When His Kiss Is Wicked (8 page)

Lucien smiled good-naturedly as he laid his cards on the table. Four aces. His friends groaned when they saw his winning poker hand. “And that’s the game.”

“Doesn’t that beat all?” Lord James Buckley complained with a desperate frown. “How do you always manage to win, Waverly?”

“Just born lucky, I guess.” Lucien grinned as he collected his considerable winnings from the center of the table. It wasn’t as if he needed the money. Lucien just liked to play cards and spend time with his friends. Not since his father’s apoplectic sickness began had he hosted a night of cards.

“He gets all the cards and all the women,” Buckley muttered to the others, his thin face narrowed in dissatisfaction. “It’s not fair.”

“Fair enough,” Jeffrey Eddington responded cryptically, collecting the cards from the table. He shuffled them effortlessly and they began another hand.

They had recently learned to play poker, a distinctly American card game, from their friend Harrison Fleming, who had visited New Orleans the year before, and they had been playing it ever since.

“I think Waverly’s luck may have just run out,” Eddington continued, dealing the cards with efficient speed and practiced skill.

“What do you mean?” Thomas Hargrove asked eagerly, puffing on his cigar, the smoke filling Lucien Sinclair’s study with a tangy cloud.

Eddington turned to Lucien and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell them or should I?”

Lucien shrugged, picking up his cards from the table. He honestly didn’t want to discuss the matter, but now that Jeffrey brought it up, he was sure to have no peace until he confessed his plan. “It seems I’m finally going to settle down and choose a bride.”

Buckley and Hargrove’s riotous questions erupted in the smoke-filled room.

“You’re jesting!”

“Why would you do it now?”

“Who is she?”

“Yes, who is the lucky girl?”

Lucien breathed deeply. “I have a young woman in mind and have not asked her yet, but I plan to. I’d like to be married as soon as possible.”

Buckley cried out in surprise, “Good God, man, you can’t mean to leg-shackle yourself so soon!”

“You’re serious, aren’t you, Lucien?” Hargrove questioned, his face full of astonishment.

“Yes, I am.” Lucien left it at that.

“So tell us who she is,” Eddington said with a distinct gleam in his eye.

Lucien offered, “You’ll know when the time comes.”

“He’s being mysterious,” Eddington declared.

Lucien shrugged as the poker game continued, ignoring the continued requests for more information. They would learn it all soon enough. In the meantime, Lucien intended to pursue Lady Faith Bromleigh in the proper manner.

After another two hours, he collected his considerable profits and the game ended for the night. Before Buckley could leave, Lucien discreetly slipped him his winnings.

“This is the last time I will play with you, Buckley. Use this to pay off some of your debts.” Lucien could not bear the grateful look on his friend’s face.

“I can’t take this from you, Lucien,” Buckley mumbled. “I owe you money.”

Yes, Buckley owed him money. A great deal, actually. But Lucien also knew that Buckley was in very deep trouble and in danger of losing his house. He hated to see his friend, whom he had known for years, in such dire straits, even if it was due to his own weakness and poor judgment.

“Stop gambling,” Lucien told Buckley in a tone that left no doubt as to his feelings on the matter. “You can no longer afford it.”

“Thank you. I will pay you back, I swear it.” Looking abashed, Buckley nodded sadly. He did not hesitate as he pocketed the money before he exited the room.

With just Eddington left, Lucien walked to the sideboard and poured them each another glass of fine scotch whisky from a crystal decanter.

“You shouldn’t give him any more money, Lucien,” Jeffrey stated simply, accepting the glass of whisky Lucien handed him.

“You saw that, did you?”

“Yes, and it’s a waste of good cash.”

Lucien sat in the rich brown leather wingchair opposite Jeffrey in front of the fireplace. The orange flames crackled and cast shadows across the room. “I realize I shouldn’t. But I also know he needs it.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, I like Buckley, too, but he owes money all over town. He’s a grown man, for Christ’s sake. He should know better. If he can’t afford to lose, he shouldn’t play. You’re only prolonging the inevitable by helping him out.”

Lucien nodded, knowing that Jeffrey was correct in his assessment of Buckley. Still, Lucien couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Buckley was in for a humiliating downfall one of these days. And more than likely sooner than he expected. Lucien shook his head before taking a sip of the whisky. “Have you been given a new assignment yet?” he asked.

Behind Jeffrey’s indolent and womanizing reputation, there hid a strength of character few would ever suspect him of possessing. For the past few years he had taken on a position with the British government. Aside from Lucien, no one had any idea of Jeffrey’s clandestine work for his country. And Jeffrey wanted it that way.

“Yes. They’re pretty quiet at the moment, at least on my end of things. A war between Prussia and France will stir things up inevitably, I suspect,” Jeffrey explained.

“Are they sending you to Paris?”

“More than likely before the end of summer.”

Lucien nodded, thinking that he might very well be engaged by the end of the summer, while his friend would be aiding his country in Paris.

“So please tell me you’re not seriously considering the dull Bromleigh chit.”

Lucien gave him a steady glance, unwavering in his meaning. “I am.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Lucien. Of all the wonderful girls out there for you to marry, why her?”

“Faith Bromleigh will suit just fine.”

“Fine? Fine?” Jeffrey scoffed with indignation. “Can you even have a conversation with her?” In response to Lucien’s tight-lipped silence, Jeffrey said disparagingly, “I knew it! I’m sure she’s a nice enough girl, but do you really want to spend the rest of your life with someone who has a personality like wall paint?”

Again, Lucien could not respond. Jeffrey had a valid point. Still, he knew he was making a sound decision. It was very important that he marry the right type of woman. And the biddable Faith Bromleigh was the best example of what he was looking for in a wife.

“And can you picture yourself bedding her?”

Lucien remained silent again at Jeffrey’s questioning. Faith Bromleigh did not arouse passion in him because she was not a passionate person. That was why he’d chosen her.

Jeffrey continued, “If you feel you must marry before your father dies, then at least choose a woman with some life in her, like one of those Hamilton sisters. Juliette and Colette are both beauties with enough wit and charm to last a lifetime.”

At the mention of Colette Hamilton’s name, Lucien’s entire body tensed. He had been attempting to block her from his thoughts all week. Since he kissed her that night in the garden, he had been tortured with images of her. He could have kicked himself for kissing her, but at the time he had been powerless to prevent it. He simply had no choice but to finally taste those berry-sweet lips for himself. If he were totally honest, he had been dying to kiss her since the moment he set eyes on her in the bookshop.

But even he, he who had kissed countless women over the years, had been completely unprepared for the effect Colette had upon his senses. Good God, she had left him reeling and desperate for more. So much more…He had wanted to take her there in the garden, to tear that silky gown from her body and feel her naked skin pressed against his, to caress her plump, ripe breasts, to kiss every inch of her, to drive himself into her warm, seductive little body.

Yet even he knew better than to trifle with a girl like that. Colette wasn’t one to be taken lightly. She was the type of girl that a man married. Unfortunately, she was not the type he must marry. Someday Miss Colette Hamilton would lead her husband into a merry hell, with her stubborn ways and modern notions. He could not afford to risk a marriage with a wife like that. After a childhood racked with nothing but scandal, he wished for some measure of peace in his life, with a wife he could trust to behave and who would be faithful to him.

“If you think they would make such perfect wives, why don’t you marry one of them?” Lucien questioned with a challenging look.

Jeffrey countered pragmatically, “I’m an undercover operative for our country, the illegitimate son of the Duke of Rathmore, a notorious and well-respected rake, and I’m about to leave for Paris. Yes, I’m an ideal candidate for any woman to marry.”

“Well, don’t try to foist them on me, then. Especially Juliette. That one is a holy terror.”

“She’s fantastic!” Jeffrey defended Juliette with an eagerness that surprised Lucien. “I have had some of the most entertaining conversations of my life with that girl. And believe me, I’ve had some great ones.” He paused thoughtfully. “But what about Colette? She would appeal more to your tastes.”

“I hardly think a woman who runs a bookshop and handles business like a man would be suited to be a marchioness. Besides, what is your interest in these two particular sisters?”

“I think they’re amazing. I’ve never met women quite like them. I spent some time with them the other night—”

Lucien almost choked on his whisky. “You did what?”

“Easy, old man,” Jeffrey cautioned as Lucien continued to cough. “As I was saying, I went to their bookshop—”

“You went to Hamilton’s?”

“Yes, and would you mind not interrupting me?”

“Fine, but why on earth would you go to their bookshop?” Stunned by the realization Jeffrey had been to Hamilton’s Book Shoppe, Lucien could not come to grips with his own reaction. He felt a strange, overwhelming possessiveness about Colette, her sisters, and the shop, and did not like the thought of Eddington visiting them. He didn’t like to think of him dancing with Colette either, though he would be hard-pressed to explain just why he felt that way to Jeffrey.

“I wanted to see where they came from, these fascinating sisters. I’ve met all but the youngest now. And they are all quite lovely, intelligent women. Besides, Juliette practically dared me to come visit. I could hardly disappoint her.”

“The two of you together would be a devastating combination,” Lucien quipped, shaking his head at the thought.

“Yes, wouldn’t we, though?” Jeffrey agreed amiably. “But Juliette and I are much better suited to be good friends, if that makes any sense.”

“I don’t know if you should even be friends.” Shaking his head in mock horror, Lucien grimaced.

Jeffrey laughed. “Ah, but she’s fun.”

Curious, Lucien couldn’t help but ask, “And what about Colette?”

“What about her?”

“What are your feelings for her?”

Jeffrey gave Lucien a very hard look. Lucien found himself turning away, his eyes lingering on the orange flames in the fireplace. He watched the golden light dance and flicker wildly across the charred wood.

“I think Colette is an amazing woman,” Jeffrey declared without hesitation. “She would be a credit to any man she marries. And that man would be a very lucky one. She’s just twenty years old and supporting her family. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” Lucien admitted reluctantly. The thought had weighed on him. “We should see if we couldn’t send some business her way.”

“That isn’t a bad idea,” Jeffrey admitted. “The poor girls could use a break.”

After a long pause, Lucien stated, “I received some news that will take your mind off the Hamilton sisters. I received a letter from my mother today.”

“You’re not serious?” Jeffrey asked, incredulous. “Good God! After all this time. What did she say?”

“It seems she has returned to London and has learned of my father’s illness. She wants to see him. And me.”

Jeffrey remained speechless for some time before asking, “What do you intend to do?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Imagine hearing from her after all these years.”

Lucien had imagined it hundreds of times when he was younger. He had dreamed of her returning, declaring she missed him too much to stay away and promising to never leave again. But those childhood fantasies had ceased by the time he was twelve and his mother had not written him a single word. Since then he had hardened his heart against ever being hurt by her again.

“Have you told your father yet?”

Lucien shook his head in regret. “No, I’m afraid hearing about my mother might cause him more pain than he’s in already.”

“Maybe it would help?” Jeffrey tossed out the suggestion casually.

“How?” Lucien demanded. Tormenting his father with news of his faithless wife’s return could hardly aid in his recovery.

Jeffrey leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his legs. “Maybe seeing your mother again after all these years might give your father a bit of peace. They probably have a lot to say to each other.”

“The man can barely speak, Jeffrey. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“Perhaps. But is that for you to judge or decide?”

Lucien shrugged, unsure. “I just wonder what she wants after all this time. What could she possibly have to say to either of us?” He had a bad feeling about it. His mother had destroyed their lives once before when she abandoned them, running off with another man. The pain and the scandal devastated his father. He could not bear to see her hurt Simon like that again. Lucien shuddered to think of the scandal her unexpected return would certainly create.

Jeffrey asked, “Isn’t that exactly why you should see her? To find out?”

Lucien was not sure he wanted to know.

“It’s the only way, Genevieve,” Randall Hamilton pleaded with his brother’s widow. “The bookshop is worthless, but the building itself would bring quite a handsome sum of money.”

“I don’t know…
Je ne sais pas quoi faire…
” Genevieve hesitated. “Colette loves the shop so much. I could not sell it without breaking her heart.” She sighed wearily, distressed by the subject of the conversation.

Randall attempted to quell his mounting frustration with the feeble woman. Her steady decline over the years astounded him, for Genevieve La Brecque had once been stunningly beautiful. So stunning that Randall had even fancied himself in love with her at one time. But she had ended up marrying Thomas. How his half brother had managed to wed a woman like Genevieve always eluded him.

Thomas had been a weak and studious child who had become an even weaker and more bookish man. Although they shared the same father, Thomas and Randall had turned out as different as night and day. Where Randall was driven by the desire to be powerful and rich, Thomas had been motivated only by his love of books.

Even when they were children, Thomas was content to sit in their father’s library and read for hours on end, whereas Randall had spent his time riding his horses and avoiding the schoolroom at all costs. Their old tutor doted on the studious Thomas but despaired of ever teaching the recalcitrant Randall anything. They both ended up attending Cambridge, but while Thomas actually went there to learn, Randall attended merely to placate their father while having as good a time as he could carousing with his friends.

When their father died, Randall inherited the title of Lord Hamilton and little else, discovering how worthless and empty that inheritance was. Their father seemed to have squandered a great deal of the family fortune over the years. Highly disappointed at that unexpected turn of events, Randall pursued a wealthy wife to bolster the family coffers. He married the passably attractive Cecilia Brewton, a minor heiress, but the best he could do under his dire financial circumstances. It proved to be a good choice after all, for he and Cecilia agreed upon what was important in life and they both made it their goal to obtain that end. Cecilia spent wisely and always made sure that Lord and Lady Hamilton showed their best side to the public. Together they had risen as far as they could socially, making only the highest connections, attending only the elitest parties. They had been doing well financially until this year, when Randall had made some very unwise shipping investments in which he took a terribly costly blow. Sending money to help support his brother’s family was bad enough, but then he discovered his son Nigel’s staggering gambling debts. Randall was in danger of losing everything.

It galled him to no end that all of the success that he and Cecilia had worked so long and so hard to achieve now rested precariously on the shoulders of two of Thomas and Genevieve’s daughters.

His younger half brother and his family had always been the bane of Randall’s existence. While Randall worked to raise the family’s social position, Thomas opted to open a little bookshop near Mayfair, much to Randall’s great humiliation. Randall didn’t know which he despised most: his miserable half brother, the beautiful Genevieve, and their ever-growing passel of daughters; or the dilapidated bookshop that bore his family’s name.

That Randall’s financial security now depended on the whims of his flighty nieces rankled him. For weeks before the start of the Season, Cecilia had done her best to school Colette and Juliette in the correct mode of behavior, but it appeared to be a lost cause. Now he was through wasting his time with them and their fickle ways.

“It’s not Colette’s broken heart that concerns me at the moment, Genevieve. It is our survival.”

A pained expression crossed her pale and faded features.

“I’ve been very patient with you,” he began again in an attempt to remain calm. “When Thomas first died, I left everything to your discretion, did I not?”

She nodded weakly. “
Oui
, but—”

“Well, it has been almost a year now. The bookshop barely brought in enough money to support the seven of you when Thomas was alive, and it is bringing in even less now. Colette has shown me the books. As your nearest male relative, I am honor bound to assist you. And I have, but I cannot continue to support you. I have graciously outfitted the girls for a Season and introduced them to eligible prospects, but they are not cooperating with me, Genevieve. Juliette especially.”

He frowned at the memory of Juliette slapping Lord Trenton across the face in the middle of Lady Deane’s musicale. He had been furious with her because Trenton had been perfectly willing to take on a willful spirit like Juliette, and he had agreed to settle quite a large sum on her. How a weak man such as Thomas and a pathetic creature as Genevieve managed to create a daughter as strong-willed and obstinate as Juliette astounded him. Actually, all of their daughters had more backbone and gumption than both of their parents combined.

Life played odd and often cruel tricks on families, for how had he and Cecilia created a son as disappointing and weak as Nigel?

“Juliette is a special girl.” Genevieve’s chin went up. “
Elle est extravagante. Elle n’écoute que son coeur.
From the start I told you she would never let you choose a husband for her. She will need to—”

“She will need to control herself, that is what she will do,” Randall interrupted angrily. “I’ve exhausted every prospect for her. She’s a hellion and no man will have her, mark my words. Not as a wife anyway!”

“Randall!” Genevieve cried out in shock, blinking back tears. “She is my daughter!”

“We have to sell the building. There is no other alternative.”

The building’s value had more than quadrupled since Thomas purchased the property twenty years ago, but his sister-in-law didn’t need to know that. Hell, Randall had just learned of it himself. If he had known he certainly would not have spent so much on his nieces’ wardrobe for this charade of a Season. He needed that extra money. And then some. And he needed it now.

“What of Colette?
Elle sait ce que l’on attend d’elle.
She will behave. Surely she can marry well?”

Randall rolled his eyes in frustration. “Colette is almost as bad as her sister.”

Genevieve shook her gray head in protest. “
Non
, Colette is a good girl. She knows what to do. She will not let us down. She will marry well for us. A kind gentleman will want her as his wife. And she will be happy.”

“Are you listening to me?” He struggled not to shout at his dim-witted sister-in-law. “We are a month into the Season. Your daughters have blatantly ignored every bit of advice and guidance that Cecilia and I have given them. They have turned down a dozen suitable prospects between them, they are seen in the company of notorious rakes, and Juliette has given herself quite a little reputation as a firebrand already. I don’t know if there’s anything more I can do to remedy the situation.”

Rendered speechless by his anger, Genevieve covered her face with her long, elegant hands, as if believing her problems would disappear if she could not see them. Randall had frightened her. As well he should.

“I have given your two daughters the opportunity of a lifetime. If they refuse to marry whom I choose for them, I cannot be blamed. And I can no longer continue to support you financially, since I am in a financial bind of my own. If we sell the building, I can recoup my losses with the girls and you will have a tidy sum to live on. Do you understand what I am saying to you, Genevieve?”

Slowly she removed her hands from her face. “Yes, I understand.
Bien sûr, je ne suis pas une imbécile.”

“You could buy a little cottage by the sea. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? The girls wouldn’t have to work in the bookshop anymore. You would be happy there.”

She pressed her fingertips to her temples and sighed melodramatically. “I do not know,” she wailed, her French accent becoming more pronounced. “
Je ne sais pas quoi faire…”

The French always had to act with histrionics, Randall thought with disgust. He pressed his advantage, knowing he was close to her capitulation. “It’s the right thing to do and you know it. And we don’t have to tell Colette. We can tell her after it’s sold. She will most likely to be grateful to be relieved of the burden of managing the shop. We shall inform her of the sale after it is completed.”

The last thing Randall wanted to do was let Colette know he wanted to sell the shop. She was too smart and would fight him tooth and nail on that point. And she would find out the actual selling price and demand what was rightfully hers. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He deserved most of the money for all the trouble his brother and his family had caused him over the years. Besides, he needed the money to pay off the mountain of debt that Nigel had accrued this year.

“Oh, Randall,
je vous en prie
. Please do not make me do this!” she cried.

“I’m not making you do anything, Genevieve. I am simply guiding you to make a wise financial decision. If you give me the deed to the building, I will sell it for you. You will make a substantial sum of money, which will support you in your old age in a lovely cottage by the sea. You will not have to depend on me anymore. We would both like that, would we not, Genevieve?”

“You have never cared for me,” she sniffed with an injured air.

Ignoring her pout, he continued determinedly. “That is neither here nor there, my dear. I am offering you a chance to be self-sufficient and to take the burden of that pathetic bookshop off your daughter’s shoulders. Come now, Genevieve, admit it. You hate the bookshop almost as much as I do.” It was a stab in the dark, but he had had his suspicions over the years.

“
Oui,”
she confessed, almost relieved by the admission. “
C’est la vérité.”

She looked at him with her wide azure eyes. Genevieve had been beautiful once, just as beautiful as her daughters, and what she ever saw in the insipid Thomas, Randall never understood, but now she was a mere shadow of her former self. Randall felt an overwhelming sense of pity for her.

“Thomas spent all his time down there. He was never here with me.”

“So sell the building. There is nothing to keep you here but sad memories. Move to the seashore with the girls.”

“Do you really think it will bring a good price?” she asked, and he had to contain his elation at her question. She was wavering.

“I know it will bring a fair price. The real estate in Mayfair has at least doubled over the years,” he lied easily.

“Truly?” she asked, unable to hide the glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“Yes. And didn’t my brother use your inheritance to buy the building in the first place?”

“
Oui
, without even consulting me when my mother left that money to me! It was my money!” she cried, the years of anger and resentment evident in her furrowed brow and pained expression. “
C’était mon argent.
I never wanted to live here.” She gestured in disgust toward the shabbily furnished rooms with a wave of her elegant hand.

“Then sell it. Give the deed to me, Genevieve.”

“I will,” she said, her eyes ablaze with emotion, murmuring rapidly in French. “
Que Dieu me protège mais je dois le faire. Je vendrai donc ma librairie.
I will sell the bookshop, Randall.”

He exhaled in relief at her answer. “I will take care of everything, Genevieve. But don’t tell the girls. It will only upset them. Especially Colette,” he warned.

“No, I shall not tell her.” She called in the direction of the other room, “Paulette! Paulette!”

A bedroom door opened and one of his nieces appeared. “Yes, Mother?” she asked, as she entered the parlor where he sat with her mother. “Good afternoon, Uncle Randall.”

“Good afternoon, Paulette,” he said to her. With her honey-colored hair and blue-green eyes and angelic features, she would be a beauty to match her older sisters when she was grown. It never ceased to astound Randall. He would give his brother credit for that at least, if nothing else. Thomas had somehow managed to produce five stunning daughters, each one lovelier than the next. They were fortunate in that. Randall shuddered at his plight had his nieces been homely…

“Go into my room,
ma petite chérie
, and in the top right drawer of my bureau are some papers. Will you bring them to me, please?” Genevieve asked.

“
Oui
,
Maman
.”

As Paulette ran to do her mother’s bidding, Randall wondered whether his French sister-in-law was truly incapacitated or simply acted that way for effect. He had not seen her outside the house in years, with the exception of Thomas’s funeral last year. She relied heavily on an ornate gilt cane and the assistance of her daughters, but she seemed mobile enough. He believed she rather enjoyed the attention her “infirmity” gave her.

“You are making a wise decision,” he reminded her encouragingly, as Paulette returned with a sheaf of papers and handed them to her mother.

“
Merci, ma petite,”
she kissed her daughter on the cheek. “You can go now. I shall call you when I need you.”

Paulette nodded obediently and left them. Genevieve shuffled through the papers in front of her. She squinted at them, her face puzzled. Sighing heavily, she finally handed them all over to Randall with a helpless look. “I do not know what it is I am looking for.”

Thrilled at his success, Randall flipped through the documents until he found the deed of ownership to the building. He gave the rest of the papers back to Genevieve.

“Remember, do not mention this to Colette, or any of the girls.”

“I shall not speak of it until it is over and done with.” Her mouth trembled slightly when she spoke.

Randall nodded his approval, pocketing the precious deed carefully in his coat. “I will sell only at the highest price, and you will have your little cottage soon enough and be rid of this place.”