“It's so romantic! Rescued from the brink of spinsterhood, I'm sure you'd given up all hope!” She gushed. Mirabelle had almost told the woman that she was a bacon-brained nincompoop but Lucien had shushed her.
Lady Gasden had been a great help. At her landau, Percy Wigham, a terrible sycophant and a singleton nearly interrogated Mirabelle in regards to her level of delight and surprise at being chosen by “His Most Honorable Grace”. Really? His sister displayed even less sense.
“Surely, you're absolutely in alt but aren't the two of you related?”
“Off with you dunderheads! Someone should slap your parents!” Lady Gasden declared and they fled. Which, unfortunately, was the highlight of Mirabelle's day.
Lucien escorted her to a musicale at Lady Hathewaite’s and the performance could barely be heard over the whispers. Annabelle Whyte sat behind her and kept leaning forward to whisper in her ear. At one point, Mirabelle flicked her fan open, ready to swat the woman away before Lucien stilled her with his hand on hers. Her eyes flared and he shook his head. For once, she wished he wasn't able to read her so well.
Days later, things had not improved. Because of her age, the mature and married ladies she encountered assumed it was acceptable to discuss Lucien’s reputation and physical attributes with Mirabelle. One had gone as far as to say that she had been told that Lucien was as well endowed as the horses he bred. Mirabelle could think of no response. At least none she could say out loud. She'd spluttered as she felt heat rising up her neck. The foolish woman assumed she'd embarrassed Mirabelle and laughed. The only thing she could do was turn on her heel and walk away. An hour later, Lady Hargrove, a very popular widow, found her getting refreshments. She leaned in and whispered in Mirabelle's ear over the punch bowl.
“He has the most wicked tongue…” Mirabelle stopped her.
“I am not acquainted with your mother, but I assure you mine raised me better!” She hissed. Lady Hargrove pressed her hand to her chest and leaned back.
“My apologies, I was merely congratulating you.” She had the audacity to act offended.
“I believe the conventional way to do that would be to say ‘Congratulations’ or ‘Felicitations’, if you'd prefer something more formal. Not, ‘I’m a bit of a trollop and had a go of it with your fiancé’.” Mirabelle whispered furiously before she swept off to find the devil.
As soon as they made eye contact, he could tell she was angry. She saw that his first instinct was flight. Mentally, she dared him. He stood his ground and when she finally reached him he raised her hand to his lips as he leaned close.
“Whatever it is, I'm sorry.” He looked so contrite and handsome, Mirabelle felt her fury evaporating. Unfortunately, a stabbing pain had started behind her eyes and it was immune to his charms. “Would you like to dance?” He’d made his voice like velvet and was soothing. She shook her head.
“I'd like to leave. I've had enough and my head aches.” His eyes searched hers and he frowned.
“I'll take you to The Mothers and then have the carriage brought around.”
A short time later, they were cocooned in darkness and on their way back to Spencer Place. Mirabelle sighed in relief and felt Lucien's hand wrap around hers. If they had been alone, she would have rested her head on his shoulder and told him about Lady Hargrove. Instead, she squeezed his hand and pushed her anger away. She knew of his past before she'd agreed to marry him. Mirabelle accepted that she couldn't punish him for it. But it didn't mean she had to be pleased about it.
Lucien saw Mirabelle and maman into the house and waited until they were alone in the hall before he took her hands in his.
“What happened?” His eyes poured into hers, searching. She shook her head and looked away. She didn't want to revisit the encounter. He took her chin and pulled her back to him. “Tell me.” He pleaded softly.
“Lady Hargrove cornered me and was rather explicit in praising your… talents.” Mirabelle mumbled. Lucien closed his eyes and grimaced.
“I'm so sorry, sweetheart. If there was some way I could spare you, I would.” His thumb brushed her cheek and she felt giddy.
“Maybe a notice in the paper to all of your past paramours?” She teased.
“Touché, madam.” His lips curved gently and for a moment, Mirabelle thought he would lower his lips to hers. Instead, he sighed then raised her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. Heat flowed down her arm until it pooled between her thighs. “Goodnight.” Lucien whispered before he turned and let himself out. Mirabelle cursed under her breath and stomped up the stairs to her room.
Chapter 8
Two weeks into his engagement, Lucien watched his intended from across the Winterfeldt ballroom as he reflected on their courtship. He was confident that his efforts so far were proving successful. He reasoned that if the rest of their engagement went as well, Mirabelle would feel that the years she'd spent waiting for him had been worth it.
Determined to be the perfect suitor, Lucien settled into a very devoted routine with Mirabelle. Every morning, he would arrive at Spencer Place for breakfast with flowers and chocolates in hand. After breakfast, Lucien would spend a minimum of a half of an hour complimenting Mirabelle on her dress, hair and general beauty. Following that, he would listen to her play the harp or piano or they would share a game of chess. The rest of the morning was devoted to an outing. Lucien would take Mirabelle for a stroll down Bond Street, to the British Museum, a gallery or an exhibition. Often, they would enjoy lunch (supervised by her maid, Mary) and an ice at Gunter's (to Mary's delight). A few times, Mirabelle had allowed Lucien to coax her into a shop to buy her gifts. The first, a crystal perfume bottle that he made her promise to keep full of her jasmine and lavender scent, which he confided was his favorite smell, above all others. The second was a book of Shakespeare's sonnets that he vowed to recite from to her every day. Which led to Lucien reading to Mirabelle in the afternoon until it was time for a ride or a stroll before he returned home to change for the evening. Their evenings were spent at Spencer Place among the family unless there was an engagement for them to attend. Lucien had accompanied Mirabelle to five balls and three musicales. He found himself swelling with pride when he walked with her on his arm. Though it had not been officially announced, it took little more than a day for the ton to realize Lucien's intentions. Not that he'd tried to hide them. As he had never driven a lady or walked with one in the park, his doing so was a very clear signal. The ring that Lady Wembley and Miss Eskwith were currently admiring on Mirabelle's finger was another giveaway.
The ton was fixated. Everywhere he went, Lucien heard his and Mirabelle's names whispered. So far, the news was well received. As long as he kept her on her best behavior during this period of intense scrutiny, the match would continue to be well favored. With that in mind, Lucien pushed away from the wall and made his way through the crowded ballroom towards Mirabelle. He could tell by her brittle smile and flaring eyes that she was on the verge of doing something regrettable. Not that Lucien imagined she'd regret it. But those around her might.
"Ladies." He addressed the trio and bowed. Mirabelle was nearly seething. It didn't help that Lady Wembley curtsied low and let her eyes travel up and down Lucien's body appreciatively before smiling invitingly.
"Your Grace, I was just telling Miss Spencer how lucky she is and that the ladies of the ton will be devastated when you are no longer on the market." Lady Wembley attempted to position herself closer to Lucien. He saw Mirabelle's hand curl into a fist and he quickly pressed against her side and placed her hand on his arm.
"My lady, I can assure that I am the one that is lucky. No other lady will do and I am humbled that she would choose me in return." Lucien brought her other hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "If you'll excuse us, I'd like to waltz with Miss Spencer." He nodded as he led her away. Lady Wembley understood that he had declined her not so subtle offer and blushed as she and Miss Eskwith curtsied as they departed.
"I cannot believe that she w
ould dare to behave so brazenly in front of me!" Mirabelle hissed.
"It was most unattractive." Lucien murmured. Though he did not doubt that less than a month ago, he would have accepted Lady Wembley's offer. Now, she repulsed him. He couldn't help but smile. Rakes could truly be reformed, it seemed. Lucien led Mirabelle to the dance floor and took her in his arms and set them gliding. "Aside from Lady Wembley and Miss Eskwith, how are you enjoying your evening, sweetheart?" Mirabelle pulled a face and rolled her eyes. Lucien couldn't help his smile. Her emotions always showed on her face. Her expressions were always adorable, even when she was irritated or angry.
"I promise you, Lucien, the next person that tells me how lucky I am or that I was smart to hold out, I'll punch in the throat." Mirabelle was tense in his arms. Lucien chuckled as he led them through a turn.
"Has it really been that bad?" He dipped his head so he could see her face better. She answered with a scowl and Lucien threw his head back and laughed. Heads swiveled in their direction. "Even when you're furious, you delight me." He whispered. Mirabelle shrugged and looked over his shoulder.
"Would you mind if we left early? My head is starting to pound. I think it might be a buildup of delightful fury. I can't promise I won't snap and attack someone."
"Very well, we'll find your mother and see if she's ready." Lucien scanned the room.
"The Mothers left a while ago. Didn't Madeline tell you? Lady Gasden wasn't feeling well so they helped her home. I told them not to worry, that you would see me home." Mirabelle smiled up at Lucien sweetly.
Lucien stifled a groan. He'd been careful to avoid being alone with Mirabelle since the night of their engagement while she did everything she could to find them some privacy. He knew she wanted him to kiss her again. While Lucien would like nothing more, he wasn't sure he could trust himself, or her. He'd come very close to losing himself while kissing Mirabelle twice in the parlor at Spencer Place. The second time had been just moments before Gilles walked in. The very worst thing that could happen would be for Lucien to get caught in a compromising position with Mirabelle; he was walking a fine line with Gilles and Alastair. Now, she'd maneuvered them into several minutes alone.
It didn't take long to make their way out and into the carriage. As soon as the door shut and the horses pulled away, Mirabelle turned her face to Lucien's expectantly. She leaned towards him and sighed as she rested her hand against his chest. He felt his body tighten in response and cursed under his breath. He crossed to the opposite seat and made a show of looking out the window. When he looked back at Mirabelle her eyes were wide with disbelief.
"Sorry, I thought I saw something." Lucien mumbled and looked out the window again. "What shall we do tomorrow? Perhaps you'd let me take you to the jeweler. We could have a bracelet or a necklace and maybe some earrings made to match your ring.” He offered. Jewelry always worked, in Lucien's experience. Not with Mirabelle, it seemed. She continued blinking, her eyes unfocused. Her jaw hung slightly opened. "Mirabelle?" She shook her head gently and eventually looked at Lucien. "The jeweler? Can I get you some pieces to match your ring?" She looked at him as if he'd sprouted extra ears.
"God, no! I'm not your wife yet, that would be ridiculously excessive." She scolded.
Lucien shrugged and smiled.
"What's the point of being a duke if I can't indulge in a little excess and spoil my lovely fiancée?" He leaned and checked the window. Almost there. Mirabelle sighed and relaxed against the cushions, her eyes drifted to the window.
"Could we just stay in tomorrow? I'd appreciate a day to relax with Elise and just read. I'm a bit behind on my correspondence as well." Mirabelle sounded disappointed and tired. Lucien frowned. He knew she wanted him to kiss her but this seemed like it was about more than the kiss.
"What's wrong?" He whispered as he reached for her hand. Mirabelle smiled weakly and was about to say "Nothing" but the carriage rocked to a halt and the door was pulled open.
"Good night, Your Grace. Thank you for seeing me home." Mirabelle called as she exited the carriage without looking back. Lucien knew he'd just been dismissed.
Very well, he'd give Mirabelle a day. They'd spend it at Spencer Place with the family but the day after, he'd step up his efforts. Lucien smiled. He was going to court the hell out of Mirabelle.
Chapter 9
Mirabelle was at her wits end a week later. She'd thought Lucien's inexplicable and mildly humiliating behavior in the carriage was the pinnacle of what had been the most trying period of her life. But she'd been wrong. So very, very wrong.
Lucien seemed determined to drown Mirabelle in flowers. He'd had her room filled with them one morning; four maids spent almost an hour carrying arrangement after arrangement up the stairs and into her room. He may as well have let a stampede of elephants loose in her room while she was trying to sleep. Mirabelle had come down to breakfast grumpy and out of sorts.
When Lucien announced that he was taking her to Vauxhall Gardens to dine in a supper box and enjoy the entertainments, she had imagined a romantic boat ride, flirting over dinner and him leading her down the dark walks so that they might finally kiss again. Mirabelle was desperate for Lucien to kiss her. Instead, The Mothers and Alastair accompanied them and Lucien ignored her hints in regards to the walks.
With her maid, Mary, in tow, Lucien dragged Mirabelle all over London. To Floris, where he spent an absurd amount on perfume, soaps and sachets. He was not exaggerating when he said he loved the way she smelled, Mirabelle realized. In Hatchard's, Lucien purchased almost every book she touched, despite her protests. He'd nearly made her sick in Gunter's, filling the table with every flavor of ice and sorbet. Mary had declared it one of her favorite days as she was able to eat whatever Mirabelle didn't.
Lucien had practically ruined chocolate and sweets for her as well. In the beginning he'd show up with a small box. After The Carriage Debacle (as Mirabelle now called it), the boxes got bigger and bigger and Lucien insisted on her indulging while he read to her. And the reading! While Mirabelle could listen to Lucien read an almanac, The Sonnets were her least favorite of Shakespeare's works. Give her a violent tragedy any day! She could listen to stories of kings and battles for days. But all this nonsense about summer days and flowers... On the bright side, it saved her from having to play the harp or piano and smile for an hour. After, her cheeks and fingertips positively ached.
Mirabelle knew that she was possibly the most ungrateful woman that ever existed. Lucien was the perfect fiancé and if she had been a girl of eighteen or nineteen, she would be delirious with joy. Instead, she was exhausted. Mirabelle's evenings were busier than her days. In the last week, Lucien took her to the opera, two balls and two musicales in addition to the evening at Vauxhall Gardens. One evening, deploring a lack of a suitable event, Lucien hired a string quartet and a soprano for an impromptu musicale at Clerendon House. Mirabelle hadn't minded that as much because Elise had been able to join them and had been in rapture the whole evening. She missed having time with the family. Unless they accompanied her and Lucien to events, Mirabelle only saw them at breakfast and in passing. They all assumed she was overjoyed at being courted by Lucien so she did her best to act pleased. Truthfully, she missed the more relaxed pace of their lives before he proposed. Most of all, Mirabelle wanted to Lucien to kiss her. What was the point of him finally coming up to scratch if she couldn't enjoy his famous talents? Instead, she could count on one hand the number of times they'd kissed and she was beginning to feel rather unwanted in the face of his avoidance.
To make matters worse, Mirabelle was certain the frustration was causing her to have rather graphic dreams. In the most recent, Lucien kissed her passionately in The Parlor and ripped her dress frantically, overcome with need for her. He branded the skin of her neck and chest with his lips; he stroked and licked her breasts, suckled at her nipples and teased the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. In Mirabelle's dreams, Lucien was wicked and playful. He was confidant and demanding. He wa
s the exact opposite of the man she'd spent her days with since their engagement.
"He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, Miss Spencer." Olivia Harken whispered, snatching Mirabelle from her reverie.
"I beg your pardon?" Mirabelle asked as she looked across the crowd at Lucien. He was watching her, a relaxed smile hung about his lips. It was almost too hot for a garden party, Mirabelle decided as she fanned herself.
"I mean no offense! I was just complimenting you on your intended." Miss Harken said anxiously. Mirabelle liked Olivia and she certainly couldn't argue with her assessment.
Lucien had the face of a fallen angel. While Mirabelle's brothers were handsome in a rugged, chiseled sort of way, Lucien was beautiful. His blonde hair was a bit long but not long enough to be tied back. He had the lightest blue eyes and the longest lashes. With perfect, full lips, a square jaw and a perpetually sensual expression, it was easy to understand why women swooned and sighed.
"It's fine, Olivia. I can't fault you for not being blind." Mirabelle stiffened as Lady Wembley stepped into their circle.
"I've heard that His Grace is even more beautiful without his clothes." She looked at Mirabelle expectantly.
"I'd be happy to give you a detailed report a few months from now, Lady Wembley. Not that it would do you much good." Mirabelle replied.
Lady Wembley shrugged and stared openly at Lucien. All three women stared.
"I wonder how he stays so fit. That's clearly all him, he doesn't need padding." Lady Wembley mused. Mirabelle nodded. Lucien had a figure sculptors would be inspired by. His shoulders were broad and his hips were narrow. He was well muscled and very lean.
"His skin is quite tanned too." Olivia sighed.
"He works at Winthorpe." Mirabelle was lost in her memories. "He works with his horses and helps on the estate. He chops wood when he's frustrated. I saw him doing it with his shirt off once..." She bit her lip as she recalled the image. The sweat and the rippling muscles as he swung the ax, it was so at odds with the elegant, relaxed gentleman the ton saw.
Wicked And Wild: Spencers in Love Book Two Page 3
