Lucia’s jaw dropped. Unladylike? If the dragon only knew half of what she would have liked to do to her at that moment, then she’d see unladylike.
“You must learn to be more subdued,” Lady Dandridge went on. “And your manner of observation is entirely unsuitable! Why, anyone who saw you look at Lord Selbourne tonight might have thought you were in love with him!”
Lucia inhaled sharply. All the rancor seeped out of her, replaced by apprehension. Was she that transparent?
“But together we can erase these flaws and make you into a woman who cultivates respect, not pity.”
“Pity?” Rage, hurt, and embarrassment fought for control of her emotions. Riding out the storm, Lucia gripped the fabric of the chaise, her nails making half moons in the velvet. “Lady Dandridge, I hardly think—”
“I have said as much before. My son is entirely in agreement with me. You need not appeal to Reginald in this matter. I am afraid he defers to my better judgment in most things.”
Lucia stared at the dragon. The fan hid all but her hazel eyes, and those narrowed in a definite challenge—one Lucia knew she wasn’t going to win. She heard the men’s voices as they filed up the stairs and entered the drawing room, and she felt the change the moment Alex entered.
The temperature increased a notch. The room grew smaller. But she didn’t dare look in his direction. Lady Dandridge’s eyes on her had become as sharp as her fangs.
The two women stared at each other, and Lucia’s stomach turned. She hated this woman. Detested her. And now she would be forced to spend every day with her for months, perhaps years. Lady Dandridge gave her a slow smirk.
“Lucia!” Francesca crossed the room in a flurry of white skirts. Lucia could have kissed her.
Francesca nodded to Lady Dandridge then turned back to Lucia. “Will you be the first to sing and play on the pianoforte? You have such a pretty voice.”
Lucia glanced at her future mother-in-law. It wasn’t her chosen method of escape, but she’d sing a hundred songs if it would get her away from the woman. She reached up and took Francesca’s hand.
“What would you like to hear?”
As soon as he entered the drawing room, Alex searched for Lucia. With a frown, he noted Lady Dandridge had her cornered. Poor Lucia looked like a kitten trapped on a high branch, ready to spring given her first opportunity at freedom.
His first impulse was to climb the tree and rescue her, but he checked it, Ethan’s earlier words ringing in his ears. He needed to limit his involvement with Lucia Dashing. Already matters had gone too far. She’d chosen to marry Dandridge, and who was he to interfere with that choice? But he didn’t have to like it, and he certainly didn’t have to watch her flaunt her mistake with the pudgy coward or his pushy mother.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d seen Lucia needed rescuing. He watched Francesca extricate Lucia from Lady Dandridge’s iron grip. But he wasn’t going to waste time lamenting Lucia’s engagement. The other ladies and gentlemen in attendance were stationing themselves strategically about the room, and gasps of pleasure erupted when Lucia took a seat at the pianoforte. Alex slipped away.
He ordered his carriage, intending to stop at Brooks’s for a drink—or seven. While he waited, Alex made a circuit of his sister-in-law’s garden. The night air was mild, the smell of hyacinth and spring on the light breeze. The town house’s windows were open, and Lucia’s voice, clear and high, floated out to him.
“Caro mio ben,” she sang. Thou, all my bliss. Her soft, lilting voice brushed against his skin, wrapping itself about him with the intimacy of a lover’s caress.
“Che cosaé que stahimè.” What tortures I must bear. “Pietà, pietà, pietà.” Have done.
Her voice was hypnotic, the spell broken only when a rich alto voice—Alex recognized it as Francesca’s—replaced Lucia’s.
Alex leaned against one wall of the house, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Francesca’s song continued, then she, too, was replaced. Weary from forced politeness, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. They snapped open again immediately. At first he saw nothing, but he tensed at the subtle shift in the air. Then he saw her, standing in the shadows and watching him.
She took an uncertain step toward him, emerging into the light spilling from the windows. Though he’d watched her all evening, she seemed even more beautiful than he ever remembered. She wore a rose silk gown, and her pink cheeks glowed. Her hair was simple, the long tresses swept away from her face into a crown of gold. She looked older, the high cheekbones of her face more prominent without the frame of her hair.
She took another halting step and ran a hand along one hip, smoothing the silk of her gown. “It’s not the most fashionable color, I know,” she said. “But my mother insists pink complements my complexion and forces me to wear it at every opportunity.”
“For once, I’m in agreement with your mother.”
She frowned.
“You look beautiful,” he said. A warning bell rang in his head, but he chose to ignore it.
Lucia stared at him, flustered. “I hate pink,” she finally stammered.
“The signora is right. It suits you.”
She looked down, threading the flimsy silk through her fingers. “It makes me feel like a little girl.”
“We both know you’re no little girl.” Another bell added to the clanging of the first, and still he ignored the warning.
Her gaze met his, her azure eyes considering him. “Lord Selbourne, I didn’t come out here to argue with you.”
“Alex,” he bit out and stepped nearer.
Her brow crinkled. “What?”
“I said, Alex, goddammit. We’re well past Lord Selbourne and Miss Dashing.”
“If you don’t mind, I think it’s best if we retain that formality.” She tossed her head again, and he was before her in an instant, hands cupping her face. She tried to jerk away, but he held her firmly and turned her face to his.
“Oh, but I do mind, Lucia,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I want to hear you say my name.”
She stared at him, eyes wide and dazed. He saw in her expression a mirror of his own reaction. The feel of her skin between his hands, the heat of her body, and the bottomless blue of her exotic eyes threatened to overwhelm his tenuous control. He was spinning, his blood racing.
She closed her eyes, titled her chin up. Inviting him…
“Say it, Lucia.” His voice was husky with need.
“Alex.” It was little more than a breath, but the sound of his name on her lips sent a bolt of white heat through him.
His mouth descended hungrily, and he crushed her to him. Her body melted into his, molding to him, fitting him like a finely tailored coat. He was struck by the thought that she belonged in his arms—her lush flesh pressed against his, her lips moving tentatively under his mouth, her hands clutching the collar of his shirt.
Her skin was hot under his cool mouth and fingers, and she tasted of vanilla. He moved his hands to plunder her thick tresses, to cradle her head, reveling in the feel of her silky strands caught between his fingers. Her taste, her smell, the feel of her penetrated every pore. And when she gripped him tighter, kissed him more deeply, each of his senses exploded. He forgot who he was, where he was, knew only the feel of her lips beneath his, her body against him.
Their kiss was hard. Demanding. He probed her teeth with his tongue, and with a gasp, she opened her mouth to him. Exploring her was another new experience. He touched. He tasted. He tantalized.
She moaned, and he broke the kiss, moving to trace the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat. He breathed in her ear, and she shivered violently.
“Alex.” It was a sigh, erotic as hell in his ear. He almost yelped when she slipped her hands inside his tailcoat to caress him more intimately.
“Bloody hell!” With a feeling akin to physical pain, he pushed her away. Reality, like a slow leak, seeped into his brain.
He had to stop this or take her right now. Al
ready his erection was hard, straining against his trousers. He leaned an arm against the wall of the house and took several deep breaths. She was silent, and he cast a glance at her. Her face betrayed every emotion—confusion, anger, desire. The last made him throb anew.
“Lucia, we can’t do this.”
“Of course not!” For once, she sounded exasperated. “Why did you start?”
“I started?” He laughed hoarsely. “You came to me, sweetheart.”
“Not for—I wouldn’t have sought you out again tonight except for my brother. If you have any new information, I’m asking you to share it.”
He should have known. “You’re as persistent as a dog digging for his bone, aren’t you?”
She huffed. “Well, that’s a lovely comparison. At least I try to be pleasant. Just tell me what you’ve learned about John.”
He shook his head, assessing her silently. She glared at him. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
It was probably the only way to get rid of her, though he doubted he’d get away that easily. “I didn’t learn anything,” he said finally. “I visited several more businesses, and went to White’s. None of the merchants or the members of his club have seen or heard from your brother since March.”
“Aha!” She beamed and jabbed a triumphant finger at him. “Then you have to admit that John is no longer in London.”
“No, I don’t.”
She was inches away from him now, her finger hovering in the space between them. Her smug gesture irritated him, and he almost grasped her hand, stopping himself just in time. She was close enough that he could smell her and feel her heat. Touch her now, the chorus of bells clanging in his head warned, and you won’t be able to stop.
He stepped back. “You’re jumping to conclusions. As usual.”
“And you’re being stubborn. As usual. All the evidence is on my side.”
He snorted. “Hardly. There’s no reason to believe that your brother’s friends are telling the truth.”
She put her hands on her hips, clearly offended he’d impugned the honor of her brother’s acquaintances. “You have no reason to believe otherwise.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What is it?” she demanded.
The prickle of irritation ballooned. Who was she to question him? Demand answers? Answers, he had to admit, he didn’t have yet. But he had a bad feeling…
“It’s not your concern, Lucia,” he said.
“Oh!” She fisted her hands at her sides. “You are the most annoying man! And what’s worse, we’re wasting time. You—”
“I agree, darling.”
Lucia jumped at the silky voice behind her, and Alex tensed for a fight.
Dandridge stepped into the light. “We are wasting time. We are wasting our time talking to Lord Selbourne, especially when his carriage is waiting.”
Dandridge stood at Lucia’s side, and she shrank back slightly. Alex could see on her face that her thoughts were racing, see her struggling for excuses and explanations.
“And you, Selbourne,” Dandridge said. “Dare I ask why you’ve lured my fiancée out here alone? No, sir, your reputation precedes you.”
What tortures I must bear. The words from the song came unbidden to his mind.
“Go inside, Lucia.” Alex’s voice was quiet, but the order was undeniable. It was time he was rid of both Lucia and her fool of a fiancé. Once and for all.
Pietà.
“Do you think to protect her from me, Selbourne?” Dandridge said, laughing. Alex didn’t respond. Instead he crossed his arms and jammed one shoulder against the wall of the house. Casual. Unconcerned. He was going to walk away from this. He was going to ignore the tension in his body—the combination of arousal for Lucia and anger at himself for allowing things to go so far.
“Or perhaps you forget that I am Miss Dashing’s fiancé? No.” Dandridge turned to Lucia, face red with rage. “Perhaps there is more to this. Something you don’t want me to know.”
Lucia made a strangled sound. “Reginald, no.” She jumped forward and gripped Dandridge’s sleeve. “Please don’t insinuate—”
“I’m not insinuating, my dear. I’m accusing.” He glared at Alex.
“Go inside, Lucia.” Alex’s tone hardened, but he kept his features impassive. Once she was safe, he could walk away.
She shook her head, stepping between the two men. “Alex—”
“Alex?” Dandridge shrieked. “How touchingly familiar. Why, you little bitch!” He grabbed her arm, shoving her roughly against the wall of the house. “All this time putting me off and playing the trollop with Selbourne.”
Every ounce of control in Alex snapped when he heard her cry of pain and fear. With a roar, he seized Dandridge’s shoulder, spun him around, and smashed a fist into the man’s face. Dandridge flew backward, his head hitting the ground with a hollow thud. The battle howl of fury in his ears, Alex tore into Dandridge. Reaching down and grasping the other man by the tailcoat, he pulled him to his knees. Again and again, Alex pummeled his fists into Dandridge’s face, no longer seeing him as a man, but as an outlet for exorcising all his frustrations with Wentworth for not allowing him to return to Paris, with the halting search for Dashing, and with his own weakness—his foolishness—for Lucia.
“Alex! No!” Desperate fingers clawed at his sleeve. “Alex, stop!”
His hand paused in mid-air, fist clenched tight.
“No,” Lucia said again, and he glanced at her. Her eyes were wet with tears. Alex looked back at Dandridge, and the viscount swayed, then moaned. Alex tightened his grip. One more blow…
But it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t send him to Paris, it wouldn’t find Dashing, and it wouldn’t rid him of his desire for Lucia.
Bloody hell. He released Dandridge and allowed Lucia to pull them apart.
“Just leave, please, before he gets up,” she sobbed.
“I’m not going to leave you with him.”
He saw her glance at Dandridge. Her fiancé was crouching, arms thrown over his face to shield himself from further blows.
“You can see he’s no threat. I need to explain about my brother. He’ll understand once I explain.” Her voice was high, panicked. Alex wondered whether she was attempting to convince him or herself.
“But you have to go, Selbourne. Leave.”
Alex didn’t move.
“Please, Alex,” she whispered.
“Is that what you want?” Alex flicked a finger at Dandridge, still cowering and emitting small whines of pain.
Lucia closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. Her voice was so low that it was a moment before he comprehended her reply. “Yes.”
“I leave you to him.” Turning, Alex strode from the garden. He didn’t look back.
Chapter 13
“Oh!” Lucia winced.
“Sorry, miss. Another tangle.” Jane smiled at Lucia apologetically in the mirror of her rosewood dressing table and raised her weapon again.
“It’s my fault,” Lucia said. “I should have waited for you before I took my hair down.” But it seemed as though she’d been in a hurry about everything tonight. She couldn’t wait to leave Ethan and Francesca’s dinner party and only escaped the ball she was to have attended afterward by pleading a headache. For once her mother hadn’t argued with her, only kissed her forehead and told her to get some rest. After the night she’d had, rest was exactly what she needed. She rolled her stiff neck to get rid of the kinks and nodded absently at whatever Jane was saying.
The worst of it was that she hadn’t even lied about the headache. The pounding in her temples had begun with a vengeance as soon as Alex left the garden, and she’d been forced to soothe Reginald’s bristling temper.
He was angrier than she’d ever seen him. Even confiding her worries about her brother hadn’t dulled his fury. He’d appeared suitably sympathetic but obviously not sympathetic enough to refrain from lecturing her for a quarter of an hour. And, in what Lucia assum
ed was supposed to be a magnanimous gesture, Reginald had apologized. Well, he’d said he regretted that he’d been forced to behave in such an ungentlemanly fashion, which was the closest Lucia had ever seen him come to an apology. She closed her eyes, trying to still the drumsticks in her head. She prayed Reginald and Alex wouldn’t cross paths again for a long, long time. The mere idea brought the drumsticks back up to tempo.
With a groan, she dismissed Jane and curled up on her bed. Beside her, Gatto purred and kneaded her belly. Lucia could see the life ahead of her all too clearly now, and the picture was bleak. Lady Dandridge was never going to be satisfied with her. The dragon would always be sniffing out some fault or other to be corrected. Reginald was firmly under his mother’s thumb, not that Lucia expected to have any sway with him after tonight’s events anyway, but it was dispiriting to know for a certainty that she’d have little influence in her own marriage. She was miserable, and she wasn’t even married yet.
Her first impulse, as always, was to go to John with her worries. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d needed his advice more.
She rolled onto her back, and Gatto mewed in protest. “Oh, hush,” she said stroking him. Where was John? Was he safe? In good health? She was horribly selfish to be worrying about her own problems when John could be in real danger. But oh, how she needed him. Rising, she pulled on her slippers and lit a candle, then padded down the hallway to his room.
She opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately she felt better. John’s presence was strong here. She could almost smell Guard’s Bouquet, the cologne he favored, and hear his teasing laugh. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. Nothing had been moved, only dusted and straightened. Sinking onto the bed, she wondered if he’d left behind any clues to his whereabouts.
And then she wanted to kick herself because the possibility hadn’t occurred to her before.
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