His Wicked Seduction (20 page)

“I don’t know what you were trying to do tonight, Lawrence, but know this—you will face my wrath and it will make Lucien’s fury look pale in comparison.” She was barely able to keep herself from shouting at him. His eyes narrowed and the challenge snapped what control had remained. She slapped Lawrence as hard as she could, the harsh sound echoed through the room.

Despite the reddening mark on his face, Lawrence did not make a sound. Horatia raised her trembling chin high and marched to the door. She paused when she realized Lucien had not followed her. He still eyed his brother with murderous intent.

“Lucien, leave him. I need you.”

He tore his gaze away and followed her to the door, pausing only to shoot one last furious look at his brother before he wrapped a protective arm around Horatia’s waist and escorted her to her chambers. A footman stepped forward, a concerned look on his face.

“My lord, I heard a commotion. Do you or Miss Sheridan require anything? Shall I send for Miss Sheridan’s lady’s maid?”

“No. No need. It’s Gordon, isn’t it?” Lucien was still getting acquainted with his mother’s new staff.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Thank you, Gordon. No need to send for Ursula, but if you would be so good as to keep the other servants clear of my room and Miss Sheridan’s. She needs to be attended to and I do not wish for her reputation to suffer.”

The footman squared his shoulders. “Of course, my lord. I will take it up on myself to see that you are not disturbed.” The footman bid them good night and slipped down the hallway, vanishing through one of the doors that led to servants’ quarters.

The moment her door was shut Horatia fell into the nearest chair, body shaking with the aftermath of her scare. She had the sudden urge to cry, but choked down the sobs that tried to bubble up in her throat. She meant to thank Lucien for his intervention, but instead she burst into tears, unable to maintain her strength any longer. It wasn’t so much what Lawrence had done, or almost done, it was something deeper, something more painful that she didn’t fully understand. Looking at Lucien was like salt in a fresh wound. Why was she always falling to pieces around him?

Lucien approached Horatia, hating the distance between them, and scooped her up out of the chair to hold her to his chest. She fisted her hands in his waistcoat and buried her face in the crook of his neck. The intimate seeking of protection and reassurance made his heart turn over. Even after being cold to her for so long, she still trusted that he would care for her. She amazed him.

Lucien banded his arms about her back, tightly grasping her to his body. He layered gentle comforting kisses on the crown of her hair, shushing her with warm soothing sounds. His rage at Lawrence and Linus was still strong, but Horatia was more important right now, and she needed him to stay with her. He would punish his brothers for luring him away when she needed his protection. Even Avery was involved somehow. They would all be dealt with on the morrow.

“Why did he…why did he have to do that? He has no interest in me, so why? He was cruel to toy with me, and to what end?” she asked between choked sobs.

“I don’t know, love. I don’t know.” And for a long while after that neither of them said anything. He wished he had answers. He would by tomorrow, and Lawrence would be fortunate if he still drew breath once Lucien was done with him.

Lucien held her tight, amazed by how good she felt even now—every curve, every scent, every sweet breath she exhaled. He couldn’t picture ever letting her go, or that he could exist in a world where she wasn’t his.

She cried herself out until she was exhausted. Horatia sagged in Lucien’s arms and he picked her up and carried her to her bed. Somehow being put on the bed banished her tears and the need to cry any further. Her thoughts drifted away from Lawrence and back to the eldest Rochester.

“Feeling better? Why don’t I fetch Ursula to undress you and put you to bed?” Lucien suggested.

Her hand shot out and locked around his wrist. “No. Please stay.”

“Someone needs to get you settled and undressed.” He frowned, oddly even more attractive in the way he was determined to care for her.

“You can undress me.” She smiled at him. “You’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Horatia, you do realize how inappropriate it would be for me to…” He waved his hand up and down, gesturing to her clothes.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Inappropriate is your forte, Lucien. I want
you
to undress me. I trust you.”

After he set her down, he began to undress her with tenderness akin to tending a newborn babe. There was nothing sensual or seductive in his movements.

Horatia wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hand, wondering if her complexion had become splotchy. She gazed down at Lucien’s bent form as he removed her dancing slippers and slid his hands up her legs to unroll her stockings. His hair caught the lamplight so that the waves of dark crimson were glossy and inviting. She ached to thread her fingers through the strands, to see if they matched her memory of that night at the Midnight Garden.

Her fingers stretched towards him just as he moved to stand again. Horatia dropped her hand onto her lap as he began to slide her gown down over her shoulders. She was too weary to protest when he lifted her and dragged the gown down and off her until she was clad only in her stays and chemise. He reached out and unlaced her stays, peeled them off and let them drop to the floor. Her breath hitched as she crossed her arms over her breasts, hoping to hide her body with the filmy chemise.

Lucien then went to the armoire and searched through the clothes until he found a thick flannel nightgown and held it out to her. She took it and prepared to remove her chemise. He turned his back, uncharacteristically gentleman-like. It made her smile, if only a little, as she pulled the nightgown down over her head. He turned back around and the look on his face made her breath catch. He looked devastated, yet relieved, as though everything she’d been feeling on the inside was now painted across his handsome features. Her knees gave out and she sat down on the bed, thankful for the support it gave her.

As Lucian sat on the bed’s edge beside her, he gently turned her sideways and began to pluck hairpins from her untidy coiffure with a gentleness Horatia had not thought possible. With the last hairpin set on the nightstand, Lucien wound his fingers through her wavy mass of dark hair with his fingers. The feel of him coaxing tangles loose and sweeping through the strands sent a wave of longing through her. When his hands finally drew away, Horatia faced him and his fathomless eyes.

“Lucien…”

“Yes?” The word wavered on his lips.

“Please don’t leave me tonight.” Her request shocked her. She’d only meant to thank him for saving her.

“Horatia, you know I ought not to stay…” His voice trailed off helplessly, but he didn’t retreat. Instead he leaned down and stroked her hair away from her face.

“I would feel better if you stayed. Safer.” She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand and brushed a finger over his lips, recalling the way they felt on hers. He raised his hand and caught her wrist, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, just over her now racing pulse.

“Please stay. I need you here.” Horatia felt like a child again, trapped in the shattered, splintered remains of her parents’ carriage, hearing screams of pain, realizing later they were her own. She needed him to comfort her, to stay and hold her now as he had then.

Something in her plea made him nod, and he pulled back the covers of her bed.

“Go on then, get in.” He urged her under the covers as he pulled them back. Lucien got up from the bed then and began to disrobe. Horatia’s breath hitched as he removed his shirt and locked her bedroom door.

Usually, there was a natural air of control and command about him, but he seemed robbed of those qualities tonight. His legs shook, and he breathed more rapidly, as though he were being tested and found himself on the verge of failure.

The lamplight played over his sculpted form as he stood clad only in his drawers. She could spend a lifetime memorizing the feel, the shape, the taste of that body and it would never be enough to satisfy her. Lucien was a wicked addiction, and she had no hope, nor any desire to be free of the drugging influence of his body.

As he approached the bed she moved back a bit to give him plenty of room to join her. He blew out the lamp, enveloping them both in darkness as he settled into the bed next to her. He plumped a pillow behind his head and then without hesitation brought her body against his, his arms anchoring her to him.

For better or worse, he was here with her, comforting her in a way he had not done in seven years. It was worth Lawrence’s rash actions to have been awarded this quiet, intimate moment with Lucien. She savored his warm breath fanning her neck and the heat of his body against her own. She was barely aware of anything except him as sleep crept in.

Lucien lay awake, all too aware that sharing a bed with Horatia was dangerous. Only her scare with Lawrence had allowed him to maintain his restraint for her. He focused instead on his brother. What the hell had Lawrence been thinking? Lucien knew his brothers better than he knew himself. Lawrence would never have hurt Horatia, or any woman. Why then had he put her in such a terrifying situation? A prank? That was more Linus’s game. Lucien replayed the evening in his mind, searching for any hint, any detail to explain his brother’s actions. Lawrence had lured him out on the pretext of meeting with Linus who supposedly had amorous intentions towards Horatia, but when he’d arrived at his study the room had been empty so he’d started back to the ballroom. When he glimpsed Linus ducking into a room at the end of the hall, he’d started to follow until he’d passed by one room that hadn’t been occupied a few minutes before.

That was when he’d stumbled upon Horatia and Lawrence.

Lucien would never get that sight of them out of his head. Fear clawed at his insides and worry knotted his stomach. Whatever scheme his brothers had been involved in…tomorrow they would pay. Lucien would see to it, no matter the reasons. Horatia belonged to him, not Lawrence or any other man. And no one harmed what was his. A woman as wonderful and kind as Horatia deserved to be cherished, protected and…loved.

He pulled Horatia tighter against him. She shifted, murmured something and lay still again. It did not escape his notice that her body fit well with his, as though she had always belonged to him.

Only then did he realize that for many years now he had belonged to her, and this epiphany troubled him greatly.

Nothing good would come of feeling this way towards her. The rules of the League could not be broken, and friendships could not withstand such a trespass. Lucien didn’t want to choose between Horatia and her brother. He silently prayed that he wouldn’t have to.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lawrence flung himself into a deep armchair within a private parlor, his brothers flanking it on either side. His head hurt like the devil. He’d likely have a knot on his brow by the morning. Avery frowned and stared down at him while Linus paced back and forth. The rest of the guests had all gone to sleep and the three Russells were alone now to discuss the possible victory of their plan.

“Well, Lawrence, how did it go?” Linus asked.

Lawrence growled in response. He didn’t want to think about what he’d just done. “I have a bad feeling that Lucien is going to put a bullet through me tomorrow. And if Cedric catches wind, it might be two.”

“What?” Avery eyes widened.

“I went too far. It took Lucien too long to find us.” Lawrence rubbed his eyes wearily.

“Just how far is too far exactly?” Linus asked.

“In trying to delay things I was perhaps a bit too convincing of my intentions and frightened the poor woman. She smashed her head into mine when I tried to kiss her. It was never my intent to scare her. I thought I could convince her to play along and kiss me back so Lucien would get jealous, but she panicked before I could explain.” Lawrence flinched at the shock in his brothers’ faces. “Lucien arrived just in time. Or at the worst possible time, I suppose. What the devil took him so long?”

“You really did that to Horatia?” asked Linus. “You almost…”

“Of course not. But she thought I was going to. She was terrified and I feel…” He scrubbed his hand down over his face. “God. I doubt she’ll ever forgive me. I hope I didn’t do her lasting damage. Lucien better marry her, or I’ve ruined a lovely friendship for nothing.” Lawrence got up and stalked over to the nearest cabinet in the parlor and took out a bottle of brandy.

“I need a drink,” he declared. His two brothers joined him, all grim over the spectacle they’d helped to create that night.

“Do we know how Lucien took it?” Avery asked Lawrence.

“No. He took her back up to her room. I haven’t seen him since. I ordered the servants to stay clear of her room until after breakfast. I hope he means to stay the night with her. If he does, we’ll most likely have won. We all know what a soft-hearted man he is, especially if he thought it would cheer up a disheartened lady.”

“That’s certainly true. He’s much too tender-hearted to let her alone tonight after…” Avery trailed off.

“After Lawrence almost ravaged her?” Linus supplied helpfully.

“Russells do not ravage,” Avery stated. “We’re far too gifted in natural persuasion. There’s no need to force a woman when after a few well placed caresses she’ll give you whatever you ask for.”

“Don’t encourage the lad, Avery,” Lawrence said noting the look on Linus’s face. “He’s in enough trouble already with Miss Cavendish.”

Linus whipped his gaze from Avery to Lawrence. “What do you mean
I’m
in trouble?”

“After she saw you dancing with Miss Sheridan she took it rather personally. You did not ask her to dance, after all.”

Linus’s lips parted as he sputtered. “But we were…damn! Was she very upset do you think?”

Avery grinned. “I believe she spent the evening time glaring at you. I was surprised you didn’t turn into a pillar of salt. I’m afraid you’ve rather bungled it.” Avery patted Linus’s shoulder in a rough but affectionate gesture. “Perhaps you can woo her again on the morrow?”

Lawrence continued to sip his brandy, watching the byplay with amusement, but his guilt at his actions from earlier still niggled at him.

“I suppose I’ll have to. I mean, I owe the girl that, after kissing her. I suppose I ought to speak with her father as well. I know I’m a bit young to offer for her but… Perhaps we may enjoy a longer engagement period until I am ready to accommodate a wife.”

The hopeful look on his youngest brother’s face stopped Lawrence from re-filling his glass.

“Steady on, Linus!” Avery cautioned. “What’s all this talk of making an offer? You need not, especially at your age.”

Lawrence eyed his brother curiously. “But you kissed her?” The almost calf-mooned expression in Linus’s eyes was a little disturbing. He’d seen it before, and always in the young.

“Yes. It was a rather chaste one, though. I believe it was her first,” Linus mused aloud, a blush tingeing his cheeks.

“You like her!” Avery said shrewdly.

“There is…something undeniably sweet about her.” Linus admitted.

Lawrence groaned. His brother was on the way to falling for a woman. One woman. But there were so many out there to taste and feel and explore. He shouldn’t be limiting himself so soon. Linus had to be saved from himself.

“Sweet as she is, one kiss does not herald wedding bells,” Lawrence said as he set down his brandy glass. “If it were, I would be married a thousand times over to a hundred different women. Fathers may expect offers after a single kiss, but we Russells do not go quietly into the leg shackles of matrimony.”

“Then why are we helping Lucien with Horatia? Won’t they end up married?”

“That is the plan,” Avery said.

Linus frowned, entirely perplexed. “Then why—”

“Lucien is past his prime. He ought to settle down. It might as well be with someone who adores him. Miss Sheridan is the perfect young lady to prepare him to become a father to the much needed heir to the marquessate.”

“We don’t need an heir,” Linus countered. “There are three more of us in line.”

“Don’t tell me that
you
want all that responsibility, Linus,” Avery chuckled.

“Better that Lucien has a passel of boys and an army of girls,” Lawrence said. “That way there’s an heir and plenty of grandchildren for Mama to fawn over and the rest of us will be left to our own devices.” The mere thought of Lucien having children eased Lawrence somewhat. What a wonderful sense of relief he would have when Mama finally left him alone. He’d do anything to achieve that freedom, even incur his brother’s wrath. Though in light of recent events his liberty might be short lived.

“I suppose that does make sense, after a fashion. Mama would love all those grandchildren,” Linus chuckled.

Lawrence poured brandy for his brothers and they raised their glasses for a toast. “To Lucien, Horatia and all the grandchildren Mama will ever want!”

Charles bid his friends at Essex House good night before collecting his new servant, Tom Linley. Charles leaned back against the plush squabs of his coach as Linley scrabbled up to sit next to the coachman. He gave instructions to go to the house where Linley’s baby sister was located. It was close to midnight and the baby’s nurse would most likely be unamused at the disruption. Charles was prepared to pay to smooth any ruffled feathers that might arise from their late arrival. When Linley finally joined Charles inside the coach, he raised a quizzical brow.

“I asked him to take us to Bennett Street, my lord,” Linley said.

“Bennett Street?” Charles sat up. “Where exactly do you live?”

“I rent a small room above the Dandy House, my lord.”

“The Dandy House? You mean to tell me that you live above a gambling hell?” Gambling hells were not hellish, despite the title, but they were often rowdy and occasionally dangerous places. It was appalling to think of Linley trying to raise a baby in such a location.

“It was all I could afford, sir.” Linley’s face darkened and Charles felt he’d made a mistake in reacting.

“I was merely surprised you lived there. I will admit I have been to the Dandy on several occasions. Some of my friends and acquaintances are officers and they especially like the high stakes. It amuses them. I was just astonished to learn that you’ve been able to keep a child there.”

Linley relaxed, but flinched when Charles tried once more to pat his arm.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Tis my fault, my lord. My last master only touched me when he needed to thrash something to ease his temper.”

“Who was your previous master before you came to work at Berkeley’s?”

“I should not say. It would not be proper to speak ill of him,” Linley protested.

Charles flung up his hands. “Easy, lad, I won’t demand you reveal all your secrets. Not tonight anyway. We all have devils on our backs.” Charles fell silent, a rare contemplative mood capturing him.

Neither he nor Linley said anything more until they reached Bennett Street. Linley tried to insist that Charles wait in the coach, but Charles leapt out and eyed the gambling hell with mild interest.

It had been awhile since he’d tried to gamble away his vast inheritance. Men in crisp red uniforms and those of an aristocratic bearing milled about the club’s front entrance, talking and laughing. A few men recognized Charles and waved. He hailed them and followed Linley down the nearest alley and to a back door.

Linley went right inside and Charles followed, rather enjoying this curious little adventure. Charles listened to the raucous noises on the other side of the thin walls as they climbed the back stairs. There were shouts and the cackles of women, cheering on the winners and consoling the losers. Such things had never caused Charles concern before, but he was suddenly seeing his lifestyle through the eyes of the young lad ahead of him. Someone who was bearing a great responsibility by caring for his baby sister all on his own. It was admirable, and right now he felt quite the opposite.

Linley paused at a single door at the top of the stairs and rapped his knuckles in an odd pattern. After a moment the door opened a crack.

“It’s me, Mrs. Bertie,” Linley said.

The door opened more fully, allowing Linley inside. When Charles moved to follow him a rotund woman in her mid-thirties blocked his path.

“Eh, Linley, who’s this, love? I thought ye stayed clear of them lords who fancied lads…” Mrs. Bertie’s implication that he had such intentions made Charles wince.

Charles had no qualms with what other men did in their private lives, but abuse was easy to come by, and sometimes where wicked desires and vices were involved, people got hurt.

“That is Lord Lonsdale. He’s an earl, Mrs. Bertie, so please be on your best behavior and let him inside.” Linley strode straight for the wooden cradle against the wall. A bundle stirred where Linley bent his head over the cradle’s edge. Mrs. Bertie eyed Charles with deep suspicion before stepping back and allowing him in.

“So, Linley love, ye were late, I expected ye hours ago. It’ll be costin’ ye double since I missed time with them gents downstairs.”

Mrs. Bertie seemed unfazed by Charles’s presence and turned her attention back to Linley who had started to gather his few belongings into a cloth sack.

“I…I can’t pay you extra tonight Mrs. Bertie, but in a week I will have enough to settle my debt.”

“I want my money now!” Mrs. Bertie hissed in annoyance.

Linley blanched just as Charles stepped between the woman and the lad.

“My dear, charming Mrs. Bertie, I am sure we can reach an agreement. The lad is now under my employ. I will advance him his wages to see you well paid for your services.” Charles took Mrs. Bertie’s hand and palmed several coins into her hand. Mrs. Bertie’s eyes widened in shock before she leaned around Charles to look at Linley.

“Whatever he be using ye for lad, let him!” Mrs. Bertie whispered these last two words, but Charles still heard her and he raised his eyes heavenward, giving a silent plea for patience.

“Er, thank you for everything, Mrs. Bertie. But we really must be going now.” Linley shouldered the cloth sack with one hand then scooped up the squirming bundle with a natural ease.

Linley juggled the babe and bag as he started towards the door. Charles followed him out, chuckling at the shocked expression on Mrs. Bertie’s face as they headed down the stairs.

Once they were in the coach Linley dropped his bag onto the floor and saw to the care of the baby. The child’s tousled golden curls were feathery light and seemed to shine, even in the dim light.

Charles ruffled a hand through the curls of the babe’s head and continued to watch her the rest of the way back to his townhouse on Curzon Street. There was something about the baby, something familiar, just at the edge of his memory, but for the life of him he could not recall what it was.

The coach stopped out front of his townhouse.

A footman rushed out to meet them as they descended from the coach.

“Timothy, you look awful, what’s happened?” Charles demanded as the white-faced footman took their coats.

“It’s dreadful, my lord, dreadful. Come inside.” Timothy led the way, all the while Charles felt his blood turning to ice in his veins.

When they entered the townhouse, several of the servants were standing there, all looking just as distressed as Timothy. A young upstairs maid stepped forward and held out a bundle of cloth.

“My lord, we found this in your tub.” After he’d taken the bundle from her she wiped away tears and spoke again. “It was drowned, my lord.”

Drowned? Charles peeled back the cloth and sucked in a harsh breath. A black cat was lying dead in his hands. The little body was stiff, cold and still damp. Despite all this, he recognized the cat’s markings. It was Muff. One of the two cats from the Sheridan house.

“The poor thing!” Linley’s eyes were bright as he held Kate’s bundled body closer to his chest. The baby was asleep and Linley raised her higher in his arms as he spoke.

“Who would kill a cat?” Linley asked as he protectively shielded the baby.

“An enemy. An enemy who wants to send me a message.”

“What message?”

“He wants me to know he can get to me and to my friends. The cat never left the Sheridan house. Someone grabbed him and brought him here. My enemy, the League’s enemy, may be ready to strike.”

“The League?”

“Yes. You might as well get used to the name. My friends, Viscount Sheridan, Baron Lennox, the Duke of Essex and the Marquess of Rochester and I are sometimes referred to by the society pages as the League of Rogues. We adopted the title in jest, but it seems to have stuck.”

“So this enemy, he wishes to destroy this League?” Linley asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you know who he is?”

Charles gave a slow nod as he looked down at the body covered in the cloth. He had a wretched feeling deep inside that Muff was the first casualty in the war that had been simmering for years.