“She has bewitched you from the first moment, has she not?” Heathcliff lifted his brandy in a salute.
“I wouldn’t call it bewitching,” Lucas grumbled.
“No? I wish you could have seen yourself when I was dancing with her. The bloody cotillion, and you were ready to engage in fisticuffs.” Heathcliff chuckled darkly.
“I—”
Heathcliff cut off his friend’s words. “No, if you lie, then lie to yourself. You are the only person in this room who will believe it.”
“Aptly spoken.” Lucas sighed.
“Besides, why are you complaining? You get to ruin a very beautiful, willing, and eager woman. One who stirs your blood and engages your mind—and yet you complain?” Heathcliff arched a dark brow.
“The scandal—”
“You’re starting to sound like Ramsey,” Heathcliff remarked with irritation.
“Am not,” Lucas bit out, offended, then his emotions shifted to shame as he realized the accuracy of his friend’s statement. “Damn and blast. This, this, is why I’m regretting this decision! Because it is creating an environment in which I have no control.”
“Ah.” Heathcliff nodded once, then refilled his glass of brandy. The sound of the liquid splashing in the crystal glass was obnoxiously loud to Lucas’s already frayed nerves.
“Is that all the insight you have to give?” Lucas asked.
Heathcliff sipped his brandy in response, then hitched a shoulder. “Perhaps. Rather, I have a different question. How are you supposed to ruin Lady Liliah when you are here”—he gestured to the grand office—“and she is cloistered in luxury in her father’s residence in Mayfair?”
Lucas’s lips bent into a grin, his body relaxing as he considered the challenge. “Details.” He hitched a shoulder. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past the minx to waltz into the club once more, or somewhere just as improper. It’s almost as if she views her predicament as if she has nothing to lose.” He muttered the last words to himself.
“One can never comprehend the logic of a female.” Heathcliff raised his glass in a salute.
Lucas nodded in agreement.
“But that still doesn’t answer my question,” Heathcliff remarked after a moment.
Lucas frowned. “The first step is attending another blasted party.”
“I suppose there are worse things. It did seem to attract an uncommon amount of attention—this will only be good for business, you know.”
“True,” Lucas agreed, “as much as I loathe admitting it.”
“What is your timeline?” Heathcliff asked, setting down his empty glass on the sideboard. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and regarded Lucas.
Lucas’s brow pinched. “This isn’t courting. Thank heavens. I expect to take care of the situation within a week.”
“Situation? Is that we are calling seduction?”
“This isn’t seduction. This is sex. Not lovemaking, not anything romantic. This is—is ruination.”
“How in heaven’s name you took something as delightful as sex and turned it cold, I’ll have no idea. Do try to at least enjoy yourself.” Heathcliff rolled his eyes.
“I doubt that will be an issue.” Of all the concerns he had with the arrangement, lack of enjoyment was the least.
“Then at least make it good for her. You know it is the gentlemanly thing to do,” Heathcliff responded with a chuckle.
“Ah, and here I thought ruining an innocent wasn’t exactly a gentlemanly act. Odd.” Lucas arched a brow.
“You know what I mean.” Heathcliff raised a hand dismissively. “You do remember how to please a woman, don’t you?”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Some skills don’t require practice.”
“You would know,” Heathcliff shot back, grinning unrepentantly. “Who would have thought the mastermind behind a gentleman’s pleasure club would be a self-denying monk?”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “I’m not nearly as holy. And I’m quite certain that my lifestyle wouldn’t be considered religious.”
“That’s vastly accurate; however, it does beg the question . . .” Heathcliff took a step toward Lucas, his gaze sharpening to the point where Lucas began to feel uncomfortable.
“The question?” Lucas asked, holding his ground.
“How did a slip of a girl, innocent to boot, single-handedly ended your dry streak? Because it isn’t as if women haven’t tried before . . . yet they all failed where she . . . succeeded.” He arched a brow and walked past Lucas to the door.
Lucas watched his retreat, his words hanging heavy in the air.
“Remember what I said, Lucas. Lie, but don’t expect anyone to believe it but you.”
As he closed the door, Lucas wondered if perhaps he was doing just that—lying to himself.
Because he wanted her, when he shouldn’t.
He said yes, when he normally would have said no.
And bloody hell, if he wasn’t absolutely determined to make good on his word.
Perhaps more than once.
Chapter Fifteen
Liliah glared at her door.
Her father’s words had been bitter, cold, and unfeeling. How was it possible to have children and act so hateful toward them? She simply couldn’t fathom it. Yet, she would never know firsthand.
Not if her father got his way.
If she married Meyer, she’d never know the joy of having a child, never experience the love one has for a daughter or a son.
It wasn’t as if she wanted a child now, but . . . it seemed extra cruel to take away her choice to have one in the future.
Hot tears stung her cheeks as she considered her father’s scolding. He had waited till they were secure in the carriage before he had spoken with dark, low tones.
Wicked.
Rebellious.
Shameful.
Harlot.
All the words flooded back, yet she imagined herself like the ducks swimming in the Serpentine during the rain—all the water rolling down their backs and dripping back into the pond. She imagined her father’s words having the same effect.
Yet, try as she might, there was still a slight sting.
How she hated him.
She heard a slight knock on the door, far too timid to be a maid or one of the guards her father had posted outside her room.
Damn the man.
It could only be one person.
“Samantha?” Liliah called out. “Come in.”
The door slowly cracked open, and her sister entered, casting a wary glance behind her as she shut the door.
“Guards, Lil? Whatever did you do this time?” Samantha asked softly, without accusation.
Liliah sighed, scooting over on her bed to make room for her sister, younger by two years. “It’s a long story.”
Samantha arched a light brow, taking a spot beside Liliah and facing her fully. “I do believe we have the time to spare.” A small smile tipped her lips.
Where Liliah had lighter features, Samantha was her opposite: dark hazel eyes were framed by long dark lashes the same tint as her hair, the color of richly brewed tea and just as comforting.
“You are certainly aware of my current predicament with Meyer.” Liliah flopped back in an utterly unladylike manner onto her bed, staring at the ceiling of her room.
“Indeed,” Samantha replied timidly, following her sister’s example and reclining in a much more ladylike fashion.
Liliah turned to meet her sister’s questioning gaze. “I didn’t meet his expectations last night, and he is quite put out.”
Samantha nodded. “Put out might be an understatement. He’s never posted guards outside your door, Liliah.” Samantha’s gaze was wary.
“True, it is quite irritating.” With a huff, Liliah blew away a strand of stray hair from her lips.
“I find it quite alarming. What exactly happened?”
Liliah studied her sister, wondering just how much to tell her. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her; it was that
she wished to protect her.
If their father cornered her sister, she would feel the need to protect Liliah’s secrets, even to her own detriment. Frowning, Liliah chose to keep the story rather generic.
“I didn’t dance the final waltz with Meyer, and the duke is quite angry that he must wait till tomorrow’s rout at the Brighamns to finalize the details he wished to already have accomplished.” Liliah turned her gaze upward to the ceiling so that Samantha wouldn’t suspect that her story wasn’t complete.
“I see,” Samantha replied simply.
Liliah’s tense body relaxed as she realized her sister wasn’t going to question her further. Yet she mourned the ability to divulge all her secrets! To explain the delight and powerful experience that it was to waltz with Luc! To explain the way her heart pounded fiercely, and how her body heated with a touch—it was incredible.
Yet, she dare not speak a word of it.
At least not yet.
“Then I’m assuming you’re not going to accompany me to Bond Street to shop today,” Samantha replied with a disappointed tone.
Liliah closed her eyes in remorse. She had forgotten she’d made plans with her sister.
“Perhaps we can ask?” Liliah said with a hopeful tone for her sister’s benefit, almost certain their father would refuse such a request.
“No. Let’s not risk his ire further. I do not need another bonnet, or another dress for my come-out next season.”
At the mention of Samantha’s first season, Liliah turned to her sister to study her. She would be one of the Incomparables of the season for sure. With her beautiful features and large dowry, it would be a season to remember. Yet a cold chill shivered down her back.
What if their father had already made plans for Samantha’s match, just as he’d made plans for hers?
What if Samantha’s season was nothing but a sham?
And who would be the object of their father’s schemes? It was troubling.
“Why are you frowning so?” Samantha inquired, rising up on her elbow to regard her sister.
“It is of no consequence. Tell me, what did you do yesterday?”
Samantha’s expression brightened. “Lil, I indulged in the most fascinating book! It was a detailed description of India!” Samantha continued to give the details of her reading, and Liliah considered her sister’s immense joy in study.
Truly, it was a shame she wasn’t able to attend Eton and further her studies. If there was a book to be had, her sister would devour it. It was a joy for their governess to tutor Samantha, while it had been a trial for the governess to tutor Liliah. But that was the case for most things.
Samantha didn’t rebel.
Samantha listened.
Samantha was the perfect daughter.
And rather than be jealous, Liliah’s heart pinched with fear as she listened to her beautiful sister. Because when the Duke of Chatterwood controlled your future, obedience was the one thing that might destroy you.
Chapter Sixteen
The Brighamns’ estate was one of the oldest in Mayfair, and as such, it was a stone monster in size while lacking some of the more modern comforts. Lucas ascended the marble steps as his carriage pulled away, cursing Heathcliff for refusing to attend the rout with him.
Lucas had inquired as to why he declined.
“Do you need assistance in seduction?” Heathcliff had replied, his tone thick with insinuation.
Lucas had left him in the study as he growled out an inarticulate response to his friend’s idiocy.
Yet now, as he faced the stone palace, he reluctantly admitted he missed his companion.
Damn the man.
The hall was bustling with the lords and ladies of the ton as each filtered into the grand ballroom in the middle of the residence. The crystal chandelier sprayed fragments of candlelight across the foyer, making the room sparkle with a soft glow. A lady with a heavily feathered hat brushed against Lucas, nearly making him sneeze.
He stepped away, almost bumping into another lady. Her catlike expression reminded him of a drawing he’d seen of the mountain lions of the Americas—fierce, calculating, and predatory. He’d seen the expression many times before.
And each time it made his stomach revolt. Unless she wished to work for him, he had no use for her . . . services.
Because every time he saw the predatory gaze, he thought of Catherine.
Blood cold, he strode ahead, his mind churning with memories he’d rather forget.
Memories he wished could remain buried with his dead wife.
May the bitch rot in hell.
He searched for a distraction. Damn it all, this was why he refused to attend parties.
It was better when he could control the environment, the people, the situation.
Then nothing could remind him of his past.
Rather, he could live as if it never happened.
Rather, pretend that it all had happened to someone else.
Which was partly true, because the day everything went to hell, the man he once was, died.
May that poor bastard rest in peace.
Lucas walked across the threshold of the hall into the ballroom. The estate had been updated with gas lights, which was likely the only update the old place had recently experienced. It wasn’t that the Brighamns were poor in pocket, but it was well-known that they happened to spend the majority of their time in Ireland, not London.
Lucas studied the room, his gaze coolly searching for Lady Liliah. It was some sort of temporary madness for him to have had such a powerful response to her last time—one he was certain he wouldn’t experience again. It was dangerous to give a woman control of your emotions.
Control of anything.
He’d be wise to remember that.
Scanning the crowd, his gaze narrowed as he saw the Duke of Chatterwood, Liliah’s father. There was another ghost from his past. Except for a few occasions at parliament, he hadn’t seen the bastard for years. Not only was he one of the most arrogant men he’d ever met—and he had met quite a few—he was also a constant thorn in the Tories’ side, a true Whig to the core. The man was a pestilence wherever he went.
A tall, wiry man, it was odd how such a severe person could be the father of the vivacious Lady Liliah. As if thinking her name conjured her, the Duke of Chatterwood stepped to the side, revealing his daughter in a beautiful yellow gown that was the perfect mix of innocence and seduction.
Lucas’s blood pounded with desire as he studied her perfect form hidden artfully within the folds and tucks of her gown. Yet as he studied her, he noticed how her expression held no joy, none of the exuberant nature he’d come to expect in the short time of their acquaintance.
Moving closer, he circled their position, keeping the pair in view as he evaluated the situation. The duke was speaking with another gentleman of his own age, yet every few seconds, he would subtly reach over and grasp his daughter’s wrist.
Holding her close.
Holding her hostage.
The man was either brilliant or a tyrant.
Certainly Lady Liliah was trouble and more than a hoyden, but taking into account all that Lady Liliah had said regarding her and Meyer’s entanglement, he suspected that the man was a tyrant.
Running his household much like he ran his politics.
Controlling the circumstances and the secrets he held captive.
Under his thumb, able to be manipulated.
Lucas understood the need for control.
Yet as he watched the duke’s hand squeeze Liliah’s wrist, Lucas’s blood boiled.
Mine.
Again the simple yet damning word filtered through his mind.
So much for the emotional stoicism he was attempting.
Yet with her father closely guarding her, there was precious little he could do without provoking the duke’s ire, which in turn would prove to distress Liliah further.
He was damned if he did something.
And damned if he didn’t.
This was why he wanted Heathcliff present. Surely he’d have some idea as to how to address the conundrum.
Lucas meandered away from Liliah’s position and instead searched for Meyer. Sure enough, he found him beside Lady Rebecca, speaking in low tones. To the left and several paces away stood a silver-haired man with an ample paunch and a neck that nearly drowned his cravat. His study of the two young people was overly attentive, and Lucas’s curiosity was piqued.
Leaning against a pillar, Lucas ignored the whispers of the people who took not-so-discreet glances up and down his person as they passed. As if aware of the scrutiny, Meyer’s gaze met his. A flicker of curiosity flashed across his features before he bowed smartly to Lady Rebecca and made his way toward Lucas.
Lucas gave another bow, then simply nodded to Meyer, then shifted his gaze to the man with the silver hair, still watching from his post. “Friend of yours?”
Meyer’s quizzical expression shifted to anger as he turned to follow Lucas’s gaze. “No. That would be my father.”
Lucas nodded. “Can’t say I see the family resemblance.”
“Good heavens, I hope not,” Meyer replied with emphasis, then he adjusted his cravat slightly. “He’s been overly . . . attentive.”
“Ah, so you noticed his study of you and your lady?” Lucas said, studying Meyer’s reaction.
Meyer’s eyes widened ever so slightly, giving away more than his words could. “Speaking of... friends.” Meyer squared his shoulders, regarding Lucas coolly. “What of Lady Liliah? You seem to be quite curious?” He spoke the statement as a question.
“Lady Liliah is none of your concern, unless you wish to rescue her from her overbearing arse of a father, who keeps assuring himself that she is not fleeing the scene. It’s as if she’s suspected of a crime.” Lucas studied his nails, then gave a bored expression to Meyer, waiting for his response.
“In some circles, defiance is a crime,” Meyer replied, but without heat, only a defeated tone. “It is unfortunate for Lady Liliah, however I’m quite certain that any intercession I might try would only make the situation worse.”
“Is that so?” Lucas replied, irritation growing for the man before him. “You could offer to dance, could you not?”
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