WANTON (12 page)

Apparently, Miss Peabody had acted on her deathbed. What had she been thinking? Was it a coincidence that she’d handed over Rose and Miss Hubbard in order to get James and Lucas leg-shackled?

There was an eerie sense of destiny in the air, as if James had succumbed to Miss Peabody’s scheme, and now Lucas would be next. He had to tread carefully or he wouldn’t be able to avoid the fate that was winging toward him like a runaway carriage.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked.

He sat up and studied her, finding her to be sexy as hell and too tempting for her own good.

“Yes, I know Miss Etherton,” he said. “I met her a few weeks ago at the school.”

“You were there?”

“Briefly.”

“Why?”

“I was helping Rose. She’s my cousin.”

“Rose is?”

“Yes.”

“She never mentioned you.”

“Yes, well, she doesn’t like me very much, so she wouldn’t have.”

“Why doesn’t she like you?”

He grinned. “She claims I’m a wretch.”

“Ha! My opinion is confirmed, and yet, when I told you the same, you doubted me.”

“I didn’t doubt you. I
am
a wretch. I’ve never denied it.”

She grinned too and, suddenly, they were enjoying a burgeoning camaraderie, as if they liked each other much more than they realized. She leaned in further, revealing even more cleavage, and his naughty eyes traveled precisely where they shouldn’t. He simply couldn’t look away from all that creamy, bared flesh.

“Won’t you play for me?” she murmured.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No, but I love it when a woman begs.”

He pushed on the bench and stood, trapping her against the pianoforte, his body crushed to hers from chest to toes. As had happened every other time he was close to her, sparks seemed to fly.

He towered over her, overcome by the oddest impulses to shelter and protect her, to keep her from harm, to make her his own in all the ways that counted.

She peered up at him, appearing confident and not the least bit afraid—which she probably should be. He wasn’t the sort to force himself on a female, but with the mood he was in, there was no predicting how he might act.

There was a peculiar chemistry flaring between them, one that was unexpected and very, very thrilling. Whatever the source, he knew he should ignore it, that he should walk out and never glance back. But he didn’t.

His expression must have revealed some of the sentiments rocking him, because she frowned and asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I wish you’d sit down and play some music.”

“I don’t want to play any music.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Let me show you. I guarantee you’ll like it.”

* * * *

“
You
guarantee?” Amelia said. “Is that supposed to persuade me?”

“No, this is.”

Mr. Drake bent down and kissed her.

She should have stopped him, but matters were escalating. With all the effort Barbara had expended to bring Amelia to this point, it would be ridiculous to shy away.

Besides, she had to admit she was curious as to what would occur.

She’d watched him passionately kissing several women, the embraces wild and exhilarating and out of control. Clearly, he was a man who drove his partners to all kinds of immoral behavior. They were enthralled by him, and Amelia was dying to learn what it was that held them all so rapt.

She’d been taught that carnal conduct was a sin, that it shouldn’t be engaged in—especially not for pleasure or outside of marriage—but Mr. Drake’s paramours had succumbed with a reckless abandon. How would Amelia respond? Would she become just as wild and reckless?

He had her pressed to the box of the pianoforte, and he was so large and solid and...
male
. The realization was unbelievably stimulating, and without hesitating, she jumped into the fray to gleefully partake of the experience.

His arms were wrapped around her, and his hands were busy, his fingers touching her everywhere. Her pulse raced, her skin prickling with anticipation. He drew her even closer, and he was licking at her lips, and instinctively, she understood what he wanted. She opened wide and welcomed him into her mouth.

From there, it grew even more invigorating. His tongue was sliding in and out, in and out, in a rhythm he imitated with his hips down below. The feel of him there, at her most secret, private place, was almost too much to bear. She truly started to wonder if she might not shatter into pieces before they were through.

She couldn’t guess how it might have concluded, because out in the hall, a couple tiptoed by. They were whispering, laughing, and likely headed off to an assignation. Mr. Drake froze and pulled away, and he glared at her, visually warning her to be silent until the pair had passed by.

As the hallway quieted, Amelia shuddered with relief. If the lovers had picked the music room for their tryst, it would have ruined all her plotting. There would have been a big brouhaha about her being sequestered with Mr. Drake, followed by expectations of a proposal he would have never tendered.

Under Barbara’s shrewd guidance, Amelia was getting to know him, was beginning to suspect there might be a tiny glimmer of possibility that Amelia could snag him for her own. Yet they weren’t anywhere near that spot.

He stepped away from her, and with the sudden loss of his body’s heat, she felt cold and very alone. She tamped down a shiver.

With their flare of ardor so swiftly extinguished, she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act, but she was certain—had Barbara been present—she’d have advised Amelia to be composed and nonchalant.

She arched a brow and smirked. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“High praise indeed.”

“I might let you try it again someday—if you’re very, very lucky.”

“Luck has naught to do with it. It’s all skill, Miss Hubbard.”

“You should probably call me Amelia. It’s not as if we’re strangers anymore.”

He studied her forever, then finally said, “I believe I’ll stick with Miss Hubbard.”

“
Miss Hubbard
it is then, Mr. Drake.”

They stared and stared, and it seemed there should be more to say, something pithy and flirtatious, but she wasn’t a trollop and had no idea how to fascinate him.

“Perhaps next time,” she told him, “you’ll sing a song for me.”

“I don’t think there will be a next time.”

“Why wouldn’t there be? It appears, Mr. Drake, that where you and I are concerned, there’s no telling what might happen.”

She slipped away and strolled out without a backward glance. She shut the door, then continued down the hall, but once she rounded the corner where he couldn’t look out and see her, she collapsed against the wall. Her knees were weak, her legs rubbery and unsteady.

She hadn’t grasped that lust could be so affecting, that it could leave a person so rattled. She actually had to brace herself with a palm on the plaster.

For many minutes, she lingered, letting her breathing slow, letting her elation settle. When she was more in control, she straightened and kept on. And she was smiling.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“She’s your responsibility.”

“Mine!”

Lucas glared at his father. They were in his father’s library, Lord Sidwell seated behind his desk. Lucas paced in front of it as he frequently had when he was a boy who’d committed an infraction that required explanation and would result in a sound whipping.

“You’re the one who dragged her away from that blasted school,” Lucas griped.

“And you were the one who was supposed to marry her, but you wouldn’t.”

“You never even asked me if it was what I wanted!”

“I shouldn’t have to. I’m your father, and a dutiful son knows to obey.”

“Like Aaron.”

“Yes, exactly like Aaron.”

Lucas scoffed. “You goaded him into proposing to that ghastly Priscilla. If that’s the fate that comes from obedience, I’ll pass, thank you very much.”

“Priscilla is a charming girl,” Lord Sidwell said with a straight face.

“Don’t change the subject by talking about Aaron and Priscilla.”

“What’s the subject again?” His father was a halfwit and renowned for being unable to focus for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Miss Hubbard is the subject,” Lucas scolded. “You conveyed her to London, then you abandoned her to Barbara Middleton.”

“It seemed like a good idea.”

“A good idea? Mrs. Middleton is the most scandalous woman in the kingdom, and you dumped Miss Hubbard on her without pondering the consequences.”

“What consequences? Mrs. Middleton is feeding, clothing, housing, and entertaining her—at her own expense. Why would I complain?”

“She’s not just feeding and entertaining her,” Lucas grumbled.

“What else is she doing?”

“She’s flaunting Miss Hubbard around the city! Apparently, Mrs. Middleton is accepting offers from rakes who would like to seduce Miss Hubbard.”

“You made it clear that you don’t want her,” Lord Sidwell huffed. “Why would you care if some other fellow does?”

“It’s unseemly.”

“Unseemly? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“You can’t let her stay over there.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I chatted with her last evening. She appeared to be fine and happy, and there’s more company for her at Mrs. Middleton’s than there is in this quiet, drafty monstrosity.”

“She’s a complete innocent”—Lucas felt uncharacteristically panicked about the entire situation—“and the vultures are circling. They’ll eat her alive.”

“They’ll probably enjoy it too. She’s looking quite fetching these days.”

“Is that all you can say? That the rakes will enjoy themselves? By the time Mrs. Middleton is finished, Miss Hubbard’s reputation will be shredded.”

“Again, Lucas, why would you care?”

The question stymied Lucas.

Why had he visited his father? It was always pointless, as if they spoke different languages. And why insert himself in Miss Hubbard’s dire predicament? It was idiotically futile.

She
didn’t want his assistance, but after he’d kissed her in the music room, he was disturbed to find himself rattled by it. She was like a disease in his blood, like a bothersome gnat he had to swat away.

The embrace had been unbearably thrilling, leaving a lasting impression that made him eager to kiss her again, to kiss her often and regularly, and the realization scared him to death.

What was happening? Why was he so unsettled? He was starting to seem obsessed. Was he?

“What if she ends up ruined?” Lucas asked.

“I hardly see how it’s my problem.”

“You brought her here! You tossed her into this mess.”

“She’s an adult. She understands the circumstances.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does! You’ve rebuffed her, so she needs to arrange a different situation for herself—and fast. Hopefully, Mrs. Middleton will hook her up with some fellow who likes a pretty face and who has a fat purse. She’ll be all right.”

“But...but...”—Lucas was so incensed he was sputtering—“any man Mrs. Middleton picks for her won’t have matrimony in mind. Miss Hubbard will wind up as a paramour.”

Lord Sidwell nodded. “Yes, she will.”

“You don’t care?”

“She’s nothing to me but another girl in a long line of girls I’ve selected for you.” A slyness came over Lord Sidwell. “Besides, if she runs off with a libertine, I’ll get to retain her dowry as damages. I won’t have to give it back—not that there’s anyone to give it back to.”

Lucas studied his father, then shook his head. “That’s very likely the most offensive remark you’ve ever uttered in my presence.”

“You’ve never worried about money—it flows through your fingers like water—so you can’t fathom how relieved I was to receive her dowry. I view it as my reward for all of my funds you’ve squandered over the years.”

“Is that what keeps you up at night? Whether or not you’ll be allowed to keep Miss Hubbard’s dowry?”

“It doesn’t keep me
up
, but Miss Peabody paid it to me, and she’s deceased. It’s not as if Miss Hubbard has a father to demand its return. The money is my reparation for the trouble you caused by refusing her.”

“So this is my fault?”

“Of course it’s your fault. Who else’s would it be? If Miss Hubbard meets a bad end, you’ll need to do some soul searching.”

“Me!”

“You could have prevented any harm by marrying her yourself, but as usual, you’re too thickheaded to behave appropriately.”

Lucas sighed. In dealing with his father, they always reverted to Lucas’s shortcomings. No matter what the topic, no matter the conduct, Lucas was blamed.

He was used to it. He expected it, but he’d never been good at accepting culpability, especially when he wasn’t the culprit. Where Miss Hubbard was concerned, why was
he
responsible for what happened to her?

He hadn’t asked to have her thrust into his life. He hadn’t asked to be burdened with her welfare. How could a catastrophe—one she was orchestrating herself—be laid at his feet?

“Never mind,” he mumbled. “I don’t know why I talk to you. It’s a waste of breath.”

“I could say the same,” his father replied. Lucas started out, and his father inquired, “Will you stay for supper?”

“No.”

“Where will you be?”

“I have no idea.”

“What if I need to contact you?”

“I can’t imagine why you would.”

Lucas kept on, but his father piped up with, “There’s a pile of mail in the hall. Would you deliver it for me?”

“Who’s it for?”

“Miss Hubbard. Her correspondence has been trailing after her as she traveled to Sidwell Manor, then to London. This morning, we received a stack of letters addressed to her.”

“I have no desire to traipse over to Mrs. Middleton’s like a messenger boy. And I certainly have no desire to call on Miss Hubbard.”

“Fine. I’ll have a servant take it.”

“That’s what servants are for,” Lucas groused, and he hurried out before his father could stop him again.

* * * *

“Well, well,” George Drake mused. “What do you know?”

In all his fighting with Lucas, bickering with Lucas, pleading with Lucas, he’d never once had Lucas fret about any subject. To hear him wax on about Miss Hubbard, to hear him complaining about her conduct, was a novel and thrilling development.