Lord of Fire (42 page)
Authors: Gaelen Foley
“Marcus!” he barked, turning to look for his protégé.
Leaning in the doorway of the stairs that led up to the balcony, the young man strode over to him. Lucien pressed his lips together in a fury beyond words and merely pointed at
“Oh, bloody hell,” Marc said under his breath.
“Get her out of here.”
“Consider it done.”
was sorry that she had come. She would have much rather been curled up at home staring into the fire or reading a storybook to Harry, but it was necessary to show Society that all was normal—that nothing unusual had happened to her, nothing scandalous, nothing rapturous.
Nothing but influenza.
How fitting,
she thought bitterly,
that she had come back from Lucien’s with lies on her tongue
.
She had barely walked into the ballroom when her three longtime suitors—Roger, Freddie, and Tom—came rushing over to greet her and surrounded her, all talking at once. Roger Manners, a serious, high-minded young man with wavy black hair and brown eyes, would make a splendid barrister one day. Freddie Foxham was a dedicated Bond Street Lounger and a tulip of fashion; tonight he wore a purple coat with a cravat so high he could barely turn his head. Tom de Vere, a squire’s son, was the largest of the lot, with a loud guffawing laugh and the simple, loyal nature of a hunting dog.
“Who is this prime article?” Tom exploded with a hearty grin.
“Miss Montague, what a splendid recovery you’ve made. You look ravishing,” Roger informed her, kissing her hand with his usual, polite precision.
Freddie merely quizzed her from head to toe through his monocle. “Hmm,” he murmured, then pronounced his judgment. “Yes, quite acceptable.”
smiled wryly at them. “Thank you for the flowers, all of you.”
“Which did you like best?” Tom asked with childlike eagerness.
She laughed. “I couldn’t possibly say.”
“Come and sit down,
When they reached the sitting area over by the wall, Tom pulled out a chair for her with an eager flourish. “Your throne, princess!”
“Honestly, you three,” she scolded wryly. Her sister-in-law sat down a few feet away, blithely engaged in conversation with her male friends.
“Tom, old boy, why don’t you fetch our gel a bit of punch?” Freddie drawled.
“Right!” Tom said, as though struck with divine inspiration. When he went lumbering off through the crowd to find the punch table, Freddie and Roger sat down on either side of her.
“I’ll have you know you gave us quite a scare,” Roger told her with a chiding frown.
“Well, I’m quite recovered now.”
“Recovered enough to dance with us?” Freddie asked with a lazy grin.
“Perhaps,” she answered archly. “That’s quite a waistcoat.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“Have I missed anything exciting in Town?”
They chatted idly, Roger describing the latest Shakespearean performance of
’s mind wandered.
What was she to do now that she was no longer a virgin? How was she going to explain that fact to her future husband, or trick him into not noticing? She could marry Tom and dupe him easily enough, but he was such a dear, dumb thing. She could never really love him, and that would be heartless to do to a friend. Worldly-wise Freddie would be the hardest to fool, but perhaps would be the most willing to accept her fallen state philosophically. She had heard a rumor, however, that Freddie had an unusual, perhaps unnaturally close friendship with one of his fellow dandies. After what she had seen in the Grotto, she understood what those rumors implied. Sometimes she felt he had only courted her all this while because he
had
to court some young lady and, deep down, he knew she had no intention of accepting. Ah, well,
she thought.
She adored him anyway as a friend.
Roger was probably the best choice. No doubt a virgin himself, he might not even notice her missing innocence, for he was so blinded by his devotion to her. He had placed her on the very highest pedestal, for she had always been such a perfect Goody Two-Shoes,
she thought cynically.
When Tom returned with her punch, Freddie turned away to greet one of his arrogant, smirking friends, and Roger leaned toward her, murmuring in her ear, “I must speak with you. Alone.”
She nodded, wondering what was the matter, when she heard a voice insistently calling her name. “Miss Montague!” She looked up; then her eyes widened as Marc and the rest of Lucien’s young hellhounds came striding toward her in a pack.
“Miss Montague! A word with you, if you please.”
“Hullo, there,” Talbert said. “Don’t you look stunning?”
“Mademoiselle!”
O’Shea chimed in with a bow.
“Well met, my dear Miss Montague! How smart you look this evening,” Marc said, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“I say!” Roger snorted as Lucien’s rakish protégés gathered around her, crowding her three suitors out.
“Our mutual friend is most displeased to see you here,” Marc said under his breath.
“He’s here?” she breathed, going motionless. “Where?”
“Watching,” Kyle murmured with a sly wink. “Argus of a thousand eyes.”
“How is his wound?” she asked quickly, keeping her voice low so her suitors would not hear.
“What do you care?” Marc taunted her.
She glared at him, feeling her cheeks flood with a heated blush. “I don’t. Where is the cad? He wouldn’t come and talk to me himself?”
“You know full well why.”
gave him a sulky look. Marc lifted his gaze up to the gallery above them. She followed his glance discreetly and caught only a flicker of a motion amid the gloomy shadows there, but she saw no one. Lucien had vanished like a cat into the night.
Marc looked at her soberly. “He gave me a message for you. Leave
“You may give him a message in return for me. He is not my husband. He has no authority over me. I shall do what I please.”
“She’s got some fight in her yet!” O’Shea said with a grin.
“I say, sirs, this is really quite enough,” Roger declared, pushing his way between Kyle and Talbert. “
“If you don’t mind,” Marc started to say to Roger indignantly, when Freddie planted his walking stick squarely on the center of Marc’s chest.
“Keep. Your. Distance.” He poked Marc backwards a step with great aplomb. “I do not believe you have been properly introduced to the young lady; therefore, you have no right to speak to her.”
“Freddie!”
Marc narrowed his eyes in warning. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Not a thing. Why should I wrinkle my clothes when Tom can see to you quite nicely? Sic him, Tom,” Freddie said, dusting off his elegant hands.
Marc turned around, and there was big, brawny Tom. Marc’s courage appeared to falter by a hair as he tilted his head back to look up at the big young man. Tom’s ruddy face darkened with a glower.
drew breath to stop the brawl that seemed imminent, but suddenly Marc swore under his breath and the young men parted, backing out of the way before a looming presence. As they cleared a straight path toward her,
It was Colonel Lord Damien Knight, the national hero.
He was unmistakable in his crisp scarlet uniform and gold epaulets, white gloves, glittering dress sword. Precisely the same height as Lucien, he towered head and shoulders over the other men, but for some reason he
seemed
more massive than Lucien, imposing in his bearing, inspiring fear and instant submission, while Lucien affected an idle, easy, unthreatening posture, as though not to scare off the prey.
It was rather terrifying.
Damien stopped in front of her and cleared his throat. From behind him, another uniformed man hurried out. The colonel was so broad-shouldered, standing at attention, that the man behind him had not been visible until now. His shock of red hair and elaborate mustachio seemed familiar; then
“Why, Major Sherbrooke!” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Miss Montague, it’s been a long time,” he said warmly, though he looked rather sheepish. “What a shock it is to see Glenwood’s little sister so grown up.”
She smiled, but Damien glared at him impatiently.
All the boys watched in varying degrees of trepidation as Major Sherbrooke nodded. “Ahem, Miss Montague, please allow me to present Colonel Lord Damien Knight. My lord, the Honorable Miss Alice Montague.”
“How do you do?” she said faintly, curtsying to him.
The boys watched in varying degrees of dismay. A short distance away, Caro sat up, suddenly paying attention. She looked daggers at
Lord Damien bowed to her. “Miss Montague, will you do me the honor of a dance?”
She heard Caro gasp at his request and looked over at her sister-in-law just as the baroness snapped her mouth shut.
glanced at the colonel suspiciously once more. Lucien had emphasized that neither of them were to tell a soul about their time together at
She hesitated, knowing how vulnerable Lucien was when it came to his celebrated twin. If Lucien was indeed watching from above, he would be incensed.
“I’m not sure it is a good idea,”
“It is a very good idea, Miss Montague,” he answered tersely. “I would speak with you.” It was an order, not a request. He held out his hand to her, his steely gray eyes full of forceful command.
