“I only hope you do not get stuck with nothing.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Lucas, I – I think I have fallen in love with you.”
An invading army could not have gotten Lucas O’Brian out of bed any faster.
Lady Wellington’s plump red lips had barely spoken the word ‘love’ before he was off the mattress and pulling on his boots with a speed that suggested this was not the first time he’d fled a woman’s bedroom.
Love, he thought in disgust as he grabbed his shirt off the floor and pulled it over his lean torso before shoving it into the waistband of his gray trousers. Why did it always have to come down to love?
“What are you doing?” Pulling the sheets over her generously sized breasts, Lady Wellington sat up with a pout. “Where are you going?”
Looping his cravat around his neck, Lucas glanced down at the woman whose creamy white thighs he had just spent the better part of two hours languishing between and felt a tiny, almost absent twinge of regret. She was stunningly beautiful, with thick red hair and vivid blue eyes a shade too large for her heart-shaped face. She was also a wicked temptress in bed, which made her admission of the dreaded L word all the more unfortunate. Still, they’d had a good run. Three weeks of debauchery that would have been a whore blush.
What more could a man ask for than that?
“Now me treasure,” he began, only to stop short and duck to the side when a pillow came flying straight at his head. It struck the far wall, dispersing a flurry of white feathers into the air.
“Do not ‘now me treasure’ me!” Lady Wellington cried shrilly. “I know what you are about, Lucas O’Brian! You cad! You rake! You – you bastard!”
His head canted to the side as a cocky grin swept across his mouth. “All that and more, me treasure. All that and more. Be reasonable now, you knew it would come to this eventually.”
“But I love you,” she wailed.
They all did. Each and every one of his past – and current – mistresses. Which to Lucas’ mind gave the word very little value. After all, what was love but an emotion generated by lust? It had no meaning. No weight. No benefit. When it came down to it, love was nothing more than a fool’s errand.
And Lucas O’Brian was no fool.
Raking his fingers through his tousled hair, the color of which most closely resembled a sleek wolf’s pelt, he regarded Lady Wellington without remorse. As far as he was concerned she had made her bed, and now she needed to sleep in it.
Without him.
“If you love anyone, it should be your husband.” Poor, cuckolded simpleton that he is.
Lucas knew some men drew the line at crossing in another’s marked territory, but he was not one of them. If a rich, pampered lord was too dimwitted to know when his wife was spreading her legs for another man – and a paddy to boot – beneath his very own roof, then he deserved what he got.
“George?” Lady Wellington’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into her tousled hairline. “You want me to love George?”
“For sure it is I do not want you to do anything.” Where the devil was his hat?
“You were not saying that a few minutes ago,” Lady Wellington sulked.
Ah, there it was. Spying the brim of his hat peeking out from beneath the edge of the bed, he picked it up and gave it a good shake before setting it at a rakish angle over his head that made his sharp gray eyes all the more vibrant when contrasted against the worn, tired brown felt.
The last physical belonging of a father long dead and gone, the hat was worth nothing of value, but it did serve to remind Lucas of where he’d come from…and why he was never going back.
The youngest son of a poor tenant farmer who had come from a long line of poor tenant farmers, he still carried the scars on his back from the few times he hadn’t been quick enough to get out of the way of his father’s belt. Patrick O’Brian had had a notorious temper; one which he’d never been shy about taking out on his wife and their five children. As soon as he’d been able, Lucas had left the tiny, ramshackle farm he’d called home for thirteen long years and struck out for London with little more than the clothes on his back, a five pound note he’d been tearfully given by his mother, and a hat – the same one he still wore to this day – he’d filched from his father.
Fifteen years had passed since that fateful day when he turned his back on his family and began his life anew. Fifteen years filled with strife, hardship, bitterness…and one run of good luck that had lifted him out of the gutters and bought him a seat at London’s most disreputable gambling hell.
It was there, rubbing shoulders with nobles and common men alike, that he had earned his fortune and culled his reputation as one of the greatest card players London had ever seen.
Some called him a genius. Others believed his uncanny success was merely good fortune. But Lucas knew the truth. The only reason he won was because he had absolutely nothing to lose.
“It has been a treat, me treasure.” Knowing he was at risk for earning himself a good slap across the cheek, Lucas bent to give Lady Wellington one last kiss. He had been fond of her, if nothing else, and he tried to do his best not to leave broken hearts in his wake. It was why he always got out as soon as emotions became involved. A woman thinking with her head was one thing, but a woman thinking with her heart was another creature altogether. One he wanted absolutely nothing to do with.
Lady Wellington’s eyes filled with fat, shiny tears that hovered dramatically on the tips of her long lashes. “You are really leaving me?”
Lucas kissed her cheek before he straightened. Having hardened himself to a woman’s petty tears long ago, they caused him to feel nothing more than a faint surge of annoyance. “Ye knew I always would.”
“I suppose I did.” She sighed, her tears drying up and her expression turning vaguely contemplative as she gazed up at him. “Do you think you will ever find her?”
“Who is it I am supposed to find?” he said absently, his mind already on the game of faro that awaited him on the other side of town. Not a man who liked to dwell on the past, Lucas was ready to move on the moment one thing – in this case, an affair – ended and the next began. It was how he’d lived his life from the moment he first stepped foot on London’s filthy cobblestone streets and how he intended to go on living it until he was a feeble old man lying in his bed…with a beautiful brunette on one side of him and a redhead on the other.
“The woman who is going to make your life a living hell.” Lady Wellington’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “The one who is finally going to steal the heart of the heartless Lucas O’Brian. I only hope I get to meet her.”
“Do you now?” he said in amusement. “It pains me to tell you this, me darlin’, but you are going tae be waiting for a very, very long time.”
The sheet slipped down to Lady Wellington’s softly rounded stomach as she sat up against the tall wooden headboard, long auburn curls spilling across her shoulders in a tangled waterfall of flame. “And why is that?”
“Simple, really.” Opening the door, Lucas afforded himself one last, appreciative glance at Lady Wellington’s rounded breasts and dusky nipples before he stepped out into the hall. “Such a lass does not exist.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Am I late?” Annabel called out anxiously as she ran pell-mell down the walking path, skirts billowing out behind her. The hood of her emerald green pelisse went flying back, exposing her face to the brisk wind whipping through Hyde Park. It was a bright, clear, breezy winter’s day and the sunlight reflecting off the several inches of snow that had fallen the night before caused Annabel to squint and throw a hand across her brow as she skidded to a halt in front of Delilah and a rather harried looking Lynette. “Did I miss it?”
“The Waverly cousins only just left,” Delilah said apologetically.
“Drats,” Annabel breathed, lower lip bowing in disappointment. Another suitor, another missed caroling practice. How utterly frustrating! Not to mention a bi
t embarrassing, especially given the fact that she had been the one to put everything together in the first place.
“Bad luck,” said Delilah, noting Annabel’s terse expression.
“Extraordinarily so,” she agreed. A quick glance revealed the majority of the twelve women who had been invited to participate in her little venture – all of them friends and relatives accustomed to her eccentric proposals – had left, no doubt eager to get out of the cold. It was rather chilly, and with a shiver she drew her hood up over her hair and tucked her hands into the deep pockets of her fur lined cloak. “Did it go well?”
“If by well you mean the Waverly cousins were off tune the entire time and Lady Eustace kept giggling every time she sang the word naked in ‘Come, Ye Lofty’ then it was a smashing success.” This came from Temperance as she stepped up beside Delilah, slanted cheeks flushed with color and sparkling brown eyes bright with amusement.
By far the most outspoken Swan sister, she was similar to Annabel in that neither one of them ever thought to hold their tongue. She was also stubborn, a trait which had led them to minor disagreements, although nothing ever so severe as to be called a fight.
“It wasn’t all that bad,” said Lynette, casting Temperance a sideways glance. “Oh alright,” she admitted when her sister merely lifted a brow. “Perhaps it was not the best practice we have had, but it wasn’t horrible.”
Annabel winced. “I should have been here.”
“You should be grateful you weren’t,” said Temperance.
“What are you doing here?” Lynette said suddenly. Crossing her arms, she looked pointedly at the space behind Annabel where a chaperone should have stood. “And why are you here alone?” Even though she was only older than Annabel by five years, Lynette’s strong maternal instincts had turned her into a second mother of sorts. It was rather sweet, albeit very inconvenient. One pair of eyes watching her every move had been more than enough, thank you very much, and now she had two! How was a girl supposed to get into mischief when she couldn’t so much as slip out of the house and run to the park without someone noticing?
“Well…” she began, nudging the snow with the toe of her boot as she struggled to think of a creative fib that would keep her out of trouble. “You see…”
Lynette sighed. “Your mother does not know you are here, does she?”
Pressing her lips together, Annabel shook her head. Usually she was quite adept at creating wildly inventive stories, but there was something about Lynette’s eyes that made it impossible to lie to her.
“And you did not bring a companion, did you?”
“Caught in the act,” Temperance said gleefully when Annabel sighed and shook her head again. “Does this mean I am off the hook for being late?”
“It certainly does not.” Lynette frowned at her sister. “Two wrongs do not equal a right.”
“Well they should,” Temperance grumbled.
“Well they do not. Come along, all three of you.” Gathering them up as though they were errant ducklings who had wandered astray, Lynette began herding them back down the walking path which ran parallel to the much wider, much busier carriage path. Sleighs were out and about by the dozen, using the freshly fallen snow to fly through the park in a jingle of bells and breathless laughter. Through a thin veil of trees Annabel could just make out the tops of people’s heads as they skated across the glossy surface of Buxton Pond. On the other side of the pond a group of children were exchanging friendly snowball fire while their governesses huddled together for warmth.
Feeling a twinge of envy for the fun that was being had all around her, Annabel set her jaw as she strolled beside Delilah and Temperance. Lynette trailed behind, as though she were afraid one of them might dart out to the side and escape. Given the personalities of the young ladies she was shepherding home, Annabel supposed it wasn’t a completely unfounded concern.
“Do you think we might go sledding later?” she asked hopefully, glancing back at Lynette over her shoulder. “There is a hill not far from Grosvenor Square. It backs up to an old abandoned mill and is only a skip from Twinings. We could go sledding and get tea afterward.”
Delilah’s eyes lit up. “And chocolate pastries?”
“And chocolate pastries,” she confirmed, knowing her best friend had a very big sweet tooth.
“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Lynette said. “However I am afraid Delilah has a pianoforte lesson.”
“But why?” The genuine flicker of bewilderment that passed over Delilah’s countenance caused Annabel’s lips to twitch. Her friend may have been an adept singer, but that was where her musical talents ended. If Annabel was tone deaf, then Delilah was pianoforte deaf. Try as she might, she could not seem to play a single note in the correct order. It was an affliction that showed no signs of improving, no matter how many lessons Lynette scheduled. “I am not very good,” she said, echoing Annabel’s unspoken thoughts. “Last time my instructor actually covered his ears.”
“With patience and persistence you will start to get better,” Lynette said confidently.
“Have you heard her play?” Temperance asked. “I think it is a lost cause.”
“Nonsense.” Giving Temperance a stern look, Lynette gently nudged Delilah in the small of her back and they resumed walking. “Some people merely take a bit longer than others to figure things out. You will get it, Delly. I know you will.”
“If you say so,” Delilah said, although she did not sound very convinced.
Annabel knew why Lynette was so determined to see Delilah succeed at the pianoforte. It was the same reason she’d hired a dancing tutor and recently had her measured for a brand new wardrobe. Delilah was sweet and charming and everything good...but she was also quiet, absent-minded, and - when it came right down to it - a bit eccentric. Annabel loved her best friend because of her peculiarities, but she knew Lynette feared her sister would struggle to find a husband unless she could display some desirable ladylike traits.
Delilah did not need to marry. None of the Swan sisters did. Not anymore. But Annabel supposed Lynette wanted Delilah and Temperance to find a husband for the same reason her mother wanted her to find one: happiness, security, and a family to call their own.
They continued walking in silence, each woman consumed with her own thoughts, before a shrill voice calling Lynette’s name caused all three of them to stop and turn their heads.
“Oh no,” Temperance groaned. “Lady Millie.”
A friend of a friend (of a friend), Lady Millicent Clearwater was a bubbling young gossip who could turn five minutes of conversation into fifty without batting an eyelash. She’d recently become engaged to an earl, and her new favorite pastime was regaling everyone – even those who had heard it told a hundred times before – with the story of how the engagement had taken place. With blonde curls, blue eyes, and a dimpled smile she was the quintessential success story of the ton: a young woman who had managed to end her season debut with a ring on her finger.
“Run,” Annabel advised.
“Hide,” Delilah said seriously.
“Throw snowballs,” Temperance suggested.
“None of you will do no such thing. Honestly,” Lynette exclaimed, even though Annabel couldn’t help but notice the glimmer of amusement shining in her eyes. “Remain here,” she ordered. “I shall only be a moment or two.”
“She is going to be more than a moment, isn’t she?” Delilah asked as Lynette turned back around and intercepted Millie before she could reach them, no doubt fearing Temperance would make good on her snowball threat if she was forced to listen to Millie chatter on about her husband-to-be, a man whose most remarkable quality was his ability to remain in the same room as Millie for any length of time.
Temperance snorted. “You can be certain about that.”
“But it is getting rather cold.” Making a face, Delilah gathered the folds of her cloak more closely around her body and feigned an exaggerated shiver. “And we have been outside for hours. Annabel
, do you know what Mrs. Plumworth is preparing for dinner? I do hope it is not the mutton stew again,” she muttered, drawing on her bottom lip. “It was quite good the first two days, but to have it a third? Although there are worse things, I suppose.”
“Such as you talking incessantly about mutton stew,” said Temperance dryly.
Delilah’s cheeks heated. “I was not talking incessantly. I was merely stating my opinion which I am allowed to do! Do you not agree, Annabel?”
But Annabel did not hear her. She was too busy staring at a narrow two-person sleigh moving towards them on the wider carriage path, pulled by a prancing black mare and driven by a man whom she had never seen before. From this distance and angle it was all but impossible to judge any distinguishing characteristics, but she could see his hair was the color of the night sky when there was not a star to be seen and his shoulders were broad and well developed, filling out his great coat to perfection. He wore a red scarf around his neck. It flapped in the wind, a bright beacon she could not tear her gaze away from.
“Who is that?” she breathed as the handsome stranger’s sleigh drew closer. Several other vehicles were skimming across the freshly fallen snow, most of them larger and far more impressive, but there was only one that held her undivided attention.
“Who is who?” Delilah asked, sounding – and looking – remarkably like an owl as she stepped up beside Annabel and attempted to follow her line of sight with wide, unblinking eyes. “That couple over there? I believe it is Lord and Lady Winfield.”
“No, not them. Him,” said Annabel, unabashedly pointing at the stranger with the red scarf. How handsome he looked! Utterly captivated, she kept her gaze on him as he expertly guided his mare between two other vehicles ladened to the brim with passengers.
“Who are you talking about?” Temperance demanded, jostling Annabel’s shoulder as she stepped up on her other side. Their breaths merged in a plume of white smoke; a silent testament to the rapidly dwindling temperature. Clouds were beginning to creep across the clear blue sky, their ominous color threatening more snow before the day was done.
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