audible, he heard Miss Lucy Hathaway breathe the words, “Oh. My.”

Just that, coupled with an expression probably shared by Joan of Arc at the moment of her martyrdom. She looked as though she was about to vomit.

Foolish baggage, he thought. This was no less than she deserved for making outrageous proposals to strange men.

“How do you do, Miss Hathaway?” Diana said, unfailingly polite as she always was in social situations.

“Very well, thank you, Mrs. Higgins. It’s a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Lucy didn’t shrink from Diana’s probing gaze.

Despite his opinion of the radical young woman’s views, Rand could not deny his interest. She was not only the most annoying creature he’d ever met, she was also the most compelling. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she had a heart-shaped face. Her pointed chin, high brow and wide eyes gave her an expression of perpetual wonder. The passion and sensual awareness she’d spoken of so boldly seemed to reside in the depths of those velvety dark eyes, and in the fullness of her lips.

Yet as quickly as she’d shocked him with her outrageous proposal, she seemed to come to heel like a spaniel trained to obedience when thrust into a social situation. She dutifully exchanged pleasantries with Diana, who described their recent move from Philadelphia, and chatted about the unseasonable heat that plagued the city, robbing Chicago of the clear, chill days of autumn.