A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked)

by Liana Lefey

  The sight of the music teacher leaving his room a moment later, however, tied his stomach in knots and made his hands clench into white-knuckled fists.

  Lucas knew exactly where he was going.

  All the desire he’d seen bloom in Diana’s eyes when he’d kissed her hand would be spent on someone else tonight. Envy coiled like a venomous serpent in his gut, filling him with its poison until he felt it was oozing from every pore. He didn’t even know the fellow, and the man had done him no ill save that of being the lover of the woman he wanted for himself, yet Lucas despised him.

  The musician was probably a very amiable person. He must be, if two people felt so passionately about him they’d be willing to share his affection. But Lucas knew he’d never be able to meet him face-to-face. So strong was his dislike that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hide it.

  More than ever, he regretted turning down Westing’s invitation to finish out the evening at their favorite tavern. Now he wished he’d taken him up on the offer, because the last thing he wanted to dwell on was what was happening in Diana’s bedchamber, and that’s all he could think about.

  He nearly ripped the curtains off the rod as he yanked them shut, blanketing his room in total darkness. Determined to forget about his neighbor, he went downstairs to find a bottle of brandy.

  It was time to get drunk. Exceedingly drunk.

  The brightness bleeding through his closed eyelids was an unwelcome intrusion, chasing away the blessed oblivion that had enveloped him after downing far more liquid comfort than any man ought. He dared not open his eyes.

  Unfortunately, his valet wasn’t the merciful sort to allow him to rest in peace on the day his mother was to visit. The smell of coffee mitigated Lucas’s disgruntlement only a little, but it was enough to entice him to take a peek. He cracked one aching eye open. The morning sun streaming through his windows carved directly into his pounding head with the precision of a surgeon’s blade.

  Lucas let out a stream of curses so foul they’d likely make a dockside whore cross herself and pray for his immortal soul.

  His valet cheerfully went about his duties, behaving as if he hadn’t heard. “Coffee, my lord?” he murmured, wisely keeping his voice down.

  “God, yes.” Dragging his legs from beneath the covers, he planted his feet on the rug and just sat there for a moment, willing the room to stop moving around him.

  A steaming cup of what looked like tar appeared before him. He took it and proceeded to drink what had to be the strongest coffee he’d ever tasted.

  His valet continued bustling around the room, laying out clothes. “A bath has been drawn if you’d—”

  “Yes, yes,” Lucas cut in. He reeked of alcohol and sweat. His mother certainly couldn’t see him in such a state. “What time is it?”

  “Half past ten, my lord.”

  George’s hairy arse. He had only an hour and a half to make himself presentable and cognizant enough to handle conversing with his mother. Not that she wouldn’t necessarily expect him to have a hangover; his profligate lifestyle was her favorite subject of complaint.

  Resigning himself to the discomfort, he levered himself up slowly off the bed, groaning with each subsequent step as fresh pain assaulted his cranium. As always after a night of excess, he vowed never again to imbibe so much alcohol. But he knew damned well it was a vow he’d never be able to keep as long as Diana lived within sight.

  He had to get her out of his blood, and there was only one way to do it.

  Although his desire for her was much stronger than any he’d previously experienced, this wasn’t the first time he’d wanted a particular woman to the point of distraction. It hadn’t happened in several years, but he remembered well enough what it was like. Until he knew everything there was to know about the woman and tasted pleasure with her, the thought of her would drive him mad with curiosity and want.

  But within a few weeks of finally scratching that itch and sating his curiosity, he knew his attention would drift. No woman had ever held his interest for very long. It was the reason he’d never kept a mistress. Mistresses required a certain level of commitment not required by the occasional willing wench he availed himself of whenever his desire grew beyond his own ability to sate.

  As he stepped into the tub and sank with a soft groan of pleasure into the warm water, he reflected on his current predicament.

  For all his reputation, Lucas hadn’t really been with that many women. There were a few notables he’d given a good tumble in his first years on his own in London. He’d not disappointed them, and they’d done him the favor of bruiting about their pleasure in his company enough that he hadn’t had to do much to maintain his roguish reputation since. Which suited him just fine.

  Because the truth was, women were trouble. His mother, for all he adored her and was actually looking forward to her visit today—not that he’d ever admit it to anyone but himself—had taught him that much. She’d fooled his father into thinking she was in love with him, when in fact she’d been in love with another, and he’d been nothing more than a means to an end. Learning the truth had made his father wretched for many years, and Lucas had vowed never to let that happen to him.

  Marrying for love was an impetuous act that could only end in misery. He couldn’t blame women, really. Their hearts were by nature fickle, and their dependence on men for means and security made them mercenary. When he married, it would be a practical union made for the sake of duty, and it would be to someone who had no reason to deceive him into thinking otherwise.

  That wasn’t to say his eventual bride wouldn’t be likable and attractive, of course. Just not enough to cause trouble. Not like Lady Diana Haversham. Just the thought of her made him wince with discomfort as the pressure in his head increased with the quickening of his pulse.

  Again, he condemned the idiotic idea of drinking away his problems. It hadn’t helped. If anything, it had made it worse. All he’d been able to think about last night as he’d nursed a newly opened bottle of very expensive brandy was her and that damned music teacher.

  How had such a man managed to make her love him? The soft-eyed look he’d seen her give the musician on the morning of the picnic had convinced him she did. Lucas denied wanting her to look at him in such a way, of course. Yes, he’d come to the conclusion that the transference of her affection was the only way to get her into his bed, but that didn’t mean he had to love her back.

  It struck him that he ought to feel at least some guilt for planning to destroy what was clearly a happy arrangement, but he just couldn’t. He wanted her with a selfish desire that brooked no pity for his rival.

  And what of her? If she gave him her heart, he’d only break it when he lost interest.

  He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about that, either. If she foolishly decided to take her fickle heart back from her nimble pianist’s fingers and give it to someone else, well, that was her prerogative. She was a grown woman capable of making her own choices.

  Even if they are bad ones. Again, the image of her adoring expression as she’d looked up at her lover assaulted him. Taking up a face cloth, he scrubbed at his scrunched eyelids in a vain attempt to scour the picture from his mind’s eye. He almost wished he had that bottle of brandy here with him to help stifle the memory and silence his nagging conscience.

  Ultimately, the choice would be hers to make, not his. He was merely offering her an alternative, nothing more.

  By the time his mother arrived, Lucas was feeling much more himself. Her pleasure in his new address was, as expected, expressed in no uncertain terms. He welcomed the rare praise. The immediacy of her subsequent inquiry as to when he expected to install a wife there, although also anticipated, was somewhat less welcome.

  “I’m only just preparing to host my first ball,” he reasoned, offering her another scone, which was declined. “Give me some time to settle myself in the neighborhood.”

  “A wife would help you do so with far greater efficiency,�
�� she shot back, glaring.

  Lucas allowed himself a small laugh. “Yes, Mother. I know, but I’m not yet ready for a wife.”

  An elegant brow arched in an all-too-familiar look of disapproval. “Indeed, as all of London knows after you invited Lord Harrow and his mistress to your picnic.”

  Ah. Here it comes. “They are my neighbors, Mother.”

  “No, my son. They are not. She is.”

  “The invitation was addressed to him, and where he goes, she also attends. I can hardly dictate who he chooses to accompany him.”

  “It’s shameful,” she declared, putting her nose in the air. “He flaunts his lover to the whole of London while neglecting his wife.”

  “From what I understand, it’s a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”

  Her gray eyes, which he’d inherited, grew icy. “According to whom? The woman sleeping with her husband?”

  Surely his mother had heard every rumor he himself had, possibly more, but he decided to play the game. “From her lover, actually.” Or, at least the man pretending to be her lover. It was better to be blunt than to allow the conversation to travel any further down this path. “Like your own, his marriage is without passionate sentiment. It was a marriage of convenience.”

  A harrumph of discontent erupted from her. “Marquess or not, I don’t like you associating with him. He has a terrible reputation.”

  “So do I, or have you forgotten?”

  “Not like his.” Worry sparked in her pale eyes. “He is a deviant. They both are. I know you’ve heard talk of their depravity.” Color flooded her cheeks. “Not only does he keep a mistress, but he brings…others…into their, their—must I say it?”

  “Their bed?” he offered bluntly, enjoying the discomfort that flashed across her face. “Yes, I’ve heard all of the as-yet-unsubstantiated rumors.” The fib rolled easily off his tongue. He could hardly tell her it was even worse than she imagined. The next lie was just as smoothly delivered. “I’ve observed no such unseemly behavior. In fact, the lady lives far more quietly than even I expected.”

  “Then the most recent tale that came out last week was nothing?”

  He bared his teeth in a cool smile. “Considering every window I could see was dark that night when the event supposedly took place, I must assume so.” Then, he realized how it might sound. “It was warm, and I was restless. I came out onto the terrace to smoke that night. When I saw the story in the papers, it made me laugh because I knew it to be untrue.”

  Her expression grew skeptical. “Perhaps, but the rumors cannot all be fictitious. Regardless, you should distance yourself from such people lest their taint ruin you. Be polite, of course—he is a marquess—but no more than the necessary due deference.”

  Anger over being ordered around like a recalcitrant child made his face stiffen. “I choose my friends, mother. And I form my own opinions. I neither require nor want parental advice pertaining to my social life.”

  The faint lines bracketing her mouth turned white. “As much as I dislike meddling in your personal affairs, I feel it necessary to warn you about these people. Harrow is bad enough on his own, keeping dubious company and allowing filthy tales to spread without offering so much as the slightest denial or protest. You’ve befriended questionable men before, but none like him. He is a shameless libertine. As for the Haversham woman, I find her particularly worrying. Several of my friends’ daughters have complained of her turning their suitor’s heads, distracting them. Duels have been fought over her, as well. She is nothing but trouble.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve never before complained about any of the people with whom I’ve associated. Why now?”

  “You were young and brash then. You’re older now, and I thought you were moving toward wisdom when you settled in this house and expressed interest in your father’s seat at Parliament. That you were ready to take the next step as a responsible gentleman and the future Earl of Markham. Now I know the truth, that you took this address because of her.”

  It took him a moment to tamp down his fury so he could speak with relative calm. “I was unaware she lived there when I won this place—and yes, Mother, I won the deed to this property in a wager.” He knew how much she despised his gambling, and to tell her he’d won the address about which she’d doubtless bragged to all of her friends was guaranteed to provoke her ire. He didn’t care.

  Indeed, her face paled on hearing it. But she wasn’t ready to give up the fight yet. “If you persist in this foolish association, I cannot vouch for your father’s reaction.”

  A laugh slipped out of him. “What will he do? Send me out of the country again? I think not. Father stopped having control over me the day I amassed my own fortune, and he bloody well knows it.”

  “He may have allowed you to run wild in your youth, but I anticipate that will soon change. Wealthy or not, you are his heir, and you will be expected to behave like it.”

  “Or what?” He let out a soft snort. “I will continue to conduct my personal life as I please, and thank you to keep your nose out of it. Whom I choose to befriend is my business.”

  Her lips thinned. “Well, I sincerely hope your friends don’t make it impossible for you to marry appropriately.”

  Again, he laughed a little. “If by marrying appropriately you mean taking the bride of your choice, I’ll pass. I’d rather marry someone I’ve come to know on my own.”

  Now it was her turn to snort. “If your recent judgment of character places you among such infamous personages as Lord Harrow and that shameless harlot, then—”

  “Careful, Mother.” His earlier amusement vanished. Lady Diana was no angel, but she was someone he liked, and he didn’t care to hear her so disparaged, even if the label was technically true. “These are my friends you speak of.”

  She blanched at his chilly manner, but her gaze remained steady. “You know how she came to be his mistress, yes?”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Well, here is something you may not know. The gentleman the Haversham woman was to have married, Grenville, told someone that a few days before he’d intended to propose to her, he learned she’d gotten herself with child by another man. She was going to tell everyone Grenville had compromised her and pass off her lover’s offspring as his. He eloped with the current Lady Grenville to avoid becoming a cuckold.”

  Indeed, he’d not heard this version of the tale. “Who told you this?”

  “It’s not important,” she replied, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “What is important is that you know the type of people with whom you associate and select your circle with more care.”

  A frown pulled at his brow as he folded his arms and contemplated his mother. “And where is this child?”

  “Lost,” she said with a negligent wave. Her face darkened. “Presumably, your friend, Harrow, paid to be rid of the inconvenience when he made her his whore.”

  He didn’t believe it. Not for one instant. Of either of them. Sighing, he passed a weary hand over his face. “I happen to know them both well enough to know neither of them would do such a thing.” He pinned her with a hard stare. “You know, I would not have expected you to be spreading such fabrication.”

  Her eyes widened. “You doubt your own mother? I’m only trying to help you—”

  “No, you’re trying to help yourself by ensuring I don’t embarrass you,” he drawled. At once, her look went from wounded to sullen. “Again, from whence did you obtain such enlightenment?”

  “Lady Atherton said she overheard it when her husband was talking to Grenville one evening at a dinner party. May I now assume my information is acceptable, since it reportedly came from the gentleman himself?”

  “Reportedly,” he retorted drily. “I find it…interesting…that this new information comes from Lady Atherton, who happens to be one of London’s worst gossipmongers, known for embellishing hearsay and propagating whole-cloth lies. That woman is a menace, and I cannot believe you tried to sway me with such twaddle.”


  The offended look she wore now was quite genuine. “I have only your best interests at heart—”

  “Save your protestations, Mother.” Tired of playing games, he held up a hand to forestall any further objection. He loved her, but she could be such a trial at times. “I’ll do as I please. Your disapproval of me is already well known to your friends and liberates you of responsibility for my actions. I don’t see how my befriending Harrow—or his mistress—can make one jot of difference.”

  The Countess of Markham drew herself up, her face reddening. “Then you are blind and deaf to reason. Your past disregard for Society’s sensibilities may be owed to youth and forgiven, but no more. People are saying things about this friendship of yours. Unpleasant things. Things no girl of decent lineage will forbear to overlook in a potential husband.”

  Now his temper did get the better of him. “Any woman that refuses my suit based on the opinions of others does not deserve the honor of bearing my name. When I finally marry, my bride will know exactly what she’s getting and accept me as I am. I, in turn, will grant her the same courtesy. You have my love, Mother, but I won’t change who I am or desert my friends in order to impress anyone.”

  The careful mask his mother had built over the years crumbled, and he saw she was, in truth, quite distraught. “Then you may expect your father to make a show of his displeasure, as well. He asked me to speak with you first in the hope you would alter your course for my sake. That failing, he will do what he feels he must.”

  He stiffened, surprise sending his eyebrows skyward. They’d not communicated in years save through their solicitor. “You’re speaking to each other again?”

  “Briefly, yes,” she said in a clipped tone.

  Somewhere in Hell, the devil is building a snowman… A smirk tilted his lips before he could prevent it surfacing. “I must have committed a grave offense to warrant such a miracle.”

  Her glare should have turned him into a pile of smoking ashes. “It was a most unpleasant meeting. And now I shall have to write and tell him of your disappointing answer. I’ve little doubt but that you may expect to see him not long after he receives it.”