“When Alex tires of you, you must come to me, my dear. I know what he likes and how to please him,” the Cox woman had murmured. Lucia could still feel the woman’s hot, stale breath. She wiped at her neck.
Confronted by Amelia Cox, she’d felt like a child again, unsure what response to make. She’d been shocked and disgusted, and that had to account for her error, nodding and smiling to the woman. Lucia hadn’t even been thinking about what she was doing.
Now Reginald was looking at her, waiting for an answer, and Lucia knew he would never understand.
“I have no idea who she was, darling. She said something about my dress. Perhaps we have the same dressmaker?”
“Good God, I hope not!”
At any other time, Lucia would have smiled at her fiancé’s horror.
“Why on earth did you acknowledge her? This is precisely the reason I objected to attending this ball. You’re too inexperienced to see that a woman like that should be snubbed. You don’t want to form any type of connection with her sort.”
Lucia sighed. She was tired. Tired of rules and tired of Reginald. Was her whole life destined to be one long lecture? No wonder her father had pushed her to marry Dandridge. The two men had much in common, namely an affinity for lecturing her. “I’m exceedingly sorry that I’m not as skilled as you in giving the cut direct,” she told Reginald.
Reginald either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the sarcasm in her voice. “Of course not, darling,” he soothed. “Your family has always protected you. But from now on you must be careful with whom you form connections.”
Lucia stared out the window as he rambled on. “An acquaintance, no matter how slight, with a woman like that can have disastrous effects on your reputation, which in turn reflects upon mine. Your father is in Parliament, so I needn’t remind you how important one’s reputation can be. There simply must be no gossip.”
She watched the passing carriages, rapidly losing patience. He was actually shaking his finger at her, and his voice boomed as though he were addressing the House of Lords. Disgusted, Lucia could tell he derived immense pleasure from hearing himself talk.
“I’m well aware of the ramifications of my behavior,” she interrupted, her tone chilly. “You don’t have to remind or lecture me about propriety.”
Dandridge pulled back, sinking into the squabs. She hadn’t intended to chastise him for his behavior of the night before, but he’d gone too far. She was tired of being treated like a child, lectured to, bullied, ordered about. She watched Reginald study the passing buildings through the windows of the carriage, a sullen look on his face. If he was waiting for her to apologize, he was going to be waiting a very, very long time.
Finally he spoke, his voice muted, and without looking at her. “If you acknowledged that woman out of revenge for my behavior last night—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Lucia gripped her seat to keep from tearing her hair out. “How can you even believe such nonsense? Sometimes I think you hardly know me, Reginald. Don’t you ever tire of always saying the right things and talking only to the right people? Sometimes I think I’m going to scream from boredom and forced politeness.”
How wonderful it would be if she were free of all these societal strictures! She could go where she wanted, when she wanted—walk down St. James’s peering in the windows of all the gentlemen’s clubs, approach one of those notorious courtesans and ask her for all the gossip, dance with whomever she chose. How she longed to dance with the handsome dandy Lord Alfred Dewhurst or that charming rogue Sir Sebastian Middleton. They were the best dancers of the ton, but etiquette demanded she dance with the dull Marquis of Haverston or the clumsy Viscount Palmerston, who mashed her toes every time.
But Lucia’s musings didn’t last long. Having expressed aloud a feeling she hardly knew she felt, she darted her eyes to Reginald, judging his reaction. She expected him to be shocked, but when he spoke, he sounded thoughtful. “Yes, sometimes I do stray from convention, as you well remember.”
Lucia swallowed, thinking of his damp, cold hands gripping her neck in the Pools’ garden.
“I thought you might…appreciate my lapse, but apparently you don’t share my passions.”
She was at a loss. At that moment she could think of no response that would not seriously endanger their engagement. After a moment of silence, Reginald continued, “I understand, Lucia. I really do. You’ll grow to love me in time, and we’ll have a lifetime of opportunities to explore the passion I see in you. Perhaps I can give it another outlet?”
The thought actually made Lucia ill. Her stomach rolled as she recalled Reginald’s slobbery kisses and hot breath. Oh, God, this was a mistake! How could she marry him, share his bed night after night, let him touch her? She wanted to retch at the mere thought. He was saying something else, something about etiquette, but she didn’t hear. She could only watch his lips move and remember they were fat and droopy.
Her revulsion seeped away as she thought of Alex’s lips—firm and sensual. He’d almost kissed her tonight. A shiver ran up her spine, and she made no effort to repress it. She’d been kissed before, stolen kisses with men of her acquaintance prior to her engagement to Reginald. Kissing was pleasant, but she grew bored if it went on too long. But none of her previous experiences prepared her for the feelings a mere touch from Alex inspired.
Every inch of her body, every single hill and valley, had been infused with heat and life at his glance alone. And at his touch.
His hands hypnotized her. When he’d traced the curves of her mouth ever so slowly, tantalizing her with the pad of his thumb, she’d forgotten everyone and everything else in existence. Shameless, she’d wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on her skin, his arms holding her. There was nothing tedious about the Earl of Selbourne. If she forgot to breathe when he pressed his thumb to her lips, what might happen when he replaced that thumb with his mouth?
Lucia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she kissed him when she’d had the chance? Throw caution to the wind and act on impulse. There might never be another chance, and she knew she’d never feel this way with any other man.
Then she thought of Amelia Cox. Was Alex kissing her on the terrace under the gaudy Chinese lanterns even at this moment? Were his hands caressing those generous curves? You’re a fool, Lucia, she chided herself. Why would he want her when he had women—many women if the rumors were true—like Amelia Cox who “knew how to please him”? Lucia shook her head. She was an irritation to him, nothing more. Hadn’t he made that abundantly clear? It was only her imagination leading her to believe he wanted to kiss her.
“What are you thinking, Lucia?” Reginald asked. “Are you listening to me? You have the strangest expression on your face.”
Lucia looked at Reginald with renewed determination. She would make this marriage work. Amelia Cox and the bloody Earl of Selbourne be damned! Her father was counting on her, and she wasn’t going to disappoint him this time. And just as soon as she found her brother, she’d never have to talk to the arrogant earl again. Until then, she’d tolerate Selbourne by keeping her father’s pleasure, when he realized she’d been instrumental in locating John, foremost in her mind.
Lucia looked at Reginald and gripped the velvet seat beneath her with both hands.
“I beg your pardon, darling. I was just thinking of the duke’s ball. I do hope we can dance a reel together.”
Reginald smiled. It was an indulgent smile, one he might give a child or a mental patient. “Silly goose. For a minute there I thought you were thinking of something important.”
Chapter 9
As he neared the corner of Cork Street, Alex clenched his jaw and issued a polite nod to Lady Elizabeth Foster. Her retinue of servants, courtesy of her lover, the Duke of Devonshire, stood aside so he could pass. It was half past ten, and he hadn’t stumbled into bed the night before until nearly dawn. After the Seatons’ ball, he’d made a half dozen additional appearances at various ton functions
, hoping to glean information from the Society gossips about Dashing. It had been a waste of his time, and he had little hope for his errand today.
He clenched his jaw when he saw the Duchess of York waving at him, a dozen of her beloved dogs pulling her along the sidewalk. He’d been in London less than a week and already he felt mired in social quicksand. Bloody hell. You couldn’t spit in London without it making the Morning Post. He managed to skirt the duchess and her yipping dogs and turned the corner onto Cork Street, where the fashionable tailor—stuffy if Alex had anything to say about it—Schweitzer & Davidson was located.
He’d taken no more than three steps when he bit back an oath. The devil take him if Lucia Dashing wasn’t perched on the stoop, azure blue eyes surveying the street like a cat’s. And, like a cat, she managed to look completely innocent—attractive even in her pale blue and white checked dress. Though the morning was annoyingly sunny, it was still chilly, and Alex frowned at seeing that she wore only a flimsy white wrap over her light dress. On top of the golden curls framing her face she’d donned a slouch straw hat and tied it with blue ribbons.
Her footman saw him first and nodded as he approached. Then, with sleek grace, Lucia turned, angling her frilly white parasol to flash him a stunning smile. His breath caught for an instant at the way her face lit up, and he almost smiled back, half tempted to sweep her into his arms. But then she closed her parasol, and he caught the mischief sparkling in her dark blue eyes. Alex scowled, reminding himself that underneath their silky fur, cats had teeth…and claws.
“Good morning, Lord Selbourne,” she purred when he’d taken several more steps.
“It was,” he growled and bore down on her.
Throwing her footman a warning look, Alex grasped Lucia’s elbow and pulled her away from the servant’s hearing.
“Unhand me, sir, or I shall have to call Graves.” Lucia stumbled and twisted away from him.
“Go ahead. I’m itching to hit someone right now.” But it wouldn’t be the footman. At the moment, the servant was pretending not to notice Lucia’s squeals of distress, appearing fascinated by the sleeve of his blue and gold livery.
She jerked her arm again, but he held fast, backing her into the tailor’s window.
“Oh!” she gasped when she bumped into the glass. “You’re certainly in a foul mood this morning.”
“Am I?” He kept his voice level. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Neither can I,” she said with a toss of her hair.
Alex caught her chin between two fingers. “Is there something about my instructions last night you failed to understand?” He leaned closer, their faces inches apart. “I distinctly recall ordering you to cease all interference in this matter.”
“Interference!” she hissed.
He could almost see her unsheathe her claws. Bloody hell, but he liked her, liked her defiance, her spirit.
“This is my brother’s life we’re discussing. I have a right, yes, even a responsibility to find out what’s happened to him, and neither you”—she poked him in the chest—“nor my father, nor the King of England, bloody George the Third, is going to stop me from helping my brother!”
“Is that so?” Alex glanced down at her pale finger against the dark material of his coat. She had a kitten’s claws—tiny, untried, and razor sharp.
“Yes.”
He leaned closer, his body flush against hers now, and whispered, “If your father knew you were here he’d lock you up from now until your wedding day.”
“Do you really think that would stop me?”
Alex laughed. Laughed out loud, causing a passing maid to glance at them curiously. Damn, but Lucia was beautiful when she challenged him.
She gave him a wary smile. “Why don’t just admit you need me, Selbourne? We need each other. You needed me last night at the Seatons’, and you can use my help today.”
God, he had needed her last night but not in the way she meant. He’d lay in his cold bed last night thinking about her, imagining what he’d do to her if she’d been there, driving himself mad with wanting her. He couldn’t ever remember wanting a woman so much. Even now, just standing close to her aroused him. He heard the blood thrum in his ears, felt his body tense in readiness, imagined the taste of her on his lips. After his near lapse on the Seatons’ terrace last night, he could no longer deny that he wasn’t in full control of himself when in her presence.
He didn’t understand it. He’d never had any interest in virgins before. Dabbling with virgins was the fastest route to the parson’s mousetrap, as Dewhurst called matrimony. And ladies on the marriage market were troublesome, demanding, and poor companions for the pleasures he had in mind.
Unfortunately, too many of those pleasures came to mind of late.
Alex took a deep breath. Lucia stood before him now, the breeze outside Schweitzer & Davidson molding her skirts to her tall, willowy form. His fingers flexed, eager to touch her, touch the skin he knew was silky and warm as a kitten’s fur in the summer sun.
Bloody hell. He would conquer this. “Your participation in this investigation is entirely improper, Lucia,” he explained—again. “Even you admit you shouldn’t be seen with me.” Alex didn’t give a damn about social conventions, but if the French operatives knew who he was, anyone in his company could be in danger.
Lucia’s eyes darkened, reminding him of those Yorkshire storm clouds again. “Yes, and I’m sure this…exhibition isn’t helping matters.”
Alex leaned closer, ready to either kiss her or throttle her, then thought better of both options. Perhaps there was a better way. He glanced about. Cork Street was relatively deserted, but the sprinkle of passersby would be enough to make his point.
With deliberate slowness, Alex leaned closer and rubbed his cheek against hers. She stiffened, and her gaze darted past him to the street.
“I’ll ruin your reputation, sweetheart,” he whispered. There was her scent again, the cinnamon and vanilla conjuring memories of a time when life was simple and untainted. He breathed in her ear, and her stiffness melted away in a shiver.
“My brother is more important.”
Alex grinned. Her voice had become a squeak.
“And I’ll find your brother. My way. Using any means necessary. I won’t be concerned with propriety.”
“I understand,” she whispered.
“Do you? Your virtue is in danger if you continue our association.” He pressed his cheek against hers again, enjoying the velvet contrast of her skin on his. Turning his head, he placed his lips on the sensitive flesh near her earlobe. “And if you insist on accompanying me, I’ll take you where no lady should go. Houses of pleasure, dens of iniquity, my bed.” His lips grazed the skin of her earlobe. With a gasp, she clutched the lapels of his coat, and he bent to kiss her neck just under her dangling gold earring where her pulse throbbed.
He moved a fraction of an inch, his heart pounding, his blood pounding, his head pounding. He frowned. The window pounding? Alex’s head shot up, and behind Lucia, Lord Alfred Dewhurst waved jovially from the shop window.
“Damn!”
Alex jerked away from Lucia, regret seizing him when he saw her flushed cheeks and her eyes dark with arousal. Bloody hell. All he’d wanted was to scandalize her enough so that she’d abandon the ridiculous idea of helping him find her brother. He hadn’t meant it to go this far—not here in the street, at any rate—but he should have known nothing with Lucia ever went according to plan.
A bell tinkled, and behind her, Dewhurst opened the shop door.
“Selbourne, old boy!” Freddie strode forward, smile smug. “Are you coming in, or are you going to stand about in the street all day?”
Alex scowled. “Coming in.” He turned back to Lucia. “Miss Lucia Dashing, Lord Alfred Dewhurst.”
“Lord Dewhurst?” Lucia blinked, put a hand to her hair, and gave a belated curtsy. “A—a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Freddie swept off his hat and gave a low bow, tossing Ale
x a wicked grin as he did so. “Miss Dashing. The pleasure is all mine.” He bowed again. “In fact, I would have made your acquaintance much sooner had your brother and father allowed me close enough for an introduction.”
“Freddie.” Alex frowned a warning at his friend.
Freddie waved a hand at him, lace at the sleeve fluttering, and offered his arm to Lucia. “Miss Dashing, would you do me the honor of—”
Before he even knew what he was doing, Alex swept forward, intercepted her hand, and placed it on his own arm.
“All right, all right, Dewhurst. No need to practice your charms on my in-laws.”
Freddie’s grin was as wide as Prinny’s arse, and Alex knew he’d never hear the end of this. Freddie turned toward the shop, then, as if to prove just how much he relished the moment, said, “Jealous, old boy? Looks like I’ve set up Selbourne’s bristles, don’t it, Miss Dashing?” He winked at Lucia and turned the knob on Schweitzer & Davidson’s, holding the door open.
“I’ll get you back for this,” Alex said as he passed Freddie.
Freddie laughed. “I can’t wait.”
Lucia stepped into the shop and moved blindly forward. Her heart was still racing, and the blood thudded in her ears. The skin of her earlobe tingled where Alex’s lips had brushed against her, his sultry breath sending shivers dancing across her flesh with each sinful whisper.
Her knees had wobbled, a moan threatened to escape her traitorous throat…and then Dewhurst had appeared. But it was only when Alex snatched her hand from Dewhurst that her thoughts returned to some semblance of order. Selbourne’s sudden solicitousness confused her. Five minutes before, his gray eyes had been hard as pewter, his voice icy as he’d scolded her for her so-called interference.
And then, without warning, he was all heat and fire, turning her indignation to something else—something she couldn’t quite define.
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