His Wicked Seduction (21 page)

“Sir Hugo Waverly. I believe he means to kill us all eventually,” Charles predicted. A heavy shadow fell across Linley’s face. “The worst of it will be breaking the news to Cedric and his sisters. They’re damned fond of this little scamp. It’s a blessing they’re in Kent. I couldn’t bear to watch the girls hear the news. Women crying is the worst thing imaginable. I never say or do the right thing to stop the blasted waterworks.” Charles tilted his head back, heaving a sigh.

He tried not to think about how the cat had died. The choice of execution was no coincidence. Charles shuddered, remembering the sensation of cold water strangling him, smothering his nose and mouth, blinding his vision as he sank beneath the dark waters, weights attached his legs, and his hands bound so he couldn’t swim. Yes. There was no doubt who committed this sin against an innocent creature.

“I wish we could bury him, but the ground is frozen. We’ll have to cremate him. It might help console Lord Sheridan and his sisters to know that the poor creature was cared for,” Linley suggested.

“That is a very considerate idea. We’ll handle it tomorrow.” Charles ran a shaky hand through his hair. Waverly was upping the stakes.

“It seems you may have chosen an ill time to take on a new employer, Linley,” Charles muttered. Linley buried his face in the blankets around little Katherine, planting a kiss on the babe’s forehead as though to ward off evil. But Charles knew better. Tender kisses and thoughts of love would not save anyone from Hugo Waverly.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dreams were wonderful things, no one could dispute that. But the moment when an intangible vision of one’s desires becomes a reality? That is something infinitely more powerful and breathtaking than the moonlit inspired visions woven in the night. Now here Horatia was, waking beside Lucien. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and glimpsed snow falling outside the large window opposite her.

The flakes had clumped into penny-sized blotches, drifting down like feathers. It was still early. The light in the sky was reduced to a heavy gray by the voluminous winter clouds. Horatia lay nestled next to him, the heat of Lucien’s body warming her back. She rolled over, settling deeper into the feather bedding as she studied him in the dim morning light.

Lucien was stretched out on his stomach. One hand was fisted around the bottom of his pillow, scrunching it up beneath his cheek. His other arm dangled off the side of the bed. The wide expanse of his shoulders and back were exposed as the sheets rode low on his hips. His face was turned towards her, his dark lashes spiking across his cheeks as he slept. Although Lucien was thirty-three, Horatia could see the boy in his features as they softened with sleep. She ached to brush her hand along his brows and trace the strong, straight aristocratic nose down to his sinful lips.

The lines of his body were carved with muscle. A long, pale pink scar dipped along the side of his chest and stopped at the top of his hip. Without thinking Horatia ran a curious fingertip along the raised surface of the mark. Lucien stirred at her touch, and his eyes opened. Horatia wished she knew the smallest details about him—the things a lover or a wife would know—such as whether he woke easily or not.

“Lucien, are you a light sleeper?” she asked.

His gaze warmed as he seemed to consider her question.

“Why do you wish to know?” He remained still, watching her, the closeness between them overwhelming her senses.

“I was curious,” she hedged.

She realized her finger was still touching him near his left hip. She didn’t pull her hand back.

I should stop touching him
, she told herself. But instead she let the rest of her fingers splay defiantly on his skin, the touch intimate and possessive. Lucien did not shift his gaze away from her.

“I am a light sleeper. And you?” It seemed he was aware of the intimacy of the moment, and the conversation.

“Sometimes when I am worried or vexed I have trouble sleeping.”

“You slept soundly last night,” Lucien observed.

“That is because…” Horatia felt her cheeks flush.

“Because?”

“Because I feel safe when you are near.” She could not tell him how she really felt. That being near him made her both restless and peaceful, that she trusted him with her body, heart and soul. When he was with her the dark memories that haunted her could not penetrate the ring of light he shone about her.

Lucien did not reply. Instead he propped his head up on one hand and removed Horatia’s inquisitive hand from his hip. He studied her fingers and palm, his thumb teasing patterns on her skin. He spread her fingers and placed his own palm against hers, matching their hands, though his fingers were much longer than hers. Then he laced their fingers together and pulled her towards him.

Again, Horatia was struck by their closeness, and it left her struggling for breath. What if he pushed away again, as he always had before? The idea was unbearable. She had to emotionally take a step back through conversation.

“Lucien, how did you come by that scar?”

“Which one?”

“The…the one on your hip.” She couldn’t believe she was in bed with Lucien discussing his hips. If it weren’t for her breathless fascination with his body, she would have laughed at the prudish shyness she was feeling.

“Oh that.” Lucien laughed and placed a soft kiss on the back of her fingers.

Horatia shivered at the warmth of his lips. The man was irresistible. Her heart cracked at the seams, bursting with love and sadness all at once.

“I received that particular scar when I was at university. Ashton and I had only just met, and we didn’t like each other.”

“You and Ashton? But you are such good friends!” Horatia couldn’t envision a world where Lucien and Ashton disliked each other.

“True. But at first, he and I did not see eye to eye. Ashton believes in rules and principles. To him I was the most unscrupulous fellow he’d ever met. I dare say he wasn’t completely wrong about that.”

She leaned into him, enchanted with the way he talked. “And what does that have to do with your scar?”

Lucien’s face flushed uncharacteristically red. “Well, it is rather embarrassing.”

“Well, now I must hear it.”

“I was a student at Cambridge, and I got it into my head to seduce the young wife of one of our professors. He was interested in well…gentlemen, and she was quite lonely.” Lucien grinned wickedly. “Call it payback for poor examination results I’d received. I don’t know how Ashton found out what I meant to do, but he followed me one night. I was halfway up the trellis to the lady’s room when Ashton jumped out of the bushes and startled me. I lost my hold and the wooden trellis sliced me open as I fell.”

Horatia gasped. He chuckled at her shock.

“Quite. I was in a bad way when I landed, and Ashton was far too noble to abandon me. He helped me onto my feet and when he saw how deep my wound was he helped me to the nearest inn and found a doctor. Somewhere between my fall and the seven sutures I’d received without one drop of brandy to dull my pain, Ashton decided he liked me after all. He thought I ought to behave more like the gentleman I was, but he also knew I couldn’t always fight my more untamed nature. He reconciled himself to the idea of our friendship and we’ve been as we are ever since.” Lucien’s mouth once more settled on Horatia’s skin, this time on her wrist to kiss the sensitive skin where her pulse thrummed even more quickly.

She had a thousand questions, but when she felt his tongue flick out, all rational thought faded. With a slow sensual slide, he pulled her body flush against his.

“Horatia, I’m not good at this,” Lucien whispered, his lips mere inches from hers.

“Good at what?” Her voice was a tad tremulous as she feared what he might say.

“Being a gentleman. In London I promised that you would be safe from me, yet I let Lawrence hurt you and now I’m sharing your bed, and having the most wicked sort of thoughts about you.”

Her heart leapt inside her chest. “Oh?”

He let his lips brush hers, smiling as though he enjoyed her stunned response.

“Oh yes. I keep thinking about that night at the Midnight Garden and how brave you were to face me. How sweet you tasted! And right now, I wish it had been me last night who had you alone in a bedroom at my mercy.” Lucien nipped her bottom lip and the spot between her legs ached.

“Lucien, I’m always at your mercy.” Horatia brushed her hand through his dark red hair as he teased her further. “And you do have me alone in a bedroom.”

“Mmm, I do, don’t I?” He framed her face with his hands and plundered her mouth in a way that left her dazed and throbbing. “What do you say we—” Someone knocked at the locked bedroom door.

Horatia scowled. “Drat. That must be my maid, Ursula. She’s early.”

Lucien released her and slid out of the bed with a slow sigh.

“Perhaps it is for the best. I… Damn. This is a mistake, Horatia. I can never bloody think straight when I’m with you.” Lucien’s voice was hoarse as he quickly dressed.

When Lucien opened the door the maid eyed him with disapproval. He’d faced far worse, however, he didn’t want this woman bringing trouble to Horatia.

“I trust you will be silent about what you’ve seen here?”

“Of course, my lord,” Ursula said without warmth. “My lady’s reputation means everything to me. I dare not ask what your intentions are.”

“My intention is to continue to see Horatia without anyone knowing. For her benefit, not mine. I am not ashamed to be with her, but her brother finding out would put everyone in a difficult position.”

The lady’s maid nodded. “Lord Sheridan would certainly be furious. I would not like to be the cause of his temper. I will keep silent so long as you treat her well.”

Lucien nodded in farewell to Horatia, then slipped out into the hallway to ring for his valet, Felix.

He had to erase the image of her in bed from his mind. The way she looked so warm, soft and perfect, her hair tumbled in waves around her shoulders, her eyes still a little dreamy with sleep and her lips pink and ready for kisses… It was enough to drive a man mad.

After he’d bathed and dressed, Lucien stumbled upon his three brothers exiting the breakfast room and headed for the closest door that would take them outside.

“You three, stop!” he barked. It was time for a reckoning.

They caught sight of him and bolted like rabbits. Lucien managed to snag Linus by the collar of his long black greatcoat.

“Avery, help!” Linus clawed at his brother, who dodged away as he and Lawrence eyed Lucien the way one would a man-eating tiger.

A killing rage stirred in Lucien’s blood and he was more than ready to unleash it after what had happened to Horatia.

“I want a word with you, Lawrence,” Lucien growled. “
All
of you, in fact.”

Linus kicked out but Lucien’s grip had rendered him helpless. Avery and Lawrence looked to one another and nodded, coming back to Lucien. Lucien loosened his grip on Linus but did not release him completely.

“Last night. What you did, Lawrence, that had better been part of some silly plan you’ve concocted, because if I learn you meant to do Horatia harm you will never be welcome in this house again.”

“Easy there, Lucien,” Avery said gently, as though speaking to a spooked stallion.

“It was Mama’s doing!” Linus gasped out. “She’s to blame!”

“What?”

“Be quiet!” Lawrence hissed.

“Mama told us to seduce Horatia so you would become jealous and want her more.” Lucien let Linus go, causing him to fall to his knees.

“You tried to make me jealous? The three of you kept her away until…” Lucien fixed his gaze on Lawrence, who gulped audibly.

“You were supposed to find the two of us much sooner!” Lawrence said. “I was trying to explain, but she kept… I never meant to take it so far.”

“Tell that to the young lady you frightened. God, Lawrence.” Lucien stepped past Linus. “I thought you had more sense. Did her pleas mean nothing to you?”

“I regret every second of it,” Lawrence snapped. “But it’s done. You stayed all night with her, just like we expected you to.”

Lucien hauled back his fist when a voice from down the hall stopped him.

“Everything all right here?” Cedric asked as he came down the hall, pulling on his gloves and coat.

Lucien changed his movement to a stretch and rubbed his hair. “Yes. Everything is fine.” Lucien scanned Cedric’s heavy coat and gloves. “Where are you off to?”

“To build the forts. You know, for the snowball battle your mother arranged? Your brothers and I are to build two forts on either side of the garden. The ladies will be out in an hour or so to join us.”

“The ladies?” Lucien was baffled. It had been ages since his family had a snowball fight, not since he was sixteen at least. What was she up to?

Cedric grinned. “Who else? Last night we decided that should we have a decent snowfall, we ought to have a battle. Men against women, of course. Even Sir John and Lady Cavendish have agreed to join in. The numbers favor us, but I imagine that a few of the gents will defect to the enemy side when our chivalry gets the better of us.”

Thankfully it seemed Cedric hadn’t overhead any of their discussion. Lucien could deal with his brothers later. For now he just wanted some peace and to spend time with Cedric.

“Well then, lead the way, Avery.” Lucien called for a nearby footman to fetch his coat and gloves. Avery, Cedric and Linus headed outside, but Lawrence lingered behind.

“Lucien, about Horatia—” Lawrence began.

Lucien cut him off with a raised finger, but Lawrence threw out a hand and stopped Lucien from brushing past him.

“I would never have done anything more to her. I swear it. She’s…well, she’s Horatia.” Lawrence’s tone conveyed his meaning where his words failed.

Lucien moved the hand aside. “Never, and I mean
never
touch her again. If you make her uncomfortable for even a moment…” He didn’t finish his sentence because it would end with a threat and he didn’t wish to ruin his day with such black thoughts.

Lawrence studied his brother’s face. “Mother was right. You really do care for her. She’s a good woman and will make a wonderful wife and mother.”

The sudden vision of Horatia holding a child,
their
child in her arms stilled his heart. Pain, such sweet pain and longing, blazed to life inside him. But Cedric would never condone the match—he always seemed to forget that when he was near her.

“Speak of it no more. I expect you to find a moment later today to make your apologies to Horatia. And if you ever let mother coerce you into something so foolish again, I won’t save you, whatever the consequences,” Lucien warned.

“I’ll apologize to her.” Lawrence slid his coat onto his shoulders and looked as though waiting for his brother’s permission to leave.

Lucien shoved ahead of him and donned his own coat and gloves. “Come along, Lawrence. These snow forts must be soundly built, and if we leave Linus in charge he’ll make some delicate nonsense that will look impressive but blow over in a stiff wind.” Focusing on the upcoming frivolities, he prayed he could shake loose the longing he had for Horatia. Last night couldn’t be repeated ever again.