How to answer that? It certainly hindered his use of a pistol and a sword, but his other hand compensated well enough. Even deformed by the scar tissue, he could make a fist, and though he could not open his hand completely, he could grasp things and pluck at his guitar, which is what he did to improve his dexterity.
“It is getting better with time,” he finally said. “I exercise it regularly, and it has become more limber.”
“How did it happen?”
He shrugged. Everyone asked him that. “The honest truth is that I don’t know. It was Waterloo. Everyone believes that there is an order to a battle, and there is. But not always, and not for everyone. We were in chaos, and I was grabbing men, trying to get them to hold, to fight, to work with one another. Two men fight better together than apart. Five men can block a horse and its rider with ease. If a company can hold their position, then the battle can be won. But it takes many men working together.”
“And a leader who can make it happen when bullets are flying everywhere.” She turned to him. “You impress me.”
So many emotions continued to tumble around inside him. He did not like thinking about that day, much less being praised for it. In the end, he said what he always did. “I survived. So many did not.”
“And I am grateful that you did.”
He let those words sink in. After her earlier animosity, he had not thought she would say such a thing. After all, he’d been expressly forbidden to cross paths with her at home, for all that he managed the footmen who protected her.
“Why did you block me from coming abovestairs? Surely you understand that I can protect you better with full access to the entire home.”
She slanted him a wry look. “Do not pretend that you have been limited in any way. I know you come upstairs to check the windows and even the roof.”
He had, but he’d had to be scrupulously careful that they not cross paths. “I would never harm you.”
She was silent for a long time, then she sighed. “It took me a long time to accept my marriage. Longer still to find my way. I had to fight with the housekeeper about the smallest things.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know it at the time, but Oscar had dallied with her, and she imagined that she would become his wife.”
“The devil you say!”
“I don’t blame her for thinking it. Oscar often says what is convenient for him. Her fault was in not seeing him clearly enough to know the lie.”
His estimation of her husband was dropping by the second. Up until now, the staff had been universally supportive of the master, for all that he was bedridden. “Now you impress me,” he said. “You married into a disaster.”
Diana nodded. “It took me a year to realize that I would rather be respected than loved. From there, it became easy.”
“Nothing about that sounds easy,” he said. He knew. He’d had to earn the respect of his men, and that had been the hardest battle of all. “Now, you have both—respect and love.”
She snorted. “You have been listening to the flattery.”
“I don’t think so. Especially since they believe you despise me.”
She blew out a breath. “I don’t despise you,” she said tartly. “I don’t know you. This is the first we have talked in years.”
He acknowledged the point. “Will you allow me abovestairs now? May I check the windows and the roof without sneaking around behind you?”
“You may. Provided there is no familiarity in your attitude toward me.”
“Familiarity?” he teased. “You are the one who pulled off my mask.”
“Here at Vauxhall, you are Lord Lucifer. There, you are simply Mr. Lucifer, my servant. I would not link arms with him nor stroll anywhere at his direction. No more than I would with the bootblack.” She glanced at him. “Surely you understand that.”
“I understand that a bodyguard is not a bootblack. If I direct you to stroll to Haymarket, you will do it immediately and not question it.”
She stiffened at that, and he could tell she wanted to argue. She’d fought hard for the right to direct her own life—in a small way—and she was loath to give that up. “Lucas—” she began, but he cut her off.
“I am there to protect you, and you will listen if I have to carry you out over my shoulder.”
“You exaggerate the danger,” she huffed.
“You are naïve.” He didn’t say that to hurt her. His statement was pure fact, but she was too innocent to realize that.
“You overstep,” she snapped. “As did my brother to hire you in the first place.”
He snorted. “Your brother did not hire me. I came of my own free will, and I will see the job done no matter if I offend your sensibilities or not.”
Her body stiffened against him. “For how long, Lucas? How long will you hide beneath your mask and your silly moniker? How long do you intend to play dead and skirt the responsibilities of your title?” She narrowed her eyes. “How long shall I have you underfoot when you should be standing in the House of Lords?”
“Until such time as I deem it safe,” he said flatly.
“And when will that be? A month? A year?”
“I will not leave you until it is safe,” he said firmly.
She shook her head. “You are using me to avoid your own family.”
He laughed at that. The sound burst from him in a harsh bark of levity. “I assure you,” he said, “I do not need any excuse to avoid my family. I have been doing it quite well long before I was needed in your household.”
“I can attest to that,” said a voice to the side.
Lucas jerked around at the words, damning himself for being so distracted by her that he paid too little attention to his environment. With his damaged hand, he pressed Diana behind him while his good hand tightened into a fist. His heart beat hard as he searched the shadows for an enemy. There was but one person, and he did not appear threatening at all. At least not to Diana.
“Nathan,” Lucas said.
His brother.
Chapter Nine
Lucas’s only brother, Nathan, stepped out of the shelter of a large tree. He was dressed roughly in worn boots and muddy clothes. If it weren’t for his dark green cloak, Lucas might have mistaken him for one of his tenants.
“What are you dressed as?” That wasn’t even remotely important, but somehow the words blathered out anyway.
Nathan spread his hands. “A farmer. What else?”
“That’s not a costume. You are a farmer.”
“Not in London, I’m not.” His expression tightened. “Apparently, in London, I’ve been playing at being a titled lord.”
Lucas swallowed. There was only one courtesy title for his family, and it went to the eldest son. Lucas knew that Nathan had waited a year after Waterloo to take the title. On the anniversary of that battle, crepe was wrapped around their door knocker, his mother showed herself in public dressed in black, and his brother took the courtesy title of Lord Chellem. In such a way, his family declared him dead before society, if not in the courts just yet, and the ton accepted it as fact. In truth, he’d just returned to England after months of a devastating fever, not to mention a broken leg and mangled hand. The news that his family had declared him dead had crippled him more than his mangled hand.