His Wicked Seduction (18 page)

“Well, we’d best be off if I’m to dine at Essex’s tonight. First, we’ll see to your employer, then I shall need to return home to change.”

Horatia stared at Lucien’s riderless horse as it galloped around the side of the house and found its way back to the stables. Even as fast as it was moving, it seemed to be favoring its left foreleg. The reins hung limply in front of it.

Where was Lucien? She ran to snatch her cloak and left through a side door close to the stables. She dashed outside and took hold of the horse’s reins. The horse fixed her with a baleful stare. It was then that Horatia saw the trickle of blood near the back of the saddle. She loosened the girth and raised the saddle with trembling fingers.

A sprig of barberry was embedded into the horse’s skin, the thorns causing a painful wound on the animal. If Lucien had sat back too hard he would have forced the thorns deeper. Horatia gazed out towards the field. Where was Lucien? Perhaps the horse had escaped him when he’d returned.

She brought the horse to the stables where a groom took the reins.

“He had some barberry tucked under his saddle,” she informed him.

“What?” The groom looked mortified. He removed the horse’s saddle to inspect the damage. “Blast, the thorns must have caught on the saddle blanket somehow. Did his lordship find this?”

“No. I thought Lucien was here. Did he not return?”

When the groom shook his head, Horatia felt her heart leap into her throat. She ran to the nearest occupied stall where a stout horse was feeding contentedly. She pulled out a loose bridle and quickly fixed it before dragging it from its stall.

“I’ll saddle him quickly. Allow me to go with you.” The groom hastily threw a blanket and saddle over the horse’s back and strapped him in. “You’ll need help if he’s had an accident.”

Horatia shook her head. “No. If he’s had an accident I need you to get the doctor from Hexby immediately. We can’t waste any time.” She raised a hand when he started to protest. “You’ll be able to ride faster to the village to get the doctor.”

“Very well.” The groom frowned but did as she asked.

Once mounted, she guided the house out of the stables and looked along the ground for hoof prints. Only one set of tracks led away from the hall. Horatia followed them, urging the horse to gallop. Its heavy large hooves pounded through the snow steadily.

Lucien, where are you?

After what seemed like acres of endless white, Horatia spotted a dark shape in the distance. As she drew closer she realized with horror that it was Lucien’s body.

“Oh God!” she gasped. “Faster, damn you!” she shouted at the draft horse and it increased its pace.

When she was within a few yards she slid from the saddle and ran to Lucien. He was face down in the snow, cloak wrapped about him. Horatia rolled him onto his back and paled when she saw the bloody gash above his forehead. His eyes were closed and his pale lips parted.

She couldn’t lose him now, not after everything that had passed between them. Memories flashed across her eyes—the way he’d twist his lips up in a wicked smile, the brush of his lips against hers, the sweetly whispered words he’d spoken to her when they’d shared the room at the Midnight Garden.

“Lucien!” She bent her ear to his lips, praying to feel the warmth of his breath. It was there, but barely. Horatia put her palms on either side of his cheek, letting her warmth seep into his cold skin. Once her hands grew too cold she dragged his body into her lap and held him close, rubbing him, praying her body heat would have some effect. After what felt like an eternity, Lucien’s dark lashes fluttered. When his hazel eyes focused at last, it was not on her face but on her bosom, which was mere inches from him. He managed a weak smile.

“Heaven looks quite lovely from this angle.” The smile changed into a playful leer, even as Horatia’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll ignore that because you are alive.” She cupped his cheek and pressed her trembling lips to his forehead in a thankful kiss. She could have wept with relief, but she pushed the tears back. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. She needed to get him back to the house and have the doctor see to him.

“Scared you, did I?” Lucien teased but still she couldn’t stop shaking. “More than I’d care to admit. What happened?”

“Not sure, I was riding and suddenly my horse threw me.”

“There were thorns under the saddle blanket digging into your horse.”

“Thorns?” Lucien struggled to sit up.

“They must have snagged on the blanket as it was being saddled.” Horatia allowed him to pull away as he unwound his cloak and tried to stand. He wobbled so unsteadily that she threw one of his arms over her shoulders to support him as she led him to the horse.

“Can you mount him?” she asked.

“I’d rather mount you,” he said with a grin. His gaze seemed to grow unfocused again.

Horatia gripped the horse’s neck and mane as she pulled herself up in the saddle.

“This is not the time nor the place, you fool.” Horatia pinched his arm, bringing him back to reality. “Now, focus! Can you get up or not?”

“Hold him steady and I shall find out.” Lucien managed to swing himself up. He immediately slumped against her back, his head falling on her shoulder.

“Stay conscious, Lucien. Hold on to me.” He wrapped his arms about her waist and she urged the horse back to Rochester Hall.

It seemed to take ages to reach the house. There were a few more moments when Lucien threatened to slip away into unconsciousness. Horatia knew little in the way of medicine, but she’d been told she should not allow him to fall asleep with a head wound.

“Stay awake!”

“I’m trying.” His frustrated voice vibrated against her ear. “You’re too damned warm. I just want to hold you and fall asleep…” His words softened into a drowsy murmur.

“What would keep you awake?” she hissed. “If I could turn around I’d happily slap you—” His hands slid up from her waist to her breasts, cupping them and then gently kneading them. Horatia arched in shock, though not without pleasure.

“Now this is keeping me very awake.”

“Take your hands off of me!”

He squeezed her breasts and chuckled, then shifted even closer to her from behind. She felt a distinctive prod against her backside.

She glanced up at the skies. Even in grave bodily danger the man was a cad. “Fine. If it helps you stay awake…but I swear to God, Lucien, the second we’re in sight of the house, move your hands, unless you want my brother to see!”

That comment had him drop his hands straight back to her waist, but he stayed awake the rest of the journey home. The sting of disappointment that he hadn’t tried to push her further surprised her. Did she want him to just walk all over her and force her to admit she wanted, no, craved his touch? Yes. She loved it when he did that.

When she drew the horse up by the main doors she was relieved to see a carriage and a separate pair of horses had beaten them there. The two riders she recognized at once.

“Avery, Lawrence, help!” The two younger Russell brothers leapt from their horses and ran to her.

“What happened?” Avery reached up to help her down. She let him catch her waist and drop her gently to her feet.

“His horse threw him. I found him out in the meadow a good deal away.” Horatia pointed to Lucien who slumped immediately without her body for support. “He was unconscious, and he has a nasty head wound. Before I left I sent the head groom for the doctor in Hexby.”

“Well done, Miss Sheridan. Come on, Lucien. This way, towards me.” Lawrence coaxed his drowsy elder brother down from the horse.

Avery seemed reluctant to release Horatia. “And you, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, really. Help Lawrence.”

The brothers carried Lucien inside like he’d staggered home drunk from a tavern. Horatia handed the bridle to a groom, then took off after them.

The entry hall of Rochester Hall was full of people. Lady Rochester had apparently been in the midst of welcoming the Cavendishes, who had arrived at the same time as Lawrence and Avery.

“Get out of the bloody way! Wounded man coming through!” Avery bellowed as he and Lawrence carried their brother through the crowd towards the stairs leading to Lucien’s bedchamber.

Lady Rochester started to follow them but Lucien shook his head. “I’m fine, Mother. Please, stay with the guests. Horatia will see to me and send you up when I’m settled.” His tone, while breathless, brooked no argument.

“I’ll be up to see you soon, my dear,” she promised him.

Horatia tried to follow after Avery and Lawrence, but Lady Rochester grabbed her arm, demanding answers. In a breathless rush she explained the events in an attempt to calm the crowd at large. Strangely, the act soothed her for the moment as well.

“He looks well,” Sir John Cavendish said. “Don’t fret. If he’s walking and talking he’ll be fine. I suffered worse during the war.”

Sir John Cavendish and his wife Marie were old family friends of the Sheridans and Russells. Until Sir John had moved his family to Brighton four years ago, the three families had often spent the holidays together.

His calm words drew a trembling nod from Horatia. He was right. Sir John was always right. She’d never met a more level-headed man.

“Sir John, how lovely to see you again.” Horatia greeted him with real warmth and embraced the lovely and Rubenesque Marie. The Cavendishes had two children, Gregory and Lucinda with them. Lucinda was Horatia’s age with blond hair and blue eyes. She was a more feminine version of her impossibly attractive brother Gregory, who had been schoolmates with Avery at Eton and Cambridge, being only year apart in age.

“Excuse me, I must go and see how Lucien is.” Horatia managed to slip away from everyone and dash up the stairs.

Lucien’s door was open and he was lying in his bed stripped of his wet clothes. His eyes were closed and his chest bare with the blankets pulled up only to his waist. His muscles were smooth and sculpted and for a second her mind blanked before reality crashed in. Three pairs of eyes studied her and Horatia felt her face heat up.

“I…” she stammered.

Lucien stirred. “Horatia?” His voice was hoarse.

“Yes?”

Lawrence stood back, allowing Lucien’s seeking gaze to find her.

“Come in, please. I wish to speak with you. Alone.” He shot pointed looks at both of his brothers.

The two exchanged a look of disapproval, hesitating until finally Lawrence gestured towards the door that he and Avery should leave. Lawrence, still frowning, made a grand show of leaving the door ajar. Lucien in turn scowled comically at the open door.

“If only he knew he was mere inches from you at the Midnight Garden,” Lucien chuckled dryly. “I daresay he’d faint if he knew he’d offered to ravish you there.”

Horatia blushed, even as a smile pulled at her lips. The memory of that night should have been painful, embarrassing, but it wasn’t. There was a part of her that relished it. Perhaps that was the price of falling in love with Lucien. His wickedness was rubbing off on her.

“How do you feel?” Horatia lifted her skirt a bit so she could sit on the edge of the bed. She leaned over and stroked his hair back to better examine his wound. It had been cleaned and looked more likely to bruise than to develop an infection like she’d feared.

Lucien shut his eyes and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his closed lids. “I think I’ll live.”

As she tried to pull her hand away, he caught it, kissing the inside of her palm. He glanced up at her, his hazel eyes dark and warm. “I have you to thank. If not for you I might still be out in the meadow. Who knows what might have happened?”

Horatia shuddered at the sudden sense of dread she felt overtake her. Unable to control herself, she threw her arms about his chest and buried her face in the crook of his neck, trembling. She wondered how she could hurt so much over losing him when he’d never belonged to her. It seemed that loving someone that was never hers made her fear losing him all the greater. Losing Lucien to death would have been worse that losing him to another woman.

His arms settled around her body, pulling her closer, keeping her against him when he should have been pushing her away. When she’d mastered herself again, she bravely raised her head, her nose brushing his cheek. His arms around her chest tightened, and his breath hitched.

“You should thank God I’m weak as a newborn kitten, my dear. Otherwise I’d be thanking you properly for saving my life, and that blasted door would be bolted shut,” Lucien murmured as he placed a soft, lingering kiss on her jaw.

Horatia’s blood heated at the images his words created. An all too familiar ache started within her. She tore herself away when his hands moved to her breasts.

“No,” was all she said. She cleared her throat and wiped the remains of tears from her eyes, then smoothed her skirts and left for the open door. She paused in the hallway and turned back to him.

“I wish you a speedy recovery, my lord.” She dipped into a curtsy, something she’d never done to him before and left. The absence of his arms around her already made her hurt with longing, but she dared not linger.

Chapter Nineteen

Dinner at Rochester Hall was always a grand affair, which was just the way Jane liked it. There was something wonderful about having her children and friends gathered around her table, eating, drinking and talking. The table in the formal dining room sat thirty people when all the leaves were inserted, but tonight it was perfect for accommodating the more intimate party of thirteen.

The doctor had come and gone, assuring Jane her son was well enough to dine with them if he wished and that he’d only suffered a minor concussion. With instructions to rest for the next few days, he’d exhibited the stubbornness he’d inherited from his father and come down for dinner. Jane snuck a glance at him, still concerned about the pallor of his complexion.

She had arranged the seating so that the younger children were all paired together. Cedric and Horatia sat across from each other by the head of the table on either side of Lucien. Lucinda and Linus were next, and on down the line were Avery, Lawrence, Audrey, Gregory, Lysandra and finally John, Marie and herself.

She’d noticed a great many things throughout the evening and wasn’t sure whether she ought to worry about how the close quarters of the three families over the holidays would affect everyone. Linus kept sneaking glances at Lucinda across the table. For her part, Lucinda politely attempted to include him in her conversation with Cedric, but Linus would only spit out a quick reply and look away, anything to make it look as though he had no real interest in the girl.

Jane wasn’t fooled, but she was worried. Although he was one and twenty, Linus was still young enough to act rashly. His interest in Lucinda Cavendish, if acted upon, could force both of them to the altar, and for Linus she feared that would be too soon. As much as she desired at least one of her brood to marry, he was not ready, and no one desired a marriage due to scandal. He was still immature, and it would drive his wife positively mad if he married now.

It wasn’t surprising to see Linus intrigued by a woman. He was a Russell after all, and had her passionate blood in him. However, the most interesting development of the evening was Lysandra. Jane’s only daughter had always seemed like a miraculous anomaly after so many troublesome boys, yet Lysandra managed to be just as vexing as her siblings. The girl had no interest in fashion and spent far too much time in the library. Not that books weren’t a healthy pursuit for a woman. It was important to be intelligent. She saw it as a woman’s duty to be smarter than most men, but a woman could not marry books, nor could books give Jane the grandchildren she longed for.

There was nothing so important at a particular point in a person’s life than seeing their children grow, marry and bear their own children. Grandchildren were a special treat, and Jane was envious of her friends who had them. She longed to hold a sleeping baby in her arms once again, and breathe in the clean sweet scent of its skin and whisper sweet lullabies. She would see all of her children married and producing children if it was the last thing on earth she ever accomplished.

As dinner progressed, Jane saw something new in her daughter. There was a flush in her cheeks, a brightness to her eyes and a startled look as though Lysandra had woken from a dream of pale pastels to see the world in its true vibrancy at last. Only the desire of the heart could form that new sight. And the way Gregory Cavendish threw back his wine with reckless abandon told Jane everything she needed to know. Lysandra was officially a Russell if she was wreaking such havoc on the dashing young man with mere glances. He would be an excellent match for her daughter.

Jane resisted the urge to preen at the knowledge that she and her friend Marie would soon be family after their children had married. It was only a matter of time.

However, whatever had happened between the pair—and something had, she sensed—it had not gone as planned. One could never take back a kiss that was given, or perhaps stolen as the case might be. Jane only prayed that her daughter’s hot-blooded actions had not been too bold. It would be most unacceptable to have to marry her daughter for reasons that would be obvious in a few months time. For her sons to marry under such circumstances was almost expected of them. Not one of them had even a smidgeon of self-control, but Lysandra ought to be stronger. She was a woman after all.

As an array of desserts was brought out, Jane turned her attention to Lucien and Horatia. They were speaking amongst themselves and Jane hated that she couldn’t hear a single word.

It was so obvious that Horatia loved him. What would it take for Lucien to realize the same? No other woman could hold such a depth of emotion, nor handle his tempers the way Horatia did. The woman ought to be awarded sainthood for her bravery in loving such a man.

I must not interfere…well, not too much.

Tonight there would be dancing and playing on the pianoforte, and Jane would rally allies for her mission of pushing Horatia into Lucien’s arms.

Once dinner had ended, she stood and addressed her guests.

“I thought we might all move to the ballroom for the remainder of the evening and have a bit of music and dancing.” This suggestion was met with approval and the group moved together towards the ballroom. Jane intercepted her three younger sons, trapping them in the dining room alone with her once the others had gone.

“Mama, what are you on about?” Linus asked, forgetting that she still owed him a tongue lashing for his mischief earlier that day.

“Sit down, all of you.” She’d spent twenty years perfecting that tone of voice and Avery, Lawrence and Linus all but dove for the nearest chairs. Once seated she began to pace back and forth, knowing full well she was behaving like a commander of His Majesty’s armed forces.

“I have decided that tonight you three must seduce Horatia,” she announced.

Avery blanched, Lawrence frowned, and Linus, who’d been balancing on the back two legs of his chair, fell over with a crash.

“What?” Lawrence started to rise.

“Did I say you could stand?”

Lawrence promptly dropped back down.

“Have you gone mad, Mother?” Linus asked, righting his chair and sitting back down. “Shall I send for Dr. Lambert in Hexby?”

“Good heavens, no.” She laughed. “I am sane as ever and plan to be here as long as I must to see that all of my children are happily married so you might as well get accustomed to my presence.”

“Is that what this is about?” Lawrence crossed his arms in such a way that he suddenly reminded her of her late husband. He was the gentlest man there ever was, but he could certainly appear as cross as the devil himself when he wanted, a trait Lawrence had inherited. “You wish for one of us to marry so you’ve gone and selected Horatia in the hope that one of us will like her?” The disapproval in his tone was as clear as cannon fire.

“Don’t be foolish. She’s in love with Lucien.”

“Then why have us seduce her?” Linus asked. “It seems to me you should have cornered your firstborn for this.” He leaned back in his chair, forgetting his accident not one minute ago, a placating grin stretching his lips as though he were humoring a small child. Jane was on the verge of exasperation. Had none of them inherited her wits or cunning?

“I swear, by the way you three act, I might have dropped you on your heads when you were babes. If Lucien sees you all vying for Horatia’s attentions, he will become jealous and act on his feelings for her. He needs encouragement and sibling rivalry in this house has never been in short supply. I believe it is time we put such energies to good use.”

“Clever,” said Avery, who had been quiet so far in all this.

Linus huffed. “Who says Lucien has feelings for her? I thought after Miss Burns and the gazebo disaster he did not favor her at all.” His irritable tone was probably the result of guilt since he had caused the aptly named disaster.

“Miss Burns left that day because of something I said to her, Linus. I have only recently informed Lucien of the truth. He has changed his opinion of Horatia for the better, I believe.”

“A change of opinion does not herald wedding bells, Mother,” Lawrence said.

“He cares for her, and he desires her,” Jane insisted. Lawrence and Linus grumbled in disbelief.

Avery sat up in his chair. “Actually, I believe mother may be right in this. I am more than ready to believe Lucien feels something for Horatia.”

His brothers whipped their heads in his direction.

“And how do you know that?” Lawrence asked.

Avery grinned. “Remember that night you met Lucien at the Midnight Garden, Lawrence?”

Jane let out a horrified gasp but Avery ignored her.

“How the devil do you know where I was?” Lawrence asked.

Avery continued to smile. “Do you recall the woman in the silver gown and mask Lucien was so interested in?”

“Of course,” Lawrence answered. “She was quite beautiful. There was a charming naiveté about her that—oh God.”

Avery’s smile deepened. “Yes, that woman was Horatia. She paid Madame Chanson to send her to Lucien that evening.”

Jane gave a little cry and half-fainted into a chair. She peeped up at her son from beneath her lashes. None of them were paying attention to her. Instead they were more interested in Avery’s source of information. Did they not even realize what their wild, reckless behavior was doing to her nerves? Well, if they were going to act like devils, then by God, she’d make them use their devilish talents to suit her ends.

Lawrence felt ready to toss his accounts. He remembered every detail of that night and his jealousy when Lucien had offered to let the woman, Horatia, choose him over his brother. Lawrence had all but shoved his own woman off his lap, in the hopes of taking Lucien’s prize. A woman he’d never once thought of romantically. It was hard to accept.

“Are you telling me that the woman I practically begged to steal from my brother that night, the one he shamelessly seduced in front of me was…”

“Indeed,” Avery said. “But I must return us to the point of this revelation. Lucien knew it was her the entire night. He was very clear in declaring his desire for her and she for him.”

His mother had roused herself to sit up from her theatrical swoon and was once more engaged in the conversation. “Did he…did they… Horatia told me they hadn’t…”

“No, not at all,” Avery reassured her. “Well, not fully.” He then made twiddling motions with his fingers.

Linus got up and held out his arms, expecting their mother to faint for real this time.

His mother screeched. “Dear Lord, I’ve raised a pack of libertines and hedonists! Indulging in passion is one thing, but this?”

Lawrence ignored his mother’s exclamations regarding the damnation of her sons’ souls and focused instead on his younger brother.

“Avery, how did you come by this knowledge? You weren’t at the Garden that night.”

“I have my sources,” Avery replied cryptically. It wasn’t even the first time he’d made that comment to them.

“You and your bloody sources. One of these days you will get yourself into trouble,” Lawrence warned him. “The war is over. Don’t you think your line of work ought to end too?”

“Wars never end,” said Avery. “Only the battlefields and objectives change.”

Avery’s missions to the continent were a well-kept family secret, highlighted by the fact that they knew so little of it. It was dangerous work, and he didn’t want Avery bringing danger and trouble to the family’s front door.

“Lucien and Horatia must marry,” his mother said. “At this point my conscience won’t allow otherwise. ‘Not fully’ indeed…”

Lawrence pondered this. “Do you really suppose he’ll want her more simply because of jealousy?” They were not boys anymore, no longer fighting over toy soldiers in the gardens. Women were a serious business.

“Knowing the three of you, if you do your best to tempt her to passion, he will notice and respond.”

“Not with bullets I hope,” Avery mused. “To be called out by my own brother…that would be highly embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry, Avery,” Linus sniggered. “I shall attend your funeral. It will be a lovely service. I’ll have the headstone read, ‘Here lies Avery Russell—Stealer of Hearts and Secrets.’ I’m sure you’ll have at least a few people who will mourn your loss.”

“Hush, pup!” Avery snapped.

Lawrence stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I’d be more concerned about Cedric.” There would be no avoiding him. Lawrence knew how protective the man was of his sisters. “He’ll be bound to see our amorous overtures to his sister. Imagine his reaction.”

“Leave him to me,” his mother said.

Lawrence supposed she would enlist Audrey’s help to keep Cedric distracted. God save them all if it didn’t work.

Jane waited until she had her sons’ full attention once again and gestured for Avery to speak.

“Now, let’s get down to specifics, Mother. What do you expect us to do that will make him jealous?” Avery looked up at his mother with false wide-eyed innocence, the rogue wanted her to say it! He didn’t think she would be capable of laying out her scheme in explicit detail. He was quite mistaken.

“Don’t give me that sweet-as-a-lamb look, child,” Jane warned. “The three of you have sinned enough to fill the second circle of hell all on your own, and leave no room for others. You will do what you do with any gentle born lady. Compliment her. Seduce her. Fuel the fire deep within her. Lure her into passion. But do nothing to worry me in a month’s time. Understood?” Had she been in a better mood she would have laughed at the flush of embarrassment on their faces.

“What? You expect me to play ignorant of such things? I gave birth to five children, and I assure you that I did not do that all on my own. Your father played a significant role in bringing your miserable existences about. There’s that little book from India I believe you all own? The one with all the illustrations. Don’t pretend you don’t know it, because I’ve read it as well.”

“Mother! For God’s sake!” Lawrence begged, cutting his mother off.

Jane allowed a smile to curve her lips.

“It isn’t as much fun when you are on the other end of unpleasant thoughts now, is it?” She clapped her hands together. “Now then, off to the ballroom. And remember, do what I charged you or you will beg for mercy, and I shall have none to give. I brought you into this world, and should you displease me, I shall happily remove you from it.” She made the threat in such a sweet tone that all three of her sons shuddered.