by Lauren Smith
“Shall we wait for Cedric?” Charles asked, joining him at the foot of the stairs.
“He isn’t in?”
Charles shook his head. “The butler said he is looking for Horatia as it were.”
Searching for his sister? What on earth for?
“We should wait,” Lucien suggested. “Come, let’s get some brandy.”
His friend grinned. “Now that is more the activity I had in mind when we set out this morning.”
They followed a footman to the morning room to wait for Cedric’s return.
Charles settled into a large brocaded armchair, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Lucien, do you think Horatia will be all right?”
“I suppose…”
“Given her past, I mean,” Charles explained. “With her parents and the coach accident. You were there. Do you think this will bring back the memories?”
Lucien shuddered. That was the day Cedric had lost his parents. They’d been traveling through town when two men had decided to race their curricles through the streets. Horatia, only fourteen, had been in the coach with her parents. The crash had been dreadful. Screaming horses with broken legs, several people who’d been too close wounded by the wreck. One young man dead, another terribly injured. Cedric and Horatia’s parents hadn’t survived the impact of the coach when it had rolled.
Horatia had been stuck in the coach with the bodies of her parents, unable to get out, dazed from the shock. She hadn’t even screamed for help. When Lucien had reached the scene, he climbed up the carriage’s side and opened the door. He called her name and she’d looked up at him, eyes full of terror. He’d pulled her out of the coach and into his arms. His stomach roiled at the memory of her body shaking violently against his.
“She’s strong. She’ll be fine.” Lucien’s words were more an assurance to himself than to Charles. He had to believe she’d not be too upset after this morning.
Thinking of her distraught left a hollow feeling in his chest. Despite his intention to ignore her as much as possible and pretend she didn’t exist, she had possessed his every waking thought for the past few months. He knew exactly who to blame for this. The Duchess of Essex, formerly Miss Emily Parr.
His friend, Godric, the Duke of Essex, had kidnapped Miss Parr earlier that fall. The scheme hadn’t gone at all as planned and Godric had found himself leg-shackled in matrimony a few months ago.
Lucien found himself smiling, which should have unnerved him, given that the hallowed state of matrimony was one he feared more than death. But damned if he wasn’t a tiny bit jealous of Godric’s easy happiness with Emily. The two were quite opposite in nature, and yet they were a love match.
The events after the kidnapping had thrown Lucien into Horatia’s world again. All the effort he’d put into tactfully dodging dinner parties and balls were for naught. The League was so fond of Emily that not one of them could resist coming when she called. Cedric called it the “lapdog” effect—they’d been turned from perfectly dangerous rakehells of the worst sort to perfectly behaved gentleman in the presence of the Duchess of Essex. If only Emily and Horatia hadn’t become such close friends, Lucien might have avoided her with more ease.
That Horatia was still unmarried at the age of twenty surprised him. How was it no other man had wanted to bed a creature with doe-brown eyes and such curves that were made for holding? Or spend an entire day planning jokes just to win one rich laugh from her soft lips? Knowing Cedric, however, there were probably several young bucks in the ton running scared at the thought of approaching him for permission to court his sister.
Lucien had tried to slake his thirst for Horatia between the thighs of other women, but it was no use. Only the previous night he’d attempted to bed a woman and found he wasn’t aroused enough to perform. If word of that got out, he’d become a laughing stock. The irony of his rakehell reputation being damaged by an innocent woman was not lost on him. At this moment he dreaded his friend’s arrival, considering the dream he’d had the previous night.
Horatia had been stripped of every scrap of clothing, all laid out before him, ankles and wrists bound to his bedposts by red silk. Perspiration slicked her skin as he moved up her body to nuzzle her perfect nipples. She arched into him, rubbing her sex against him, searing him with the wicked heat of her arousal. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, and cupped her luscious bottom, raising it for the best angle of a powerful thrust. The dream had dissipated into mist, leaving him with an erection hard enough to pound a hole in the wall.
It would be a miracle if he could school his features and hide his guilt from Cedric after dreaming of doing such things with the man’s sister.
Lucien glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was now nearly noon. Cedric should have been here by now.
There was a serpentine crawling sensation beneath his skin that unsettled him. He’d had this feeling before, just before a storm was about to break. Worry knotted inside him, twisting his stomach until he could scarcely breathe. Dark clouds were on the horizon.
Charles frowned and leaned forward in his chair, concern weighing down the corners of his mouth. “Are you feeling all right?”
One deep breath. Two. The iron dread in his chest eased. “I’ve been better, I suppose. I just…” Lucien hesitated.
Charles reached for the decanter of brandy and poured Lucien another glass. “What is it?”
Lucien opened his mouth, but the door to the room crashed open, Cedric framed the doorway like an avenging angel, or a demon. He strode inside holding a note in one hand, knuckles white as he gripped his silver lion-headed cane in the other.
“What’s the matter, Cedric?”
Cedric’s rage was all too apparent. “That bastard!”
There was a moment of silence as Lucien shared a worried glance with Charles.
Charles stood and walked over to the cigar box on the side table against the far wall. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific; there are a lot of bastards about.” He ran the cigar underneath his nose. “Some are even in this room.”
Lucien rose and paced towards the window overlooking the street front. He spied a comical scene of an overdressed dandy prancing about with a quizzing glass, examining various ladies’ dresses as they passed by him. The man seemed to feel Lucien’s gaze and raised his head. A cold chill swept through Lucien. Something about the man and his flat, cold eyes fired Lucien’s nerves to life, leaving him unsettled. Had he seen the man before? A sense of foreboding raked his spine. The man turned away and disappeared through a door a few houses down opposite Cedric’s townhouse.
Lucien forced his attention back to his friends. “So who is this bastard?”
Cedric threw himself into a red and gold brocaded chair and rapped the tip of his cane on his right boot. “Who do you think?”
Lucien’s heart froze. “Waverly.”
Cedric nodded.
“That isn’t news to us. Someone tried to run Lucien over on Bond Street. Horatia happened to be nearby. Fortunately Lucien got her out of harm’s way.” Charles explained the morning’s incident to Cedric, who spoke not a word as he listened. They all knew what Waverly was capable of. What was perhaps more worrisome was the man’s complete lack of honor. He had no qualms about attacking his enemies from behind or, it would seem, their loved ones.
Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall facing Cedric. Beneath the man’s fury, lines of worry stretched thin near his eyes.
“Is my sister all right?” he asked.
Lucien nodded. “She’s as well as could be expected. I was able to get her out of the way, but she is terribly upset.” Thankfully, only the gown had perished by Waverly’s villainy. He tamped down on the urge to find the fiend and throttle him with his bare hands. Lucien knew that Horatia wouldn’t appreciate him murdering a man on her behalf. His passions tended to rule him more
than they ought to.
Regardless of the fact that she wasn’t his, he could at least keep her safe. Horatia had to be protected at all costs.
“Cedric,” Charles interrupted Lucien’s thoughts. “Why did you go out looking for Horatia?”
Cedric’s faced darkened again. “I was heading off to join Ashton and Godric at Tattersalls when one of my footmen found this letter tucked beneath the door knocker.”
He held out the scrap of parchment in his hand.
With trepidation, Lucien took the note and read it. Charles stood behind him, bending to read over his shoulder. The note was on thick expensive paper. A black scrawling hand, unfamiliar to him, clearly not Waverly’s, layered the surface of the note with sinister certainty.
Lucien read the words aloud for Charles to hear. “‘Carriage accidents are a terrible thing, aren’t they?’”
Lucien handed the note to Cedric who pocketed it. “It doesn’t look like Waverly’s handwriting. Are we sure it’s him?”
Cedric shrugged. “Who else would dare to remind me of such a horrific event?”
“If it is the past he’s referring to,” said Lucien, “perhaps the timing here was deliberate.”
Charles walked back around and threw himself into a chair, scowling. “He’s threatened us before, but nothing has come of it. What’s changed?” The earl’s eyes glimmered like mercury, bright and ever shifting.
“Hell if I know.” Cedric caressed the silver lion’s head of his cane. “He’s spent the past few years abroad. Now he’s returned and renewing his threats.”
Lucien wondered if his body had somehow known that something was set in motion. He could almost hear the clock gears ticking, but it was damned hard to know how to protect those he loved if he couldn’t see from which direction the threat would come.
Cedric rose, rubbing his face with a hand. “Bad news aside, I would like to extend a dinner invitation to you both tonight—and I realize it is last minute, but Audrey is determined to see the entire League.” He glanced between his friends hopefully.
Charles grinned. “You know I’m always eager to see your sisters!”
Cedric arched a brow. “Not too eager, I trust.”
It was a damned nuisance. Every fiber of Lucien’s being demanded he break the League’s second rule. He didn’t want his lust directing him into a situation where he would be facing Cedric on a field at dawn or something equally ridiculous. With any other woman he would have bedded her and moved on. This was impossible with Horatia. Just thinking about her heated his blood and sent a throbbing ache straight to his loins. He shifted uncomfortably and adjusted his breeches.
“What about you, Lucien?” Cedric fixed a powerful stare at him. “Don’t you dare give me any excuses.”
Lucien had told Cedric ages ago that he didn’t feel comfortable around Horatia. He’d said it was because she’d ruined an engagement proposal he’d made to an heiress years before. But it was a half-truth if anything. Horatia had been there, and the proposal had gone sour when Horatia dumped a bucket of water over his intended’s head. But his need to avoid Horatia now had everything to do with wanting to take her to the nearest bed and… He shook his head, clearing it of such thoughts.
He began to protest. “Cedric, you know I—”
“Come now. You aren’t afraid of my sisters, are you?”
Damn. There was no way he’d get out of it this time. “I’ll come.”
“Wonderful! I’ll expect you at seven!” Cedric declared with satisfaction.
“Wonderful,” Lucien echoed dully. How was he going to survive this?
Chapter Two
Horatia pressed two slim fingers to her temples as the bouncing form of her younger sister flitted past, distracting her from her latest book. It was not the way a young lady ought to behave, but trying to stop Audrey was like trying to command a storm. Horatia attempted to concentrate on the words, but between Audrey’s chaotic squirming and memories of this morning’s incident, she couldn’t. The remnants of her fear tasted bitter in her mouth. She despised herself for being so weak as to let such anxieties rule her. One minute she’d been enjoying a walk, and the next there were horses screaming, curricle wheels spinning and icy cold water soaking her to the bone as she hit the pavement.
It was like her childhood all over again. Death had struck out at her without warning, and like last time, she’d been spared. But the event had awakened old fears. As before, Lucien had saved her life. He would never know how alive she’d felt when he’d knocked her back into the snow in the alley or how her heart had thrashed like a wild bird against her ribcage. His hard body above hers, pressing down onto her—he’d been so close she’d glimpsed shards of green embedded in the brown of his eyes like a dark forest beckoning her. Any fear she might have had at being trampled was swept away by the confusing wave of heat she’d felt when Lucien shifted above her, their hips and chests pressed together. Surely she’d nearly been compromised. If someone of note had seen Lucien on top of her it would have been scandalous.
She would never forget Lucien’s face or his fierce, protective response. But that protectiveness was no match for her brother’s, who’d rushed upstairs to check on her as soon as he’d heard. He had shown them a letter containing a vague threat about carriage accidents. Cedric was ready to pack the pair off to France and change their names to protect them. It had taken every ounce of diplomacy she possessed to convince him that she and Audrey were safer here.
“Oh Horatia, cheer up! Cedric said we will have a dinner party tonight with the League!” Her cinnamon eyes were intent upon her older sister’s face. Audrey mistook Horatia’s brooding for unhappiness and not the concern that it was.
“Audrey—cease that infernal bouncing.” Horatia’s tone was sharper than she intended. She bowed her head, fingers pressing deeper into her temples as her frayed nerves sparked with pain. She looked up to see the smile on Audrey’s face drop. “And stop calling them the League. You sound like that dreadful Lady Society in the Quizzing Glass.”
“I’m sorry, Horatia, I just …” Audrey stammered, a pinprick of a tear in the corner of her eye. “With all that’s happened today, I just wanted to cheer you up.” She turned and slipped from the room, her energetic bounce gone.
Horatia started to go after her. “Audrey, wait—” Horatia stopped and sank back onto her chaise, her head still aching.
A moment later her lady’s maid, Ursula, strode in. “What’s all this now? That poor girl looked ready to weep for a week.” Ursula was in her early forties, a plump but attractive woman with a threading of gray in her blond hair. She’d been with the Sheridan family for ten years and was the closest thing to a motherly figure Horatia had.
“She was acting like a child, so I snapped at her. I tried to apologize.” Horatia only partially defended herself. She was at fault here, not Audrey. Her temper should never cause harm to others.
“And what put you in such an indelicate mood I wonder? I know the accident must have frightened you, but Lord Rochester was there and you’re no worse for wear, are you?” Ursula went to the tall armoire and started searching for a gown to dress Horatia in this evening.
It was one of the many things about Ursula that Horatia admired—her ability to treat situations and problems with a cool rational mind, rather than an emotional one. Now that she’d determined Horatia had mistreated Audrey out of her own bad temper, she would no doubt discern what had upset Horatia, then decide upon a course of advice to give.
“No, you’re right. I’m fine. A bit rattled, but it could have been worse,” Horatia said.
In truth she was panicked about Lucien coming to dinner tonight. When she’d encountered the Marquess of Rochester this morning, well…it had been explosive. His touch, his gaze, his warm breath on her cheeks, all of it had lit a fire in the pit of her belly that refused to go out. If only they could have rema
ined so close…
She couldn’t help but dream about where it might have led. Would he have dared to kiss her? Of course he would, her inner voice replied, he’s a rake. Had they been alone, he might have taken advantage of the situation and by God she would have let him.
It was a blessing he normally seemed determined to avoid her. Yet she couldn’t help wanting to see him now, to catch his scent when he stood close to her, or the brush of their hands at breakfast when they both reached for the eggs.
As irrational as it was, she even craved the hungry way he looked at her with those smoldering eyes, lust simmering just below their hazel surface. Her heart slammed against her ribs and her palms slickened with sweat.
Ursula pulled out a violet colored gown with dark Parma slippers for Horatia to wear. “Your new Christmas gown was ruined after all, I’m afraid. No woman could be in a good mood after that sort of tragedy.” Ursula’s tone was half teasing. The other half was sarcastic.
“Yes, it is a pity about the gown.”
The gown was a loss, but she could live with it. It was the sort of everyday drama one was prepared for. What she hadn’t been prepared for was Lucien. Horatia had dug her fingers into his chest and stared up at him, oblivious to the cold of the ground. His gaze had been wild. It terrified her, to see the sudden change in his demeanor. It was a side of him she’d never seen.
She’d been forced to face the truth that there were things about him she didn’t know. Secrets and passions ruled him. Is that why the men in the League were so close? Did they share something she couldn’t understand? Was that why Lucien kept his distance? Maybe he wasn’t in control of his passions. Maybe that’s why he avoided her.
But I’m not the sort of woman who would test a man’s control. Her inner voice chided her for being so foolish as to think she’d present a temptation for Lucien. She was no seductress. All he needed to do was crook one long finger and she’d come running. Pathetic, but true. It was a mercy she didn’t seem to be worth the effort to seduce.
