by Darcy Burke
His temper rose once more at her deception from that morning.
And her part in his ruinous fall from grace.
Not that his position as a duke was in jeopardy; however, there was a certain stigma that clung to a man who had been accused of unbecoming behavior with a woman not his wife or betrothed. It was easy, less complicated, to look the other way when a gentleman visited his mistress in private, but it was another thing entirely for the couple to be seen in public together.
Roderick had made the mistake of meeting his informant in a very public place.
He had caused the gossip; however, no one had thought to ask whom the woman was he consorted with, or what his relationship with her entailed. They would have learned that she was the wife of his father’s dear friend—not a common harlot, nor his mistress.
The ill-advised meeting, and the gossip it had caused, would have lessened with time; talk of it replaced as another scandal occurred. But Lady Lucianna had decided to post it in the London Daily Gazette under the ludicrous guise of the Mayfair Confidential.
In one fell swoop, she’d stolen his chance to find out who was responsible for stealing his family fortune…and caused the end of his betrothal.
Roderick would not allow Lucianna to continue unscathed.
Glancing over his shoulder, he noted their proximity to the terrace. Happy to see that a few more people had joined the crowd watching them. From this distance, he and Lady Lucianna likely appeared in a loving embrace—a couple in the midst of a tender moment. However, they did not feel Lucianna’s tense posture in his arms. They could not see the frown she turned on him. There was no way they saw the sparks of anger shooting from her glare.
“May I go, Your Grace?” she seethed, attempting to take a step back.
The woman was beautiful—an exotic, midnight rose.
But her hoyden ways and senseless destruction of his life were not acceptable.
Roderick pulled her close, causing her glare to snap back to his, her mouth opening in an O of surprise.
Yes, a lesson could prove very beneficial for Lady Lucianna in tamping her wayward tendencies.
And Roderick may be the best gentleman to do it.
He leaned down and took her mouth, his lips settling against hers.
Gauging her reaction, she did not pull away nor did her compressed lips soften under his. Roderick waited. If she jerked away, he would not stop her—he was not a brute. To his delight, she melted into him after only a brief moment, and he parted his lips, their mouths joining in a rhythmic dance of push and pull, give and take, exploration and conquest.
Everything around him faded away.
His entire body heated with the sensual movement of their caress.
When he ran his tongue across her bottom lip, her mouth blessedly parted, allowing him to explore further. He would show her how it felt to be trifled with, to have one’s weakness discovered and exposed.
Tentatively at first, Roderick slid his tongue between her lips to taste her.
Honeysuckle and fruit berry. She was pure sweetness.
Everything about the night surrounding them faded to a distant memory.
He pulled her closer as his tongue set a rhythm with hers, much as their lips had, their bodies pressed tightly from knees to chest.
Lucianna fit perfectly against him—not too short, not too willowy.
His arm loosened, falling to cup her bottom as his other left her chin to rest on her neck, her skin soft as the finest cotton to his touch. In the moment, Roderick didn’t long to have her—as had been the case at Bentley’s—he needed her close to survive. Better yet, he craved to have every soft inch of her pressed against every hard line of his body.
His body was not only warm, it was on fire.
Lucianna pushed closer to him, demanding more, and Roderick gave it.
His entire body throbbed with need. Need for her.
The intensity grew to the height of severe pain.
Suddenly, his eyes sprang open as his tongue throbbed.
The blasted woman had bitten him—drew his tongue deep into her mouth and clamped her jaw shut.
His arms were suddenly empty, and the night breeze cast cool air upon his heated face. He stood alone, watching Lucianna flee down a path that ran parallel to the back of the house.
She paused several yards away. The woman would return. She would beg his forgiveness, and the entire wretched situation would resolve itself. Though he sensed his pride had taken the biggest hit.
Instead of making her way back to him, she settled her hands on her hips, her anger evident even from this far away despite the dim night and the barest illumination the moon cast on her.
“Your rakehell ways and heavy-handed manners will not prove my downfall, you scoundrel!” Her shout echoed across the space between them and rose up into the night as if the stars above sought to memorize her accusation and rain it down upon any woman who gained a familiarity with the Duke of Montrose.
She flipped back around, her black hair having come loose from its pins and cascading down her back as she lifted her skirts and ran.
Finally, she disappeared.
A loud cheer of celebration sounded from the terrace as the guests laughed at the scene he and Lucianna had unwittingly created.
He felt his mouth as she disappeared around the corner—thankful the hellion hadn’t drawn blood.
Bloody hell. He hadn’t meant to cause a scandal, only teach Lucianna the damage that could be caused by meddling in others’ lives.
Taking in the sight of the terrace once more, Roderick set off at a leisurely pace down the same path she’d fled. He had no intention of catching her, only departing the party without attracting more attention. The entire walk, he pondered her accusation. A high-handed scoundrel and rakehell?
Roderick was nothing of the sort.
However, every person present with decent eyesight knew it had been the Duke of Montrose who’d stalked from the garden. He only hoped it was not too much to wish for that Lady Lucianna’s identity remained a mystery, for if the ton recognized the woman he’d held in his embrace and kissed, there would be no chance of preventing the scandal to follow.
Chapter 6
Luci cringed when the door to the breakfast salon slammed open, then set her fork aside and took a sip of tea to clear her throat. The morning was early; however, that did not stop her father from moving through the house similar to an angry elephant. His rage had yet to diminish after the post in the Gazette, but neither had he taken his mistress out in public again.
It was a boon in Luci’s mind.
She allowed herself a secretive smirk, keeping her attention focused on her plate. There was no need to incite her father’s wrath while her siblings, Derek, Matthew, and Candace, were present.
The chair next to her at the head of the table was pulled back, and her father sat. Another footman set a heaping plate of pickled eggs, bread, ham, and cheese before him.
She glanced away quickly, at least confident it would not be she who brought the Marquis of Camden to anger first thing in the morning.
“Pickled eggs?” He pushed the plate away, causing his bread to slide onto the table and an egg to roll off his plate and across the pristine white linen between Derek and Matthew before finally hitting the floor.
Her mother, the marchioness, would be beside herself when she saw the blemish on her rug when the thing broke open and spilled its yellow center.
The boys laughed, and Candace, Luci’s youngest sibling, giggled.
Luci shot a warning glance in their direction. If they were not careful, the marquis’ fury could just as easily land upon them. That was something Luci avoided whenever possible. They were too young to understand their father’s shifts in mood and his black temper—or the destruction and injury that followed when someone continued to poke him.
A new plate was delivered to the marquis, and after a quick inspection, he proceeded to eat.
Her brothers and si
ster released a collective sigh. Even Luci gathered her fork and resumed her meal.
“May we be excused, Father?” Derek inquired. “I have studying to do. My tutor will arrive shortly.”
Neither Luci nor her siblings knew the temperament of their father when he entered a room. If they did not request to be excused from their meal, the marquis would rant and rave about respect and proper etiquette. If they did ask to leave, their father was just as likely to punish them all for interrupting his meal.
From the set of her father’s shoulders and his grim demeanor, today, the marquis was waiting and wanting an argument…no matter where he found it.
“Do you all think to scurry away the instant I enter a room?” the marquis seethed. “Oh, I am certain the useless lot of you will run off to your mother’s side, pet her like an injured bird, and whisper sweet words of compassion to her.”
“Derek, Matthew, Candace,” Luci said in an even tone, making certain to keep her breathing regular, despite the anger seeping from her father’s every pore. “Do hurry along and prepare for your tutors.”
Luci kept her stare on her father, his head lowered over his plate, but there was no disguising the stiff set of his shoulders or his flared nostrils.
The door closed quickly behind the trio, leaving her to handle the marquis.
“Do you think to overstep me? Take command of this household?” His glare snapped to hers, their green eyes a matching set as the marquis attempted to stare her into submission and tempt her to break eye contact. “I am the lord of this house—and of your life. It would be wise for you—and your siblings—to remember that.”
“I will certainly keep that in mind, Father.” Luci notched her chin higher, refusing to look away or cower before him.
The marquis scrutinized her, his brow pulling tightly as he frowned. Luci was normally very cautious about saying the right thing to appease the man. And today was no different. She’d said the correct words, but her demeanor was not to his liking. There was a chance he would fall into a deeper rage. Or he could turn back to his meal, the fight over. One never knew.
However, Luci would not look away until he did one or the other.
She would never cower before him—never allow him to rule her as he did his wife.
Whether it was her own pride or her lack of self-preservation that kept her narrowed stare trained on her sire, she was uncertain.
Lucianna refused to be the broken woman her mother was.
She would not allow her father, of all people, to extinguish her flame.
It startled her how similar the man was to Abercorn. Though her father had never physically harmed his wife or children, he’d come close. Who was more dangerous? A man who did not hide his temper, or a man who remained calm and reserved at all times.
“Lady Lucianna?” The Camden butler, McMahon, cleared his throat. Neither she nor her father had noticed the servant enter the room. “You have guests in the blue salon.”
Finally, the marquis returned to his meal, and Luci made to stand, smoothing her gown as the footman pulled out her chair.
“Make yourself available this afternoon,” the marquis muttered, slathering his toast with marmalade. “You will attend me at an important meeting.”
“Yes, Father.” Luci nodded. The marquis had never included her in a meeting, whether concerning his many business endeavors or those family-related. It was not unknown to the Camden clan that the marquis—and his decisions—ruled everything. “Do send for me when you are ready to depart.”
She hurried from the room before her father could halt her for not requesting permission to be excused.
Edith and Ophelia were waiting in the blue salon.
Luci had expected them since she’d departed Edith’s ball the previous night without notifying her friends. They had every right to be angry with her, but Edith appeared downright furious, and Ophelia…her face was red and puffy, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
“A-choo!” Ophelia brought a kerchief to her nose as she sneezed.
Edith set her arm around Ophelia’s shoulder before turning to Luci. “Where did you disappear to last night?”
Luci recoiled at the blonde’s angry tone.
It was usually Luci who raised her voice amongst the trio, and Edith who was collected, never daring to allow her decorum to waver.
“Yes.” Ophelia sniffled. “I went to the cherub fountain, but you were not there. I waited in the cold for over an hour, calling for you, until I gave up and returned to the ball. And now—a-choo—I have a cold.”
“Ophel—”
“Do not Ophelia me!” She wiped at her dripping nose before turning her glare back to Luci. “I am now sick—sick!—and for what? Where did you run off to?”
“You left my betrothal ball, Lucianna,” Edith jumped in, her fury dimming to something closer to hurt. “It was an evening, only one night, to celebrate Triston and me—and you deserted us. For what?”
Luci proceeded into the room and sank into the nearest chair, the upcoming meeting with her father forgotten. It was Ophelia’s turn to comfort Edith as she wiped a tear from her cheek. This was not at all what Luci had thought would occur when next she saw her dear friends.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies. I had no intention of leaving you out in the cold…or departing your ball.” Luci clasped her hands in her lap, hoping she properly conveyed how sorry she truly was. Her head hung in remorse, but she peeked up at her friends, desperate to hear them voice that they’d forgive her. “I was in trouble. I had to leave or risk scandal for all of us. Please…”
Both women melted at the sorrow in Luci’s tone.
“What happened?” Edith asked. “Ophelia told me it was Montrose who stormed across the ballroom. I didn’t so much as set eyes on him.”
“Oh, I tried to distract him.” Ophelia coughed, swiped at her watering eyes, and continued. “But he marched right around me. Were you able to escape him?”
Luci was uncertain how much to share with her friends. Obviously, not how muscular and secure his arms felt as they held her. Nor would she speak of her desire to run her fingers through his silky black hair as he pressed his body firmly to hers, his hand cupping her posterior. And especially not that a pool of warmth had gathered between her thighs when Montrose had set his lips to hers.
However, she did owe them some form of explanation.
A smidgen of truth, without all the glorious details.
“Montrose kissed me!” Luci covered her mouth in utter shock.
“He, what?” Ophelia yelped.
“The nerve of that scoundrel!” Edith’s outrage would have been comical were it not for the sparkle Luci saw in her eye. Could her dear friend know precisely how much Luci had enjoyed their embrace?
“What did you do?” Ophelia’s eyes widened, her hands pressed to her bosom, still clutching her kerchief. “This is much like a real-life novel!”
Luci sniffed. “Then it would be a gruesome one.”
“Why?” Edith eyed her intently.
“Because I bit the fool.”
“Bit him?” Ophelia sat forward, her cold forgotten. “Where? On his hand?”
“No.” Lucianna shook her head, her hair loosening from its pins at the action. “His tongue.”
“How in the heavens could you bite his tongue?”
Luci frowned—and Edith giggled uncontrollably—as the auburn-haired woman pondered how one could bite another’s tongue. It was easy to identify exactly when Ophelia realized the only possible way for Luci to do such a thing.
“He…put his tongue…in your mouth?” she stammered, sending Edith into another fit of laughter. “But that would mean…”
“Yes, Ophelia.” Edith patted the woman on her back when she sputtered, breaking into a sneeze. “The Duke of Montrose slipped his tongue into Luci’s mouth. And, I suspect, she enjoyed the experience greatly—though she is obviously loath to admit it.”
“I most certainly did not—“
/> Edith waved her hand, silencing Luci’s protest. “Now, how did this kiss end in your deserting me and leaving Ophelia out in the cold?”
“Does he know we wrote the article about him?” Ophelia asked. “Oh, Lord Torrington promised not to tell, but Montrose owes us nothing, especially after we caused Lady Daphne to break off their betrothal.”
“No, he did not allude to knowing about our activities as the authoresses of the Mayfair Confidential.”
“Then why was he so angry?” Ophelia sat back once more, wiping at her eyes. “He was so furious, he almost ran me over in the ballroom.”
“There was no time to ask before he kissed me, nor after I bit him.” Luci hated her body for betraying her. Her face flared red, and that blasted tingling sensation between her thighs returned. She clenched her knees tightly together to keep the feeling from spreading. “That is when I ran down the path along the back of your townhouse, then down the drive to the alley, and home.”
“You walked home?” Edith’s brow scrunched.
“Of course. Do you think me incapable of finding my way home?” Luci retorted, offended by her friend’s disbelieving tone. “We only live five townhouses from one another. Both of our stables back up to the alley. It was simple enough to reach my home and slip inside without notice.”
It was Ophelia’s turn to snort—as well as a woman could with her nose blocked by congestion. “You demanded your carriage follow you about the shopping district to avoid walking to the end of Bond Street to hand off your packages.”
It was exactly what Luci had demanded on several occasions. “Last night was not a shopping excursion, I will have you know, though it will be necessary to obtain a new set of black ballroom slippers. Mine were utterly ruined by the mud and filth littering the alleyway, not to mention the dew from the lawns.”
“What of your mother?” Edith demanded. “You must have worried her so.”
“I sent word as soon as I arrived home that I’d left ill.” Her mother was likely relieved to escape the ball early after her embarrassment several nights prior.
