His Wicked Seduction (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

An hour later, Horatia and the other ladies were assembled on the east side, admiring the fort the gentlemen had built for them. It was a waist high wall that arched around in a half circle about ten feet across, providing ample protection for the women now huddled behind it preparing their arsenals. The vast gardens behind Rochester Hall had been molded into a white battlefield ready for the coming war.

Lady Cavendish was helping Lady Rochester manufacture their ammunition. Horatia, Audrey, Lysandra and Lucinda were in a tight circle, all wearing red fur-lined cloaks with heavy hoods pulled up. Audrey had remarked that they were the most fashionable army in Europe. They discussed the various traps and places to avoid in the garden, areas where one might become cornered and savaged by the weapons of the enemy.

“Should we try to lure them out from their fort?” Lucinda asked.

Horatia glanced over her shoulder to the opposing fort fifty feet away. The men were hunkered down out of sight, save for the occasional surfacing head that glanced warily about. Her gaze met with Gregory Cavendish’s as he peeked out over their fort’s edge then ducked back down. They looked like a pack of squirrels, popping up and down like that. Horatia grinned at the thought of such noble gentlemen behaving so out of character.

“I think luring is not a bad idea,” Audrey declared. “But we must go about it smartly. Only when one of them is decently separated should we set up a trap. Otherwise they could easily overwhelm us.”

“And someone ought to be carefully guarding the fort,” Lysandra reminded them. She broke from the group to show the other ladies something she’d covered in a brown cloth blanket. She pulled it back to reveal a simple yet cleverly constructed wooden trebuchet approximately four feet long that was counterweighed by a heavy pouch of stones. “This should help whoever is remaining here.”

“Is that a trebuchet?” Horatia asked, both amused and appreciative of Lysandra’s ingenuity.

Lysandra grinned, glancing in the directions of her brothers. “I thought we might need a bit of extra help seeing how they both outnumber us and can throw farther. I found a book in our library detailing its construction and I had a scaled down replica built last summer. I had a devil of a time keeping Linus from finding out.”

She took a snowball from the ever growing pile her mother and Lady Cavendish were making and set it in the sling attached to the trebuchet’s long wooden arm. Then Lysandra prepared the pouch of stones and as all of the ladies watched, she aimed towards the men’s fort and then dropped the pouch. The trebuchet hurled the snowball in a beautiful arch before it crashed into a tree a few feet behind the men.

“Oi! Who threw that?” Linus’s head popped up, scowling in their directions as he hollered.

Horatia bit down on her lower lip to keep from laughing.

“Sorry, Linus! We’re just practicing.” Lysandra waved a snowy gloved hand in his direction, then turned back to the ladies. “As you can see, we may need a larger snowball, but it’s a decent way of forcing them to keep their heads down.”

“Excellent thinking!” Lucinda said and the other ladies nodded.

Sir John Cavendish called out from across the garden at that moment. “I say, are you ladies ready to begin?”

“We are!” Lady Cavendish returned to her husband.

“Good, good. I’ve been informed that I must now state the rules,” Sir John said. “Which are as follows: Whoever captures the enemy fort is declared the winner. Captives may be taken and marked with red ribbons provided by your side’s leader. There is no bargaining for captives, they remain captive until the end of the battle and lastly…there are no other rules. Begin!” Sir John bellowed before ducking down below his fort.

The ladies fell behind their snow wall as a massive volley of balls came their way. Audrey shrieked as a slush of snow and ice landed on the top of her hooded head. There was a chorus of distant laughter from the other side. Audrey stood up to shout at them since the weapons were supposed to be fashioned of fluffy snow, not hard packed with slush and ice, but Horatia jerked her back down as another flurry was unleashed. The balls flew past the empty space where Audrey had been standing moments before.

“Why those wretched devils!” Audrey hissed as she crawled over to the trebuchet. “Quick, someone distract them while I add more counterweight.”

“But the balls will fly too far!” said Lady Cavendish.

“Not necessarily.”

Lady Rochester peeked over the edge of the fort, her face alight with a delightful smile.

“Tally-ho!” Lady Rochester whooped most inelegantly and waved her arms as she acted as a decoy so Horatia and Lysandra could return fire. Unfortunately the fifty feet of distance between the two forts seemed to ensure that their throws would fall short.

“See? We’ve nothing to worry about. They can’t even reach us!” Linus taunted as he stood up brazenly to take his time in aiming at his mother. Audrey meanwhile adjusted the aim of the trebuchet and with a curt nod at Lady Rochester, Audrey dropped the heavier counterweight and let fly their snowy vengeance. The women watched in glee as a snowball the size of a man’s head smacked Linus square in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

“What the deuce?” They heard feebly from behind the fort.

The ladies all burst out laughing.

Lucien and his fellow warriors were all gazing at Linus’s prone body. At last he got up and brushed himself off.

“Didn’t we pace it at fifty feet?” Lawrence asked. “I thought Avery said they wouldn’t be able to throw anything that far?”

“Or that heavy,” added Avery.

“Perhaps not that far,” said Linus. “One of them must have snuck up closer and we didn’t see them. Search the trees for scouts. Mother has a surprisingly powerful arm.”

Sir John’s lips twitched. “Do you mean to tell me that you lads purposely put the ladies at a disadvantage both physically and numerically?”

“Clearly you have never engaged our women in a snowball fight, Sir John,” Lucien said with a low chuckle. “They cheat and therefore any measures we take are simply precautions to protect ourselves against the inevitable.”

His brothers nodded in agreement.

“They are ruthless,” Avery said in all seriousness.

“How should we go about getting them away from their fort?” Gregory asked.

Cedric peeped over the edge of the snow wall as he voiced an idea. “We ought to send a scout of our own. One who can see just how their supplies stack up and how they are organizing themselves. The rest of us can remain here.”

“I’ll go,” Gregory volunteered.

“Head south and make a large sweep around back,” Lucien advised. “We don’t want them guessing what our game is.”

Gregory had barely left when the women pressed their advantage. Several flanked from one side, distracting them from among the trees, and every so often out of nowhere either a white cannon ball or a storm of smaller ones rained down at once, seemingly dropped from Heaven itself.

A little while later, Gregory returned with a prize. Lawrence and Avery were the first to spot them and laughed at seeing Lysandra following behind with a red ribbon around her wrist.

“Got a captive on my way back from the enemy encampment,” he declared and indicated for Lysandra to sit down behind a tree a few feet away. “Tried to sneak up on me, but her shot missed and I threatened to put my snowball down her hood if she didn’t surrender.”

“Well done. What’s the status of the opposing forces?” Avery demanded.

“Lady Rochester and my mother are producing the ammunition. Luce and Miss Sheridan are the primary hurlers, but as we planned, they cannot reach us from there. They left the fort to flank you.”

“We know. We’ve only just beaten those two back.”

“So how the devil are they hitting us so hard?” Lucien asked.

“It seems the ladies have the use of a small trebuchet.” Gregory stifled a laugh when his captive huffed.

“So that’s how they’re raining death upon us,” said Linus.

A large ball hit the side of the fort, making the rampart buckle.

“Bloody hell. They’ll be firing real cannonballs soon,” said Lawrence.

Linus flicked a calculated glance at Lysandra, then studied the other men crouching down behind their wall. He then he dug out a white handkerchief from his coat pocket and leapt to his feet.

“What on earth are you doing?” Lawrence asked.

Linus jumped back a few steps and then bolted towards the ladies fort, waving the handkerchief as a sign of surrender. Lucien watched him tear off across the snow-covered lawn.

Traitor. He shook his head at his youngest brother’s quick defection to the other side.

“Have mercy, ladies! I seek sanctuary!” Linus shouted as Horatia and Lucinda jumped up, ready to pound him with snowballs.

“You bloody traitor!” Lucien hollered across the garden.

“Got to follow the progress of technology! Why fight with sticks when the other side has bronze weapons?” He dove behind the cover of the ladies’ fort as a vicious barrage of snowballs from the enraged men followed him.

Linus rolled on the ground and landed up on the balls of his feet like a practiced warrior. Horatia found it impossible to keep from laughing at him. He could be very impressive when he wasn’t playing pranks, and she couldn’t miss the excited gleam in Lucinda’s eyes regarding their new ally.

Horatia shouted for them both to duck and they covered their heads as a barrage came crashing down on them.

“Always causing trouble, aren’t you?” Lucinda giggled to Linus.

“I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” he replied, then popped up to retaliate. “Take that, you cheating curs!” He hurled three snowballs one after the other. He was their very own knight errant ready to lay siege to his former allies.

Lucien bravely stood up across the yard. “Silence, pup! We’ll capture your fort and you will have to surrender the lovely ladies whose skirts you hide behind!” He spoke like a villain from a comedy play.

But all Horatia felt was the love and joy she always had for him. Like drinking too much wine, she was light-headed and eager to find a way back into his arms. Even at a distance his answering smile was intimate, as though meant only for her. She uttered a silent prayer deep in her heart that the one dream she’d longed for most would come true.

The snowball battle lasted close to two hours but after that the excitement died down, and the chill in the air and the damp cold of the snow had started to set in. They declared the battle a draw and Horatia was happy that the others agreed they should return indoors. She wished she could have more time with Lucien—but it wasn’t to be. She followed the rest of the party inside, her heart sinking lower with each step.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The rider from London arrived in the early evening, just in time to prevent everyone from going to dinner. Lucien took the note, and he and Cedric returned to his study to read it in privacy. Horatia and her sister lingered in the corridor outside. She thought it might involve news from his friends in London.

Pressed against the wooden door to eavesdrop, Horatia flinched when she heard Cedric curse. There was a heavy thud, as though something had hit the wall. Lucien muttered something she couldn’t hear, then there was a growl from her brother before footsteps approached the door. Both Audrey and Horatia scampered back, hoping to conceal their feeble attempts at eavesdropping.

When the door opened, Horatia’s stomach clenched as she saw Cedric’s face shrouded by a mask of pain and barely controlled rage.

“What is it?” Audrey asked as she glanced between Cedric and Lucien.

“Charles sent some bad news,” Lucien answered carefully. He glanced around, making sure that it was only the four of them. Horatia knew it must be a private League matter if he didn’t wish for his brothers or anyone else to overhear.

“What happened?” Her throat constricted.

“Ashton was wounded when he and Godric were investigating the threats we overheard,” Lucien said. “Someone shot him, but he’ll be fine.”

Horatia watched him closely. “That’s not all, is it? You’re not telling us everything.” She’d been too afraid to ask her brother or Lucien, but she’d sensed there was more to this situation than either had let on. Were they all in more danger than she’d originally believed?

“I’m sorry. Someone killed Muff.” Cedric’s low sharp tone made Horatia flinch.

Audrey screamed. “No!”

“Waverly somehow managed to breach our home.” Cedric’s fists tightened as he spoke. “Someone killed Muff. They drowned him and left him in a tub at Charles’s house.”

“But why?” Audrey whimpered, tears threatening to spill over.

“Because he could. He wanted us to know our homes aren’t safe. And he’s succeeded. No one is going back until this is resolved.” Cedric’s tone was dark in a way that Horatia had never heard before.

“How do you know it was Waverly?” Horatia asked. Her voice cracked, but she got the words out.

Neither her brother nor Lucien replied for several long moments.

“We have no proof,” Lucien said. “It’s more of a feeling.”

Cedric added his own dark thoughts. “He tried to drown Charles once. Now he’s drowned a cat. It’s obvious enough it’s him.”

There was a vengefulness in his brown eyes that frightened her. He was buried in a rage she understood all too well. She could barely think herself, the anger and grief churned to violence inside her.

Audrey threw herself at Cedric’s chest and wept. Cedric folded her in his embrace.

“Take her to her room, Cedric,” Lucien said. “I’ll have dinner sent up.”

Cedric nodded in silent thanks before leading Audrey, still sniffling, up to her bedchamber.

“Horatia?” Lucien was at her side now, weariness carved lines in his face. He’d always seemed confident and self-assured to her before, but his look now was entirely new to her. He appeared vulnerable.

“Yes?”

“Is there anything I can do for you? I know you were fond of Muff and that this news must be an awful shock to you.”

“No…thank you. I would just like to be alone now.” Her tone was dismally cool, she didn’t have the strength to even feign that she was fine.

Lucien seemed hurt, as if that tone had been meant for him.

“Of course. I will leave you alone. Send for me should you need anything.” Lucien left her alone in the dim hallway. The evening dinner bell rang, but sounded so very far away.

Heat surrounded her, a stifling kind that strangled her throat and made it hard to think. She broke out into a sweat and stumbled towards the door that led to the gardens. She needed fresh air. She couldn’t breathe inside. She craved numbness. The cold winter air was the only way to achieve it. Without a coat or gloves, she forged a path through snow that was halfway up her calves. Just a few minutes outside and she could process this horrific news. Someone had broken into their home. A place of safety. What if it had been Audrey or her and not poor Muff? Muff…her charming companion. Gone.

She tried not to think but memories shot through her—Audrey’s cherry red cheeks, so young and cherubic as she held up the pair of tiny kittens for Christmas. Muff falling asleep in Audrey’s lap listening to Cedric sing Christmas carols. The black and white ball of fur struggling to climb the stairs behind Cedric—little paws batting his Hessian boots for attention. She told him all the stories of the constellations and the charmer that he was, Muff would rub his furry whiskered cheek against her chin, purring loudly.

Horatia tripped in the snow, falling on her knees. Pain lanced up towards her heart. Her parents had given them to her and Audrey the Christmas before they’d died.

Muff was more than a cat. He’d been a part of her and one of her last connections to her parents. And now one more part of them had been taken away, violently. Would Audrey or Cedric to be next? Or herself? Which of her loved ones would be a target for one man’s hatred?

Horatia lay down in the snow, too tired to care about the cold.

All I want is peace, please, let me have peace
. Her dark lashes brushed across her cheeks as she shut her eyes.

But horrible thoughts haunted her. How scared had Muff been when his killer had captured him? Had the aging cat fought or had he been too weak in his grasp? Had his death been quick? She would never know.

A violent shudder shot through her at the thought. Who could be so cruel?

An explosion of panic and fear speared her through the chest. It wasn’t just a way to hurt her family. It was a message, as her brother had said. He could get to any of them. She and her siblings weren’t safe. No place was safe. He could always find them.

The vision of her parents dead in that coach flashed across her mind’s eye just as the vision of a drowned cat, fur damp and body stiff merged with it. Her father’s neck broken, her mother’s pale pink lips coated with blood. Their bodies like a pair of broken marionettes abandoned by a child.

She’d touched them, her mother’s cheek, her father’s hand. But they’d been gone, and she couldn’t bring them back.

Was her own life soon to be forfeit? Perhaps it was only a matter of days before hands would reach out of the shadows and snap her neck, leaving her lifeless body for Lucien or Cedric to find.

She struggled to breathe, but her gasping didn’t help. There was only suffocating terror and pain.

“Horatia!” A soft cry, distant as the stars themselves.

Something yanked her up. She fought, screamed, bit, but she was so weak and cold that after a minute she had to yield. Noises intruded upon her numbed ears—the crash of wood, the scuffling of boots, the huff of breath. She felt cold softness beneath her. Horatia shifted uncomfortably while forcing her eyes open.

She was in a dark room, one she didn’t recognize. The décor did not at all match that of Rochester Hall. A man huddled before the fireplace as he added few logs to the fresh burning kindling, stoking them with a poker. When he turned to face her, she saw it was Lucien.

Without a word, he came over to the bed where he’d set her down, and eased her onto her stomach. He dug his fingers underneath the neck of her gown and began plucking buttons out of their slips. His hands were hot, piercing against her cold flesh and Horatia winced.

“Does it hurt?”

Horatia shook her head as she tried to speak. “You’re so warm,” she managed at last.

“Good. That is the idea.” He reached the last button of her gown and he peeled it away, easing her cold limp arms from her sleeves before he dragged the garment off her completely. Lucien did not stop there. He removed her stays, chemise, stockings, and slippers.

Ordinarily Horatia would have been clutching at a blanket to hide some of her nakedness but her inner pain and weariness had numbed her to such inconsequential concerns. Lying on her stomach, she gazed straight ahead listening to the sounds of Lucien stripping himself of his own clothes behind her.

There was nothing sensual in his movements. In fact, he nearly tripped getting his shoes off. The second he was down to his bare skin, he reached for a thick woolen blanket draped over the foot of the bed and he wrapped it around him like a cloak. Only then did he turn his attention back to Horatia as he scooped her up and carried her to the soft thick rug near the fire.

He sat down and braced her body back against his, securing the blanket around their bodies. Between the fire before her and the fire of his skin behind her, the chill in her bones melted away, followed by sharp prickling as her nerves came alive again. She shifted against Lucien and his hot breath quickened against her cheek.

“Easy, love,” he whispered in her ear. “You have no idea how long you were out there, do you?” The tenderness of his voice, the soft endearment so pure on his lips had her quaking with bottled up emotions. “Let it out darling, let it all out. I’m here.”

It was this promise, undiluted by the outside world and its concerns that crippled Horatia’s protective barrier. She broke down, burrowing into him as though she could forge an unbreakable connection between their bodies and she never wanted to be without him or his comforting touch again. Her dry eyes pooled with hot, heavy tears and Lucien rubbed each drop of moisture away with his fingertips.

“It hurts,” Horatia gasped as the weight of everything descended upon her. Like knife shards embedded in her lungs, each breath she sucked in was ragged and icy.

“That’s a good thing, my love. It means your heart is still alive. Just let it all out.” Lucien brushed his lips along her tear-stained cheek and absorbed her shaking with his body.

The two times in her life when she needed someone most, when she’d been her weakest, he’d been there. She’d often wondered why she loved Lucien and no one else, even when he’d been determined to be cold to her. This moment, this embrace, was everything that mattered. A man who would do this for her was the only man she could ever have, ever want.

As her shaking subsided, Horatia turned about in Lucien’s arms. He gazed down at her in tender worry.

“Make love to me,” she pleaded.

“No, darling, not like this.” He feathered his lips against her temple and stroked her hair back from her face. “You’ve been through too much. I’ll not add to that pain.”

“I want you, Lucien. Each second you aren’t kissing me is killing me inside.” Horatia cupped his face. An auburn tinged night beard had started to graze his cheeks, and the roughness of it was an enticing contrast to the smooth skin of his chest.

Lucien smiled ever so slightly. “I know I’m a wonderful kisser but no one has ever perished from a lack of it as far as I can recall.”

Horatia, her body filled with desire and a desperation for some sort of release, pulled free of his arms and stood up, entirely bare before him. She walked around him and approached the bed.

“I don’t recognize this room,” she said softly as she eased onto the bed.

Lucien followed her movement, his eyes focusing on the peaks of her breasts, the chill in the air tightening her nipples.

“I found you too far away from the house. I brought you to the gardener’s summer cottage,” Lucien explained. He got to his feet, blanket still loosely cloaking his body.

“The gardener’s cottage?”

There was a hungry look in his eyes as he approached, but still it seemed he meant to resist her.

“Yes, it’s always empty in the winter.” Lucien’s voice was even lower, huskier than before.

“So we are alone, without fear of discovery.” Horatia started to reach for the blanket about his body.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” A wicked smile played about his mouth.

“That depends. Is it working?” Horatia ran her foot up against his calf and he tensed.

“Your feet are cold, love. Shall I warm them up for you?”

For an answer, Horatia tugged harder on the blanket. Lucien dropped it at his feet, baring his body before her. It seemed her entire life had been leading up to this moment. Bodies and souls finally bared to each other. She stared up at him, examining his finely formed body, at last able to see all the parts of him that had been hidden.

The inner savage in her was unbearably close to taking over. She held out a hand and Lucien took it, kissing the inside of her palm before she tugged him to the bed’s edge. Horatia pushed back as he advanced, their bodies miming an ancient dance of conquest and submission as he crawled over her. Lucien dropped his head to hers, their mouths meeting in a slow kiss that lit fire to every nerve in her body. Horatia’s hands slid up to his flexing biceps, clenching his muscles as he released her mouth to trail kisses down her throat.

“I didn’t know a collarbone could be so desirable,” Lucien murmured as he licked the grooves of her upper chest.

Horatia laughed until his mouth settled on the tip of one breast. He savored her, suckled her, teeth nipping her with sparks of pleasurable pain before he circled her with his tongue, leaving her writhing beneath him.

Horatia moaned as his lips danced to her other breast. She ran her fingers through his thick red hair, tugging as he feasted on her.

“Never let it be said that I neglected you, darling,” he teased before taking her other breast into his mouth.

Her nails dug into his arms, Horatia’s back arched, yearning for more of him. At the pressure of his hands on her inner knees, her thighs fell apart. A flash of déjà vu, a masked man, the devil of pleasure, an angel of sin between her legs.

“Oh God, if you do that…that thing again, I’ll kill you,” she gasped as his mouth trespassed down her waist and towards the dark triangle between her legs.

“You mean if I do this?” He assaulted her senses with a devastating lick, then fastened his mouth around that same tight bundle of nerves. Horatia bucked. Lucien pinned her deeper into the bed as he pushed her over the brink of sanity.

“You devil…” She forgot entirely what she meant to say as his tongue traced erotic patterns and she careened over the edge in a fall she thought would never end.