My Lord Eternity (9 page)

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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: My Lord Eternity
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At least for the moment she was safe.
 
 
Jocelyn knew she was being a coward.
For three days she had virtually hidden herself in the small, stuffy study. She had avoided Meg and Lucien with determined care and even neglected those upon the streets who so depended upon her.
A part of her was embarrassed by her sudden bout of brooding self-pity. It had been years since she had allowed the pain of her scandal to darken her heart. It was the past. Wishing that she had not been such a foolish, headstrong maiden could alter nothing.
But the encounter with Lord Patten had ripped open the wounds that had never fully healed.
She might easily tell herself to forget the gentleman who had been her downfall and concentrate upon the life she had made for herself, but the heavy mood would not lift.
She was standing before the window, gazing blindly at the narrow street, when she was suddenly aware that Lucien had entered the room.
There had been no sound, no indication of his arrival, but Jocelyn knew beyond a doubt he was standing in the doorway.
It was, in truth, rather frightening to realize just how sensitive she had become to his presence. She knew when he was in the house, and where. She knew when he drew near. Absurdly, it even seemed that she could sense what he was feeling and even at times what thoughts were within him.
At the moment she sensed a tightly bound frustration within him that seemed almost to reach out and stroke over her skin.
With an effort she smoothed her expression and slowly turned to encounter the smoldering golden gaze.
As always she caught her breath at the sight of him. Although plainly attired in a smoke-gray coat and black breeches, there was nothing unassuming about him. Instead, there was a compelling beauty in the lean features and golden eyes that commanded attention.
“Lucien,” she breathed softly.
Easily holding her gaze captive, he crossed to stand before her. “This cannot go on, my dove.”
Jocelyn shivered as those tingles of awareness washed through her. “Pardon me?”
“I have allowed you to hide from me for days. My patience is wearing thin.”
A hint of color touched her cheeks. It was one thing to know she was cowering from the world. It was quite another to be confronted with her cowardice.
“Do not be ridiculous,” she attempted to bluff. “I am not hiding.”
He arched a dark golden brow. “No?”
“I have been very busy.” Her hand absently waved toward the desk that was littered with papers. “It is not a simple matter to run two separate households.”
His expression remained stern. “Perhaps not simple, but you are far too competent to be forced to devote every hour of the day to accounts.”
It was impossible to deny the truth in his words. No one would believe that she must spend such long hours adding up columns of numbers.
With a frown she wrapped her arms about her waist. “Is there something you need?”
Surprisingly his lips twisted in a rather rueful fashion. “Your company would be a pleasant change.”
Her heart gave a sudden leap at his tempting words. There was no denying that the presence of Lucien always managed to lighten her day. Even when she was determined to remain aloof and indifferent to his persuasive charm he lured her into forgetting herself. How could any maiden resist such a potent charm?
But while she was forced to acknowledge that he could provide her with a much-needed comfort, she discovered herself reluctant to press her poor spirits upon him.
It was hardly fair to ruin his day as well.
“You would do better to seek companionship elsewhere,” she warned him with a sigh. “I am not in the humor for entertainments.”
The golden eyes shimmered wryly at her sad tones. “No, you would rather brood over your encounter with Lord Patten.”
Her lips thinned at his taunting. “It is not amusing.”
“No.” His expression became somber. “Nor is it wise. Brooding upon the past will not change it, Jocelyn. There is no magic that will accomplish such a feat.”
It was what she had told herself a hundred times over the past few days. That did not, however, make it any easier.
She abruptly turned about to gaze out the window. “Do you have no regrets?” she demanded in unconsciously bitter tones. “Nothing you would alter if you were able?”
There was a pause before Jocelyn felt warm hands lightly touch her shoulders, offering her an unspoken strength.
“None of us is without regrets,” he murmured. “We have all taken paths that were less than smooth, but they quite often teach us lessons that must be learned.”
Jocelyn battled the urge to lean back into the warm comfort of his chest. She was not so lost to reason that she did not sense that every day, every moment, she became more and more entangled with this gentleman.
Not just in the desire that was undeniable between them. But in a far more dangerous manner.
One that might very well break her heart.
“Some lessons are more painful than others,” she muttered.
“True enough.” The disturbing fingers gently squeezed her shoulders. “Tell me of Lord Patten.”
She tensed at the soft question, but for once she did not cringe from the painful memories. Instead, she allowed her thoughts to reluctantly return to those days that seemed to be a lifetime ago.
“I met him during my first Season in London,” she slowly confessed. “He was handsome, charming, and I was incredibly naive.”
“You fell in love with him?” Lucien demanded in oddly thick tones.
Jocelyn shuddered. Love? Oh, no, there had been nothing pure or beautiful about her feelings for Lord Patten. Instead, they had been too sordid to admit without a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“No,” she whispered with a grimace. “I do not even have that excuse. You see, in Surrey I was considered the most beautiful and sought-after debutante in the county. There was no gentleman who did not vie for my attention.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Hardly surprising.”
Her own expression remained dark. “I was spoiled, willful, and vain. A dangerous combination.”
“You are far too hard upon yourself, Jocelyn.”
She gave a shake of her head. “No, it is the simple truth. I came to London expecting to dazzle the
ton
with my charms and, of course, to discover a husband who would offer me wealth and position.”
His fingers abruptly tightened upon her shoulders. “Of course.”
“It did not seem a difficult task.” She paused for a moment, shamed by her memories. “I was swiftly toasted as an Incomparable, and within a fortnight I had received a dozen offers of marriage. It was all far too easy . . . even dull.”
“Yes,” he murmured.
“I began to long for excitement.”
“You desired a challenge.”
“Yes.”
“And you found it in Lord Patten?”
She recalled the giddy excitement she felt when he walked into the room and the petulant annoyance when he seemed indifferent to her charm. He swiftly consumed her every thought.
Now she could only wonder at her vast stupidity.
“He was very clever. Of all the gentlemen who fought to gain my favor, he alone remained aloof. No matter how I flirted, he refused to be captivated.”
“Which only made you more determined to capture his elusive attention,” he swiftly concluded.
“Of course.” She gave a short, humorless laugh.
“It was all a game to him. A game which he had mastered, while I was a bumbling idiot.”
Lucien shifted closer, his breath brushing the bare skin of her neck with delicious warmth.
“What happened?”
Her hands unconsciously clenched in tight fists, the nails biting into her palms. It was only in her nightmares that she ever allowed the haunting memories to return.
“I was attending Lady Glendale's ball. It was absurdly stuffy, and I stepped onto the terrace. Lord Patten joined me there. As usual, he was quite flippant, and I grew annoyed at his mocking disdain.” She was forced to pause and take a steadying breath. “I informed him that I was not quite the innocent fool that he thought me to be.”
“I presume that he was eager to discover the truth of your words?” he demanded in scathing tones.
“He dared me to join him in a nearby grotto. I quite willingly agreed.”
Without warning Lucien was gently but quite firmly turning her to meet his probing gaze. She was startled to discover the grim expression that had hardened his elegant features.
“He attempted to seduce you?”
Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks at his blunt question. “Yes.”
The golden eyes shimmered with a formidable danger. “Did he harm you?”
Jocelyn gave a slow shake of her head. In truth it would be easier to admit if Lord Patten had forced himself upon her. At least then she could lay the blame upon him. But she could not in all honesty deny that she was quite eager to explore the heat of his kisses.
“No. It was all terribly exciting for a brief time. This was the danger I had desired. Then . . . my father came in search of me.”
He grimaced. “That was no doubt unpleasant.”
A sharp, ruthless pain flared through her as the bitter words of her father echoed through her mind.
“He was furious, of course. He demanded that Lord Patten wed me by special license.”
“But the nobleman refused?”
“Yes. He claimed that I had followed him to the grotto and tossed myself upon him.”
Disdain rippled over Lucien's countenance. “A coward as well as a rake.”
“And a liar,” she added for good measure. “In truth I was relieved I was not to be forced to wed him. I realized at that moment that such a marriage would be a misery.”
His hand lifted to cup her cheek. “I am relieved as well. You deserve much better than the likes of Lord Patten. Still, it could not have been easy for you.”
“It was horrid,” she retorted, her stomach rolling with a queasy regret. “The word of my scandal spread through London by the next morning. My parents . . .”
“What, Jocelyn?” he demanded as her words trailed to silence. “What did they do?”
She struggled to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Never before had she confessed to anyone the bitter confrontation she had endured with her parents. She was uncertain that she could even speak the words.
“I . . . they informed me that the shame I had brought upon them was insufferable,” she at last managed to get out in bleak tones. “As far as they were concerned, I was now dead and would be sent to live with a distant cousin. I would be given a quarterly allowance, but I was never to enter their house or attempt to contact them again. Not ever.”
Chapter 8
Lucien smothered the instinctive flare of fury that raced through him. Obviously the Kinglys were pathetic, unworthy fools who cared more for their reputation than their own child. They should be publicly disdained along with the wretched Lord Patten.
Still, his concern was for Jocelyn and the bitterness that lingered within her. A bitterness that would eventually destroy her if she did not discover a means to heal her past.
Once again his vengeance must be held.
Allowing his fingers to gently stroke the skin of her pale cheek, he gazed deep into her troubled eyes.
“Oh, my dove,” he murmured softly. “It is no wonder that you carry such wounds.”
She shuddered at his words, but she grimly attempted to keep her expression calm.
“I have accepted their decision.”
Lucien gave a slow shake of his head. He was too closely bound to this woman not to sense the pain just below the surface. He could feel it as if it were his own.
A rather frightening realization.
“No, we all seek the love and approval of those we hold dearest. Even if they are undeserving of our need.”
“My parents' love and approval was based solely upon my ability to wed a gentleman of prominence.” She grimaced. “Once I had destroyed that hope, I was worthless to them.”
“Then they are fools,” he growled, regarding the delicate features with a glittering gaze. How could anyone hurt this sweet, gentle maiden? It was inconceivable. “You have done great deeds without regard to the sacrifice to yourself. They should take pride in what you do.”
“Pride?” She gave a short laugh. “Good heavens. They would be horrified if they knew what I do.”
“Because their souls are empty. Do not judge yourself by their worthless values.”
She frowned at his soft words. “What?”
His fingers slipped beneath her chin, keeping her puzzled gaze locked with his own.
“You blame yourself for being a disappointment to them.”
Her eyes darkened, but she did not glance away. He would not allow her to turn from the truth of his words.
“Perhaps,” she at last admitted in low tones.
“And you allow yourself to doubt your own worth because of them.”
“No—”
“Jocelyn.” He firmly interrupted her instinctive refusal to confront her pain. “Do you truly believe you could have been fulfilled following the path they desired for you? There is much more to you than a shallow desire for wealth and position. You would have been imprisoned in such an existence.”
For a moment he feared that she would refuse to even consider his words. Then slowly her features softened. Lucien knew that she was considering the image of herself in one of the numerous elegant homes with nothing more to do with her time than darting from one mindless entertainment to another. She would have soon been miserable in such a dull routine.
She was too intelligent, too driven to achieve a meaning in her life to be content playing the role of social matron.
Still, he could sense that she was not yet prepared to dismiss the scandal that had so altered her life.
“That does not excuse the shame that I brought to my family,” she said slowly.
He gave an impatient click of his tongue. “I believe you have been more than adequately punished for any mistakes you made as a very young maiden.”
“I fear that my parents would never be so forgiving.”
Lucien allowed his disdain to harden his features. Someday soon he would indulge himself in confronting the Kinglys. It would be a great pleasure to reveal just how contemptible he found them to be.
“Their forgiveness is meaningless,” he said sternly, his fingers grasping her chin. “It is your own forgiveness that you must seek. Allow the past to heal, Jocelyn. Only then will you find peace.”
“I . . . I wish it were that simple.”
“It is,” he assured her, his expression softening as he stepped closer and smiled into her wide gaze. “The past is done. It no longer determines who you are. It is the future that you must concentrate upon.”
A silence fell as Jocelyn allowed herself to consider his persuasive arguments. Lucien forced himself to remain quiet, knowing that this maiden must discover for herself that she no longer need punish herself for mistakes that were long gone. She had created the wounds and she must heal them.
At last a rueful smile curved her lips as she allowed her gaze to roam over his dark countenance.
“Who are you?” she demanded without warning.
Lucien stilled, his expression suddenly wary. “What do you mean?”
“There is something about you. Something . . . different.”
“Certainly I am different from Lord Patten,” he agreed, suddenly eager to distract her. She was far too shrewd not to eventually realize he was not the usual London dandy. And with the power of the Medallion slowly heightening her senses, she was even more dangerous. “I would never harm you, Jocelyn. Certainly I would never abandon you.”
The dark blue eyes shimmered with a brief glow before she sternly gained command of her emotions.
“You will be gone in just a few weeks,” she reminded him in cold tones.
Lucien smiled wryly. As much as he might admire this maiden for her stubborn will, there were times when it was decidedly inconvenient.
He would have to battle for every step closer he might take to her.
“I shall be here as long as you have need of me,” he swore with unmistakable sincerity. “That I promise you.”
Another silence descended before she was pulling free and abruptly turning about to hide her expressive countenance.
“I have built a good life for myself,” she muttered, speaking more to herself than to him.
“You have created a life that is devoted to others,” he corrected her with a hint of frustration. “What of yourself?”
She lifted a slender shoulder. “I find pleasure in saving the women I do from the streets.”
“And you are never lonely?”
“I . . . I have Meg.”
Lucien gave a loud snort, considering a lifetime filled with no one but the sharp-tongued servant as companionship.
“She is no doubt a fine companion, but she cannot fulfill all your needs.”
She turned to regard him with open suspicion. “Needs?”
Readily taking advantage of her proximity, Lucien wrapped his arms about her waist, bringing her close enough so he could hear the very beat of her heart.
“Enjoyment. Desire.” He paused. “Love.”
Her brow furrowed. “Such desires are dangerous.”
He leaned his head down to rest his forehead against her own. Their breaths mingled as he allowed the sweet warmth of her to seep into his body.
“No,” he denied in fierce tones. “Allowing life to slip past while you hide in fear is dangerous. There is no more bitter regret than looking back and wondering what might have been had you dared to risk it all.”
He felt her shiver even as she gave a soft, rueful chuckle. “You are very persistent, Lucien.”
“Only because I know I am right.”
“So confident?”
“I live in hope.” Unable to resist temptation any longer, he shifted the small distance to gently cover her lips. It was an innocent caress, no more than the briefest of touches. But, as a sharp, hungry pleasure flared through Lucien, he pulled back in sudden awareness. He ached for this woman. Ached for her with a need that was becoming dangerously painful. He was playing with fire to remain so intimately close to her. Reluctantly dropping his arms, he took another step backward, his expression tight with suppressed desire. “Now, I am weary of this house. What shall we do today?”
He had the satisfaction of watching Jocelyn struggle to regain her own composure as she needlessly fussed to straighten the skirts of her peach gown.
“Well, we could go to the market for Meg, and then to the bazaar to search for clothing for the children. . . .”
“No.” He adamantly refused her brisk suggestions. The bright sunlight that slanted through the window demanded that he flee the confines of the smothering city. “I desire to leave London. This black air is choking me.”
She placed her hands upon her hips as she regarded him with a stern expression. “No more archery. I am still sore.”
Lucien considered a moment before offering her a faint smile. “Then, why do you not escort me to the farm you have purchased for your young women?”
She gave a blink of surprise at his sudden request. “It is not really a farm. Only a cottage with a small field.”
“I would like to visit it.”
“It would hold little interest for you.”
He arched his brows in a challenging motion. “I wager I would find it fascinating,” he retorted, then, knowing how best to bend her to his will, he touched upon her stern sense of duty. “Besides, you surely need to occasionally visit and ensure that all is well?”
As expected, her thoughts swiftly turned to those women who depended upon her charity.
“It has been some time since I was last there,” she admitted.
“Good.” Not about to give her time for second thoughts, Lucien smoothly turned and headed toward the door. “I shall brave Meg's wrath and request a supper to be packed. We shall make a day of it.”
 
 
Feeling surprisingly lighthearted, Jocelyn nibbled upon the delicate mushrooms in cream sauce and fresh peas.
It had been a lovely day.
After renting a carriage, Lucien had happily driven them the short distance to the cottage Jocelyn had requested her father's man of business purchase for her nearly a year ago. The investment had put an end to her small savings and often consumed a fair amount of her allowance, but it had been worth every quid. There were few things more satisfying than visiting the six young maidens who currently lived at the cottage. Not only because they were clearly happier in their new surroundings, but because Jocelyn had also provided the women employment with the local weavers. They were learning skills that would allow them to be independent once they had become strong enough to leave the cottage. They would never again be forced to sell their own bodies to provide food for their tables.
Or that, at least, was her hope.
Covertly glancing from beneath her lashes, Jocelyn regarded the elegant bronze features of Lucien as he sat beside her on the cover he had spread upon the ground in the pretty meadow.
She could not deny that she harbored a reluctance to allow this gentleman to accompany her to the farm. Although Lucien had proven to be generous and kind beyond a fault, she was all too aware that few shared her compassion for fallen women. Most believed that they willingly enjoyed selling their bodies for profit, or even that once having become prostitutes, they were beyond redemption. Gentlemen especially preferred not to consider the notion that only desperation and hunger would lead a woman to such a profession.
She had known that she would be absurdly disappointed if Lucien had treated the women with anything less than respect.
Now she could only smile at her fears.
Lucien had not only revealed a kind consideration for the nervous maidens, he had swiftly charmed them into giddy, rather wide-eyed admirers as he allowed them to show him about the cottage and surrounding gardens. Not one was immune to his potent appeal. Not even Sally, who was as a rule terrified of most men.
Of course, no one could blame the susceptible women. Not even Jocelyn's staunch resolve was enough to battle the persuasive Lucien.
As if sensing her lingering regard, Lucien set aside his empty plate and regarded her with a lazy smile. In the gathering dusk his features took on a shadowed, mysterious beauty.
“More chicken?” he murmured.
She grimaced as she set her plate upon the cover. After three days of barely nibbling at the trays of food Meg had sent to her, she had been suddenly consumed with hunger. For the past half hour she had gorged upon the delicacies that Lucien had removed from the basket.
“Good heavens, no,” she groaned. “I am stuffed.”
Leaning forward, he refilled her empty glass. “At least have more champagne.”
She lifted her brows, her expression teasing. “You are not perhaps attempting to get me foxed?”
The golden eyes abruptly shimmered with that irrepressible humor. “I will admit that it would be quite interesting. I have never seen you cast to the wind.”
“Interesting for you, perhaps. I will be the one nursing a thick head tomorrow morning. Not at all a pleasant prospect.”

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