Lord of Fire

by Gaelen Foley

  A few minutes later, she traipsed through the maze of hallways on the upper floor until they reached the main staircase, where the first marquess of Carnarthen spied down from his portrait upon the bickering knot of guests who bustled about in the entrance hall, taking their leave. Mr. Godfrey and a half dozen footmen dodged hither and thither, trying to pacify the guests’ last-minute demands, while two of the brawny armed guards in black coats stood like brooding pillars in opposing corners, watching over all.

  Draco’s faithful appeared to have recovered a modicum of shame, shading their faces from one another under the brims of top hats and bonnets. Some of the ladies had even draped veils over their bonnets to more thoroughly conceal their faces, but the portrait of the marquess smirked down at them from the landing; his sly smile seemed to say that, hide as they may, he knew all of their nasty little secrets.

  The guests’ frayed, fretful bickering faded as Alice followed the maid down a quiet corridor. By the light of day, the Elizabethan splendors of Revell Court dazzled her. She peeked into the various rooms they passed—soaring, oak-timbered spaces with creamy plaster walls, imposing Renaissance chimneys, and colorful, age-faded carpets covering the taupe-colored granite flagstones of the floors. Sunlight streamed in through the diamond-shaped panes of the mullioned windows, danced over the square, heavy furniture with its mellow patina of age, and warmed the rich, old tapestries depicting stag hunts and scenes of falconry.

  The austere, manly atmosphere of the place was a world away from the relaxed, airy lightness of Glenwood Park, with its pastel rooms and cozy scroll couches, but the sturdiness of Lucien’s house was comforting. She liked the way it smelled—of leather, of beeswax polish for all that gleaming dark wood, and of a faint, piquant trace of a gentleman’s tobacco pipe. The maid stopped before a closed door at the end of the main corridor.

  “The library, miss,” she murmured with a quick curtsey.

  “Thank you.” With a nod, Alice reached for the doorknob, but having learned her lesson last night about walking in on places where she had not been invited, she gathered her courage and knocked.

  Her heart skipped a beat as Lucien’s strong voice answered, “Come in!”

  She squared her shoulders and opened the door. She saw him at once on the far end of the room. Leaning idly against a bookcase by the window, he was reading a slim, leather-bound volume, the morning sunlight gleaming on his jet-black hair, which was slicked back, she noted, still damp from his morning ablutions. Staring at him, she took two cautious steps into the room, dazzled by the transformation in his appearance. This morning he was dressed with the casual elegance of a country lord at his leisure. His morning coat was a rich shade of burgundy, worn over a single-breasted silk waistcoat with a high standing collar and fawn twill trousers. With his head bent over the open book, he did not look up at her arrival. She was momentarily distracted by the way he held the book in his hands, his fingertips subtly caressing the kid-leather binding. He had princely hands; they were large and manly, full of strength, yet ineffably elegant. She routed a shivery-sweet memory of those smooth, warm hands gliding up under her skirts.

  “You wished to see me, my lord?” she asked in a studiedly formal tone, one hand still on the door latch.

  “ ‘Come live with me and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove, Of golden sands and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks.’ ”

  Alice blinked with surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  He slid her a disarming, rather wily smile and continued in a low, magical singsong:

  “ ‘There will the river whispering run, Warmed by thine eyes more than the sun.

  And there the enamored fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray.

  When thou wilt swim in that live bath, Each fish, which every channel hath, Will amorously to thee swim, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.’ ”

  A blush crept into her cheeks as pink as the rose he had sent her, but she gave him an arch look. Did the cad really expect her to fall for this?

  “Shut the door, Alice.”

  She obeyed with an arch smirk, then clasped her hands behind her back and began strolling cautiously toward him while he resumed reading:

  “ ‘If thou, to be so seen, beest loath, By sun or moon, thou darkenest both; And if myself have leave to see, I need not their light, having thee.’ ”

  “Andrew Marvell?”

  “No.”

  “Christopher Marlowe?”

  “Ignorant girl, it is John Donne, ‘The Bait.’ May I?” he asked with feigned annoyance.

  “By all means,” she replied with equally feigned gravity. He was a scoundrel and a cad, but he really was rather amusing, in his way.

  “ ‘Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legs with shells and weeds, Or treacherously poor fish beset with strangling snare or windowy net.’ ”

  “Windowy net,” he echoed, shaking his head. “That is superb.”

  “It is good,” she admitted. Sidling up next to him, Alice looked down at the text and read the next verse aloud:

  “ ‘Let coarse bold hand from slimy nest the bedded fish in banks out-wrest, Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies, Bewitch poor fishes’ wandering eyes.’ ”

  “ ‘For thee, He interrupted her with a chiding glance askance.

  “ ‘thou needest no such deceit, For thou thyself art thine own bait; That fish that is not catched thereby, Alas, is wiser far than I.’ ”

  With a smile, she looked from the page to him and found him gazing at her, his gray eyes sparkling like the surface of a lake stirred by a breeze. She held his stare, heedless that she was standing much too close to him—so close that she could feel the vital warmth of his body and the full force of his overwhelming magnetism. So close that for a moment, she thought that he would lower his head and kiss her again. She had not realized she was holding her breath until he snapped the book of poetry shut, startling her with the noise.

  He captured her hand, lifting it to place a debonair kiss on her knuckles.

  “Alice,” he said, with an easy, welcoming air. “I trust you rested peacefully.” Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her away from the window and toward the couch.

  “Well enough, thank you.” She chastened herself mentally over her racing heartbeat and her vague disappointment that he had not made another improper advance on her. “And you, my lord?”

  “Lucien,” he corrected her with an intimate little smile. “I trust we are past the formalities. Sit?”

  “Thank you.” It did not seem worth the bother to point out that it was not at all proper for him to address her by her Christian name. She wasn’t staying long enough for it to matter, and God willing, she would never see him again.

  The thought made her oddly desolate.

  She lowered herself to perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he brushed out the tails of his morning coat and took his seat across from her. He leaned his head back wearily against the high leather back of his chair and studied her. She looked away, reminded anew that she was alone with a dangerous man—no chaperon, no maid, not even Caro to keep an eye out for her. In Town, girls had been ruined for less, but clearly, she was in Lucien’s world now, where the normal rules no longer applied.

  “You wished to see me?” she attempted.

  “Yes.” He rested his chin on his fist and smiled at her.

  She waited primly for him to state the purpose of the meeting, but he just stared at her.

  “Well?”

  No answer. He merely smiled back at her, two fingers obscuring his beguiling mouth as he rested his elbow on the chair arm. His gaze unnerved her. She quickly looked away, her heart skipping a beat. What a rude beast he was.

  “Ahem, very well.” Wringing her hands in her lap, Alice tried to look interested in the elegantly appointed room. The library was long and narrow, with shelf-lined walls and windows that stretched nearly from floor to ceiling at regular intervals, deep win
dow seats tucked behind the dark ruby curtains. The bronze busts atop the bookcases seemed to watch her and Lucien together like the spying gossips of the ton. She shrugged some of the tension out of her shoulders as her gaze wandered over the various oil paintings on the walls, over the tapestry and the linen-fold paneling; all the while, Lucien studied her. She regarded the chess table, where the ebony and ivory pieces had been abandoned midgame, then inspected the Paisley whorls of the carpet until she could no longer stand it. “My lord, you are staring.”

  “Forgive me.” Languidly stretching his long legs out in front of him, he crossed his booted heels. “Somehow you are even more lusciously tempting than I remembered.”

  She stiffened, her chin rising to a prim angle as a hot blush rushed into her cheeks. “What is it you wished to see me about, please? If you will forgive me, I am in a bit of a hurry.”

  “I find myself curious about you, Alice. I am eager to further our acquaintance.”

  Her heart quaked. She stared at him, then lowered her head. “Respectfully, sir, it is not possible.”

  “Cruel lady!” he exclaimed mildly, sounding not the least bit surprised. “Why ever not?”

  She gave him a quelling look. “Do you really have to ask?”

  “Are you going to deny that we are extremely attracted to each other?”

  His brazen question, so casually delivered, left her nigh speechless. “Do you really imagine you can succeed with me after you seduced my sister-in-law?”

  “Do you really think you can resist?” he countered, his gray eyes flashing wickedly.

  Her nostrils flaring with her sharp inhalation, she jumped to her feet intent on making a grand exit, but his hand shot out and captured her wrist. She turned to him in rebuke. “Let go of me! Just when I think you might be an agreeable man, you shock me again like a very lightning bolt! You, sir, are beyond the pale! The things you say—the way you choose to live your life—you are scandalous, outrageous and . . . bad!”

  “I know, I know. Can’t you see I need help, mon ange? Clearly, it may take the strictest Goody Two-Shoes in the realm to reclaim me.”

  “Reclaim yourself! If you brought me down here just to toy with me, allow me to inform you that I want nothing to do with you. Indeed—” She gave her hand a jerk, but the harder she tugged, the more tenaciously he clung on. “—if ever I have the misfortune to cross paths with you in public, I shall cut you entirely!”

  “You threaten me with the severest of penalties,” he said gravely, his eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Clearly, I must reform, but how? Wait—I have an idea.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” she retorted.

  He sat forward with an upward gaze of angelic sincerity. “Maybe your goodness could rub off on me. Maybe your influence could help me change. What was that you said last night? About love?”

  “I should have known you would not be above throwing my own words in my face.”

  “They were true, weren’t they? Don’t you want to save me, Alice? Women are always trying to save me—of course, none of them have had much success so far. I was hoping you’d care to give it a go.”

  She looked flatly at him. “That is some very fine and, might I add, original flattery, Lord Lucifer, but I am not a fool. You have no wish to change, and as for love, the swans on the lake and the wolves in the forest know more of it than you ever will, for all your cleverness. Now, if you will excuse me—”

  “I would change for you, if you could make me believe, if you could show me the reason why to be good at all.” He pressed her hand to his clean-shaved cheek. “Teach me, Alice. I have an open mind. Do you?”

  She held his stare, wavering dangerously. “You are cruel to toy with me so,” she forced out.

  “I am in earnest.” The intensity in his gaze was beginning to frighten her. She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip turned implacable. He turned his face just enough to press a kiss into her palm, closing his long-lashed eyes for a moment. “Do not think I come to you empty-handed. I so want to help you, Alice.” He opened his eyes and gazed tenderly at her. “You’re too young to realize it yet, but I know what is going to happen to you.”

  “You do?” she whispered, staring uneasily into his deep, crystalline eyes.

  “I’ve seen it a thousand times. They’re going to make you just like everybody else, but I can protect you, your bright, beautiful soul. You’re in a cage and you don’t even know it, but I can free you. Let me take you under my wing. I can teach you how to outwit them if you’ll let me. I won’t let them turn you into another pretty, empty shell in ribbons and French silk. You are too good for that fate.”

  His softly uttered words staggered her. It was as though he had looked into her soul and read her very heart. She stared at him, mesmerized. “What do you want of me?”

  “The same thing you want, sweet,” he said as he stroked her hand in gentle reassurance. “Both of us, we just want someone to accept us for who we really are.”

  “Who are you, Lucien?” she asked in a trembling whisper.

  “Stay with me and find out.”

  “Well, I daresay!” a rude voice broke in on them from the doorway. “Are we announcing the banns? Have we picked out the flowers? The church?”

  “Caro!” Alice yanked her hand out of Lucien’s light grasp, feeling her cheeks fill with a scarlet blush. She glanced at him in chaos, her heart pounding.

  He was watching her calmly.

  “Oh, dear, I was summoned—but I do hope I’m not interrupting,” Caro said spitefully. Not a hair out of place, the baroness was perfectly coiffed and elegantly attired as she sauntered into the library. Her eyes, however, were bloodshot, and the excessive rouge on her cheeks could not conceal the pallor of her skin. “I would come back after you’ve finished your little tête-à-tête, but my son is waiting. Alice, are you ready to leave?”

  “Coming—”

  “Not so fast, my dear.” Lucien stood, the emotion in his face smoothly vanishing behind a mask of arrogance and worldly aplomb. His silver eyes became like mirrors, completely concealing his thoughts. “Lady Glenwood, come and sit down. I called you both here on a serious matter.”

  He had indeed summoned Caro to the library as well? Alice wondered, turning to watch him as he stalked past her to the baroness.

  “Oh, yes, it looked terribly serious to me,” she muttered.

  “You will keep a civil tongue in your head, madam.” He grasped the baroness’s elbow and propelled her over to a chair across from the couch.

  As she sat down, Caro sent Alice a haughty warning glance. She rested her elbow on the chair arm and braced her forehead with her fingertips, the very sketch of a person suffering the aftereffects of intemperance. Serves you right, Alice thought, sending her an answering look that flashed with rebellion.

  “Miss Montague, please be seated.” Between them, Lucien stood tall, his shoulders squared, his chin high. “I am aware of the urgency of your departure. Thus, I will be brief.” Diabolical amusement danced on his lips. He turned away and sauntered idly to the nearby chess table. “I find myself in the mood for company of late,” he said. “I have considered the matter at some length and have arrived at a decision.”

  Tilting his head, he studied the board, then moved the black knight, trouncing the white queen. He removed the ivory piece from the board, looked at Caro, then at Alice, and said smoothly, “I am only letting one of you leave.”

  Both women stared at him without comprehension.

  “Pardon?” Caro drawled as though suddenly finding her voice.

  Alice sat stock-still, staring at him with a terrible premonition. “What do you mean, you are only letting one of us leave?”

  He looked at her with bland cordiality, not batting an eye. “One may go; the other shall stay for a while as my companion, provide me with a pleasant diversion—it grows so dull here in the country, don’t you know, but I leave it to you to decide, Alice. Who will go home to Harry and who will remain here at
Revell Court . . . with me?”

  The look on her face was priceless, but Lucien managed not to crack a smile. He kept his expression calm, his eyes unreadable, but God, he wanted her. He did not care that what he was doing was outrageous. He had made up his mind and was not backing down. He needed this too much.

  Her lovely face had paled; she appeared to be in shock. Lucien suppressed a dark smile. The moment had come to find out if his good girl was really so noble and true. He knew exactly how to trap her—through her deathbed promise to her brother, which she had foolishly revealed to him last night, and her devotion to her nephew.

  He was testing her, of course, making her walk the very knife-edge of decision. It was the one sure way to discover what kind of woman she really was at her very core, under duress. If she chose selfishly, freeing herself at the expense of little Harry’s need for his mama, if she proved a fraud, then her mysterious hold over him would be instantly broken with no great loss. His mind and heart would be released at once from her spell, and he would let both women leave without further argument.

  Ah, but if she chose unselfishly, in spite of all the dire possible consequences, at the cost of her reputation and the perilous risk of her virtue, then he would have her here by his side to revere her and to learn the secret of her innocence. Either way, he won. It was, in fact, the perfect plan, and he was deuced pleased with himself for thinking of it.

  Both women were still staring at him, dumbfounded.

  “Oh, you are a devil,” Caro whispered at last in awe. “No. You are the devil.”

  He glanced indifferently at her, then returned his hungry stare to the girl. “So, who shall it be, Alice, Caro or you?”

  Her eyes were huge and deep, dark blue as she gazed up at him, at a loss. Her severe chignon accented her aristocratic bone structure—her smooth forehead and high cheekbones, that feisty chin, and her long, graceful neck. Lucien gave her a look to suggest that, if she stayed, his intentions toward her were purely sexual. That ought to scare the truth out of her, he thought, fear and need and terrifying hope making him ruthless.