The Defiant One (9 page)

"On top of him," finished the duke, smoothly.

"
Curse it, Lucien!
"

Celsie was trembling with mortification.  "Thank you,
Your Grace
, for stating the matter so succinctly," she ground out.

Blackheath merely inclined his head and lifted his glass to her as Celsie turned angry, desperate eyes on Andrew.  She saw his own gaze soften, momentarily, before he looked away, his jaw hard.  He was as much a victim of this entire debacle as she was.  He had warned her not to imbibe the solution, had even tried to talk her out of it.  But no.  She had taken his warning as a challenge, and now look at what happened.

"
Did I?
" she demanded, anger and self-disgust making her voice brittle.

He cleared his throat.  "Well, let us say that your manner was nothing short of predatory," he allowed.

"Did you resist?"

"Really, Celsie!" thundered Gerald.

"
Did
you?"

"Well, I did at first, but to be truthful, madam, you were rather . . . well, persuasive in your designs."

"Oh, dear
God
," she moaned, momentarily covering her face with her hands.  Then, raising her head, she looked Andrew directly in the eye.  "Well then, since it was
your
honor that was compromised,
your
body that was — was —"

"Ravished," supplied Lucien, helpfully.

"
Ravished
," fumed Celsie, eyes flashing, "then I think that
you
ought to decide what should be done."

"This is highly irregular!" stormed Gerald, his complexion mottling.  "Really, Celsie, I have never heard of anything so preposterous in my life!"

"Be quiet, Gerald.  After all,
I
was the one who coerced Lord Andrew into giving me the solution, so therefore, it is up to me to deal with the consequences."

"I thought you said you didn't remember what happened!"

"Well, I remember that much!"

"Regardless, he was the one who deflowered you!"

"Maybe
I
deflowered him!"

"Highly unlikely," interrupted the duke, idly studying his cognac.  "I daresay Andrew lost his virginity long ago."  He smiled and slanted a benignly innocent grin at his brother.  "Is that not right, Andrew?"

Celsie saw Andrew turn and glare out the window once more, his eyes like flint.

"So you see, my dear?  That settles that."

"That settles nothing," Celsie snapped.  "Lord Andrew?  What are your wishes in this matter?"

"I have already stated them.  With all due respect, madam, I have no need or wish for a wife.  Indeed, I would prefer to forget this matter ever happened and simply get on with my life."

"Well then, as I also have no need or wish for a husband, I daresay we are of like mind, and I, too, would prefer to forget it ever happened.  Please take me home, Gerald.  I find that I am developing quite a headache."

The duke sipped his cognac.  "Really, my dear, that's an excuse you should have used an hour ago."  He turned to his brother, eyes gleaming.  "I beg your pardon.  Perhaps
you
should have used it, Andrew."

Celsie thought — hoped — that Andrew was going to kill the duke right then and there.  He shot to his feet, his face darkening, his fists clenching at his sides.  "The lady has stated her wishes, I have stated mine, and I am leaving."

"So am I," snapped Celsie, also rising.

"But what about my brother's compromised honor?" asked Lucien, raising an innocent brow.  "It would be most embarrassing if word got out that he was attacked by a woman and did not enjoy it."

"I never said I didn't enjoy it," Andrew ground out.

"Oh.  Well then, that changes things immensely, doesn't it?  As you are of superior strength to the lady, and did nothing to defend yourself from her — what did you say? — ah yes,
persuasive designs
upon you, then I daresay we can conclude, after all, that you are as much responsible for this predicament as she is.  I really think that
one
of you, at least, should offer marriage."

Celsie had had enough.  She strode angrily up to the duke of Blackheath, who remained sprawled negligently in his chair, an amused little smile playing about his mouth as he looked up at her.

"You seem to be rather hard of hearing, Your Grace," she said tersely.  "I have already told you that I have no wish to get married."

"And you, my dear, seem to be ignorant of the gravity of this situation.  Perhaps if you explain why the idea of marriage to a handsome young man like my brother here is so revolting, I will suddenly find my hearing quite restored."

"Because marriage doesn't suit me, that's why."

The duke was back to examining his cognac.  "Ah, yes.  I seem to recall that the last two fellows you tried to marry expired under rather extraordinary circumstances, the former, if I remember correctly, by choking on a pea.  Hmm.  Perhaps marriage doesn't suit your prospective
bridegrooms
, my dear."

"Only
one
of them expired," said Celsie icily.  "But even so, we wouldn't want your poor brother here succumbing to the Jinx."

"Rubbish," said Lucien, smiling.  "He is a de Montforte.  'Twill take more than a pea to do him in."  He looked at Andrew.  "Surely, you are not afraid of being done in by a pea, are you, Andrew?"

"Why the devil should I be afraid of being done in by a goddamned
pea
when three drops of my solution seem to have done the trick well enough?"

"Ah, but surely it is not as bad as all that.  You do not find the lady wanting, do you?  She is quite lovely," the duke murmured, lifting his glass to Celsie.  "She has spirit, intelligence, and enough money to finance any disastrous little experiments you should choose to . . .
test
in the future.  Truly, I cannot see what the problem is."

"The problem is, I do not need some
female
interfering with my time, my work, my schedule, my life.  I do not have time for a wife, and I do not want the responsibility of having to look after one."

"Ah, but you should have thought of that before you allowed her to take the solution.  Now, you may find yourself facing the responsibility of looking after a child.  Would you want any son or daughter from this union to be born a bastard, Andrew, simply because you are too stubborn, foolish, and proud to do the right thing?"

Celsie slammed her hand down atop a small table.  "Stop harassing him!  It is obvious that he has no wish to get married, and I will say once and for all that I don't want to get married, either!"

"Ah.  Do you find
him
wanting, then?" asked the duke, smoothly.

"That is not the point!  And I have had enough of this absurd conversation.  Gerald, I demand that you take me home.  Now."

"Celsie —"

"
Now
.  Before I grow even angrier than I already am."

Gerald put down his glass, but his jaw was rigid, his eyes glittering with fury.  "Very well then, Celsie.  If you will await me in the carriage, I will join you as soon as I have concluded my business here."

She rose to her feet.  The gentlemen did as well.  Then, with a short curtsey to the duke, Celsie turned and marched from the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

"That settles it, then," said Andrew.

Somerfield put down his glass.  "That settles nothing, de Montforte."

Even Lucien, still casually ensconced in his chair, lifted his brows.

"The fact remains that you have dishonored my sister and ruined her beyond repair.  If she will not accept restitution, then I demand it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My second will be calling upon you this afternoon.  I will see you tomorrow at dawn, sir — where the two of us will settle this matter like men.  Good day."

Chapter 8

"Really, Andrew.  I fail to understand why you look so damned gloomy.  'Tis only a sword fight, and I'm sure it will be over well before breakfast.  Just long enough to work up a good appetite, I should think."

The two brothers had had a blazing row just moments after Celsie and the earl had departed.  Or rather, Andrew had had a blazing row with Lucien, accusing him of deliberately orchestrating the debacle.  Lucien had merely sat there in total calm, an infuriating little smile on his face as Andrew raged and howled and tore about like a December gale.

Dinner had been a tense, charged affair.  Now, the evening meal had long since finished, the table had long since been cleared, the musicians who supplied His Grace and his vast household with the latest and most fashionable music from the Continent had long since retired.  Even most of the servants had gone to bed.  As well they should; it was ten minutes past midnight.

"I am gloomy for many reasons, but I can assure you, fear of death on the morrow is not one of them," Andrew snapped, not looking up as he pored over the seventeenth-century tome on alchemy that had occupied his attention for the last two hours.

"I am relieved to hear that.  You are, after all, a de Montforte."

Scowling, Andrew flipped a page and jotted something in the notebook at his right elbow.  "A de Montforte who's been damaged beyond repair."

"Rubbish.  You spent hours a day rebuilding your strength once you were able to breathe normally again, and we both know how you accomplished
that
."

Indeed.  After the fire had so injured his lungs, Lucien had forced him into a ruthless regimen of hard exercise, challenging him to practice his fencing skills even on those days when Andrew had felt too weak or dispirited to even lift the rapier.  As much as Andrew hated to admit it, there wasn't a man in England who could match Lucien's prowess with the blade . . . and as his fencing partner, Lucien had good reason to believe in Andrew's own skill as well.

"Yes, well, if you're looking for gratitude, you're not going to get it," he said curtly.  "Not tonight.  I'm totally fed up with you and your confounded manipulations.  Why don't you just bugger off and leave me alone?"

"Ah, Andrew.  You wound me."

"Do I?  Well let me tell you something else.  I refuse to go to any more balls, parties, or public gatherings of any sort.  I am not normal, and know it.  I will never be normal.  One of these days someone outside the family will find out.  It's a damned miracle someone didn't find out or at least raise an eyebrow at the ball.  You may be able to command just about everything except the weather, but even you cannot protect me if people start getting suspicious."

"I have done a commendable job so far."

"Yes, well, I'd rather just stay home.  Unlike the rest of you, I hate going out in Society anyhow.  Always have.  Nothing but a bunch of twittering fops and fools who have nothing better to talk about than politics, scandal, and fashion."

"Well, what
would
you have them talk about?  The composition of drinking water?  The effect of heat on various gases?  The formula to determine the exact distance the earth stands from the sun?  Really, Andrew.  Your mind dwells in different and far higher places than do ours, indeed, than do those of most people you're likely to meet."

"My point exactly."  Andrew flipped a page.  "And another thing.  I would rather die at Somerfield's hand tomorrow than endure any more of those so-called doctors you keep dragging here to examine me."

"Very well then.  I will drag in no more doctors to examine you."

Andrew rested his brow in the heel of his hand and turned a page, trying to focus his attention on the question of why his random mix of chemicals had produced an aphrodisiac that had come close to ruining his life — if it hadn't already.

But he kept seeing Lady Celsiana Blake, so interested in his work when every other lady he'd ever brought into his laboratory had been bored to tears.  He kept seeing her looking seductive and oh-so-desirable in the throes of passion.  He kept seeing her bravely trying to retain what dignity she had left while Lucien had baited her and tried to force her into a marriage she didn't want.  And he kept seeing her leaping to his defense, taking the blame for the day's disaster instead of allowing him to shoulder it, as any other woman probably would have done.

As any other woman probably would have demanded.

"Well, Andrew," said his brother, pushing back his chair.  "Now that we've reached an agreement of sorts, perhaps we can call a truce and be civil to one another?  I for one am finding this brotherly strife infinitely wearying."

"Then you should have thought of the consequences before playing games with Celsie's and my lives."

"Games?  My dear brother.  You're the one who fails to see the gravity of this situation, not me.  If you'd only done the gentlemanly thing and offered to marry the girl, you could enjoy a leisurely stay in bed tomorrow morning."

"I'd sooner marry one of her dogs."

"Hmm, yes.  I am sure that whomever marries the fair Lady Celsiana
will
be marrying her dogs — that is, if he does not first choke to death on a pea."

"Yes, well no danger of that with me, as I have no intention of marrying her and I hate peas."  Andrew shut the book, poured himself a generous measure of brandy, and fixed Lucien with a hard glare from across the table.  "Stay out of my life, Lucien.  I'm warning you."

"You're what?" asked Lucien, raising his brows.

Andrew's eyes glittered.  "I said,
I'm warning you.
"

"Dear me.  That's what I thought you said."

"You manipulated both Gareth and Charles into marriage, but I won't have you doing so to me.  Do I make myself clear?"

Lucien gave a dismissive wave of one lace-framed hand.  "My dear boy.  Charles and Gareth needed to be married.  You. . . .  well, as you have said time and time again, you have contributions to science to make.  You have great things to invent.  A wife would only get in the way of such lofty ambitions."

Andrew clenched his jaw.  Lucien was only echoing words that he had often uttered himself, but for some reason, they sounded mocking when his brother repeated them.  He felt his temper starting to ignite.