While she’d been appreciative of the expense the duke had incurred on her behalf, she couldn’t help but think that the red roses and silk wraps and pearls could have gone to any number of women. Truth be told, she didn’t even like roses. Not that Andrew had ever cared enough to learn her floral preferences.
“Close your eyes,” said Lucas.
Percy closed her eyes.
“Now, hold out your hand.”
She held out her hand.
There was a pause, and then a familiar scent filled the air as Lucas rubbed a small amount of liquid onto the inside of her wrist. Startled, she blinked at him. “Is that…”
“Your perfume. Here.” He motioned for her to tilt her head to the side. Sliding his hand underneath her hair, which she’d combed but had yet to put up, he brushed his thumb right behind her earlobe. “I figured you might like something familiar.”
“I…I do.” Distracted by the fingers he’d allowed to linger on the curve of her neck, she struggled to focus. “But how did you know what perfume I wear? Unless…” Her eyes flashed with accusation as she stiffened. “You stole it from Helena’s townhouse, didn’t you?”
“You sound surprised again.” He toyed with a curl before he dropped his arm and rocked onto his heels, his boyish smirk clearly unrepentant. “I’m a thief, love. Stealing things is sort of what I do.”
“Yes, but…” she trailed off as a reluctant smile teased across her lips. Some of his wickedness must have begun to rub off on her, because even though she knew she should have been appalled by his unlawful behavior, she couldn’t help but find it a little romantic. Certainly, the perfume was better (and more thoughtful) than flowers that would soon wither and die, or a shawl she’d never wear, or a necklace that would come to feel like a collar around her throat. Still, she couldn’t very well encourage Lucas’s bad behavior.
“Do not steal anything on my behalf again,” she said sternly. “Particularly if it involves breaking into my friend’s home. You…you didn’t see her, did you?” Hope kindled within Percy’s breast. “Helena?”
A shadow flickered across Lucas’s face. “I was careful to go when no one was in.”
“I miss them.” Trailing her hand across the back of a chair, she went to the window and nudged aside the curtain. The sky was gray, the clouds bunched together in an angry veil that threatened rain.
“Is it your plan to keep me here indefinitely?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then, what is your plan? If you are not going to sell me to the duke…”
“No one is selling you to anyone,” Lucas said fiercely. The floor shook with the strength of his powerful strides as he crossed the parlor and, just like in her dreams, took her into his arms. His hands wrapped around her bosom, his chin rested on top of her head, and his thighs cradled her bottom as he held her snug against his chest. “I’ll return you home as soon as it’s safe to do so.”
“And when will that be?”
I could spend forever like this, Percy decided as she curled her fingers around the arms that bound her to him. Secure and protected with the man she loved. And even as ridiculous and improbable as it was, she did love Lucas.
She loved the tenderness he’d shown her.
She loved the confidence he’d instilled in her.
She loved the passion he’d awoken inside of her.
Calliope and Helena had healed her physical wounds. They’d washed her cuts and put cold compresses on her bruises and wiped away her tears. But it had taken Lucas to make her realize that not all trauma was visible to the naked eye. Whether he realized it or not, he’d helped her confront her demons.
She hadn’t vanquished all of her doubts and insecurities. Not yet. Maybe she never would. But she’d dragged them out into the light, and no matter what came, she would never let them slither back into the darkness again. Because Lucas was right. She had control over Andrew now. It was up to her to decide if he could infiltrate her thoughts or dwell in her nightmares.
And she chose to banish him.
From her past, from her present, from her future.
Now that she knew what it was like to be treasured for who she was, not what she looked like or how obediently she could behave, she understood that whatever Andrew had felt towards her, it was never love. It was never compassion. It was never devotion.
It was never her fault.
The things he’d done to her…she had never deserved them. Not a single cruel word. Not a single vicious slap. That–that maliciousness, that hate, belonged solely to her husband. And all that ugliness could fester inside of him until he rotted, for all she cared.
She had married a duke…and fallen in love with a devil. And even though she couldn’t keep Lucas, even though she couldn’t keep this, she was grateful for it.
She was grateful for every second of it.
“Soon,” Lucas told her, his breath warming the back of her neck as he swept her hair to the side and pressed his lips to the top of her vertebrae. “You’ll be with your friends soon, love. Until then…”
“Until then?” she murmured as he began to kiss his way down her spine.
“Until then, you’re stuck with me,” he said huskily.
Percy didn’t protest when he turned her around. She pressed her mouth to his willingly, and as that familiar heat burned in her belly, she could have wept from the joy it brought her. Except she was done crying. Sometime during the past few days, she’d made the decision that she would not shed another tear because of Andrew.
Any tears she cried from this moment forward were for her and her alone.
Her fingers combed through Lucas’s thick, glossy locks as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding boldly between her lips. He braced a hand on the window behind her as the intensity between them increased, rising to a fever pitch of desperate desire before it suddenly softened and turned soothing, like the caress of a cool breeze on a hot summer night.
On a sigh, she turned herself over to him completely, her head rolling onto her shoulder as he traced a path down the side of her neck, nibbling along the curved line of her collarbone. Then he kissed her again, and it wasn’t frantic or demanding, but gentle and smooth. She felt a liquid pull from between her thighs as he lingered for a small eternity over her lips, and when at long last their embrace ended and he drew back, it was all Percy could do not to slide into a boneless heap on the floor at his feet.
“I’ve got an errand to run,” he said, those gold eyes unreadable as he brushed a curl off her temple. “I won’t lie to you, it involves Glastonbury.”
Lucas might as well have dumped a bucket of freezing water over her head. Flinching, she brought her arms in close to her body as if they were a shield, as all the heat within her was replaced with a brittle, freezing rain.
“Are you going to see him? But why?” she said, dismayed when Lucas gave a clipped nod.
“I’ve things to settle, love.”
Things to settle…
“You mean me.” Her nails dug into the soft skin underneath her breasts. “But can’t you just…ignore him and hope he goes away?”
Lucas gave a short laugh. “As disgusting as he is, the duke isn’t a piece of dust to be shoved under the rug. He’s expecting me to bring you to him. When I don’t, he’ll send other men. And he’ll keep sending them. Until someone tells him not to.”
“And you’re going to tell him not to,” she whispered.
“Aye.” Above Lucas’s grin, his eyes were pure wolf. Sharp, cunning, and vicious. “That’s the plan.”
“Do you…” She cleared her throat. “Do you mean to kill him?”
“I can, if you want me to.” He studied her intently. “Do you want me to, love?”
Did she want Andrew dead?
Yes. Yes, she ashamed to say there was a small part of her that did.
Did she want Lucas to murder him on her behalf?
No.
Never that.
“P-perhaps a stern warning
will suffice,” she said weakly.
Lucas’s grin deepened. “A stern warning. Exactly what I was thinking.” He tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. A day or two. Three at the most. Anything you need, Bessie can provide it.”
“Wait!” she cried when he started for the door. “I…I haven’t said goodbye.”
He paused, but did not turn. “A simple farewell is best in these situations, love,” he said gruffly. “No need to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
These situations? More difficult?
Her brow creased.
“I don’t–oh,” she gasped as understanding dawned, swift and horrible. “This is it, isn’t it?” When her knees threatened to give way, she gripped the edge of the windowsill to support herself. “After you speak with Andrew, you’re sending me back to Helena.”
“You should be happy,” Lucas said. “Isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve been waiting for? The opportunity to return to the life I stole you from.”
“I…I am happy. Of course, I’m happy.” Her chest tightened painfully. “But…”
“But?”
The word hung in the air between them like a guillotine ready to fall.
“I don’t want to go,” she said softly, so softly she was certain Lucas wouldn’t be able to hear, but with a savage snarl, he whirled around and stormed across the parlor.
“I told you not to make this difficult,” he growled, his face an inch from her own.
Percy’s first instinct was to cower in fear.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
Anger, in itself wasn’t frightening. It was what came after. But she knew in her heart, in her soul, in every place that mattered, Lucas would never hurt her.
At least not with his hands.
“When you kidnapped me, I had no say in the matter. I should have a say in this,” she said with steely determination. “This isn’t a decision you get to make on your own.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve damned well made it. This is for the best, Persephone.” He crossed his arms and stepped back. “You cannot stay here forever.”
He was right, she couldn’t.
But she also wasn’t ready to leave.
“The best for whom?” she asked, lifting a brow. “For you? Because I am tired of being told what to do and when to do it. I have a voice, and I should be able to use it.”
“I’m not saying you can’t. I would never stifle your voice, or your right to its use. You don’t belong here, love. You don’t belong with me.” His words sliced across her flesh like a knife, and she flinched from the bright blossom of pain they left in their wake.
“You’re just going to let me g-go?” She hated that her voice broke. She hated it. But there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Nothing except hold fast to her emotions, and pray the dam keeping them contained didn’t crack and crumble. “Just like that?”
Lucas looked away from her. “You were never mine to keep.”
“Then why keep me at all?” she demanded as frustration burst through the hurt. “Why not see Andrew the day after you brought me here? Why would you wait?”
Why would you hold me? Why would you kiss me?
Why would you make me fall in love with you?
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t have an answer to give you. I don’t have anything to give you, Persephone. I’m a bloody criminal, for God sakes. You need to be with your own people. People who understand you.”
“You understand me!” She stomped her foot as tears sprang to her eyes. “You understand me better than anyone else ever has.”
Finally, he met her gaze. But there was no hope to be found there. “I do. Which is why I know you’ll be better off without me. Goodbye, Persephone.”
She waited to cry until Lucas was gone. She could allow herself that much dignity, at least. When the tears came, they didn’t let up for a very long while. But true to her new promise, she cried only for herself.
For the love she had found in the most improbable of places.
And for the love that had just walked out the door.
Chapter Ten
“His Grace has been expecting you, Mr. Black.” The Duke of Glastonbury’s butler, a thin, reedy fellow with a perpetual scowl, admitted Lucas into an ornately decorated receiving parlor and gave a stiff bow. “He will be with you in a moment.”
“I’ll be looking forward to his arrival,” Lucas drawled, his casual tone doing nothing to betray the rage that bubbled right beneath the surface. Only the clenched fists he held behind his back were evidence of the fury he was doing everything within his power to contain. Fury he couldn’t wait to unleash upon Glastonbury.
He’d ridden through the night in order to arrive at the duke’s country residence by noon the following day. After a quick bath and change of clothes at the local inn, he’d gone straight to the manor sitting high on a hill. His swift, purposeful actions held a dual purpose. Firstly, they distracted him from thinking about Persephone. And secondly…
They distracted him from thinking about Persephone.
Lucas despised himself for how he’d ended things. He should have been gentler. Kinder. The sound of her crying as he’d left the house…it had nearly broken him. But although it had been messier than he would have liked, he was glad it was done. Or so he told himself. And as long as his meeting with Glastonbury went according to plan, his driver was going to return Persephone to her friends before Lucas returned to London.
He never needed to see her again.
He couldn’t see her again.
For once in his life, he was trying to do the right thing. The honorable thing. And he’d be damned if he ruined it. After all that she’d endured, Persephone deserved to live amidst her peers in a pretty townhouse in the middle of Berkley Square. Not shuttered away with a thief.
His world wasn’t for her. Her world wasn’t for him. What else could they do, but go their separate ways? If he were a stronger man, a better man, he would have given her up sooner. But he’d enjoyed their time together too much to want it to end.
Having coffee with her every morning. Dinner every night. He had tried to keep himself away. Keep himself busy. But even when he was working a job, his every thought had been of her. She’d completely consumed him, and although he hadn’t entered the parlor yesterday planning on it being the last time he saw her, he’d known what he had to do as soon as he had pressed his lips to hers.
So he’d done it.
It was done.
They were done.
And there was only one loose end left to tie up.
“Where is she?” Glastonbury demanded as he strolled into the room. Blessed with the fair coloring and chiseled features that had made women swoon from London to Leeds, he was impeccably groomed, with nary a single golden lock out of place. His tailcoat fit his wiry body to perfection, and his snowy white cravat framed a jaw and chin that was cleanly shaven.
It was easy to see how Persephone had fallen for him. The duke was what lady’s dreams were made of. And Lucas was very, very much looking forward to leaving that handsome face a little worse for wear.
“Your wife is not here, Glastonbury.” Lucas deliberately did not rise from the chair he’d settled himself in upon his arrival, a measure of disrespect that did not go unnoticed by his enemy.
“Why not?” The duke’s top lip curled back, revealing teeth that were beginning to yellow, a tell-tale sign of excessive tobacco use. “Is she dead? Did she die?”
The flicker of excitement Lucas saw in Glastonbury’s eyes was almost more than he could take. He gripped the armrests of his chair to anchor himself in place, his short nails digging furrows into the rich mahogany. He wanted to make the duke bleed. There was no doubt about that. But first…first, he wanted to see him sweat.
“She is perfectly well and healthy,” Lucas said coolly. “I am sorry if that disappoints you.”
Glastonbury tapped the walking cane he carried again
st the leg of a table. “Why would that disappoint me? I love my wife. I want only her safe return.”
“Yes,” Lucas bit out, “you loved her so much, you nearly loved her to death.”
The duke frowned. “I don’t believe I like your tone, or whatever implication you are attempting to make.”
“Oh, I am not implying anything.” Lucas smiled thinly. “I am saying you beat your wife.”
“Beat her?” Glastonbury was either an excellent actor, or his incredulity was real. Either way, his shocked response left a bitter taste in Lucas’s mouth. “I may have raised my hand to her on occasion in an effort to curb her willful spirit, but it was always for her own good.”
A growl rattled in Lucas’s throat as he slowly began to rise from his chair, a cobra unwinding itself before it sank fangs into flesh. “You are never going to touch her again.”
“What an absurd request,” said Glastonbury with a startled laugh. “I hired you to retrieve my wife, not to give me marital advice. I’ll touch her anytime I damn well please, in any manner I see fit. A slap here and there hardly merits raising such a fuss. Women need to realize their place. For some, the lesson comes harder than others. It’s not my fault that the duchess is a slow learner.”
Lucas had planned to toy with the duke as a cat would a mouse. He’d wanted Glastonbury to feel the same fear Persephone had. He’d wanted Glastonbury to beg for mercy on his knees. He’d wanted the duke to grovel.
But there was still great satisfaction to be found in watching Glastonbury’s head nearly snap off his shoulders as Lucas’s fist plowed into the side of his perfectly chiseled jaw.
The blow sent the duke reeling across the parlor. He struck the fireplace, sending a vase toppling off the mantle and crashing onto the floor. Gasping like a stuck pig, he stared at Lucas in stunned amazement, his mouth opening and closing like a fish dragged out of the water and slapped onto the bank.
“Are you mad?” he said shrilly. “You–you cannot hit me! What–what are you doing? Stop right there. I told you to stop!”
Glastonbury released an embarrassingly high-pitched scream as Lucas launched himself across the room. He pummeled the duke in quick succession, landing two blows to his face before settling into his ribs. Not quite hard enough to cause internal damage, but it went without saying the bastard wouldn’t be feeling like roses in the morning.
The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3) Page 27
