You Only Love Twice (3 page)

L
ucas brought his hands up to cover his ears and flipped to his side. There was no relief. The sound of drums grew louder and louder till he thought his head would split. Someone called his name. Groaning, he forced his eyes to open the merest slit. The light was so blinding, it took him a moment or two to take stock of his surroundings. The first thing he recognized was the chamber pot that sat on the table beside the bed. The soldiers lined up on the mantelpiece turned out to be empty brandy bottles. Dirty dishes were stacked high on a chair. The stench of stale sweat and cheap perfume made his stomach heave.

As memory began to return, he let his eyelids droop. He was in the Black Swan. Three, maybe four days and nights drowning his sorrows. And, if he was not mistaken—he groaned again when he felt the soft, womanly contours wriggle against his back—a little bit of an orgy thrown in for good measure. That part, he couldn’t remember.
He’d wanted oblivion and oblivion was what he’d found.

The drums resolved themselves into a pounding on the door.

“Lucas! Open the door!” His cousin Adrian’s voice.

“We know you’re in there!” And his younger cousin, Perry.

Lucas shut his eyes tight. If he didn’t answer, maybe they would go away.

“Bloody hell!” This came from the soft, womanly contours as she hauled herself up. “Will ye stop yer bawlin’! Yer friend is dead t’the world.”

“Open the door at once!” Adrian’s voice.

“All right! All right! Hold yer horses.”

Lucas heard Millie? Lily? muttering under her breath. “Rich, they calls ’im! Rich, my arse! I’s yet to see any coin.” She grabbed Lucas’s shoulder and shook him hard. “I wants m’money. T’weren’t my fault ye were so sotted wi’ drink ye couldna rise t’the occasion.” There was a thoughtful pause. “And who is Jess?”

That did it. With a roar of rage, Lucas shot out of bed. His anger dimmed a little when he saw the fear in the woman’s eyes, and it dimmed even more when it registered that she had the face and form of a blue-eyed Venus. If he couldn’t rise to the occasion with Millie? Lily? there was no hope for him.

Christ, when had he got to be so maudlin?

Jess!
That one word revived his anger. Teeth gritted he looked around for his clothes and discovered he was still wearing them, except for his coat and boots. His coat was on the floor as was the woman’s garments. He reached for his coat, found his purse, extracted a sovereign and tossed it to the girl. He wasn’t surprised when she gasped with delight. A crown was the usual rate of exchange for the favors of the Black Swan’s barmaids, as he should know.

“Lucas, open the door!”

Lucas bit out something crude and pithy and the door
handle stopped rattling. He picked up the clothes on the floor and threw them at the blue-eyed Venus. “Dress yourself,” he said tersely, then he went to the window, opened it wide and breathed deeply. It didn’t help. He still felt like a used mop. One step—there wasn’t room to swing a cat in this box that passed for a bedchamber—took him to the washstand. He poured the jug of cold water into the tin basin and, cupping his hands, filled his mouth with water, drank greedily, then doused his face and head.

Millie kept one eye on him as she dressed. Lucas Wilde was a regular customer at the Black Swan, but he rarely came upstairs with any of the barmaids, more’s the pity. He was tall, muscular, and with darkly handsome looks that made a girl’s heart beat just a little faster. Poor sod. She’d heard that he’d never been the same since he’d lost the girl he wanted to wed, which puzzled her, because that girl’s name was Bella, not Jess. She couldn’t imagine any woman in her right mind choosing another man over him, yet, that’s what had happened. But that was before he’d unexpectedly come into a title. He was Lord Dundas now, a belted earl, whatever that meant. Even in his cups, he was a real gent, and generous to a fault. She looked at the gleaming sovereign in her hand and made up her mind that next time she would make it up to him.

“Ready?” Lucas managed to arrange his face in a smile.

Millie nodded, scrambled from the bed and allowed him to lead her to the door.

When the door opened, Perry charged into the room, then came to a sudden halt. In looks, he took after Lucas rather than his brother, Adrian. At twenty-three, he was eight years younger than Lucas, but just as tall. He had the same thick, wavy hair and brown eyes, but Perry’s hair was fair while Lucas’s was dark.

There was, however, one major difference between them. No shadows from the past touched Perry’s young
life, and it showed in his ready smile and clear, untroubled eyes. Life was meant to be enjoyed. The only wrinkle that sometimes bothered Perry was that Lucas and Adrian were his joint trustees—and a bit too tight with the purse strings to suit him.

“Whoa,” he said, and blocked Millie’s exit. He cupped her face with one hand and smiled into her eyes. “Now here’s a pretty filly,” he said. “Tell me, sweeting, did my cousin—”

The sentence was never completed. Lucas shot out a long arm and grabbed Perry by the collar. “Perry,” he drawled, “mind your manners in the presence of ladies.”

Perry shrugged free of Lucas’s grasp and sketched the barmaid an elegant bow. “Perry Wilde, at your service,” he said, and winked broadly.

“Millie Jenkins,” she replied, batting her eyelashes, “and likewise, I’m sure.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” beamed Perry.

Millie went off in a gale of giggles. Adrian shut the door, and Lucas’s eyes shifted to him. In spite of being cousins, the only physical resemblance they shared was their dark coloring. Adrian had the face of a poet and the lean, supple body of an acrobat. He had the annoying habit of always managing to look as though he’d just dressed up for a night on the town. He was born fastidious, thought Lucas dourly. Even as a boy, Adrian had never forgotten to wash behind his ears.

Their interests were as different as their looks. Adrian was happiest in the city where he could pursue his various hobbies—the theatre, the opera, his gentlemen’s clubs and, above all, women. He, Lucas, had sworn off women entirely.

So what was he doing here?

Adrian said to Lucas, gesturing to Perry, “My strategy for civilizing this barbarian isn’t working. He’s had three Seasons in London and the only town bronze he’s picked up still smells of manure.”

Perry laughed. “I hate London and town manners. I’m a country boy like Lucas. What’s wrong with that?”

“Lucas never forgets that he’s a gentleman.”

“If,” said Perry, “this is one of your lectures on good breeding, Adrian, you can stow it. You’re forgetting that I know all about you and Lucas and the scrapes you got into when you were my age. I’ve a long way to go before I catch up to you.”

Perry had been wandering around, and had come to a halt by the table with the chamber pot on it. His nose wrinkled, then he looked up and started to laugh. “Good God, Adrian! Is this the mark of a gentleman? This piss pot is brimming.”

Lucas did not join in the laughter as he normally would have. His eyes were hot. His head was throbbing. And he did not care to be discovered during one of his bouts of debauchery, especially not by Adrian. Even now, he could feel Adrian’s eyes on him, assessing, weighing, seeing more than he wanted him to see. Perry was different. He didn’t know him as well as Adrian knew him, and simply took everything at face value.

Every muscle ached as he took the two steps to the washstand. “As you can see,” he said, “I’m fine. I don’t know what you hoped to accomplish by barging in here.” There was a sliver of soap on the stand. He ignored the filthy rag that lay beside it and used his hands to work up a lather to soap his face.

Adrian said quietly, “It’s about Jessica Hayward.”

Lucas went as rigid as a board. Breathing became difficult. His shoulders sagged. Without being aware of what he was doing, he dried his face and hands with the filthy rag. When he could find his voice, it was no more than a hoarse whisper. “She’s dead. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Perry opened his mouth to answer but a look from his brother silenced him. “Jess is not dead,” said Adrian. “In fact, she’s very much alive.”

The soapsuds must have got into his eyes. Lucas blinked rapidly to dispel the sting. “She’s alive,” he repeated. “How do you know?”

“Perry found out. I’ll let him tell you the story.”

Perry glanced uncertainly at Adrian, then spoke to Lucas’s back. “Jessica Hayward rode into Chalford yesterday morning, in a horse-drawn wagon, accompanied by two nuns, if you can believe it. She went straight to your attorney’s office in Sheep Street and picked up the keys to Hawkshill Manor. As far as I know, she’s there now.”

“At Hawkshill?”

“So it would seem.”

There was a moment of complete and utter silence, then Lucas pivoted to face his companions. “Who told you this?”

Perry was mystified by the harsh tension in his cousin’s face, and he stammered a little before answering. “I saw her with my own eyes. At first, I didn’t recognize her. Her garments were … well … plain, serviceable, you know what I mean. I would have taken her for a serving maid, except that she has the air of a great lady.” He chuckled. “Yes, Jessica Hayward a lady! But that was before I recognized her.”

“You spoke to her?” asked Lucas sharply.

“Well, of course I spoke to her. I’m not a country oaf, whatever you and Adrian may think. And the scandal had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t even here when it happened. If you remember, I was away at Oxford. It was during term.”

“Perry,” said Adrian, “just get on with it.”

“What? Oh, well, as I was saying, I spoke to her. I can’t remember exactly what I said … just the usual pleasantries—that I wouldn’t have known her, and was she staying long, that sort of thing. That’s when she told me she was taking up residence at Hawkshill.”

While Perry had been speaking, Lucas had been utterly still. Now, he exploded into motion. Despite the confines
of the room, he began to pace. “All this time … wondering … then, just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“she rides into town and takes up residence in Hawkshill.” Suddenly halting, he turned to look at Adrian. “How is this possible? Hawkshill belongs to me now. Shouldn’t I have been consulted?”

Adrian shrugged. “Your attorney asked me to pass along the message that he’d found tenants for Hawkshill, but no one knew where you were, not even your mother. So Perry and I came down here to take care of things.”

Lucas said incredulously, “By advising my attorney to rent a property of mine to Jessica Hayward?”

“Ah, no. It’s rented to the Sisters of Charity. They’re an order of nuns that do good works. They are going to set up an orphanage in Hawkshill—you know, for homeless children. Since the house was deteriorating from neglect, your attorney jumped at the chance of letting it. All that remains is for you to sign the papers. As for Jessica, no one was more surprised than I when Perry told me it was she who had collected the keys.”

“Nuns!” snarled Lucas. “What has Jessica Hayward to do with nuns?”

Perry said, “I can answer that. She’s been living with them for the last three years, in their convent in London. Leastways that’s what she told me.”

No one moved. No one said anything. The only thing that ruffled the silence was the sound of Lucas’s breathing. Finally, he said, “Are you saying Jess is a nun?”

Perry shook his head. “No, I’m not saying that. But she’s helping them set up the orphanage, or something. We only spoke for a few moments.”

Lucas breathed deeply. “Well, she can’t stay at Hawkshill.”

Perry snickered then stopped abruptly when two pairs of hostile eyes fastened on him. “No, indeed,” he stammered. “That would only start people talking.”

Adrian walked to the door and held it open. “Perry, I
think coffee is in order. Why don’t you go down to the taproom and reserve a table for us? Lucas and I will be down in a few minutes.”

“But the taproom will be empty at this time of day. There’s no need to reserve a table.”

“Perry.”

“Oh, all right then. I can see when I’m not wanted.”

There was no real resentment in Perry’s voice. He enjoyed a certain closeness with Lucas and Adrian, but only up to a point. Before he was out the door, his expression had brightened. He was thinking of Millie Jenkins and wondering if he would find her in the taproom.

Lucas sat on the edge of the bed and began to haul on his boots. When the silence lengthened, he glanced up at Adrian. He spoke harshly. “Say what you have to say and get it over with.”

Adrian paused for a moment to take snuff, looked deprecatingly around the room and, since the only chair was cluttered with dirty dishes, propped one shoulder against the closed door.

“I thought you were over these black spells?” When Lucas did not reply, he went on. “One minute you were the life and soul of Lady Melrose’s party and the next you had disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“I left you a note.”

“Ah yes, a note that told me nothing, not even where I could find you if something came up.”

“I’ll do better the next time.” Lucas rose and reached for his coat.

Adrian sighed. “I was hoping there wouldn’t be a next time. You know what everyone thinks, don’t you? They think you’re still not over Bella.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“You know it is! You’re as thankful as I am that she chose Rupert over us.”

Adrian gave a genuine smile. “That’s an odd thing to say when Rupert is one of our closest friends.”

“You know what I mean,” said Lucas irritably, wondering what the hell he really meant.

“Yes,” replied Adrian. “At heart, we’re romantics, while Rupert is ruled by his head.”

“Now you’re talking in riddles,” snapped Lucas.

“Am I?”

Lucas gave his cousin a level look. “My black spells, as you call them, have nothing to do with Bella.”

“As I am well aware. Lucas, when are you going to stop blaming yourself for what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, all right? How do I look?”

Adrian stared at his friend gravely, then shook his head. “There’s no reasoning with you when you’re in this mood.”