by Cheryl Holt
“And...?”
“She’s not receiving visitors, but she’ll make an exception for you.”
“Wonderful.”
“If you’ll come with me?”
Barbara Middleton’s butler gestured to the stairs, but Lucas didn’t move.
“Where are we going?”
“Miss Hubbard is not dressed for company.”
“I thought you said she’d make an exception for me.”
“She will—in her boudoir.”
“Her boudoir?”
Lucas was so shocked that he nearly sputtered with outrage.
After bumping into Miss Hubbard the previous evening, he’d fussed and fumed all night. Then, first thing this morning, he’d forced himself to his father’s so he could find out what was occurring.
Apparently, Mrs. Middleton had asked to assume control of Miss Hubbard, and Lord Sidwell had agreed. He’d handed her over to Middleton without mulling the ramifications.
From what Lucas could surmise, Miss Hubbard had been staying with Mrs. Middleton for five days, and she was already inviting male callers up to her boudoir. It wasn’t even referred to as a bedchamber.
There were so many aspects wrong with the current situation that his head was spinning. Partially from Miss Hubbard’s swift plunge from the straight and narrow, but also from his trying to figure out why—precisely—it mattered to him.
She was his father’s mess, his father’s problem. Lucas had been very clear that he didn’t consider himself betrothed, so why would he care if she was flaunting herself to every libertine in the city?
He supposed his change of attitude was because of his recent encounter with his cousin, Rose Ralston. She’d been in dire straits and had begged him for assistance, which he’d been too lazy to provide. Due to his refusal, she’d suffered numerous catastrophes that could have been avoided if he’d been a tad more concerned about her. Her plight had given him a whole new perspective as to the perils of a woman who was alone in the world.
Miss Hubbard had fallen in with awful companions, and Lucas felt duty-bound to offer counsel, to save her from herself. The only other man available for the task was his father and that was the same as having no one at all.
Lucas would speak with her. He’d be firm and adamant and would furnish her with an opinion based on years of rough living and low reputation. Miss Hubbard needed to be showered with a heavy dose of reality, and she needed it right away.
But in her boudoir? In the middle of the afternoon? Why wasn’t she up?
He was the hedonist. He was the type who caroused all night and slept all day. She should have been out shopping, strolling in the park, and making social calls. And the fact that she wasn’t, that she was still lounging in her bedchamber, underscored the necessity for his immediate intervention.
“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Drake?” the butler said.
“Show me the way,” Lucas replied with no small amount of aggravation.
The butler started off, and Lucas stomped along behind. They wound up the stairs to the rear section of the house, and Lucas took it all in—his fury growing with each stride.
Mrs. Middleton was an adulterer and trollop who had abandoned her family for decades, then had returned and wormed herself into her son’s life. Lucas had never met her, but her son, John, had gone to school with Aaron. John was very much like Aaron, stern, inflexible, unbending.
How John had ever let down his guard sufficiently to allow his mother to slither back was a mystery. He’d bought her her own residence, and it was beautifully appointed with bright colors and foreign influences, the exact sort of décor Lucas would have predicted such an unsuitable, unstable female would have purchased.
They stopped at the end of a quiet hall, and as the butler knocked on the door, Lucas heard feminine laughter from the other side.
“Miss Hubbard?” the butler said.
“Yes?” she answered.
“Mr. Drake is here.”
“Send him in. Make him comfortable in the sitting room. I’ll join him shortly.”
The butler motioned for Lucas to enter, and he stepped into what were obviously her private quarters. An extravagantly wasteful fire burned in the grate even though it was a perfectly warm summer afternoon.
There was a table in the corner, several decanters of wine and glasses laid out as if she was expecting many guests. With her having attended Penworth’s ball with Mrs. Middleton, she’d stirred plenty of interest. Lucas wouldn’t be surprised if half the men in London came sniffing around to get a better look.
Though he didn’t understand why, the prospect irked him enormously.
He went over to the table, poured himself a glass of wine, and plopped down in a chair to wait.
Presently, Miss Hubbard called, “Is that you, Mr. Drake.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
He glanced over as she pushed the bedroom door shut, but it didn’t close all the way. He could see into the room through a narrow crack. She was walking about, and he managed some quick glimpses of her.
To his astonishment, she was wrapped in a towel, as if she’d just climbed out of a bathing tub. Her arms were bare, her calves and feet were bare. Her lush brunette hair was piled high on her head, a few tendrils falling out of the combs to brush her shoulders.
He was viewing much more of her than he should have, and she didn’t realize he was. He told himself to be a gentleman and not watch, but he’d never been a gentleman and wasn’t about to adopt new habits at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
Shocking him even more, she dropped the towel, giving him a stunning peek at her curvaceous backside before she hastily moved out of sight. A moment later, she sauntered into the sitting room, having donned a slinky silk robe and nothing else. She’d pulled the combs from her hair, so the lengthy strands tumbled down in wild disarray.
She was gorgeous and sexy and completely different from the drab schoolteacher she’d been at Sidwell Manor. The changes were disturbing, were jarring, were...arousing. There! He’d admitted it. His cock was hard as stone.
“You caught me at a bad time,” she claimed. “I was bathing.”
She said it as if it was natural for her to discuss her ablutions with him. He gaped at her, wondering if she was a changeling, if Mrs. Middleton hadn’t cast a spell and turned her into a vixen.
He observed—confused and somewhat aghast—as she poured her own glass of wine, then sashayed over to the fainting couch and reclined on an elbow. The lapel of her robe flopped open to expose much, much more cleavage than she could ever have meant to display.
Through it all, he was struggling to decide what his reaction should be, what his remarks should be.
He was a cad and libertine who rarely met a female he hadn’t tired to seduce, and he was always successful. Since he had also been regularly castigated and chastised during his life, he was never judgmental, he never lectured or condemned any conduct.
He scarcely knew Amelia Hubbard and what he did know, he didn’t like. He had no connection to her and intended no bond. Why would he care if she flaunted herself? Why would he care if she ruined herself with impunity? His fit of pique was bewildering.
He’d always felt that the world would be a more amusing place if women behaved more outrageously, and there was naught he hated more than a sheltered, cosseted innocent. Miss Hubbard was precisely the type who could benefit from a lessening of morals and a loosening of bodices.
Why was he fussing and incensed? He had absolutely no idea.
She was staring at him, appearing bored and jaded and exasperated, as if she wished he’d say what he’d come to say, then leave. She acted as if she had more important guests about to arrive and was anxious for him to depart so he wouldn’t bump into them.
“You’ve certainly made yourself at home in a hurry,” he petulantly grouched.
“Barbara has been incredibly accommodating.”
“I see that.”
> “There wasn’t any reason not to take advantage of her hospitality. It’s not as if I have a betrothal in the works.”
“You could have—in the future.”
“I doubt it. I had previously thought I’d like to marry, but now that I’ve witnessed the freedom Barbara enjoys, I can’t imagine why I’d tie myself down.”
The risqué comment was totally at odds with the person he deemed her to be. She sipped her wine, shifted on the fainting couch so the robe opened a bit more, so a bit of thigh was displayed.
He studied that thigh and realized his lust was flaring too hotly. He nearly rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was an explosion of passion. Frequently, he was ruled by his phallus, and when it became engaged, there was no predicting what carnage he might perpetrate.
He had to speak his piece, then go!
“You seem very altered from how you were at Sidwell Manor.”
She chuckled. “Yes, definitely.”
“And not for the better.”
“You liked that dull, prim mouse? Why would you have?”
“You’ve never been exposed to the decadence that’s available in London. You’ve jumped in over your head.”
“Have I?”
“You don’t have any parents to counsel you.” At his severe tone, he winced. For a moment there, he’d sounded just like his father.
“No, and I always lamented the fact, but now I’m relieved to be on my own. I can do whatever I like without some man insisting I can’t.”
“Women guard their reputations so they don’t get into trouble.”
“I used to agree”—she stretched like a lazy cat—“but Barbara changed my mind.”
“You can’t stay here with her.”
“Why ever not?”
“Mrs. Middleton is a horrid influence.”
“Yes, I’ve heard. She’s been telling me the most shocking stories.”
“She has?” He was appalled.
“Yes, and I can only hope to have half as much fun in my life as she has had in hers. The men she’s seduced seem positively delectable.”
“Delectable?” he scornfully muttered.
“Yes.”
She was evaluating him strangely, probably the way Eve had evaluated Adam before luring him to his doom. She was more transformed by the second, and she’d been with Barbara Middleton for just five days. If she remained a whole month, what sort of siren would she be?
The notion didn’t bear contemplating, and he should have stomped out, but he couldn’t. He felt oddly responsible for her, as if his declining of their betrothal had pushed her down this corrupt path.
He had no gallant tendencies and had never been anyone’s savior. He didn’t want to be anyone’s savior, but at the same juncture, if he didn’t intercede and she came to some harm, he’d blame himself for any injury.
His conscience was stirring, which was a peculiar and novel sensation. He was worried about her and thinking he should intervene. But how?
He downed his wine and walked over to the fainting couch. She raised a brow, curious as to his intent, and appeared more bored than ever. Her disregard aggravated him as nothing had in ages.
“Get up,” he said.
“I’d rather not. I’m comfortable right where I am.”
“We’re leaving. Get dressed.”
“No.”
“I’m taking you back to my father’s, then I’ll have you escorted to Sidwell Manor.”
“To do what?”
“We’ll figure it out after you’re there. I won’t abandon you to this house of disrepute.”
“You’re being quite tedious, Mr. Drake.”
“Get up, Miss Hubbard.”
She simply continued to stare, and as he reached down to grab her, he felt as if he was floating out of his body, as if he was watching some other hapless fellow prepare to manhandle her.
He’d constantly been told how to behave, so he never told others how to act. Yet he was determined that she obey him—as if he had the authority to demand her compliance. He wrapped his fingers around her forearm, and since she was light as a feather, a quick jerk lifted her to her feet. The movement thrust her against him so her torso was pressed to his all the way down.
With her wearing just the robe, it seemed as if she was naked, as if the sole barrier between them was his own clothes. She was perfectly shaped, rounded breasts, flat stomach, and shapely thighs. His brain rapidly analyzed every pertinent detail.
Another wave of lust shot through him, one that was so powerful he was amazed his knees didn’t buckle. He’d never previously suffered such a rush of desire, and with his being so dissolute, he wouldn’t have guessed it was possible for him to become so aroused.
“I really don’t wish to return to the country,” she murmured.
“I can’t leave you here.”
“It’s not up to you. You’ve been very clear that you won’t attach yourself to me. I’m fine with that decision, and with you having made it, you can’t be blustering in and taking charge.”
“You need a man to guide you.”
“You think it should be you?”
“Definitely.”
“No.” She shook her head derisively. “You had the chance to boss me, but you let it pass you by.”
“Maybe I was wrong,” he was horrified to hear himself say.
“I don’t believe you were, Mr. Drake. I don’t want you. I’m not interested either. Would you please go?”
He was overcome by a confused longing to tarry in her company, and he felt dizzy with trying to unravel his plan. He didn’t like her and didn’t care about her, but at that moment, wild horses couldn’t have dragged him away.
She still looked irked, as if his presence was a great chore, and her contempt pricked at his vanity. He yearned to stay merely to prove he could, yearned to ingratiate himself until she was glad he’d arrived.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he dipped down and kissed her. It was an automatic reflex and not what he’d envisioned himself doing. But, suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the urge to be closer to her.
His arm tightened around her waist, and as he drew her nearer, she gasped with surprise but didn’t push him away or resist the embrace. She shifted so her breasts were more firmly crushed to his chest and, for a brief second, he caught himself musing that it was the most wonderful experience of his life.
Then the door slammed open.
“Mr. Drake! Stop it at once!”
Like a pair of guilty adolescents, they jumped apart. He glanced over to see Barbara Middleton sweep into the room.
“Amelia, darling,” she gushed, “when the butler informed me that Mr. Drake was here, I ran right up.”
“He asked to visit me”—Miss Hubbard was unabashed and shameless—“but I’d just finished bathing. I didn’t think you’d mind if I invited him in.”
“Oh, I don’t mind you having a male caller in your boudoir,” Mrs. Middleton breezily said, “but it shouldn’t be him. You have so many other, better options these days.”
Lucas was taken aback by the rude remark. His family wasn’t the most exalted, but his father was a member of the peerage. His brother would ultimately be an earl. It wasn’t as if Lucas cleaned chimneys for a living.
“It shouldn’t be me?” he huffed.
“No. You’re not what she requires in even the smallest way.”
“What have you—in your infinite wisdom—decided she needs?”
“That’s not really any of your business, is it?” Mrs. Middleton marched over and boldly shook his hand. “I’m Barbara Middleton.”
Lucas was treated to his first up-close glimpse of her. She was very beautiful, very exotic, and he could certainly understand why she’d ruined men all over Europe for several decades. She had to be fifty and still looked grand, so he could imagine how she must have been at twenty. The poor oafs on the Continent hadn’t stood a chance.
“I know who you are, Mrs. Middleton,” he grumble
d.
“My reputation precedes me? I’m delighted to hear it.”
“Yes, your reputation absolutely precedes you,” he scolded.
“I’m shocked to note that it bothers you. You have a reputation yourself.”
“I can’t deny it.”
“If my notoriety doesn’t bother my son, Mr. Drake, I hardly see how it should bother you. Now then”—she gestured to the door—“I must ask you to go. You can speak to Amelia when she’s in a more suitable condition to receive you.”
Lucas dawdled, eager to hurl a scathing comment, eager to remain with Miss Hubbard to continue what they’d started. He also found himself—with his having met Mrs. Middleton—wanting to become acquainted. No doubt she’d be fascinating.
But, obviously, he was being tossed out. He could fuss and refuse, or he could pretend he was happy to depart.
He glared at Miss Hubbard. “I’m sending my father over next. Maybe he can talk some sense into you.”
“You’d send George to my home?” Mrs. Middleton snapped. “Don’t you dare. I don’t like that old boor anymore than you do.”
Lucas was never one to defend his father, but in this instance, it almost seemed that he should. In the end, he didn’t. He bit down a thousand caustic retorts, spun on his heel, and left.
CHAPTER SIX
“What did you think?”
“Oh, my goodness.”
Amelia patted her hot cheeks, struggling to slow her racing pulse.
She was fully dressed, her hair pulled into a tidy chignon, the silk robe tucked away in a drawer. She and Barbara were in Barbara’s morning parlor, dissecting the meeting with Mr. Drake.
“You did very well, darling,” Barbara gushed.
“Are you sure? I’m clueless as to flirtation, and I have no idea how to play the coquette.”
Barbara laughed. “Somewhere in your past, you must have a slattern’s tainted blood running through your veins. You have a knack for this sort of thing.”
“My mother was a doxy who seduced my father away from his wife.”
“See? You take after her.”
“I’ve only ever heard awful stories about her, so I’m not certain that’s a compliment.”
“Don’t judge any woman too harshly,” Barbara said. “Unless you’ve walked in her shoes, you can’t know her trials and tribulations.”
