His Wicked Seduction (2 page)

Lucien ignored the curious stares and simply enjoyed the relief at being able to see Horatia home without another life-threatening incident.

When they reached the Sheridan residence, Horatia slid her drenched cloak off her shoulders and excused herself as she fled upstairs with the package. Lucien lingered in the hall, watching the flutter of her wet skirts, wishing he could follow her to her chambers and slip into the hot water of the bath she was no doubt going to take. The thought of Horatia, naked in a bath was only slightly less tempting than the dream he’d had the night before about her. She haunted his thoughts all too often of late.

“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 remained 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.

She let Ursula dress her. When she had finished, Horatia walked out of her room and towards the stairs. A black and white cat strolled into view, its yellow eyes wide and a dead mouse hanging limp between its teeth.

“Muff! You know better than to bring your presents inside!”

She darted after the cat. Muff ran down the stairs and past the main door into an unused parlor. The cat slipped between the marble fireplace and the fire grate, vanishing from sight, along with its prize.

“Oh honestly,” Horatia growled as she pulled back the grate.

Muff had disappeared up into the fireplace, possibly even the chimney. The dinner guests would be here soon and she couldn’t risk getting covered in soot. Luckily no servants would light the fire in this room tonight. Hopefully the cat would have enough sense to vacate the chimney before morning.

Muff was one of a pair of cats residing at the Sheridan townhouse on Curzon Street. The other cat, Mittens, was a black female. Cedric had bought them for Audrey as a Christmas present when she’d been a child. She’d also been given a pair of mittens and a muff, and had naturally named her cats the same. But that was the sort of thing Audrey would do back then.

The felines were quite ancient now. Horatia dreaded the day she’d find one or both of them passed away. They were her faithful companions, guardians of the library, defenders of the kitchen.

Horatia was more reserved and subdued than Audrey. She had few friends and often spent her days reading or riding. The cats would join her in a window seat or a chair and curl their tails around their bodies, purring with unconditional love. Being around them she forgot her troubles, forgot that she desired a man who was nothing but cold to her.

The front door knocker rapped. Audrey flew past the open study door, her face beaming with excitement. It seemed her sister had recovered from her scolding. Horatia hesitated before joining her in the hall. She knew Lucien would be there, and as always, she was torn between wanting to see him and dreading his callous disregard of her. Taking a deep breath, she went out to meet her guests.

Her eyes always found Lucien first. Among the group of handsome men standing in the hall, he alone enraptured her. With dark red hair just long enough to curl above his collar and burning hazel eyes, he was temptation personified. Horatia would happily fall at his feet and offer her body, heart and soul to him as tribute. But he’d reject her, just as he always did.

Lucien’s gaze fixed on her while the rest of the crowd headed towards the drawing room. He remained still, tracking her every breath, every move. The gleam in his eyes startled her as a flash of heat went from her breasts down between her legs. Her face flushed. Lucien answered with a cold smile, as though he knew exactly what he’d done to her.

Lucien offered her his arm, and she hesitated only a moment before crossing the hall and dropping her fingers onto his sleeve. He tucked her arm more firmly in his, the warmth of his fingers burning her skin. She glanced about, wondering if anyone would notice, but no eyes looked her way. Unable to resist, she leaned into him, settling her arm in the crook of his, relishing the warmth where their bodies touched.

“Shall we?” Lucien’s voice was soft and dark. A tone more suited for the bedroom than the hall.

Her throat went dry, but she managed a shaky nod.

After dinner Lucien and the other men opted to play whist, but he couldn’t focus on the cards. The ladies in the far corner of the room had his attention. Ursula, one of the Sheridan girls’ lady’s maid sat in a chair, reading from a thick tome, oblivious to her young charges. Horatia and Audrey sat on either side of Emily, the young Duchess of Essex. Emily and Horatia were clad in shimmering gowns, while Audrey’s was a light pink muslin. Their heads bent close as they whispered, making him think of three fairies who escaped from the court of Queen Mab in
Romeo and Juliet
. Occasionally one shot a glance at the men before returning to their secretive conversation.

Lucien would have paid anything to be a fly nestled on the wall close to them—to better see Horatia’s lips part and form each word, just as much as he’d love to have those lips wrapped around his aching shaft, sucking him to sweet oblivion.

Christ
. Lucien forced his gaze away from her.

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Charles asked him.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one dying of curiosity.

“God, I wish I knew,” he admitted truthfully, just as Audrey broke into a fit of giggles.

Charles waggled his fingers at Audrey and blew her a kiss. Audrey blushed and quickly turned her back on them.

“You ought not to encourage her, Charles. She’s young and impressionable.” Lucien remembered all too well the perils of having a lovesick child follow him about.

“What is there to encourage? The little sprite hasn’t the least bit of interest in me.” Charles smiled wryly. He leaned back in his chair in a picture of relaxed ease.

“What? Are you sure? I always thought maybe she…” Lucien trailed off when he noticed Audrey’s head turn in a very definite direction, and it wasn’t towards Charles.

“Oh dear,” Lucien kept his voice low. Audrey clearly had eyes for Godric’s half-brother, Jonathan.

“Oh dear, indeed. We best watch out for fireworks. Cedric will rip Jonathan to pieces.” The smug look on Charles’s face nearly made Lucien laugh.

“You
want
him to get caught, don’t you?”

Charles yawned. “This month has been a dead bore as you well know. After Tisdale gave his notice I just haven’t been out as much unless it’s with you. Watching Cedric chase Jonathan about town over Audrey’s honor would certainly entertain me.”

Lucien’s humor fizzled. If Cedric ever found out that he wanted Horatia—in ways that would bring a blush to a courtesan’s cheeks—Lucien was a dead man.

When the men finished their game of whist and downed the last of the brandy, they decided the evening was at last over.

“That’s enough for me.” Godric turned towards the ladies. “Come along, Em. Time to depart.”

Emily didn’t spare her husband a glance. She had one hand on Horatia’s shoulder and another on Audrey’s while she spoke to the pair of them in a huddle. None of the men really bothered trying to figure out what women whispered about. Lucien guessed it would always remain one of life’s mysteries, like why a woman needed countless bonnets when they were such ugly and useless things. It was a damned nuisance trying to untie yards of unnecessary ribbons in order to touch a woman’s hair while he was kissing her.

“That’s an unholy alliance if I ever saw one,” Cedric noted.

The Sheridan sisters were trouble enough, but adding Emily was like a lit match near a very large powder keg.

“I’d best collect my wife before she causes trouble,” Godric replied.

Lucien didn’t miss Godric’s pleased tone as he had said ‘wife.’

Godric stood, then walked quietly over and plucked her away from the group, scooping her up into his arms.

“Godric!” Emily kicked her feet in outrage. “Put me down at once!”

“I don’t think so, my dear. It’s time I put you to bed.” Godric bent his head low so his face was inches from hers.

“Oh if you must.” She tried to sound reluctant, but there was a breathless quality to her voice that fooled no one. For a moment, Lucien was struck with a sharp sense of envy. If Horatia weren’t related to his friend, he would have been carrying her out the door in the same fashion, to find the nearest bed.

“Good night, everyone!” Godric called over his shoulder as he and Emily left the drawing room.

Cedric shook his head, but his eyes glinted with merriment. “By the way they act I swear you’d never know they were married.”