Lord of Fire

by Gaelen Foley

  “Of course you would,” he whispered as understanding dawned. “You lost practically your entire family. That’s what you want more than anything, isn’t it? A family of your own?”

  She half burst out crying. He went back over to her, unable to stay away. He knelt down by her chair and took her into his arms, closing his eyes. “You are so precious to me,” he whispered.

  She pulled back, quickly brushing her few tears away. “I know you like your parties. I wasn’t sure if you wanted anything to do with children—”

  He stopped her worried words with a light kiss, then brushed the tip of her nose with his own. “Don’t you know I have to be wherever you are? If you’re with our children, then that’s where I’ll be, too. Besides—” He glanced hesitantly into her eyes. “—I know how it feels to have a father who treats you like you don’t exist. I would never do that to my own child.” He paused and shook his head. “God help me, I don’t believe I’m saying this.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “From the bottom of my heart.” He stroked her arm. “I’ll give you a baby every year if that would make you happy. We can start now. Where are you in your cycle?”

  “Lucien!”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. You can tell me. I almost became a physician instead of a soldier, you know. So?”

  “Oh, it’s, um, coming in a day or two.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said with an intimate smile. “It’s not the right time for you to conceive.”

  “I’m so happy you feel the same way I do.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it.

  “But, Lucien, there’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that, darling? Give it to me. I’ll fix it,” he murmured. “We’re almost there.”

  She looked deeply into his eyes. “Would you really allow your children to be exposed to the things that go on in the Grotto?”

  His confident smile faded.

  “Lucien, I will not settle for a husband who is half a stranger to me. Here is my counterproposal. Do three things for me and I will marry you without a qualm. First, tell me what is going on around here. I feel that you’re in some kind of trouble, or perhaps even engaged in some kind of crime.”

  “You think I’m a criminal?” he nearly shouted, sweeping to his feet.

  “Well?”

  “Alice!”

  “Lucien, you have men with rifles posted all over the property! No honest man has need of so many guards—”

  “God damn it!” Thirty-one years of bucking convention and thumbing his nose at conformity kicked in as he swept to his feet and stared at her defensively, flabbergasted by her meddling demands. “How dare you?” he said in lordly anger. “Do I look like I need you to run my life for me?”

  She flinched, and her gaze fell. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “Help me? You’re trying to get me under the cat’s paw, but it’s never going to work. If you can’t accept me as I am, then maybe we are wasting our time.”

  “Ugh, you exasperating—! You say you are all alone, but you won’t come out of your hiding place to be with me as you easily could, if you would try!”

  “The guards are there because I have enemies. That doesn’t make me a criminal.”

  “Violent enemies?”

  He scoffed. “Do you think I spend all that time training in my studio because I enjoy it?”

  “Are you in danger, Lucien?”

  He heaved a sigh, relenting with a twinge of guilt when he saw how she had paled.

  “Can’t your family help you? Damien or Hawkscliffe—”

  “Never fear, Alice, I can look after myself—and you. My family has nothing to do with this. Please, go on with the rest of your demands. I can barely wait to hear them.”

  She blinked rapidly, regaining her composure. “I want you to make tomorrow night the last gathering in the Grotto, then disband the group. I don’t want those awful people in our children’s lives if . . . we are together. And finally, I want you to have a talk with Damien to clear the air between the two of you. I know your estrangement from him breaks your heart.”

  “That is all very sweet—but, no.”

  She threw her sketch pad aside and shot to her feet, folding her arms across her chest with a cold glare. “What if I were to put my foot down? What if I were to say I will not lie with you or marry you until you close down the Grotto and swear never to have those horrid people back to Revell Court?”

  There was a long silence as he absorbed her ultimatum. “I would say that was a trick worthy of Caro. The Alice Montague I love is not the kind of woman who uses her body to get what she wants.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise.

  “What?” he asked insolently.

  “Y-you just said you love me.”

  “And?”

  She just stared at him, her lips slightly parted, but she did not say the words back. “Isn’t it a bit too soon to say that?” she asked faintly instead.

  A vulnerable little piece of him died at her answer. Hurt flickered in his eyes as he gazed at her. “I suppose it is.” He gave her a hard look and turned away to hide his humiliated look, going to collect the clothes she had taken off of him. He tossed his white shirt over his left shoulder and stalked past her to the door. Maybe she didn’t love him—undoubtedly, he did not deserve it—but when she watched him walk by, a startled expression lingering on her face, he knew full well that she desired him. At least he had that—as usual. He slammed the door behind him as he left.

  Damn that woman!

  Sophia Voznesensky was part she-wolf, Rollo thought. She had tracked him relentlessly all the way from London, though he had taken the most circuitous, winding course to the West Country that he could devise. After having been tracked like a fox for two days, Rollo Greene counted himself fortunate to stay one village ahead of her as he fled under churning, marble-gray skies. His fingers were red and raw, poking through his gloves as he refilled his canteen with fresh water at the local well, then went into the tavern and bought a draught of gin to warm his belly and steady his nerves. He lingered as long as he dared before heaving his poor, bruised arse back up into the creaking saddle. Urging his horse back out onto the main coaching road, he glanced nervously over his shoulder and thanked God that the tall, sloe-eyed Valkyrie was not in sight, gusting down the road after him on her leggy gray horse.

  As he urged his mount into a canter, he shook his head to himself in disgust, remembering how his eyes had nearly popped out of his head when he had first feasted his gaze on Sophia’s voluptuous figure. It had been several days before he had noticed the cold, dead look in her eyes. He had considered letting her catch up to him and trying to persuade her to defy Bardou with him, but she feared her French lover too much to dare try. This left Rollo no choice but to run for his life from the woman. Still, it was better than running from Bardou himself.

  By now, he supposed Sophia must have guessed where he was fleeing to—Revell Court. He had quickly realized he would never reach his superiors in time with word of Bardou’s terrible plan, but he knew he had to do something. He did not want to see women and children blown to bits in the midst of the annual fire festival. In desperation, he had decided to turn to Lucien Knight. Rollo had received a note from Lucien a few days ago asking for a meeting; no doubt Lucien already knew that something was afoot. Rollo had intended to ignore the summons, but had changed his mind upon learning of the wanton destruction that Bardou had in store.

  Now Lucien was his only hope. He was the only one who would listen to a ne’er-do-well like Rollo Greene. And he was the only one with the skill to stop Bardou from wreaking havoc on the city on Guy Fawkes Night. Rollo only prayed that he would reach Lucien before that Russian angel of death caught up to him.

  Throwing himself upon divine providence, he spurred his tiring horse on faster.

  That night, Lucien sat in his bedchamber, staring out the bank of windows at the dark horizon and the starry firmament, brooding wit
h a mix of hurt and self-directed anger over the way he had groveled to Alice this afternoon. He had been blind to how she had taken control of their relationship over the past few days. Their whole liaison had been his whim, for his own pleasure, but now the seducer had been categorically seduced. Did she enjoy having him on his knees? he wondered, taking a rather bitter drink of his brandy. Emotionally, he was in her hands now, and it scared the hell out of him.

  If only she had said she loved him, he thought achingly, rubbing his chest where the denial still felt vaguely like a hole there. Ah, but his little artist with her painful honesty would rather suffer the truth to wound him than soothe his feelings with a lie. He respected that about her. Yet—perhaps wishfully—he could not help feeling that she did care for him. He sat there warring with himself in silence until, in the next moment, he decided abruptly to find out.

  He downed the rest of his brandy for an extra dose of courage, got up, and left his room, stalking through the dim maze of hallways. In the oppressive silence of Revell Court, his heart thundered in his ears as he turned down the corridor that led to her room.

  He could not take this uncertainty, this inner confusion. He hated the vulnerability he felt. It went against everything the war had taught him about staying on his guard, shutting off his emotions. If she could not love him, there was no point in going through this. He had to know, he thought as he came to her door. If she did not want to be with him forever, he would not prolong his own suffering any further, but would send her home in the morning to Glenwood Park and her precious Harry.

  As he stood outside her chamber, reaching for the doorknob, he knew this moment would decide their fate. He had freely given her the key, it was in her hands either to take him in or to keep him out.

  A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He closed his eyes in fear-filled anguish, his heart pounding. God, please. I need this. It was a desperate act, a blind clutching in the darkness for her love from out of the depths of his terrible isolation. If she did not take him in, he did not think he would ever have the courage to reach out to someone again.

  Steeling himself for the worst, he grasped the doorknob and tried it—then drew in his breath as the knob turned and the unlocked door creaked open into her dark, moonlit chamber.

  Alice sat up when the door creaked, her heart racing. She had sensed or perhaps felt him standing outside her door and had been lying on her side, wide-eyed, barely daring to breathe as she waited to see what he would do. He stepped into her room, one foot over the threshold, and stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  She could barely breathe, mesmerized by his luminous stare. It intimidated her. His face was stark, his eyes glittering in the moonlight with sensual hunger. She swept a glance over him, feeling the catch of desire in her belly. His black trousers molded every line of his long legs. He wore no waistcoat or jacket, no cravat. His white shirt was open at the throat, his sleeves rolled up. He was frightening, deadly, beautiful.

  Slowly, she moved onto her knees, holding his stare. She saw his body trembling slightly. She could feel his need. She knew what he had come for, and she knew that if she turned him away, he would never be back. Her heart beat recklessly. Without a word, she held out her hand to him as though coaxing a wild wolf to take a gift of food.

  He didn’t move.

  “Come in here,” she whispered. “Come to me.”

  His wary stare seemed to size her up; then, after a moment, he closed the door soundlessly behind him and prowled over to her. He stood beside her bed while she knelt before him in her night rail. He kept his hands at his sides, but by the moonlight and the faint reddish glow of the smoldering hearth fire, she saw the longing in his eyes to be touched.

  “I shouldn’t have asked you to have blind faith in me when we both know I don’t deserve it,” he said tautly. “I will close the Grotto as soon as it is possible for me to do so. I can’t explain. . . . Just, don’t leave me.”

  She reached up and cupped his strong jaw. He pressed his cheek into her hand, then kissed her wrist.

  “Lucien,” she whispered. “I should not have pretended that my love for you was contingent upon any of those things. It’s not. I’m sorry I hurt you. I love you. And I want you.”

  With a low, strangled moan, he pulled her into his arms, claiming her mouth in an explosive kiss full of primal possession. She surrendered completely, eager, recklessly eager, to give herself without looking back. She waited in breathless anticipation as he dragged the straps of her chemise down over her arms, baring her breasts.

  She tilted her head back with an ardent sigh as he bent his head to her chest. Her skin was cool in the autumn night, but his mouth was scorching hot, sucking hungrily on her nipple. Dazed with passion, she stroked his glossy black hair, watching him.

  His hand raked her thigh, then dipped between her legs, giving heat, delicious pressure. She pulled his shirt off of him, splaying her hands across his muscled back until he came up from her breasts, his skin flushed, his hair tousled. She could feel the pounding of his heart as she caressed his splendid chest, then traced the lines of his iron-sculpted arms, her fingers tingling. She skimmed her palm lower down his flat belly, her gaze following her hand. She paused at the waistline of his trousers and lifted her questioning glance to meet his smoldering gaze.

  She waited, feeling his hands trembling as he unfastened his trousers and drawers beneath them. She pushed them a few inches down his hips; then a low groan escaped him when she slid her hand inside his loosened clothes and gently clasped his shaft, discovering for herself how he wanted to be touched. He closed his eyes in rapture as she stroked him. Her left arm was draped around his neck. In climbing lust, she kissed his ear, neck, and shoulders until he shuddered and quickly stopped her, grasping her shoulders.

  “Lie down,” he ordered in a rough, panting whisper.

  Trembling with desire for him, she obeyed, bracing her hands behind her as she eased onto her back. He slid her chemise up over her hips, covered her thighs in kisses, then buried his face in her mound. She tensed, arched, shivered with disbelieving ecstasy as he kissed and licked her. She felt like she was losing her mind as he slid his clever fingers in and out of her passage, coaxing her hips to take up the sensual rhythm with him. Gasping with wanton enjoyment, she came up onto her elbows and watched him adoring her body while he pleasured himself with his other hand. God help her, she could not believe she had denied herself this for so many days. If she had known—! Her heart was thundering, and she felt as though some long pent-up storm in her was going to burst.

  When he withdrew his touch and lifted his head, leaving her incomplete, she thought she was going to die. She watched him in savage need as he moved to a kneeling position between her legs. He loomed over her, then came down, planting his hands on either side of her. His face was shadowed as he held her stare, slowly lowering his body down, covering hers.

  The moment of contact, his muscled weight atop her, was heaven. His chest was damp with a light sheen of sweat against her bare breasts. His face was wet as he sought her mouth and kissed her; she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. He stroked her once again between her legs until she was utterly drunk on his touch. His drawers clung around his lean, hard hips. As she felt him push them down lower, her very mind throbbed with ecstasy, intoxicating her senses. Bare and sleek, he eased between her thighs; instinctually, she enfolded him between her legs. She felt the smooth head of his erection caress her pulsating flesh, becoming instantly slicked with her body’s dew. Kissing her in soul-deep passion, Lucien caressed her cheek and her hair, cradling her head under his large, gentle hand. For a moment, he paused, gazing down at her in dark longing, his soul laid bare in his glittering eyes—no pretenses, no masks left between them. The silence was almost holy with their love.

  Held powerless in his enchanter’s stare, she whispered his name, her voice hoarse with need, ran her hands down his satin-smooth back and clutched his lean buttocks, pulling him to her in wild demand. With
a low moan, he gave her what she wanted, slowly mounting her.

  His kiss was so deep, so overwhelming, she could not even gasp as he paused, then ruptured the fragile barrier of her virginity with one quick thrust. Her shocked cry of pain was muffled by his mouth. His every muscle strained around her with his effort to be still until her pain had passed. He did not let her go or even stop kissing her, his hands stroking her face, petting her hair, his silence begging her and ordering her to wait and to be strong until her body accepted him. Gradually, he let her come up for air, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

  “Relax,” he coaxed her in a ragged whisper. “Relax for me, sweeting. Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt if you relax.” He kissed her again and again. “You are so beautiful, my love. There is nothing to fear. You are mine now. Forever. Everything I have is yours. My body, my heart, my name.”

  “Lucien, my dark angel.” She cupped his face between her hands and stared into his eyes. “I want your secrets.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then lowered his lashes and shook his head slightly. “No, you don’t,” he murmured, then bent his head and kissed her.

  For a moment, he merely played, sporting with her senses, lightly skimming her cheeks and her nose with his lips. When he returned to her mouth, she parted her lips hungrily for him, her tongue meeting his in the sweetest of welcomes. Her fevered body trembled beneath him.

  The firelight shimmered along their joined silhouettes as he bent his head and reverently kissed her shoulders and her chest, murmuring love words that made her rigid body soften. He stroked her hair, her arms, her sides, and her belly, showering her with light, exquisite kisses, his beguiling lips tickling and soft as they nuzzled her skin. Slowly, his gentleness eased her until she felt her body yield of its own volition, taking him in by several more inches.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned softly, wrapping her arms around him, shocked to discover her pleasure anew, transformed now into something deep and rich and nourishing. “Lucien.”

  “Yes,” he whispered, “now you know.”