“Lizzy, my mood has nothing to do with the occult, I assure you.”
She could not confide in Isabella now. Her cousin was married to Black. Black was a Brethren Guardian, the Brethren were hunting for Thomas, whom they believed killed Wendell Knighton and who might even be this mysterious Orpheus they talked of. It would put Issy in a terrible place, and Lucy couldn’t do it. Besides, all these revelations were too fresh. She needed time and solitude to sort them.
She knew so little of the facts, only this: she had given her embroidered handkerchief to Thomas, and then he had disappeared, believed to have died in a fire. Then he had been seen on the rooftop of the Masonic Lodge and witnessed to have shot Wendell Knighton. When Sussex had given chase, the lace had been dropped. Sussex’s description had led her to believe it was Thomas.
Despite dabbling in the occult, Lucy didn’t believe a man who was supposed to be dead could simply appear alive and well. Obviously Thomas had never died, if indeed the man Sussex had chased had been him. And because he had never died, she had to face the fact that for some reason, Thomas had wanted her to believe that he had. And that didn’t sit well with her. She had trusted him. He had promised to make her his wife. She’d believed that, but now…well, there were things that needed to be explained before she could make complete sense of this whole business. And there was still the matter of Sussex and his refusal to see Thomas as anything but his enemy. And she couldn’t even bring herself to think of the other concern with Sussex—that her father wanted her to marry him. That, she could not bring herself to think on.
“Ah, Lucy, you make me worry, cousin.”
“Issy,” she said, smiling as she reached for her cousin’s hand. “Truly, I’m fine.”
With a doubtful glance, Issy sat back against the squabs. “I shall not let this rest, you know. I can be as tenacious as dog with a bone.”
“I know. Trust me, I know your faults as well as my own.”
“Will you not at least think on the matter of Sussex? I know…that is…well, I have a feeling that Sussex has developed a rather strong attachment to you.”
She let out a loud, irritated sigh. “Isabella, you are a woman hopelessly in love, with a man who is just as hopelessly in love with you. Think on your marriage, now think on Sussex and myself. Do we appear to be anything more than barely civilized acquaintances?”
“One can feel that there is more between you than meets the eye.”
“In this you are wrong, Issy. Sussex wishes an alliance, and since he has Papa’s heartfelt approval, he’s focused on me to take to wife. It’s nothing short of a business transaction between Sussex and my father. And I won’t be a part of it.”
“How will you manage then tonight?” she asked. “Spending hours in the duke’s company?”
Closing her eyes, Lucy tried to forget the impending hours of torture that awaited her. “I will try to remember the expression on Lizzy’s face, that’s how. It is for her that I’m doing this.”
“She was rather enraptured by the idea, wasn’t she? What did you think of her story?” Isabella asked, quickly derailing their conversation. “I was completely shocked by it. The nerve and utter callousness of Alynwick!”
“Yes, how she must have suffered,” Lucy murmured. She recalled the trembling of Lizzy’s hands, and the way her eyes had filled with tears that would not spill.
“To abandon her because of her impending blindness. Oh, the cruelty. I won’t be able to look at him the same way again.”
There had been such sadness in Elizabeth’s gray eyes. Such pain. Lucy had felt an immediate connection with her friend at the moment, realizing that they shared the same sort of bond. A love most painful.
Lost in thought, Lucy continued to gaze out the window as the carriage made slow progress down the street to where Black’s and her father’s town houses stood across the road from one another.
The fashionable hour was approaching, and although it was November, those that remained in town still made the daily jaunt to Hyde Park to see and be seen.
The carriages blended into a sea of black; the sound of carriage wheels splashing into puddles mesmerized her. Isabella was chatting away. Lucy heard her voice in the distance, but couldn’t seem to focus on the conversation. Her mind was caught up in thoughts, and memories, and the beginnings of a plan for tonight.
Dipping to the right, the carriage made its turn down Grosvenor, her street. The streetlights had come on, and the misty rain was now becoming a heavy blanket of fog that wrapped itself around the lampposts. Her gaze, caught by the haunting beauty of the mist, lingered over a post, and a man who stood tall, his head bent, his silhouetted figure so familiar. Pulse quickening, she pressed against the side of the carriage, her gloved hand thrust against the window. Every nerve in her body stood to attention, and her breath froze in her lungs, as his head slowly raised, and a pair of dark eyes peered out at her from beneath the brim of his hat.
My God…
She gasped, and Isabella asked what was wrong. But how could she speak? What words did she say?
Arm lifting, he took the tall hat from his head, revealing the golden curls she remembered so well.
Thomas?
“Come to me…”
She saw him mouth those words, read them so easily as they spilled from his mouth. With a cry, she moved closer to the window, pressing up against it, as the carriage pulled away, tearing him from her field of vision. She wouldn’t allow it. She tried to call out to stop the carriage, but her voice would not work. Instead her entire being was frozen, trying to absorb everything, to recall this moment so she could think on it.
This was no vision or trance she was seeing. Not a dream, or a dead man walking amongst mist. He was real, and he was alive…and he had come for her.
Everything sharpened to clear focus. He was very much alive, and he was looking at her like he used to. No, Sussex was wrong about him. He was not a killer. But there were questions to be asked and answered.
Soon. She would find a way to him, and then her mind would be put to ease.
Wait for me, Thomas…
“YOU’RE NERVOUS.”
“Whatever gave you that notion?” Adrian grumbled as he struggled to cease fidgeting in the coach. He had already dispensed with his hat and greatcoat, yet sweat trickled down his neck, making his linen shirt stick to his skin. Despite the chill in the night Adrian felt hot and uncomfortable, the confines of the carriage nothing short of a cage that he felt compelled to prowl inside.
He was on edge, strung high and tight, and ready to explode with the energy that was tightly tethered inside him. He had been in a simmering rage ever since his meeting with Lucy in the conservatory. To finally have her feelings for him laid out before him was demoralizing—and anger-provoking. Never before had he felt like such a charlatan, an actor in a play he no longer wanted to perform. He wanted to be who he was, who he was born to be, not who his father said he must be. But he risked too much revealing his true self. He couldn’t show Lucy the truth inside him, and as a result he was left feeling like a rampaging boar.
Damn the woman, did she not have an inkling of his feelings? That he wanted her not only as his duchess, but his wife, his lover? Any other woman would have at least softened the blow, but not Lucy. She made damn clear her feelings so there would be no misunderstandings.
She did not want him. But he would bet his fortune that despite her feelings, she had wanted that kiss he teased her with.
“Good Lord, I can feel you flopping about over there like a rat with its leg caught in a trap.”
“Lizzy,” he said on a sigh, which of course made her laugh.
“Adrian, I have never known you to suffer from nerves. Shall I fetch my vinaigrette from my reticule?”
He glared across the carriage, not that it did much good. “You are the last woman in the world to suffer from swoons, Lizzy. I happen to know you would not be caught dead toting a vinaigrette.”
Her smile was brilliant in
the dim light of the carriage lamps. She looked radiant tonight, with her thick black hair piled high in an elaborate style. The mother of pearl clips she had used gave her a mystical, almost otherworldly aura. And the twilight-blue gown she wore was the perfect color to rest against her pale skin. How he wished she could have seen her own reflection in the looking glass.
“Lizzy, your beauty is dazzling,” he said as he reached for her hand. “Truly, I cannot imagine a more lovely woman.”
“Yes, you can, Adrian. Lucy Ashton.”
He groaned, unable to stand the torture of hearing her name. For weeks now, he had thought of that morning when he had cornered her in her father’s house. His thoughts had been consumed by her, and the way her green eyes had been flat and sad. He’d cut her to the quick, he had realized that, but the need to see deeper into her mind, and her secrets, ate at him like a poison that coursed through his blood.
She was not what she would have people think of her. She was not the aloof society miss who cared for naught but her own selfish needs. He knew that, just couldn’t understand why she sought comfort in such a thing as being thought of as selfish and indulged. But then, he had learned through his father’s “lessons” that there was nothing more repugnant than a weak man. The ton ate the weak for afternoon tea. He had seen it firsthand. Perhaps Lucy had learned that lesson as well, that a soft heart was easy prey for the vicious appetites of society.
Whatever the reason, she had not been distant that afternoon. No, she had softened as he held her, cradled her delicate face in his hands. By God, it had taken every ounce of self-discipline to keep his mind—and hands—in check. He had wanted to kiss her senseless, punish her lips with his own. And what was more, there had been a fleeting flash of her eyes that told him she had been waiting for his kiss. Or had he just wished it there? he wondered, not for the first time.
“It was very kind of Lucy to think of me,” Elizabeth said as the carriage rocked them in a slow, comforting sway. “She has become a very dear friend to me.”
He had hoped, at one time, that Lucy might be more to Elizabeth. A sister in marriage, as a matter of fact. But those plans had gone awry. But there was still hope. Still a plan that could be executed. It had not been a jest, what he had said that afternoon to her. He would become the very air she breathed, because he would not malinger, waiting for fate to tug him along. He was taking matters into his own hands, and those hands would not allow Lucy to discover and protect her lover. Fate would not take her away from him.
“It has become my mission to ensure her safety, brother. I can’t bear the thought that she has somehow gotten mixed up with this Orpheus fellow.”
There was no need to reply. Lizzy knew full well how he felt. Lucy’s safety was paramount. But so was finding Orpheus, and destroying him. His desire and affection for Lucy could not change that, or what he was—a Brethren Guardian. Lucy would be his, and Orpheus, despite her attempts to shield him, would be his as well.
“Oh, how I wish you hadn’t arrived home when you did,” Elizabeth murmured. “I suspect I was this close—” Adrian watched as Lizzy held up her thumb and index finger, spacing them so that they were almost touching each other “—to having Lucy spilling her secrets.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you, I wonder?”
Uncomfortable with the obvious underlying question, Adrian cleared his throat and gazed out through the window at the gathering fog. The prudent thing to have done was to leave the ladies to their own devices. But one look at Lucy had left his brain devoid of every proper—and discerning—thought. He’d wanted to be near her, and he had thought of nothing else but fulfilling that goal.
How lovely she looked taking tea in the salon—a part of his house, his family, him. He couldn’t keep from staring at her, mesmerized by her flawless skin, her beautiful eyes, the way her throat worked as she swallowed. He had been consumed by images of his dark head covering her, his lips pressed to the expanse of delicate flesh. He imagined his tongue gliding up the fragile column of her throat, lingering over her pulse.
He’d been hard as steel, and disgusted with himself. Dukes were above base desires. Or so his father had drilled into him. With a snort, he mentally mocked his sire, who was nothing but a damn hypocrite of the highest order.
He wasn’t a hypocrite, but he was a fraud. He was a duke, but he was also a man. And he most assuredly was not above the carnal desires that ruled his mind and body when Lucy Ashton was near.
“What were you about this afternoon, brother?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She laughed. “Yes, you do. That talk of gossip! It was rather unorthodox.”
“My curiosity got the better of me, that is all.”
“I think Lady Black might have been scandalized.”
He snorted. “You know Black as well as I, Lizzy. Isabella is married to the man. I daresay, very little must scandalize her.”
“Still, you made a rather large muck of my plans, brother. Now I will have to rack my brain for another scheme in which to get Lucy to share her secrets.”
“You are excellent with stratagems, Lizzy. I’m quite certain you will devise a nefarious plan to have Lucy part with her treasured secrets.”
And he for one didn’t want to hear them. He didn’t think he could bear it. Many a night he had thought of another man’s hands on Lucy, and it had nearly driven him mad. He only wanted one chance with her—that was all it would take for her to see the man behind the title. But Lucy, it appeared, was not going to be generous, and allow him to court her. She might have wanted his kiss that afternoon, but kissing and courting with the intention of marriage were two vastly different objectives.
Strangely he wondered at her stubborn refusal to think of him as anything other than infuriating. Especially when she had allowed the man who called himself Orpheus to deflower her, then abandon her. Him? He was barely tolerated for a waltz. But she had wanted his kiss….
“You never said—did you discover anything when you met with Black and Alynwick this afternoon?”
The intrusion of Lizzy’s voice was welcome. He was dwelling too much on Lucy, and the unabated desire that always seemed to seethe inside him. “Nothing much, I am afraid. Alynwick has found a lead that should aid us in getting inside the House of Orpheus, but other than that, there is not much news to tell.”
“Alynwick,” his sister snorted with derision. “I would not put too much stock in his leads,” she warned, “for they only wind up leading to one place, some woman’s boudoir.”
He glanced across the carriage at his sister who was sitting serenely composed. He knew she had no love for Alynwick, but lately she was much more vocal about the marquis. For some strange reason he felt defensive of Alynwick, and dearly wanted to share with her what he had learned today. But it was not the sort of topic one discussed with a lady of good breeding. Something told him that Elizabeth would not look fondly, or favorably upon the marquis’s involvement with Lady Larabie. Even if it was a good faith gesture to aid the Brethren Guardians.
“I am hoping that Lucy and I might find some time alone this evening to discuss matters. I feel she trusts me enough to share her very great secret. More than that, I sense she actually desires the chance to talk about it. There is a very unsettled feeling within her, I think. One I hope I might be able to appease.”
He didn’t reply. He’d seen the look in her eyes, the sadness and pain, and had wanted to take her in his arms, and kiss it away.
“That is my very subtle way of telling you, brother, that I do hope you’ll not attempt to monopolize her company all evening.”
He scowled. “I do not monopolize her,” he snapped. “Quite the contrary.”
Elizabeth broke into a brilliant smile. “And this afternoon, what was that, then?”
“Discourse,” he snapped.
“One does not need eyes to see that you will have to work very hard to gain not only her trust, but her heart.”
&nb
sp; “Perhaps I don’t want her heart,” he growled as he folded his arms over his chest. He was sulking, he knew, and was uncharacteristically grateful that his sister couldn’t see him. Him, a grown man—a duke—sulking like a ten-year-old in ruffles and short pants.
“That is like saying a man imprisoned in a dungeon does not crave light. Sussex, you’re a fool if you think you can make me believe that you’ve changed not only your mind, but heart, toward Lucy Ashton.”
“Lizzy,” he warned, “you’re beginning to act like all the other females of the ton. You talk too much.”
She smiled, and he glanced away despite the fact she could not see him, or the emotion and thoughts in his eyes. “The course of true love never did run smooth. That is the quote, isn’t it?”
“Shakespeare didn’t know what he was talking about when he wrote that.”
“Really? You presume to know what the bard did or did not know?”
With a groan, he laid his head back against the squabs. “You are the most maddening female I know.”
“Really? What a wonderful compliment. It is nice to learn I can be provoking.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“And I’m not fooled. You do not find me provoking, you find this topic, and Lucy’s cool reception of you, provoking.”
Thankfully the carriage rounded the corner and began to slow, preventing him from answering. “We’re here. I won’t be but a minute.”
Lizzy held out her hand, halting him. “Lucy needs time, Adrian. And…” Elizabeth flushed, and Adrian could only stare at his sister in wonder. “Perhaps some gentle persuasion. You know, you don’t have to be a duke all the time, brother. Sometimes it is perfectly acceptable to a lady for you to be just a man.”
Closing his eyes, Adrian thought of how those words were going to haunt him for the entire evening. Just be a man… If only he could, but the weight of his title and reputation would not allow it; neither would the secrets he carried with him.
CHAPTER NINE
Pride & Passion Page 9
