Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  “Lady Albright,” Lord Kealing said icily, turning his little black eyes to her, “do me the enormous courtesy of allowing me a private conversation with my son.”

  Astounded, Lilliana gaped at him, unable to conceive of someone behaving in such a rude manner. And in her own house! Indignant, she deliberately planted her hands on her waist. “I beg your pardon?” she asked slowly.

  “Benedict!” Adrian said sharply. “Please …” he said, motioning in the general direction of Lilliana.

  Benedict seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and quickly strode across the room to grab Lilliana’s elbow. “I would that you show me your recent paintings.” He did not allow her to respond, but forced her to the door as Lord Kealing began his contemptible drivel again.

  “Benedict, stop! I must—”

  “You must let Adrian and Father talk,” he muttered, and pushed her out the door, almost colliding with Max and his tray of tea. “Take my advice and keep the tea for yourself, Max, unless you relish cleaning up the carnage later,” he said and proceeded to march her down the corridor toward the terrace, then practically dragged her down the flagstone steps and into the garden.

  When Lilliana tried to pry his fingers from her elbow, Benedict urged her forward. “Let him be! There is much that must be said between them just now, and it is not appropriate for you to hear,” he admonished her, and propelled her to the orangery as Lilliana struggled alongside, imagining Adrian walking unsteadily to a seat near his father, too proud to ask for help. She had met Lord Kealing on very few occasions, but she had never taken such an instant dislike to anyone in all her life. How dare he come and assail his son! Could he not feel Adrian’s devastation?

  Benedict threw open the door to the orangery and shoved her in ahead of him, closing the door securely behind him before allowing his gaze to sweep over her. He frowned at what he saw. “Ah, love, don’t be so vexed. Their differences are long-standing.”

  “That hardly gives your father the right to treat him so ill!”

  Benedict shrugged and strolled into the room. “It may seem so to you, but Adrian has treated him just as ill on more than one occasion.”

  That gave her pause. Suspicious, she asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just that Adrian has been as cruel to Father,” he said matter-of-factly, and glanced toward the wall, where several of her paintings were hung. “There were times when Father desperately needed him, and Adrian merely laughed. He despises Father, you know.” Benedict glanced at her over his shoulder. “I am quite fond of Adrian, you understand. But surely you know by now he is not the man he would have you believe. He has a dark side that is just as contemptible, if not more so, than you think my father has.”

  “He would never treat anyone so harshly,” Lilliana said defensively, inwardly wincing at how false she knew that to be. The things he had said to her sounded just as vulgar as Lord Kealing’s utterances. She unconsciously shook her head, unwilling to engage in another internal debate about Adrian. “What is the Court of Faculties and Dispensations?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

  Benedict smiled patiently. “A court where special circumstances are heard, love. Nothing you should fret about, I assure you. You finished the painting of the old chapel, I see. It’s marvelous! You should really consider selling some of your work,” Benedict said, and began strolling about her many canvases.

  Lilliana kept her mouth shut. Something was terribly wrong, and whatever it was, Benedict knew it. She watched him wander about her little studio for an hour or so, chattering easily, never really giving her an opportunity to question him further. There was something uncomfortably jovial in his manner, inappropriate after what they had heard. She grew increasingly fretful, and Benedict finally gave in to it, escorting her back to the house. As they walked down the corridor to the study where they had left the men, Lilliana could not help fearing that the silence meant father and son had killed each other.

  But when Max hurried down the hall to meet them with Benedict’s hat in his hands and an unusually vivid look of worry about him, Benedict grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You see there? It is already over.”

  She jerked her hand free as Max shoved the hat between him and Lilliana. “Lord Kealing is waiting for you in the chaise, my lord. He would that you come at once.”

  “And Lord Albright? Where is he?” Lilliana asked.

  “Upstairs, madam,” he said, and glanced anxiously at Benedict. “His lordship was quite insistent.” He turned to hurry off in the direction he had come.

  Benedict’s gaze fell on her lips. “I’ll come again soon. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.” With a reassuring smile he started down the corridor—his steps, Lilliana noticed, every bit as anxious as Max’s.

  Seventeen

  INCOMPETENT HIS FATHER had called him. Too infirm to manage his affairs. A blight on the fine tradition of his title. And then the bastard was off to find a barrister he could convince to prepare a case and present it to the Court of Faculties and Dispensations. Adrian had no doubt Archie would have a decent chance in gaining Longbridge in trust—all of his holdings, for that matter—until an heir came of age.

  Assuming Archie didn’t find some way to keep him from that too. Not that Adrian was terribly anxious to bring into this world a child he could not even see, let alone provide for. Bloody hell, he could hardly disagree with anything Archie had said. He was a reckless fool—the moment he had killed Phillip, he had started a downward slide into hell, and had taken an innocent parish princess along with him. Even if she wanted to be free of him, she could not marry Benedict. There was no custom or law in the land that would allow her to find true happiness, not after what he had done.

  Ah, but that Princess had shown him a strength of spirit he honestly envied. Her unfathomable dedication to him was exasperating, yes, but extraordinarily admirable in light of everything. This monstrous thing he had done—ruining her life irrevocably—was just the beginning. Should Archie be successful in his suit, the scandal would be devastating. His recklessness and need for revenge had ruined her, and the irony of it all was that Archie would win after all.

  When he heard the door to the master suite creak open, he waved her in, actually grateful for the intrusion for once. He was sick of himself.

  “Adrian?” Her voice was small. “When you didn’t come down for supper, I wondered if … I thought perhaps …”

  “I have not expired, nor lain on the counterpane and wept myself to sleep,” he said dryly.

  “Oh. Well. Then I shall leave you—”

  “What is this sudden reticence, Lilliana? You have so enjoyed demanding my attention,” he said, and rose carefully, turning in the direction of her voice.

  “I don’t wish to disturb you if you are … you know.…”

  “Please, come sit with me. I am rather eager for company tonight.” In an unusual gesture he stretched his hand in her direction, smiling at her soft intake of breath. A moment passed, then another, and at last he heard her moving across the room. When she slipped her slender hand into his, he brought it to his lips in an almost unconscious act of penitence. Another little gasp. When he released her hand, it slipped from his and he heard the soft whisper of her skirts as she sat down. He groped in the darkness for his chair, falling into it without aplomb. “You are undoubtedly wondering what transpired,” he said impassively.

  “I, umm … yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Well, Lillie, I hate to be the one to inform you, but the moon has, apparently, turned to cheese.” She made no response to his quip; he could sense her holding her breath. Sighing wearily, he shoved a hand through his hair. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable. “Archie intends to take Longbridge from me. I hope that you will at last see reason and return to the Grange before I can cause you any more harm.”

  “B-but that’s impossible!”

  “Not impossible … not easy, perhaps, but not impossible. He will engage the finest barrister
he can afford to present his case.”

  She made a small sound of disbelief. “His case? What case?”

  “A case of incompetency, an inability to care for my holdings properly. A case that argues on behalf of future heirs. He will argue that as I blinded myself in a botched attempt to take my own life, I cannot possibly be of a mind to see to my own affairs. Therefore, my assets should be held in trust for my son. And naturally he will put forth that he should be the executor of any such trust.” Adrian paused; how strange that he could sense her deep blush.

  “You … you don’t have an heir,” she said quietly.

  He smiled. “That is putting a rather fine point on it. I suppose in theory I am capable, and that is all that matters. He’ll stop at nothing to gain Longbridge from me.” Funny, but he heard himself speak as if he were talking of another person, someone only remotely familiar to him. He felt no emotion at all, nothing but the numb, vague sense of emptiness he always felt when it came to Archie. In that, at least, nothing had changed.

  “But why would he do such a thing? Why should he feel so … so …”

  “Why should he hate me so?” Adrian chuckled derisively. How could he possibly explain? “It’s a rather long story, and one that is hardly suitable for a lady.”

  “Oh, honestly,” she snapped, surprising him with her sudden impatience. “I know you think me a simpleton, but you needn’t resort to treating me like a child.”

  She was glaring at him, he knew it very well, and he smiled. “I don’t think you a simpleton, Lilliana,” he said laughingly. “Far from it, actually.” He might have thought so once, but not any longer. “I think you are a Princess, a woman of great valor,” he said solemnly, “but I have hurt you enough.” He did regret it, more than anything else he had ever done—and that was saying quite a lot for a rogue.

  Lilliana’s skirts rustled as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. A moment of silence passed, and he could almost see her staring into the fire, her green eyes clouded with pained confusion. “There is little you can say that will hurt me anymore,” she finally said, and cleared her throat as if gathering her courage. “Whatever it is, I am quite prepared to hear it. I don’t know how to speak any plainer, Adrian. I want to help you and I will do whatever is in my power. What has passed between us cannot be taken back, but …” She faltered; he almost reached for her, but there was no point in it. Any comfort he would try and give her now would seem so … late. “There is nothing you can say that will change the way I feel,” she murmured softly.

  Why? Dear God, why? What had he done to deserve this? What impossible logic of hers could perpetuate such a sentiment? All right, then, there was nothing to be done for it but to tell her everything. Every ugly aspect. She had to go for her own sake, and he knew no other way to make her see reason than to lay it all out for her, plain as day, and hope she would at last comprehend. “You leave me no choice,” he said hoarsely.

  “Then you might as well say it.”

  He spoke—haltingly at first—finding it difficult to voice aloud the fact that his father had despised him since birth and had thought his mother a whore. But he forced himself to speak, admitting things about his childhood that he had never told another living soul. In the background he heard the small sounds of distress she made as she listened, but he continued undaunted, his voice growing stronger. Words flowed out of him, words he had kept locked away in some remote part of his soul all his life spilled out, tumbling over one another in their haste to be set free.

  He spoke of the abuse, of Archie’s doting on Benedict. Of how Benedict had gone from an eager, devoted lad to a sullen, weak young man who hid behind Archie’s promise of Kealing Park. Strangely embarrassed, he admitted to taking Archie’s challenges and turning them into gold, all the while pushing him, pushing him, with everything he could think of. Nor did he shy away from telling her of the whoring, the gambling, and the reckless reputation the Rogues had eagerly earned, of the friends that meant more to him than his own kin.

  At one point as he gathered his thoughts and his breath, he heard her move from her chair, caught the scent of her as she brushed past him. For one terrified moment he thought she had left in disgust, but she returned, wrapping his fingers around a snifter of brandy. Adrian gratefully took the snifter and let the fire stream down his gullet. Then hoarse from the brandy, he told her how he had finally given Archie the reason he needed to disinherit him.

  Everything tumbled off his tongue, every minute of the appalling weekend when he had killed Phillip, every thought, every moment of horror on that field. The shock at seeing a gun pointed directly at his chest. The terror upon realizing he had killed one of his very best friends. The guilt that would not leave him. He told her how Archie had disinherited him, and how he had sought her out in an almost mad state of revenge. How he regretted what he had done to her, for telling her the truth in such an abhorrent manner. And how that regret had led him to drink himself into such a state of oblivion, he could not even tell her what had happened with the gun.

  When he at last finished, the pounding in his head was relentless, the pain almost nauseating.

  An eternity seemed to pass before she spoke. “I understand everything but this. Why would he despise his son from birth?”

  Ah, yes, the one thing he could not quite put a voice to. But it was all there, his whole life, lying like bits of debris scattered on the floor between them—except the one thing that had shattered it all in the beginning. “Because my birth was conceived outside the bounds of lawful matrimony.” And he laughed bitterly, almost choking on it.

  “How do you know that?” she asked quietly.

  “Because nothing else can explain it. The names he called her, his disdain for me, his absolute adoration of Ben. I am my mother’s bastard son, Lilliana, and Archie hates me for it” He laughed again, desperately this time, suddenly wishing he could retrieve every word he had uttered and stomp the truth that damned him and gave everything to Benedict. “He cannot bring himself to admit he was cuckolded. He would prefer to ruin me, as I am the single reminder of her infidelity. And, I fear, he may finally succeed.” Adrian sucked the thin air around him. “That is why you must go, Princess. This is my fate, not yours, and I cannot bear to see you harmed. It is my dirty secret, and you should not have to pay the consequence.”

  The silence that filled the room unnerved him; his breath came harshly as his secret hammered in his ears and his head. Adrian gulped for air, silently crying to God to let him see her one more time, to see her now and if the light was still in her eyes … or the revulsion that he feared.

  He didn’t realize she had moved until he felt her hand in his, then her lips brush his fingers. “I won’t let him hurt you,” she murmured.

  He groaned; there was so much she could not possibly comprehend. What a father and son could do to one another—her tender soul should never know what darkness men were capable of. “On my life, I won’t let him hurt you ever again,” she said, and pulled lightly on his hand. “No one will hurt you.” She tugged again, pulling him to his feet.

  “Lilliana—”

  “Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips, then drew him slowly away from his chair. Adrian followed her mindlessly, moving carelessly across the carpet, not really conscious of anything but his desperate need to see her. Surprised when his leg bumped up against the bed, there was no time to react before she pushed him down. He fell onto his side; Lilliana fell on top of him.

  “I love you Adrian,” she whispered, and quickly covered his mouth with hers.

  Impossible! his mind screamed, and he struggled to push her off, afraid unto death of what those words meant, that they should come now, after everything he had told her. But the touch of her lips detonated something inside him, and his pushing suddenly turned to a fierce embrace. He raked his hands through her curls, cupped her face, felt her neck and eyes and ears with his hands. Lilliana straddled him; there was nothing but a gossamer layer of undergarments between
them.

  Adrian’s hands and body operated feverishly, stroking every curve, seeking her warm flesh. He buried his face in her neck and ran his tongue inside her ear as he inhaled her scent. Lilliana worked just as feverishly, ripping the neckcloth from him, then sending her fingers flying down the buttons of his waistcoat. He felt his shirt being pulled from his trousers, then somehow, she managed to claw it off of him. Her delicate hands were everywhere, caressing him, gliding over his chest, stroking the soft down of hair trailing to his groin.

  Adrian caught a breath in his throat when her tongue flicked across his nipple as her hands fumbled with his trousers to free his arousal. It was an assault, a blind assault on all his senses, and he was mad for her. Frantic, he sought the fastenings of her gown, releasing her breasts from the confines of fabric. He groped for the softly pliant flesh, moaning with pleasure when they began to swell in his hands. He suddenly sat up, holding her tightly on his lap to take one succulent breast in his mouth, sucking the hardened peak into his tongue.

  Her hand surrounded his rigid erection, making him ache with desire. With her other hand, she shoved him backward again, then covered his face with kisses, pressed her lips to his blind eyes, his nose, his lips, and trailed a river of simmering kisses to his chest. And then, Lord God, down the length of his torso, pausing to flick her tongue into the crevice of his navel. Adrian held his breath; every fiber was burning with a fire that licked at the deepest recesses of his soul. He felt her body as he had never felt a woman, aware of every place they touched, of the scent of their lovemaking, of the sound of their eagerness.

  When her lips touched the velvet head, Adrian lurched violently. “Shhh,” she whispered, and with her tongue traced the length of him. Gasping, he tried not to writhe beneath her like an animal. But it was no use; she was destroying his control, pushing him to the brink of yearning that made him shudder with anticipation. Her lips left him long enough to glide across the slippery skin of his testicles, and Adrian shot upward in the dark, bracing himself on his elbows. But his mind went blank when her lips slid slowly down the length of him and back, tantalizing him to the point of madness.