Mad for Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 2 (3 page)

The duchess stared at him for one fraught moment. “Are there other people outside?”

“Twenty at least, by my reckoning.”

She gave a sharp nod. “Very well.”

A tall, dark figure was heading determinedly toward them.

The dowager exclaimed in delight. “Why, I didn’t know the Duke of Lyndhurst was arriving today! What a pleasant surprise, your grace!”

Aurelia had to smile too. Although the duke had a naturally stern mien, he’d never shown her anything but kindness and consideration. Instead of moving away, Blaize remained by her side, and she felt the tension in the atmosphere increase as the two squared up to each other.

Blaize was leaner, more athletic, but the men were of a height, Lyndhurst perhaps an inch taller. Lyndhurst’s shoulders were squarer, his chest broader, but Aurelia didn’t know which she’d back in a fight, because Blaize had a slick swiftness that the more powerfully built Lyndhurst could lack. Why was she thinking of fights?

However, Lyndhurst had one major advantage, which he was currently explaining to Blaize in answer to his query as to why they hadn’t met before.

“I’ve been abroad until recently, with the army.”

Blaize frowned. “Lyndhurst. Yes, I have it now. You’re the second son, aren’t you?”

The insult had nothing subtle about it, but instead of taking umbrage, Lyndhurst’s eyes sparked in delight, accepting the gauntlet as if it were a game. “Yes, I am and heartily wish I’d remained so. My advisors virtually ordered me to sell out when I inherited the title.”

“The army suited you?”

Although wearing ordinary clothes, Lyndhurst had the air of a military man, his coat and breeches a dull olive in contrast to his cream waistcoat, everything arranged with clean precision. As were his movements. “It did. The battleground I currently find myself on is far less well-defined.”

“And you like definition.”

Lyndhurst gave a grim smile. “Who does not?”

“Subtler minds, perhaps?” Blaize drew a diamond-encrusted snuffbox from his pocket and flicked it open with a practiced gesture of finger and thumb. After the briefest of hesitations, he offered Lyndhurst a pinch. The pause didn’t go unnoticed.

Lyndhurst glanced at Blaize’s face before he shook his head. “Thank you, I prefer my own blend.”

Blaize helped himself, taking snuff with such a graceful gesture, Aurelia’s attention remained on him. He smiled. “I take it you don’t indulge?”

She shuddered in revulsion. “No, thank you.” She’d tried it once, stealing a pinch from the box her brother kept in his study. Disgusting. She hadn’t stopped sneezing for an hour. Some women took it, but she was not one of them. Blaize’s fond smile indicated an intimacy that took her back to the scene in the pavilion. Meant for the others to see, probably, but that didn’t stop her smiling back.

A moment of intimacy passed between them, even in this crowded space. The ballroom had filled up since they’d left. Already comfortably full, now the affair threatened to become a sad squeeze—in short, a triumph. For a first ball, her mother had handled it beautifully, managing to get a date early in the Season that was crammed with rival events. Only three tonight.

“You wish to dance, Lady Aurelia?” Lyndhurst sounded smug, and the implied intimacy of using her given name indicated a familiarity Blaize shouldn’t have won yet. Even if he had. Curtsying, she gave the correct response and went with him.

He was handsome, attentive, and he had her mother’s blessing. What more could she want than Lyndhurst, who was showing a decided partiality for her? Her gaze strayed to the corner of the ballroom where Blaize stood, silently watching, his lips compressed into a tight line.

She wanted
him
.

Chapter Two

Dressed in frivolous sky-blue, a colour that defied the grimy streets of London to spoil it, Stretton stood at the entrance to Aurelia’s mother’s drawing room and gave Aurelia a private smile before turning his greeting to a public one. The light in his eyes disappeared as he turned his attention to the company.

“Good day.” He bowed, a perfect sweep of his arm delineating his expensively clad form, his trim figure.

While they didn’t actually draw in their skirts, the mamas attending this “at home” responded frostily. All except one, who smiled at him from below sultry eyelids. An ex-lover, one whose possessiveness had eventually grown too much to bear. He ignored her, merely stopping to exchange pleasantries with one of the women who hadn’t greeted him warmly. He took no notice of her daughter, or no more than he had to, and rose to smile at someone else as he slowly made his way across the room.

Lyndhurst, who was sitting next to Aurelia, growled under his breath. “You were saying, sir?” she asked, just as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Do not encourage Stretton,” he murmured. “He’s dangerous.”

Flicking out her fan, she plied it gracefully, trying not to show the evidence that she needed it. The day was not particularly warm, but her face felt hot. “He doesn’t look dangerous to me.”

“But he is. You must be aware of his reputation.”

Back in control of herself now, apart from a rapidly beating heart, she answered him. “Reputations are not certain, are they? What if you find a significant difference between the stories and the person himself?”

“Then I would expect you to take great care. I would expect your friends to attempt to take care of you.”

Instead of protection, Aurelia had the strong impression of bars closing around her, making it impossible for her to escape. Would Lyndhurst prove a restrictive husband? Because she had no doubt that was where he was heading. Yes, he would. His attentions to her in Scotland and now here, flattering as they were, also demonstrated his intent beyond words.

Aurelia didn’t have the forthright manner of many young women of her acquaintance. Histrionics distressed her as much as the person deploying them. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t face unpleasantness to get what she wanted—what she felt she deserved. That was why she’d faced so much. However, she’d prefer not to face them in her marriage. She refused to accept it.

Even though her mother had the means to compel her, as she had before; too many times for her to doubt it. The times she’d felt herself doing things she had no intention of doing, even while she was in the middle of them. Telling convenient lies, talking to men she disliked. Parsing her Latin, though why she should learn Latin and ancient Greek still defeated her.

However, she’d learned them, not willingly, but forced by some power beyond her control to go to the schoolroom when she’d wanted to take her horse out for a vigorous gallop in the sunshine. Her imagination, she’d always considered it, but over the years doubts had set in and she was no longer so sure.

Now she was sitting next to a man she found amusing but faintly alarming, one with definite pretensions to her hand, one her mother approved of.

Lord Stretton took a leisurely, meandering path to her, so that only ten minutes remained of his allotted time, if he stuck to the prescribed visiting period of half an hour. Finally he reached her. She almost breathed in relief, but held her sign in as she turned to him with a carefully controlled smile. “I thought you made a point of avoiding affairs such as this, my lord.”

Blaize,
his gaze said, his eyes holding a soft expression. But he only murmured what he should, and then added, “As if you didn’t expect me!”

“Not here,” she said. She tried not to shift on the brocade-covered sofa.

“The earliest possible opportunity,” he murmured, his voice far more intimate than it should be. Or was he playing with her? No, the expression in those eyes, so open, showed her he meant it.

Dangerous. Now she realized why. If he could do that on demand, then yes, dangerous indeed.

He straightened and gazed down at her. “I couldn’t stay away,” he added, but in a lighter tone, one that invited mockery. “I could not wait to see what confection of a gown you intended to present to the world today.”

She glanced at the silk draped across her lap. Not for one moment had she imagined anyone noticed her fondness for clothes.

Offering him a smile, her first truly sincere one of the day, she wished she could spend more time with him. So many questions she wanted answered, and so much she wanted to ask him. Of course he was dangerous, but last night he’d gone to great lengths to ensure her reputation remained intact, even though he’d taken more than any man before. Even Lyndhurst, who’d been assiduously courting her for the last six months, hadn’t gone that far. They’d managed one kiss, but nothing that had taken her as thoroughly as Lord Stretton—Blaize—had done last night.

Yearnings she didn’t know she was capable of took her when she felt him nearby and surely she could not allow that, except that she couldn’t help herself. No fool, despite her mother’s strictures, she knew full well he could be toying with her.

She should forget him and concentrate on the prospect seated next to her, except she could not. That edge of fear was there with Stretton. He had a reputation a man didn’t earn overnight.

Aurelia dared a glance at her mother. Her eyes glittered like the diamond brooch on her gown, and as hard. Although she sat next to Lady Comyn and appeared absorbed in their conversation, Aurelia felt her presence like a living reproach.

Beside her, the duke stretched one arm behind her head, in a proprietorial gesture she did not like, but he didn’t touch her. “I didn’t believe you could rise this early, Stretton.”

Blaize raised a dark brow, his eyes sultry and unreadable, his lips quirked. “You’d be surprised what I can do, Lyndhurst. On the other hand, I believe you soldiers prefer an early night.”

“Usually. We have to get up early most mornings to fight and plan the next campaign. You know, boring things like that.”

“A war hero? Culloden?” The last battle on British soil just over ten years ago could have included Lyndhurst, but it had been a poor affair, with most of the Scots deserting before they reached the field.

“Culloden was a rout,” Lyndhurst said. “But Cumberland introduced some interesting techniques during the battle. He’s a professional soldier,” he went on, as Blaize shuddered. “He does what is needful.” He shrugged. The press had heavily criticized Cumberland, but Lyndhurst was right. He won his battles. The fact that he was short, stout and unprepossessing didn’t endear him to people, and that, combined with the abrupt manner inherited from his father the King did him no favours. Unfair, but until the young, handsome Bonnie Prince Charlie had grown older and fatter, he’d been the popular romantic hero.

“Better than leading troops into certain death, I suppose.”

“What would you know about that?”

“Indeed,” Blaize said softly, shifting a little. “What would I know?”

The air bristled with their unspoken challenge. Fighting like two dogs—although currently relatively civilized lap dogs. But they’d turn on each other soon and then the street curs would emerge. Aurelia had seen it. After all, she had a brother.

Aurelia closed her fan with a snap, the sound sharp in the sudden silence. “Everyone has a place in the world. If we were all soldiers, how would we raise the money for wars, and how to grow food to tend the troops?”

Stretton glanced at her, his face relaxing into a smile, but that intimate one, only for her. As soon as she began to relax, it was gone and his gaze snapped back to aggression as he gave Lyndhurst his attention. “Do you return?”

“I’ve given up the army. I have another career now.”

“Ah yes. Duke.” Blaize inclined his head. “You’ll find it sadly tame next to the army.” He couldn’t have forgotten, not so soon. With a powerful, economical gesture so typical of him, he got to his feet. He and Blaize stood at a similar height, imposing, and next to each other, Aurelia noted more likenesses. Apart from their eye colour, akin but not identical, they’d seemed so different until they’d stood together and faced her.

Then Blaize’s eyes warmed and his mouth softened in a smile. “My lady, a pleasure,” he said. “May I dare to call on you tomorrow to take some air?”

“The rain is setting in,” the dowager announced. “It could be days before it’s clear enough.”

They couldn’t ride together in a closed carriage, but she might have an opportunity to meet him in private. “Thank you, sir.”

When he touched her hand, however briefly, she felt the connection through her whole body, a trail of sparks.

When Lyndhurst bowed over her hand in farewell, she felt only warmth. Ordinary human warmth. “I look forward to your company at the theatre tomorrow night. I’ve bespoken a box.”

She hadn’t realized her mother had made arrangements, but she often did so, only informing her daughter later, and since Aurelia could find no objection that wouldn’t appear petulant, she usually went. At least she’d get her outing with Blaize, even if they had a chaperone. If the weather was fine, he could take her to the park in an open carriage, perfectly acceptably, or they could ride.

She prayed for sunshine.

Outside the house, Blaize nodded to Lyndhurst, expecting to walk away until the man said, “I would speak with you. Will you accompany me to White’s?”

He’d sounded him out, read as much as he could and discovered one thing—this man was an immortal. What kind he didn’t yet know, but he intended to find out.

Lyndhurst glanced up at the clouds. “It’s a good day for a walk. I’ve known worse.”

White’s was half a mile away and the drizzle was coming down with a relentlessness that suggested it had set in for the day. But he had no intention of having any kind of meaningful discussion in the rain.

“I fear the day is too inclement for walking.” Proving he was a man by ruining his clothes didn’t sit well with Blaize. It was more likely to give him a cold.

He hailed a passing chair. The chairmen set the sedan down and opened the door. “I’ll see you there,” Blaize said.

Before Lyndhurst could say another word, he stepped inside. He didn’t care if the bastard joined him at the club or not. He could use a glass or two of wine. The ride gave him a chance to assess his thoughts and decide how to conduct the coming discussion. If Lyndhurst turned up, of course.

He’d sensed something in that room, an air, a tingle that he only felt in the presence of other immortals. His sense wasn’t acute enough to pinpoint the people or person, but when he’d approached Lyndhurst, his mind had positively shouted at him.

He climbed into the drizzle and paid the chairmen, giving little heed to the coins he gave them. Enough to make them smile and send them on their way. Not that he cared about the smiles. The going away meant more.

As he walked through the impressive portals of White’s Club and nodded to the porter, Blaize felt a weight slip from his shoulders. He loved this place. It smelled of tobacco smoke and fine port, a comfortable, masculine smell. The chairs were comfortably upholstered, the books and newspapers had a solid aspect, unlike the delicate, gilded furniture that adorned many a drawing room, and the members could sit and sleep, drink, chat, or go to the Hell room and gamble. Blaize unbuckled his sword and left it by the door with the others clustered in the rigid leather tubes set out for that purpose. Not every man left their weapon, but relaxing with a small sword dangling at one’s side could prove somewhat tricky. Only aristocrats were allowed to wear their swords in town, so most put up with the inconvenience. Here, they only had to demonstrate their right to walk through the door, making swords unnecessary.

He strode upstairs and into the main room, intending to spend a few minutes with a newspaper and a glass of burgundy before Lyndhurst arrived. The waiter silently set a glass of rich, red wine by his side.

All Blaize could see in his mind’s eye was Aurelia, that snatched few minutes in the little pavilion the only memory invading him and pursuing him. He took a sip of wine, then changed his mind and drained the glass, lifting a finger for the servant to refill it. Immediately he felt better, but he caught knowing glances from a few men seated nearby.
There he goes, drinking again.
They didn’t have to say it for him to hear it, even though today, as always, he kept his mind shuttered. He could taste her in the wine; her scent was permanently with him.

“Stretton.”

Blaize took his time turning his head to look up—and up—into the face of his rival. He kept his expression bland. “Won’t you join me? Wine?”

Lyndhurst glanced at the glass, then at Blaize. “A small glass. I thank you.” His lips firmed in a straight line. Blaize’s response was to indicate that he wanted another drink. He needed sobriety for this discussion.

Blaize gave him a bland smile. “Are you home for good this time?” He would keep this discussion civilized if it killed him. One reason a meeting at the club was preferable to somewhere more private.

Lyndhurst shrugged. “I don’t have a home. I was in the army for ten years.”

Thirty, Lyndhurst was thirty. Born in that fateful year that had caused the current turmoil. Blaize lifted his chin and paid attention to what he was asking. “You enjoyed the army?” Where had he been? More importantly, doing what?

“It was a fulfilling career. I was sorry to leave it. I thought my brother would marry and beget heirs, but it was not to be, so I returned home to attend to the duties on the estate.”

Lyndhurst had the light grey eyes shared by so many immortals and an air of command that could have been engendered by his career and his position in society, but Blaize sensed something else. He wouldn’t try to read the man yet. To sense his mind might reveal too much at this stage. Better Lyndhurst thought him a mortal. “Gentlemen.” D’Argento arrived. Blaize hadn’t even sent him a message. The perceptive Italian would know when he was needed. After all, that was part of Mercury’s place in the world. The charming, lilting accent he used in public concealed a mind of steel, but none of that echoed in his voice.