Mad for Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 2 (4 page)

D’Argento waited until a servant had carried a chair over to them and settled it before taking his seat and ordering coffee. He turned a laughing face to Blaize when he objected. “Not all of us are such devotees of the fermented grape.”

Lyndhurst sipped his wine and then placed it on the table. “Sometimes it was all that we could get when the water was undrinkable. Have you ever tried boiled water?” He grimaced. “I’d rather drink my own urine.”

“Dear Lord,” d’Argento remarked mildly, “I can’t say the substance has much appeal to me, but in a straight choice, I know which one I would plump for.”

Blaize gestured to Lyndhurst with his half-empty glass. “I have no idea what your piss tastes like, but I’d rather not find out.”

Despite their cordiality, the air sparked between them for one reason. Aurelia. Blaize wanted her, beyond reason. Lyndhurst nearly had her.

“You’re known for keeping away from respectable women,” Lyndhurst said abruptly. “You should continue your policy with Lady Aurelia Welles.”

Aha. Now they were getting somewhere. “She’s beautiful, wealthy and clever. Added to that, she doesn’t listen to gossip.”

Lyndhurst’s long fingers flexed. “Maybe she should. I’ve been doing some research.”

“Enterprising of you.” Tension snapped, and from the corner of his eye Blaize saw someone shift in his chair, while another lowered his newspaper. They sensed the tension between him and the other man. No special sensory gifts required.

“You’ve had an adventurous career,” Lyndhurst said.

Blaize waved his hand in a casual gesture of dismissal. “Either that or become bored to death.” The waiter arrived. Blaize picked up the fresh glass and sipped. “I have extravagant tastes. However, I can behave in a civilized manner if it doesn’t become too tedious.” He paused. “Last night I nearly abandoned it all and eloped with a woman I only just met. How I resisted, I will never know.”

“I’ve carefully courted that woman for the last six months,” Lyndhurst said, keeping his voice low, but menace still infused every note.

A spurt of emotion struck him. He had Lyndhurst on the raw. Blaize specialized in unbalancing people, a way to let d’Argento in to discover the nature of the beast they were dealing with. He could use his special gifts to quietly penetrate the man’s outer mental barriers to discover what lay underneath.

Knowing men sitting nearby were listening, he raised his voice a trifle. If old Godfrey leaned forward much more he’d tumble from his chair, and whoever was hiding behind that journal hadn’t turned a page since Lyndhurst had come in.

“May the best man win.” Blaize raised his glass and toasted Lyndhurst. “She’s a taking piece. If I get there before you do, I have the rights of a sitting tenant. Or maybe you like to share?”

“You’d disparage a lady in such a way?” Aha. Definite bristle. The problem was, Blaize had the strongest urge to strike the man. He disliked overweening arrogance, and duke or no duke, nobody had the right to claim a woman without making his attentions clear. In his opinion, not even then.

“I compliment her. Few society maidens hold my attention for long.”

“You were gone with her for some time last night.”

Blaize carefully placed his glass on the side table and gave the stem a twist, settling it to his satisfaction. “Be careful.”

“Gentlemen,” d’Argento warned, his voice low.

D’Argento contacted him mentally, something he could do without detection with irritating ease.
Is this a ploy? What did you do with that girl last night?

Too much.
He paused.
Not enough. Damn, how do I know?

You want her.

He’d have laughed, but he didn’t reveal for a second the channel his friend had opened up between them.

“You have derided her, my lord,” Lyndhurst said stiffly. Oho, when titles came into the mix, matters grew serious.

Blaize relaxed back into the deep comfort of his leather chair. “In what way? I merely had conversation with her.” And a little more, but he wouldn’t be revealing that.

“Do you consider yourself a suitable companion for a young, untried woman?”

Before he could stop himself, he gave the response, “Someone has to try her.”

With a scrape of his chair, such that the sound echoed around the near-silent room, Lyndhurst sprang to his feet, his hand going to the place at his side where his sword customarily resided. With a “Gah!” of frustration, he towered over Blaize. “Get to your feet so I can kill you where you stand.”

Blaize gave an inward sigh. As usual, he’d taken matters too far.

He rose, keeping the sardonic smile firmly fixed on his face. “Not here, dear boy.” Blaize lifted his coat, to reveal the absence of his weapon. “Before you say the fateful words, think about what you’re doing. A duel would disparage the lady’s name far more than anything I’ve said here today.”

“Then let’s agree that the world is too small to hold both of us.”

He raised a brow. “The world? Rather a large remit, don’t you think?”

“Not in this case.” With his lowering brows and murder in his eyes, Blaize could believe Lyndhurst was a soldier men feared. He epitomized warlike and martial.

The notion struck him with the force of a tidal wave. He lost the smile, then his breath. His chin shot up and he stared at Lyndhurst. “By Christ…”

By his side, d’Argento cleared his throat. “We have matters to discuss.” With a shot of accurate, blinding mental clarity, Blaize felt the force of the message Mercury sent to the man standing before them.

Lyndhurst flinched back as if from an invisible blow. His eyes widened, startled. But he stood proudly. “Name your seconds, sir.”

An immortal
. But what kind? Nymph, god, Titan? Who else but a Titan would be so quick to combat? Would Blaize be so keen to take advantage of a situation that would give him the chance to destroy his opponent?

Tight-lipped, Blaize nodded. “Tomorrow at dawn, on Hampstead Heath with swords. First blood.” He didn’t want this man dead, he wanted him weak and vulnerable. This was one way he could achieve that. But Lyndhurst would try to kill him if he was a Titan.

Blaize spun around, the skirts of his coat swinging around his thighs, and strode out of the building. He led the way to his residence in Grosvenor Square, the new Stretton residence Blaize had bought half a century before, when he’d sold the mansion by the Thames. He’d “inherited” it from himself.

As he approached, the footman flung open the door for him. He rarely had to wait. “Don’t disturb us,” he snapped as he led the way to the parlour at the back of the house. His favourite room, because the doors led directly out to the garden.

Before he did anything else, he headed for the decanter and poured a glass of red wine, handing one to d’Argento.

“So what do we have in Lyndhurst?” he said, regaining his characteristic drawl. “Or, more precisely,
who
?”

Chapter Three

“Why did you provoke him?” d’Argento demanded.

Blaize strode to the window, spun on his heel and returned to d’Argento. “Because we need to know who and what he is, and we can’t do that if he’s in control of himself. Not without him discovering about us. I’d rather do that from a position of superiority. I want to know more before we reveal ourselves.”

“He’s a Titan or an immortal.” D’Argento bit his lip, his fine-featured face grave. “That much is clear. Surely there was some other way than to make a spectacle of yourself?”

Blaize gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s what you call a duel?”

D’Argento waved an elegant hand in a gesture of dismissal. “First blood. He’s a soldier. He knows one end of a sword from another. Could you not have been more subtle?”

“Like subtle is a part of my nature?” Blaize lifted the decanter from the sideboard and poured a glass of wine. This time, when he offered, d’Argento accepted, and he brought their glasses over to where he stood near the small desk set next to the window. “We need to find out quickly. Too quickly for subtlety.”

“Why?” D’Argento sipped his wine but kept his eyes on Blaize.

“Because he’s courting Aurelia. She could be in danger. I won’t have that.”

D’Argento closed his eyes and drank, an expression of suffering on his face. He opened his eyes when he’d finished the glass, but waved away Blaize’s offer of another. “Why should Lady Aurelia’s safety be of concern to you? Other than basic chivalric notions, of course.”

“Because she is mine and I mean to have her.”

A bird shrieked shrilly from the garden, and the wind rustled through the tree at the end. D’Argento made his silence long enough for Blaize to finish his wine and put the glass down. “So,” d’Argento said, “suddenly you’re in love?”

“Or obsession. Whatever it is, I want her. You’ve never heard of love at first sight?”

D’Argento gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ve never heard it come to any good. My friend, have you never heard of enchantment?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” D’Argento followed the mild expletive with some stronger, more choice ones. “You’re willing to let an enchantress fool you?”

“I don’t think she’s an enchantress,” he said.

D’Argento pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, the expression of the long-suffering. “You’re enchanted. Do I have to prove it to you?”

Blaize gulped his wine. He’d had plenty today, more than enough to ensure his sobriety. Now he was drinking for comfort. “No, you don’t. I am enchanted, I know it. I felt it, a kind of hum deep down, but I didn’t fight it. I wanted to know more. But it’s not Aurelia who is responsible.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Instinct. She’s pure and good.”

“Or she wants you to believe that.” D’Argento sipped his wine. “But considering your particular gift, which includes giving up on reason, I can trust your instinct more than I would anyone else. So let that stand. Aurelia is not your enchantress. You suspect the mother, of course.”

“Yes. Or Lyndhurst. That is what the duel is for. If I can arouse him, I can read him. So can you.” He put down the glass. Although he kept good wine in his house, he could taste nothing but vinegar.

“You planned this from the start?”

“No—yes. In a way. When I realised we were rivals, it seemed like a good idea. I don’t like the bastard, so it seems like an even better idea now.” He shrugged, but his attempt at nonchalance was unlikely to fool his closest friend. “I’ll draw him out, and we’ll see. He’s been courting Aurelia in Scotland, ever since he sold out from the army and went up there. It could be him.”

“So it could. But you’re far too volatile, my friend. Let me take the lead—I’m attracted to her, but not as you are. Not to the point of obsession.”

With an effort, Stretton kept his temper. “No. You’re forgetting one thing.”

D’Argento sipped his wine. “Do tell.”

“Whatever enchantment is winding its way around me, I can break it.” He gestured to his half-full glass. “All I need to do is start drinking water.” He glanced up and smiled sweetly. “Nothing can touch me then.”

“Least of all any semblance of self-preservation,” growled d’Argento. “I’ll take her in your stead. I’ll be the bait.”

Blaize’s fury rose, but this was Massimo, his friend. Only that stopped him from drawing blood. But he would make one thing clear. “Touch her and I’ll meet you on the Heath too. And it won’t be first blood. Unless your first blood is your last.”

He meant every word.

Lady Comyn owned one of the old houses by the Thames that many aristocrats used to live in, large and filled with family treasures. Most had gone, replaced by the snugger, more convenient houses for a short London visit, but Lady Comyn had held the coming-out ball for her daughter here.

This warren must be full of anterooms. This place had the panelled walls, carved stairways and multiple rooms of yesteryear. This was a country seat in the city.

Her heart eaten up by worry, Aurelia had enough social grace to walk around, smiling and conversing.

She scented him before she saw him; an aroma of rich wine, expensive perfume and power. She lifted her head and confronted him, breathing deeply to give herself courage.

From the rumour that had spread around town like wildfire that afternoon, he was to meet Lyndhurst in the morning. How could he be so foolish? Lyndhurst was a fiercely effective swordsman, and he wouldn’t hesitate to cut Blaize down. Fear clutched her throat and made her breath quicken.

Her eyes wide, she blinked, and then gave a jerky curtsey. “My lord.”

“Lady Aurelia.” He afforded her a deep, graceful bow. “I had thought to spare you the indignity of my presence tonight, but I couldn’t stay away.”

“I—I heard—” She swallowed, making an effort.

“Ah yes,” Blaize said gravely. “Do not concern yourself with such trivialities.”

He was the epitome of fashion, from his finely curled wig to the jewelled buckles on his shoes. Nowhere did she see a man who would beat the ex-soldier in the morning. She feared for him.

The world stilled. The gossip and the faint sound of music from a room beyond faded.

He hadn’t seen her mother or felt the lady’s presence here. “Who is chaperoning you tonight?”

“My aunt. My mother and Lady Comyn have a rocky relationship, so Mama stayed away.”

He leaned closer, smiling, teasing her with his nearness. “We should not be seen together. Not too particularly. But if you can get away, there is a small anteroom on the floor above this. Meet me there.”

Before she could answer, he gave her a small bow and walked away, still smiling.

Aurelia was ready to ignore the arrogant man and leave him to stew, but she had to see him. Rumours were spreading far too fast, and if this was her only chance to see him, then she’d take it, and damn her pride.

He could be dead by noon tomorrow.

Fear clutched her. It was an insane challenge. Both men had denied their fight was about her, even though people had heard them discussing her at White’s yesterday. Not by name, though. They’d claimed they had a disagreement about a woman of the night.

Woman of the night be damned.

Aurelia slipped away and found a set of stairs nobody was using. This place had backstairs to spare. She took the servants’ way because they were easier to bribe. She had the coins ready, but she didn’t need them.

One quick search and she’d go back downstairs. An anteroom, he’d said. There must be twenty rooms on this floor, with attendant powder rooms and anterooms. Deciding to let her instincts guide her, she marched along the narrow service passage and opened a door at random.

There he was, the amethyst velvet of his coat a stark contrast to the dark oak furniture. She glanced at the old four-poster. “This isn’t an anteroom.”

“And yet you found your way here.” He didn’t lower his voice. When he followed her anxious gaze to the outer door, he smiled. “It’s locked. Nobody will come in, I swear it. Nor will they miss you. I’m not returning to the ball, so they’ll assume I left earlier.”

He took a step toward her, but stopped when she flinched. “I’ll do nothing you don’t want. I needed to talk to you. I can guess what rumours have been flying this afternoon.”

“About the duel?” Fighting to keep her expression cool, she had to turn into the shadows when she couldn’t quite control her trembling lower lip.

“Yes, about that. Lyndhurst tried to warn me off and I took exception to it. Tell me, is there an agreement between you? Are you promised to him?”

She shook her head. “My mother said I must have my Season first. I didn’t realize he’d follow.” She was trapped here, as they’d trapped her at home. “I’ve avoided any arrangement so far.”

“Has he hurt you? Frightened you?” Urgency filled his tones, and when he stepped toward her this time, she turned to him, anxious to reassure him.

“No, no, it’s not that.”

He clasped her hands, using them to draw her closer while he held them against his chest. His heart beat strongly under the glittering waistcoat. Imagining that steady beat coming to an end turned her stomach to liquid. “Then tell me.”

She hesitated, not knowing what to say. How to explain feelings that most people would scoff at? It would kill her to have him deride what she said. “He’s very—assertive. You’ll think I’m foolish, but I have a great dislike of raised voices.”

“And he speaks as if bellowing across a battlefield half the time.”

How could he lighten the conversation that way? “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

He softened his voice. “That’s why I wanted to see you, to reassure you. It’s not serious, we’re not fighting to the death. We’re merely releasing tension. First blood, that’s all.”

“But if he pierces you through the heart, what then?”

A shadow passed across his face. “He will not. I won’t let him.”

How could he treat this so lightly? “How can you stop him? I don’t mean to disparage your skills, but until recently he was a professional soldier. His sword was his stock-in-trade!”

Just a step and they were a breath apart. Then not even that as he pressed a brief but fervent kiss to her mouth. “Aurelia,” was all he murmured, but the tone made her feel wanted, needed even. Their next kiss was deeper. He touched her mouth, feathering caresses over it before brushing her lower lip with his tongue, making her open for him, and then he dipped in to explore.

As if he had all the time in the world, he kissed her long and leisurely, caressing her waist, moving up to stroke her exposed skin, impatiently shoving her pearl necklace aside so he could stroke her throat. He slid his hand around to cup her head and guide her into his caresses.

Tonight could be all they had. It could be his last night on earth. He’d never admit it to her, but she couldn’t believe that if Lyndhurst wanted to kill him, he would miss his mark.

Nothing mattered more than this, and the conversation she intended to have with him disappeared into the ether as their kisses grew increasingly desperate. Aurelia had kissed men before, but they were chaste exchanges of friendship, and one or two under the mistletoe at Christmas. Nobody had dared touch her in this way. He plunged his tongue deep to caress and taste, inviting her to do the same.

He stroked her bare skin, making her shudder in desire, and when he discovered the hooks that fastened her gown to her stomacher, she didn’t prevent him from undoing them.

Her mind glazed with passion; she wanted everything that stopped her from touching him out of the way. Fumbling at her waist, she eventually achieved her objective and discovered the string that secured her hoop. A tug and the petticoat fell to her feet. But when she returned to work at the other skirts, he laid a hand over hers. “We don’t have time, sweetheart. Half an hour, at my guess, before they come looking. Besides—” he pressed his forehead against hers and held her close, “—if you allow me any more favours, I won’t be able to stop. And I think you’re in no mood to prevent me, either.”

“Everything. Anything. Please, I want—”

He hushed her with a soft kiss. “I know, but not tonight, not now. If we do this, I want more than a hurried coupling in a stranger’s bedroom.”

“No, I don’t—this could be our last chance.”

“Only our second, and far from our last.” He drew away and took her hand. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t please you.” He led her to the bed and, full of trepidation and wonder, she watched him draw down the cover and then help her on to the blankets underneath. Relief filled her when she saw no fresh sheets, no warming pan. Nobody slept here.

Glancing at a nearby chair, he flung off his coat, and then his attention went back to her as he unbuttoned the long line of fastenings on his waistcoat. After kicking off his shoes, he joined her on the bed. “I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me,” he said, almost as if reminding himself as much as a statement of intent.

“It’s yours. I give it to you.” Recklessly, she took the plunge, knowing the consequences, but also knowing she couldn’t bear not to get closer to this man. Hunger for him consumed her, took her good intentions, her common sense apart until there was nothing left but pure, raw want.

Their mouths met and clashed. No tenderness now. Need ate at them both, took them further. He drew away, panting, his fingers fumbling at her bodice until he could part the sides and reveal the camisole beneath. It took a matter of seconds to release her breasts from the fine linen sheath, even less for his talented mouth to descend and suck a nipple deep.

Gasping in shock and delight, Aurelia arched up to push against him. Under his shirt his body was toned, warm, essentially masculine. He anointed each nipple with his tongue, groaned. “Rose pink. Not what I expected, but so very lovely.”

She’d knocked his elaborate wig from his head, revealing his short-cropped, dark hair. It gleamed in the candlelight, traces of red glinting as he turned to kiss her breasts, omitting nothing. She wanted to see him, and tugged at his shirt, coming away with the long diamond pin securing the folds of his neckcloth. She tossed it aside as if it was worthless, which it was to her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as she unwound the strip of cloth around his neck. “Soft, silky.” He moaned as he sucked her nipple once more and she let out a sigh of happiness. Nothing mattered but this. She’d never allowed a man such liberties before, but with him it seemed natural. Inevitable. Scrabbling at his shirt, she managed to get a fistful of crisp linen and tugged. “Responsive,” he murmured, plumping her breast with one hand.