Invitation

by Burke, Darcy

  It wasn’t a bloody duty to meddle in your son’s, especially your second son’s, marital affairs.

  “No, I will not. It isn’t your duty to choose my wife, or Con’s.” Lucien glared toward his brother. “Dammit, Con, why do you let him control everything?”

  Con’s answering stare was frigid. “I don’t. You seem to think I don’t make decisions for myself, but I do. Just because you don’t agree with them doesn’t mean they’re wrong. For a younger brother, you are annoyingly meddlesome.”

  Stung, Lucien sat back in his chair and blew out a breath. Was he no better than their father, trying to manage Con? Was Lucien’s irritation at Con’s impending marriage to do with Con at all, or was it due to the fact that their father’s focus would now shift completely to Lucien? The pressure to wed would be applied most vociferously.

  “I shall do my best to select someone acceptable,” Lucien responded, though he was thinking he’d do just the opposite to spite him.

  The duke’s answering expression was one of heavy skepticism. “What’s important for now is that you mend your libidinous ways. Your reputation requires rehabilitation if you hope to make the best possible marriage.”

  Lucien wiped his hand over his face, thoroughly weary of this interview. “I served under Wellington and received a medal. What more could I do to improve my reputation?”

  “Stop gallivanting about town with your unending parade of mistresses. Stop spending so much time in gaming hells. Attend more Society events. And most importantly—do something with your life.” He put his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands. “You should have stood for the Commons last autumn.”

  That had been a massive battle that had resulted in Lucien not speaking to his father until well into the new year. “It’s not enough that Con is already a member? Besides, I’d only been home from Spain a month.”

  “Closer to two, but let’s not quibble. You would have been elected easily.” Any gentleman with money was elected easily because he could afford the bribes necessary to win. For that reason alone, Lucien wasn’t interested.

  He rose again, checking his watch fob. “I must be off.” He turned to Con and inclined his head. “Felicitations to you and Lady Sabrina. When is the wedding?”

  “Early June.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” As he walked nearer to his brother, Lucien added in a near whisper, “And I hope you will too.”

  Lucien lifted his hand toward the duke. “Afternoon, Father. Thank you, as always, for your counsel.”

  “One more thing,” the duke said sharply, halting Lucien’s departure. “I’ve given up my private chamber at Brooks’s. I see no need for it since I rarely ever visit.”

  Though Lucien couldn’t see his father’s face, the derision in his tone was blatantly evident. Barely pivoting, Lucien glanced back toward him. “I go there nearly every night. Surely you know that.”

  “Do you?” Though the duke sounded as though he had no idea, Lucien knew better.

  There would be no point in trying to persuade him to keep it, nor would Lucien lower himself to ask. This was a minor punishment for not falling into line. No matter, Lucien would find a cozy alcove to meet with his friends. Or maybe he’d do something else entirely. Hell, his mistress was leaving him, and now his gathering place had been stripped away too.

  Without another word, Lucien stalked from the study. Before he reached the entrance hall, Con caught up to him.

  “Would it kill you to improve your behavior?”

  Lucien reluctantly slowed as his brother came abreast of him. “Would it kill you to relax a bit and enjoy life?”

  Con brushed at something on his sleeve. “Just because we do not share the same…passions doesn’t mean I do not enjoy life.”

  Lucien stopped and turned to face his brother, folding his arms over his chest. “Passions?” He waggled his brows. “Dare I hope you’ve developed a tendre for your bride? Perhaps you haven’t repressed everything.”

  “Must you debase every conversation?”

  “Well, I don’t, but I could.” Lucien grinned, then uncrossed his arms, letting them drop to his sides. “My apologies, brother. I should not taunt you. You make it too easy. But that does not mean you’re inviting me to torment you.”

  Con’s eyes darkened. “You’ve skirted the issue, Luci.” Only his siblings called him by the nickname. “Please, give a thought to your reputation—your standing, if not your family.”

  “Are you honestly concerned my behavior will cause you to suffer?”

  “No, but think of our sister.”

  Lucien glanced toward the entrance hall, where he’d seen Cassandra earlier. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well…no. But how would we know if there were?”

  Rolling his eyes, Lucien turned toward the foyer. “She’s not even out, for heaven’s sake. Stop trying to stir trouble where there is none. You are becoming more like Father every day.”

  Con clenched his jaw. “If you kept your…activities more private and didn’t flaunt your dissipation, it would be far more tolerable. Can’t you find something worthwhile to do?”

  “Worthwhile is subjective, Constantine,” Lucien said softly but with a touch of heat.

  He took his leave and drove back to his small bachelor house on King Street near St. James Square. Con’s marriage would invite more meddling from their father, as evidenced today. The duke hadn’t only not persuaded Lucien to remedy his behavior, he’d rather done the opposite. Lucien was more encouraged than ever to carouse and debauch, particularly since he was suddenly in the market for a new mistress.

  Frowning as he turned toward Piccadilly, he thought of Mirabelle. He’d hoped she would change her mind or that she hadn’t actually been serious. But of course she had been. Furthermore, she’d sent him a note that morning indicating she’d found lodgings and would be moving in a few days. Lucien wanted to ask where, to ensure she would be safe and comfortable, but it wasn’t his place to ask. She’d been clear about leaving her profession and claiming her independence.

  He also knew she didn’t have another trade to fall back on.

  Frustration drove him back to his conversation with his brother. Intolerable? Was that how Con saw him? Of all the judgmental, pompous…

  But wasn’t that also how Lucien saw his brother? The duke had done an excellent job of pitting them against each other. At least that was how it seemed to Lucien. Or perhaps it was just that they were that different, that being the heir and being the spare created a rift.

  Lucien shook out his shoulders before he grew too tense. His father, and by extension his brother, didn’t like the company he kept—either his friends or his women. Nor did they like that he preferred Brooks’s to White’s or supported liberal ideas such as election reform. It was apparently blasphemous to think all men, and even women, should be able to vote and that anyone should be able to run for office.

  Worse than blasphemous, it was intolerable.

  Lucien turned his thoughts to Tobias, who, like Mirabelle’s sister, was also suffering from Society’s nastiness. During his morning ride on Rotten Row, Lucien had overheard several gentlemen discussing Bentley’s victory with the apparently popular Lady Priscilla. They didn’t seem to realize, or care, that Tobias’s heart had been broken.

  Lucien cared. Just as he cared for Mirabelle and what she was going to do. His brother’s words rose in his mind: Can’t you find something worthwhile to do?

  In fact, he rather thought he might be able to do just that.

  Chapter 4

  Lady Priscilla was the only reason Tobias had come to the Oxley ball. He clung to the shadows as much as possible, both to avoid running into his father and to keep from sparking interest in his presence. The ton was still abuzz with his loss and, perhaps more accurately, fixated on Bentley’s victory.

  Tobias had seen him shortly after he’d arrived, preening in the center of a group of ardent admirers, both male and female. The heir to a dukedom was always
seen as a good ally, even when they were self-important dullards.

  Not long after that, Tobias had finally caught sight of Lady Priscilla. Her light brown hair was piled atop her head in curls woven through with a silver ribbon and jewels. She wore a pale blue gown that elegantly draped her petite form. A pang of longing had shot through him, and he hoped his plan wouldn’t be for naught.

  He watched while she sipped ratafia with other ladies. After some time, she departed the ballroom in the company of her mother.

  This was the moment he’d been planning for. Hopefully, they were on their way to the retiring room, because the scheme he’d engineered depended on it. Seeing that was, in fact, their destination, Tobias exhaled with relief. He lingered nearby, his body thrumming with nervous energy as he waited to see if his plan would work.

  A few moments later, Lady Priscilla came back out just as he’d hoped she would. Tobias strode quickly to her and gently touched her back. “Lady Priscilla, might I have a word?”

  “Lord Deane?” Her eyes lit with surprise and something else. Pleasure, perhaps. There was also a shadow of confusion. “The maid said Bentley needed to speak with me.”

  “That’s what I paid her to say, yes.” Tobias tried not to sound impatient, but if someone happened upon them, the entire scheme would be finished before it even began. “Will you come with me?”

  She nodded. “I’m quite pleased to see you, actually. I was afraid you’d be angry.” She looked up at him tentatively as he guided her to the sitting room several paces away. “Are you?”

  “No, of course not. Well, not anymore.” After ushering her into the sitting room, he closed the door firmly. It was too bad there wasn’t a lock. Due to the threat of discovery, he took just two steps into the room so he would be able to hear if anyone approached. “I was shocked to learn you’d become betrothed to Bentley. I thought we suited quite well.”

  She turned to face him, her pale brows knitted. “I’m so sorry. You must understand that my parents preferred Bentley’s suit.”

  Exactly as he’d suspected. “I did wonder what happened. I’d planned to propose to you yesterday afternoon, then to speak with your father this morning. I suppose it’s my bad luck that Bentley got to you both first.”

  She stepped closer to him. “I’m not sure it would have mattered. My father was quite set on Bentley.”

  Tobias edged toward her so that they nearly touched. “And were you set on someone? In particular?”

  Pink swathed her cheeks, and her lashes fluttered as she glanced away. “I tried not to be, but I admit I preferred you to Bentley.” She returned her gaze to his, an expectant smile lifting her mouth.

  Happiness swelled in Tobias’s chest. “I’d thought so.” He clasped her fingers and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Clutching her hand to his chest, he stared into her eyes. “It’s not too late for us to be together. We can leave for Gretna Green right now.”

  Her jaw dropped, but she clutched his fingers. “That would be madness!” She sounded breathless, and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

  He took her reaction to mean she wasn’t opposed to the idea, but that it was risky. “It’s the only solution left to us, unless you think your father can be persuaded to allow you to refuse Bentley.”

  Her forehead creased with concern. “My father did not ask whom I preferred to marry. I don’t think he can be deterred from Bentley. In any case, that would be a scandal at this point. Our betrothal is public knowledge.”

  “Dashing off to Gretna Green will also be a scandal.” Tobias stroked his thumb along the side of her hand. “I await your direction, my lady.”

  She turned her head, her brow puckering and her lips pursing. “I am so confused. I do like you more than Bentley. And this is such a grand, romantic gesture.” Her expression brightened, and she brought her other hand up to clasp his between hers. “How can I refuse you?”

  She liked him? A chill raced through Tobias. Like was not love.

  The sound of voices outside the door jolted Tobias into action. He looked wildly about the room for a place to hide. Holding her hand tightly, he pulled her behind the heavy draperies at the window, grateful they were both voluminous and thick.

  “What are you—”

  Tobias clapped his hand over her mouth. “Shhh. Someone is coming,” he whispered urgently.

  The click of the door opening followed by the snick of it closing made Tobias hold his breath. The voices started again, and he strained to listen.

  “This is cozy,” said a woman, her voice low and provocative. Oh God, were he and Lady Priscilla about to overhear an assignation?

  “Indeed,” the man purred.

  There was no mistaking the sounds of kissing, at least not for Tobias. And here he was, squeezed into a small, dark place with the woman he loved pressed against his chest. Her floral scent suddenly assaulted him, stirring a thoroughly inconvenient desire.

  Lady Priscilla flattened her palms against his chest. “It sounds like they’re kissing,” she whispered.

  He put his hands on her waist and tried to keep from pulling her hips to his. “Don’t talk.”

  “All right.” Then her lips were on his, and the longing inside him unfurled into a fiery lust. He splayed his palms over her lower back and brought her flush against his erection. They’d kissed before, but not with this sense of desperation, of utter need. Perhaps that was because he thought he’d lost her.

  Her tongue licked along his lips before slipping into his mouth. Holy hell, where had she learned to do that?

  Bentley, probably.

  Lifting his head, Tobias clasped her waist and held her apart from him. Then he listened intently, but the room was silent.

  “Did they leave?” she murmured.

  Tobias waited a few moments. Upon hearing nothing, save the rapid beat of his heart, he pivoted, careful not to move the drape, and peered around the edge. The room was empty.

  He exhaled as he let her go and quickly left the shield of the draperies. “That was a near thing.”

  “That would have been a scandal for certain.” She giggled. “Gretna Green would not have been necessary then, just a special license.” She sucked in a breath, drawing Tobias to turn to her in fear. She did not look afraid. She appeared…titillated. “Perhaps Bentley would have called you out! Is there anything more romantic than having two men fight a duel over your hand?”

  Only that wasn’t what Tobias would be doing. He’d be defending his—and her—honor. That she was intensely thrilled by this prospect filled him with dread. “A duel is the furthest thing from romantic.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh! Well, yes, I suppose so. I only meant that I would feel honored that you both care so much. It is rather wonderful to be so highly desired.” She smiled prettily, her gaze raking over him with unabashed appreciation. “But surely you know that.”

  Tobias felt queasy. Society had been right to laugh at him. He’d been an utter fool. He’d fallen in love with this young woman who apparently liked him well enough, but who was perhaps in love with being wanted and not with any gentleman in particular. She’d made him feel special—the way she’d just looked at him and flattered him. Had she treated Bentley the same way? Tobias assumed she had.

  The words contest, win, and lose came back to him. Perhaps this was all just a game, even to the young woman before him.

  “Lady Priscilla, I fear my scheme to spirit you away to Gretna Green is a foolhardy one. We would most certainly be caught, and it would cause a terrible scandal. Indeed, I never should have brought you in here. The risk to your reputation is too great. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

  Her mouth drooped as she took a step toward him. He quickly moved back.

  “You’ve changed your mind?” she asked, sounding so disappointed that he nearly reversed his decision. Again.

  “I’ve come to my senses,” he said definitively. “You are already betrothed. The marriage contract has probably been signed.” Hell, why had
n’t he thought of that before? Because he’d been an utter dunderhead. “You should return to the retiring room. Your mother may have missed you by now.”

  As it was, they were already supposed to have been on their way. The arrival of the amorous couple had ruined the timing of his plan, even if Tobias hadn’t suffered a change of heart.

  Had he? Was his heart free of Lady Priscilla?

  She stepped forward and hastily stood on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I did like you better, for whatever that’s worth. I’m sorry…things beyond our control got in the way.”

  As she departed, Tobias thought about the things he couldn’t control. Then he acknowledged that women were able to control far less. However he’d felt about Lady Priscilla, or however she’d felt about him, it ultimately hadn’t mattered.

  Closing his eyes, he counted to twenty. Then fifty. When he reached one hundred, he went to the door and looked to make sure there was no one about before leaving the room.

  Thirty minutes later, instead of racing north to Scotland, he walked into Brooks’s and went directly to the Duke of Evesham’s private chamber. The door stood slightly ajar, so he let himself in.

  Once inside, he promptly poured himself a glass of the duke’s secret Scotch whisky that had been smuggled south. The irony that Tobias had been about to smuggle a bride in the opposite direction nearly made him smile. Except he was still shaken by why he’d nearly done. Instead, he downed the contents and poured another.

  “Bad night?” Lucien asked from the chair set closest to the hearth.

  Tobias had registered his friend’s presence but hadn’t stopped to greet him. Lucien had, after all, invited him. “It did not go as planned. However, that is for the best.”

  Clutching his whisky, Tobias went to slump into a chair near Lucien, sprawling his legs out before him. He recounted his ill-conceived scheme and his thankful recollection of good sense.

  Lucien winced before sipping his brandy. “I’ll agree that it’s best you abandoned your plan, but I am sorry for the way things worked out with Lady Priscilla.”