Lord of Fire (45 page)

The chill in the air brought him back to his senses until he had his emotions tightly under control once more.

He was no amateur. He would follow his plan and not risk making a mistake out of hot-tempered impulse. When he had Lucien Knight in his power, he would find out exactly what the man had done to Sophia and punish him for it.

He made a mental note to save one of his cannonballs to obliterate Knight House and everyone in it, then pushed up silently from the ground, picked up his weapon’s leather case, and returned to the carriage, his rifle propped on his shoulder.

Lucien was on the verge of giving up. He did not know where else to look or what more to try. Failing all else, his main concern had been addressed—
Alice had agreed to stay at home on Guy Fawkes Night. The stubborn chit should have stayed safely tucked away at Hawkscliffe Hall or at least in Hampshire, but she refused to leave
London and when it came down to it, he had no real authority over her.

Standing at the balustrade with the night wind rippling through his hair, Lucien gazed out at the night-clad grounds of
Green
Park
. He thought he detected a distant flicker of movement in the shadows, but he shrugged it off, too obsessed with his thoughts of
Alice to pay much attention. He took a drink of his brandy, then glanced over his shoulder at Damien, who slid him a wary look in return, sitting there idly smoking his cigar.

Lucien eyed his brother half hostilely, uncertain of how to proceed. One way or another, he would warn Damien away from his woman, but he had to broach the subject cautiously.
Alice had claimed that Damien knew about the two of them. Lucien couldn’t see how. Despite her refusal to believe him, he had not told his brother anything. If Damien indeed knew, Lucien knew that he had gone after
Alice simply to get back at him for seducing Caro. That had to be the reason.
To be sure, you ass,
he scoffed at himself,
it could have nothing to do with the fact that she was the most exquisite woman in the room.
The knowledge filled him with misery and jealous, burning frustration. All those young bucks crowding around her had been infuriating enough, but if Damien was serious in his pursuit of
Alice, Lucien thought he might as well hang himself.

Surely she realized that she could hope for no better revenge on him than to accept Damien as a suitor, he thought bleakly. If she wanted to hurt him—and he did not blame her, if she did—then she already held the perfect weapon in her delicate, artist’s hands.

“I trust you enjoyed the evening,” Damien remarked, his voice a deep, ironic drawl.

Lucien turned as Damien let out a stream of smoke, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Noticed you actually stood up to dance tonight,” Lucien said smoothly, masking his resentment.

“Couldn’t resist,” he answered. “Did you see the girl I met? Beautiful.”

“Very,” he agreed through gritted teeth. He felt his face flush with anger.

“How’s Caro?” Damien asked innocently. “Ah, but I reckon it didn’t work out between the two of you, since she’s been seen all over town with that Prussian ape.”

“I don’t give a damn about her,” Lucien said in a warning tone, holding his stare.

“Or any woman, eh, brother?” Damien stood and sauntered over to him, stopping mere inches away from him. “Not really. You never really care about anyone, do you? Except yourself.”

Lucien gazed insolently at him.
I do not need this right now.

“You have done a terrible thing,” Damien said, his voice barely louder than the low night breeze, though its undertone was steel. “Nothing you’ve done to date has equaled the dishonor with which you have treated that girl, Lucien. You took a gently bred virgin, seduced her, then cast her aside as though she were a whore. I am ashamed of you.”

“How did you find out?”

Damien stared at him. “Is that all you have to say? How did I find out? Caro told me, if you must know. She came here one night last week to throw herself at me again, and when I asked her to leave, she told me about you and Miss Montague. She threw it in my face about what a pack of ‘scoundrels’ we Knight brothers are.”

“That sounds like Caro, all right.”

“Lucien, what were you thinking? Miss Montague is a baron’s daughter, a gentlewoman. You would shame not only her, but yourself and our family with your flagrant immorality.”

“Damien.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled for patience.

“How you plan to live with yourself is your own affair, but I wanted you to know that I am going to take care of this situation. As usual, it falls to me to clean up your mess.”

He suddenly stopped. “Take care of it?”

“I am seeing Miss Montague tomorrow,” Damien replied in a grim tone of resolve. “I am going to ask her to marry me.”

Lucien stared at him, shocked to the core; then flames of fury sprang to life in his eyes. “Don’t. You. Dare,” he whispered.

“Then do what honor requires.”

“I can’t,” he nearly wailed.

“Well, I can,” Damien said, then roughly brushed past him and stalked into the house.

Lucien stood there paralyzed, his mind reeling, his heart pounding. How appallingly easy it was to imagine them together—the war hero and Goody Two-Shoes! What a match! Damien wanted heirs;
Alice longed for a brood of children to dote upon. How like his honor-bound brother to take matters into his own hands.

Lucien ran his hand through his hair, then clasped the back of his neck and closed his eyes, hating himself. He had never felt like more of a failure.
Alice might have said no to that lad’s proposal, but what woman in her right mind would refuse the great Damien Knight, soon to become the earl of Winterley?
he thought bitterly.
He might as well accept it. She would be better off with Damien anyway. Damien could make her a countess. Lucien couldn’t do that. Damien was admired, respected. She would never have to be ashamed of him and would never need to beg him not to play such dangerous games.
If Claude Bardou ended up killing Lucien, at least he could rest in peace knowing that Damien was taking care of
Alice.
It was for the best,
he told himself, a lump of despair rising in his throat.
Whatever she had loved about him, she could have in his twin brother. Damien was just like him, after all.

Without the flaws.

Alice
had long since arrived home, retired to her chamber, and gone to bed, but she could not fall asleep for worrying about Lucien. She prayed feverishly to God to keep him safe. At last, just when she had started to doze off, she was lurched back to wakefulness by the noise of von Dannecker and Caro passing in the hallway outside her door on their way to the baroness’s bedchamber.

“What’s wrong, darling?” she heard Caro murmur. “You look so grim.”

She could not make out von Dannecker’s mumbled reply as they moved on. But it was not long before she began to hear Caro’s muffled laughter through the wall, the murmurs of love play, and then the groaning.

Alice pulled her pillow over her head in vexation, trying to drown out the sounds, but the couple grew louder, their moans ever more feverish, until her own memories tortured her, making her body burn for the only man she had ever known, ever wanted: her seducer, that hateful, silver-eyed fiend that she loved. Agonized with missing him, she threw off the covers, pulled on her dressing gown, and tiptoed up to the nursery to check on Harry.

He was fast asleep when she glided silently into his room. He looked so peaceful, slumbering on his back, a beam of moonlight falling across his cherubic face. Gazing down at him, trembling in the night’s chill, tears filled her eyes.

Lambkin, you’re all I have left.

The floorboards creaked when she shifted her weight. She almost wanted him to wake up so she wouldn’t have to be so alone. She stifled the urge to pet his downy head, picking up his cotton-stuffed toy dog instead. She hugged it to her as she stared down at him, crystalline tears streaming down her face in the moonlight. She lowered her head and hugged the toy harder, careful to keep her heartbroken sobs silent while every atom of her body and her heart screamed for Lucien.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

The next morning,
Alice sat on a bench in
Hyde Park, bundled up in her pelisse, scarf, and gloves, sketching the bleak lines of the trees. She had told Lucien that she would not go out on Guy Fawkes Night, but she hadn’t made any promises about the daytime. Shortly after dawn, she had been awakened by von Dannecker’s clumping footfalls as he left Caro’s bedchamber.
Alice supposed she should be grateful that he had not stayed for breakfast.

With a bit of a headache from crying herself to sleep the night before, she glanced over her shoulder in irritation at the workmen pounding their hammers. They were putting the finishing touches on the dais where the dignitaries would give their speech tonight before the fireworks display was set alight.
Alice had never much cared for the holiday of Guy Fawkes Night. It was a noisy, chaotic, rather coarse festival day that always made her fret over the precarious mix of cavorting drunkards and blazing bonfires.

She squinted against the overcast glare and continued with her drawing. It comforted her. The sky was a tumbling sea of tall gray clouds with sharp silver edges; here and there, the sun poked through in fanlike rays. The trees’ rich autumn leaves had long since fallen and scattered away upon the wind, leaving them bare, scraggly stalks against the pewter sky.

Nellie had ambled down to the muddy bank of the Serpentine, her sewing basket draped over her forearm.
Alice knew that her withdrawn attitude was making her maid uneasy, but she could not stir even a shred of cheer. She just sat brooding, idly sketching the trees, her hand moving across the page with a will of its own, shading here, adding detail there. Suddenly the dull, thudding cadence of hoofbeats broke into her thoughts.

She looked up, then let out a small gasp as a tall, imposing, wonderfully familiar horseman came riding toward her on a large white steed. Her heart leaped with instant recognition and she sat up straight, but as he came closer, she made out the scarlet uniform beneath his greatcoat and slumped again on the bench, mocking her own pitiful hopes.

It was the other one.
Lord, hadn’t she made it perfectly clear last night that she would not welcome his advances?

Damien reined his tall white horse in before her and swept off his plumed shako, giving her a curt nod in greeting. “Miss Montague. Harry’s nurse told me I might find you here.”

She heaved a sigh as he dismounted with an athletic leap and strode toward her, hesitating a little when he noticed her dull stare. He looked so much like Lucien that she felt a pang at the sight of him.

“I realize you do not wish to speak with me, but you must hear me out,” he said.

“Must I?” she murmured rather cynically. This was a man accustomed to giving orders and being unquestioningly obeyed, she thought. At his overbearing tone, Nellie came over and stood by her protectively.
Alice nodded to her. “It’s all right.” With a faint look of distress, Nellie backed off to a respectful distance but stayed near enough for propriety. “Very well.”
Alice sighed, gesturing toward the bench. “You may join me.”

The colonel sat down beside her and searched her face with a penetrating stare.

Though his face was weathered and hard, he had the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

“Miss Montague, I will come straight to the point.”

No,
she thought wryly,
this was definitely not Lucien.