Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Claire Delacroix

  Lucien’s smile flashed. “Such a taskmaster you have, ladies,” he drawled, his gaze lingering on Sophia. She thought he might say more, but he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.

  He couldn’t know.

  Could he?

  Even if he had recognized her, why would he care? Sophia took a steadying breath, glad the library was their own again. Her hands were shaking, to her dismay. Eurydice was peering at her, her curiosity evident, but Sophia straightened and returned the girl’s gaze sternly. The library warmed to its former temperature.

  Five days. A veritable eternity.

  “Lady North Barrows!” Lucien’s words floated back to the library. Daphne was immediately as alert as a hound that had caught a scent. “What an unanticipated delight.”

  “Is it? Then you’ve forgotten your relations, too,” Lady North Barrows said with an acidity that gave Sophia great pleasure. “I thought it was the Devil himself arrived last night, but I see it was only you, Lucien. Is it true what they whisper, that you are in league with the dark fiend?”

  In league with the Devil? Sophia had not heard that rumor.

  Daphne abandoned her lessons and hastened to the door, unable to disguise her curiosity. Eurydice hesitated only a moment before following to do the same. Sophia could have commanded them back to their seats, but truth be told, she was curious as well.

  The more she knew of Lucien’s activities over the past seven years, the better she could avoid him. It was an excuse and Sophia knew it, but she listened all the same.

  Sophia Brisbane wasn’t dead.

  And Lucien had almost said too much in his relief.

  Her survival was a marvel. It meant that keeping his word wasn’t just a quixotic quest, but that he would actually set matters to rights.

  Sophia was alive!

  And he was not quite as sanguine about dying in three days.

  Lucien had been devastated when he found the notation of her death in the register of that woe-be-gone parish church. All the same, he’d been surprised that he hadn’t known of it sooner. It seemed he should have felt a stabbing pain when she breathed her last, or felt an ache that couldn’t be dismissed because she was no longer in the world.

  He’d blamed the baron for that. He didn’t feel much of anything anymore, not since the charm had been created and tied, binding demon and mortal together for seven years. He felt much of the time as if he was dead already and the world around him was a dream.

  But Sophia hadn’t died.

  Lucien felt a flicker of warmth where his heart used to be, a glow that could only be joy, that it was so.

  To be sure, she was paler than he recalled and thinner. She looked taut, as her governess often had, and that she was in service told him all he needed to know about her financial situation. Did she pretend to be Amelia Findlay solely for that reason, or did she hide from someone?

  He wouldn’t blame her for hiding from him, not after the way they had parted.

  But Sophia was alive!

  The rap of an umbrella on the floor made Lucien look up. Lady North Barrows stood before him, her hair a little whiter than he recalled, but no less sharp and shrewd than she’d been the last time they crossed paths. He’d been wary of her before the baron, and even now recognized a formidable will.

  He admired fearless and outspoken women. The baron hadn’t changed that.

  He bowed even as she sniffed with disapproval. “Lady North Barrows! What an unanticipated delight.”

  “Is it? Then you’ve forgotten your relations, too,” she replied, looking him up and down. “I thought it was the Devil himself arrived last night, but I see it was only you, Lucien. Is it true what they whisper, that you are in league with the dark fiend?”

  Blunt, as well. Lucien had always appreciated the honesty of direct speech. Sophia had charmed him from the first with her inability to keep from expressing her thoughts aloud. He’d believed once that she was the only woman in London who would tell him the truth—although now he didn’t want to hear her view of him. He smiled. “You can’t believe every rumor you hear, Lady North Barrows.”

  She glared at him. “Yet you are surprised to encounter me here, at the reception to read my own brother’s will. You thought I wouldn’t attend.”

  “The journey is long from North Barrows.” Which made North Barrows a perfect place for Sophia to hide. Lucien realized the wisdom of her scheme. She had always been clever. “I didn’t expect you to undertake it.”

  Lady North Barrows’ gaze lingered on the sapphire in his cravat and Lucien would have wagered that she assessed its value within a shilling.

  He could have won that wager without the baron’s assistance.

  “Then you thought wrongly.” Her eyes narrowed. “I suppose this is an excellent opportunity to confess my disappointment in you, Lucien. I had thought that you might evade your father’s inclination to dissipation and ruin. I regret that you have not been able to avoid temptation.”

  “But my father always lost when he gambled, Lady North Barrows,” he said smoothly. “In contrast, I always win.”

  She smiled tightly. “No one always wins, unless he is being tricked.”

  It was unfortunate that Charles Brisbane had never believed that fact.

  “Then I have been tricked for seven years.” It was true, but not in the way she meant it. No dealer lured him in by ensuring he won the hand and bet more in the next. The baron, though, was definitely a trick of the most unholy kind. “And how would you know of my habits, Lady North Barrows? I thought you didn’t go to London anymore.”

  “I do not need to be in London to hear news of it, and I have heard a great deal of unwelcome news about you.” She rapped her umbrella on the floor. “I suppose you still have that Negro valet.”

  “You suppose rightly.” Lucien hid the way her reference to Philip made him bristle.

  But her objection surprised him. “It is outrageous for you to employ such a man simply to disconcert others. You use him poorly and most immorally.”

  “On the contrary, I owe Philip a debt and I always pay my debts,” Lucien countered. “He shall have employ with me for as long as he desires it.”

  “You pay your father’s debt,” Lady North Barrows accused softly.

  “The matter could be viewed that way.”

  Her gaze turned assessing then. “And do you anticipate a legacy here?”

  “I learned long ago to expect nothing from my family save their censure.” Lucien brushed his coat sleeve. “I come for a meeting in the village, no more and no less.”

  “You come to gamble,” she muttered, then sighed. “I suppose we shall have to endure your presence at luncheon.”

  “Alas, I must make arrangements in Bocka Morrow for my meeting. I will take refreshment there.”

  Lady North Barrows’ gaze darkened in understanding. “In the tavern, with the whores and the witches, instead of at table with your betters. I should have expected no less. You have been many things, Lucien de Roye, but I am saddened to see you become a coward.”

  “Not a coward, Lady North Barrows, but a man previously engaged.”

  She pointed her umbrella at him and he refrained from taking a step back. “Be warned, Lucien, that if you mean to despoil either of my granddaughters or link their names with yours in some scandalous nonsense, I shall ensure that you regret it through eternity.”

  Lucien had regrets enough to occupy him for that duration. “I have no desire to rob the nursery, my lady.”

  “No? Then why were you in the library at all?”

  “I sought a book, of course.”

  “I doubt that.” She glared at him, so intent upon having an answer that Lucien chose to give her one.

  He glanced back to the doorway to that room, not doubting that their conversation was being attended by at least two young women. He took a step closer to the older woman and lowered his voice. “Because I find myself intrigued by Miss Findlay.”

  “How cruel you are to m
ake such a jest,” Lady North Barrows said with vigor. “Truly, Lucien, you are no more than a shadow of your former self. I am appalled!”

  “And so you should be,” he agreed, surprised that she should inadvertently speak the truth. He was a shadow of his former self.

  And in three days, he wouldn’t even be that.

  “Do not feign remorse.” Lady North Barrows’ eyes snapped. “Your mother was a fool and your father was a wastrel, but you have taken your family name to uncharted depths of depravity. That is no cause for pride.”

  “But it has always been my objective to live my life with distinction.”

  “You promised Margaret never to gamble!”

  “And she is long dead.”

  “So you would keep no vows to the dead.”

  “On the contrary, I keep whatever vows I must to achieve the ends I desire.”

  The umbrella beat a staccato on the floor. “Reprehensible, Lucien!”

  “I do have a reputation to protect, Lady North Barrows.” Lucien bowed deeply once again before he took his leave. He felt the weight of her furious gaze follow him, but he didn’t care what she thought of him.

  Sophia was alive!

  Chapter 2

  “Utterly scandalous,” Lady North Barrows declared to no one in particular at luncheon. She gestured to the clear soup before her, as yet untasted, and a footman promptly removed it. Sophia knew that Lady North Barrows had strong feelings about the merit—or the lack—of a clear soup. The older woman was nothing if not consistent. “But that line of the family was not always so, to be sure.

  As the fish course was served, Sophia watched the girls, ensuring that they chose the proper utensils. It was only to ensure their tutelage that she had been permitted to join the other guests at the meal, and that of Lady North Barrows’ insistence. Sophia had been seated below the girls but close enough that they could glance her way for confirmation on their choices. Eurydice did so, showing her usual care with protocol, but Daphne was too interested in the conversation to bother. She had already used her dessert spoon for the soup, and the only mercy was that Lady North Barrows was seated too far away to have noticed her granddaughter surreptitiously lick it and return it to its place. They would have to review table settings in their lessons before the girls were invited to a dinner.

  At least Lucien wasn’t present. Sophia was glad of small mercies.

  Even if she was curious about whatever meeting he planned.

  “It was considered a decent match at the time, not brilliant, of course, but better than expected for poor Eloise,” Lady North Barrows continued. “She was always rather plain.” This last was confided in the lady seated beside her with a shake of her head. The lady made a sound of commiseration and shot a glance at the other lady seated across the table. They were friends, then, and perhaps allied in their tolerance of Lady North Barrows. One of them was Lady Widcombe.

  “And my cousin, Margaret, Eloise’s mother, was absurdly convinced that only a duke would suffice for her sole child.” Lady North Barrows sighed and attacked her salmon with the enthusiasm of a woman starved for a month. “Eloise was twenty-two by the time they settled her, and truly I think they would have taken anyone at that point. Michel de Roye appeared most appealing. He was handsome and charming. Wealthy, to be sure.”

  “I believe I have been told that the de Roye lands were abroad,” one lady suggested.

  “Indeed!” Lady North Barrows agreed. “Michel’s father owned a large sugar plantation in Saint Domingue. Very affluent. He had been raised there, for they had lost their French title during the terror, you know.” The ladies made sympathetic noises. “They perhaps did not have quite the polish of English gentry, but it seemed as if Eloise had done rather well for herself.” Lady North Barrows nodded. “They said it was a love match.”

  “How providential!”

  “Until she died in the bearing of his son, less than a year after the wedding,” Lady North Barrows said grimly. “Then Michel took the boy back to Saint Domingue, abandoning all decent society in his grief.”

  “The boy was Lucien de Roye?”

  “Of course. I believe the shock of it all contributed to the demise the following year of my cousin’s husband, then dear Margaret was left all alone, not just a widow but denied any chance to see her only grandson. She was not so hale as to take to the high seas!” Lady North Barrows shook her head. “A wretched business, to be sure.”

  The ladies might have changed the subject, but Lady North Barrows finished her fish and continued her tale with enthusiasm. “And then, if that were not sufficient, there was a revolt in Saint Domingue and the de Roye family lost their sugar plantation. Michel brought the boy back to England—he must have been about ten years of age—and began to gamble heavily. Michel died destitute, as such men often do, in such debt that Lucien’s future seemed to be doomed. Margaret, of course, could not simply stand aside. She took the boy under her wing and paid for his education on the condition that he never gamble. He was learning the trade of a successful merchant, the one who had established Brisbane’s Emporium, when she died.”

  Sophia’s heart jumped at the mention of her father.

  “Brisbane’s Emporium! Maman always insists they have the best offering of ribbons, but I find their selection disappointing,” said the one lady.

  “Never mind the cottons and muslins. They are priced so high there!”

  “Maman says Brisbane’s Emporium is not what it used to be, not since Mr. Brisbane died.”

  “Was he the one who died within one day of being elevated to the knighthood?”

  “Oh, yes! And his son promptly lost his entire inheritance in the gaming hells.”

  The ladies clicked their tongues as Sophia felt that old mortification again at Charles’ folly. Fury heated her blood, as well, for she knew that Lyndenhurst had baited her brother and tempted him to risk more, perhaps even cheating to ensure Charles lost. She would not recall the Marquess’ insistence that he would make her regret breaking their betrothal. She couldn’t think of it and retain her composure.

  Eurydice was already watching her keenly.

  Lady North Barrows cleared her throat. “But when Margaret died, Lucien did take up gambling, abandoning his promise to her. He has been a rake and a wastrel ever since.”

  “I hear he has won and cast away fortunes,” said one of the ladies, clearly finding favor with this activity.

  “And that he fights duels with some regularity,” contributed the other with enthusiasm.

  Daphne’s approval was more than clear.

  “Scandalous,” Lady North Barrows concluded, her eyes lighting at the pork roast that was carried into the room next. “You should all ensure the defense of your reputations with such a man in the house.”

  Daphne gave a little shiver of delight, and Lady North Barrows fired one of her fearsome glares down the length of the table. Sophia wondered whether Lady North Barrows regretted having increased Lucien’s appeal by sharing his tragic story.

  At least the ladies declined to savor the misfortunes of the Brisbane family. Sophia could not have borne to have heard her father and brother discussed by strangers.

  Both men were dead and she had loved them dearly, despite their weaknesses.

  Arrangements made for the game, Lucien ordered another tankard of ale.

  To see Sophia one last time was a hope he had not dared to have, but it begged the question: why now? Was it coincidence that he’d found her on the veritable eve of his own demise? He’d lived with the baron long enough to recognize that fiend’s influence. Was Philip right that the baron would trick and cheat him in the end?

  How did Sophia fit into the baron’s scheme?

  A fire lit within Lucien, a need to ensure that he protected Sophia this time as he had failed to do before, and he thought he heard the baron chuckle.

  Her presence changed everything. Lucien had often been in the presence of greed, but had never felt it himself. As he drank his ale
, he felt it fire within him. He wanted to see Sophia alone. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to brush a fingertip over her freckles. He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to hear her laughter—no, to provoke it. He wanted to confide in her. He wanted one last kiss.

  No, he wanted more than a kiss from Sophia.

  Mere hours before, there had been no chance of any of these temptations, thus he had no desire for them. Now, he yearned to seek Sophia out and claim as many as possible before his time on earth was done. He wanted to see her expression when she realized what he had done.

  He wanted to redeem himself in her eyes.

  Could he? Or would doing so put Sophia at risk from the baron? Lucien didn’t know and he didn’t imagine the baron would give him a straight answer.

  Best to avoid temptation.

  Even if Sophia was the only one that truly tempted him.

  If the baron meant to trick him, he had baited his hook well.

  Lucien supposed Miss Findlay must have been the one who had died, which was regrettable, although Sophia disguising herself as her governess explained perfectly why he hadn’t been able to find her.

  He could still see Sophia on her father’s ship, bonnet clutched in her hand, chestnut curls escaping their bonds, eyes alight with excitement. One look and Lucien had been lost. Her attire was attractive without being at the height of fashion, made of good quality by an excellent dressmaker. It was her attitude that snared his attention. She looked about herself with curiosity, unafraid to show her emotions. She had freckles and her face was tanned, an uncommon attribute and one that would have been vigorously battled with lemon juice by any young women of his acquaintance. She’d been like a breath of air in a crowded room, for her arrival in London gave him a clarity about his own future that had been lacking.

  He’d known immediately that he could love her.

  He wondered whether he could win her, and build a future with her father’s trade. It was clear to any observer that Charles had no interest in the emporium. Though Mr. Brisbane yearned for aristocratic connections, Lucien had believed Charles would be the one to make the good match.