Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Claire Delacroix

  Lucien’s lips set. “I made a promise and I will keep it.”

  “What was the wager? Good luck until you won it all back?”

  “Seven years good luck and invincibility.”

  Sophia caught her breath. Charles had lost his inheritance at the end of October, seven years before. “What did you offer the baron in exchange?”

  “The only possession I could call my own.” Lucien’s gaze was locked with hers, as if he would dare her to believe his words. “My soul.”

  “Lucien! No!”

  He plucked the charm from her hand and put it back on the harpsichord. “It was the only way I could win.” Lucien held her gaze, as if challenging her to ask.

  “And then what?” she asked.

  “Then the wager is over,” he said, his manner so evasive that she knew the truth was dire. He turned away, but she seized his sleeve to halt him.

  “Then what, Lucien?”

  “The deal is done, Sophia,” he said with resolve. “It cannot be undone, so I must accept its repercussions.”

  “Even if the fault is partly mine?”

  He met her gaze then, his surprise clear.

  “If I hadn’t spurned Lyndenhurst, he wouldn’t have cheated Charles of his inheritance.”

  “This isn’t about Lyndenhurst...”

  “No, it’s about your promise to me. How did you even win back the emporium? I cannot believe Lyndenhurst risked it willingly.”

  “I convinced him.”

  “How?”

  “He couldn’t manage it. He couldn’t hire anyone to do as much. He couldn’t sell it.” Lucien smiled. “I did him a favor by accepting it as a wager.”

  “What about St. Maurice? Has he destroyed it?”

  “He hasn’t had the funds to so much as visit it.”

  Sophia caught her breath, almost overwhelmed by her relief. “Lucien!” she whispered and would have flung herself at him, but he turned away, putting distance between them. “You can’t just do this,” she said, her words falling in a rush. “You can’t have defended St. Maurice and given me the emporium for nothing.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “What can I do, Lucien? What can I do for you?”

  Lucien’s gaze clung to hers for a moment, then he turned away. He strolled around the instrument, and she feared that he would evade her question. “I remember that you always yearned to travel, Sophia.”

  “I did,” she agreed, wondering what he intended to tell her. She couldn’t begin to guess his thoughts.

  “And yet you have spent these years disguised as Amelia Findlay, tutoring young girls at distant North Barrows.” He flicked a glance at her. “It must be cold there.”

  “It most certainly is.”

  “Penance, then?”

  Sophia shrugged. “Maybe just safety.”

  He nodded understanding. “In contrast, I have spent these years winning every bet I take.” Lucien halted before her. She still had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. He was serious, watchful, just as she remembered him. “It causes some complications.”

  “Too many funds?”

  He took her hand in his and Sophia welcomed his touch. “One cannot win all the time at the same establishment. I have been compelled to journey in Europe.” He laced their fingers together, watching his own motions with curious intensity. Sophia was enthralled. “You ask what you can do,” he murmured, then touched his lips to her fingertips. His gaze lifted to hers. “Indulge me, Sophia, one last time.”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled as if she were a marvel. “You agree without hesitation.”

  “I trust you.” The second sweeter confession caught in her throat, but Lucien didn’t seem to notice.

  “In Vienna, they dance a most beguiling dance,” he continued, then his eyes filled with challenge. “You might like it.”

  “Then teach me,” she said on impulse, the moonlight and his presence making it impossible for her to do otherwise.

  Lucien’s voice dropped low. “I warn you, Miss Findlay, it is scandalous.”

  Sophia smiled because she knew he was teasing her. “Miss Findlay is asleep, Mr. de Roye.”

  His smile flashed and Sophia’s heart skipped. “I am glad to hear it. A chaperone of any merit would most thoroughly disapprove of what we are about to do.”

  Sophia smiled in return, and felt her anticipation rise. Her heart leaped when Lucien pulled her close. His arm locked around her waist so tightly that her breasts were close to his chest. She was keenly aware that there was only thin fabric between them, and the intensity of Lucien’s expression revealed that he knew it, too.

  She thought of her father’s sudden demise, and the surety she’d once had that no opportunity should be wasted.

  Sophia wouldn’t waste this one.

  She took a step closer, ensuring that her breasts were crushed against Lucien’s strength. He inhaled sharply, his gaze brightening, and she feared that he might push her away. But then his fingers spread out to span the back of her waist.

  “How could you believe that you didn’t tempt me, my Sophia?” he asked quietly. “How could you have imagined that I didn’t want everything you offered and more?”

  “But...”

  He silenced her with the barest brush of his lips across hers. “But I knew what was mine to take and what was not. Your father had spoken often of his plans for your future.”

  Sophia’s heart soared. Lucien did desire her.

  He had been tempted.

  But he had done what was right.

  Sophia smiled up at him in delight. Lucien held her other hand fast and turned her in place, murmuring the steps to the dance in her ear. His face was close enough that she could turn and kiss him, and she swore she could feel the beat of his heart so near her own. It was hard to concentrate on his instructions, but she didn’t want this moment to end.

  Ever.

  The music began again and the candle flickered to life. It made no sense, but Sophia didn’t care. They danced, their speed increasing as Sophia learned the steps. In no time, they were whirling around the floor of the room.

  The music sped faster and faster, and Lucien’s sapphire gaze bored into her own, his satisfaction more than clear. She smiled up at him, loving him anew, trusting him, wanting him as she had once before.

  There was only Lucien, only Lucien and the spellbinding dance, only Lucien and the future that had been stolen from them both.

  When the music came to an end with a flourish, he halted but didn’t release her from his embrace. Sophia whispered his name, hearing the entreaty in her voice.

  And her heart soared when he bent and captured her lips beneath his own.

  Sophia’s kiss was a taste of Heaven, when Lucien was consigned to Hell.

  Yet she was so irresistible that he couldn’t end it, even knowing he should.

  It was just a kiss, just unbearably sweet and hot, just a reminder of everything that would never be his. It warmed him to his marrow, compelled him to draw her closer, to partake of the feast she offered, to imagine what might have been. He might have taken more from her and surrendered to temptation, but the baron whispered in his ear.

  “I like women with daring,” he said in that familiar patois, and Lucien’s blood turned to ice. “You can bring her with you.”

  Lucien tore his lips from Sophia’s and held her at arm’s length, appalled by the suggestion. The sight of her surprise made his heart clench. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks were flushed and her nipples were pert beneath her shift. Her gaze was filled with a confusion that was too familiar to be borne.

  He shouldn’t have confessed so much to her.

  He shouldn’t have confided in her.

  He shouldn’t have let her touch the charm.

  He felt the baron’s interest and knew he had put her at risk.

  “Go to bed, Miss Findlay,” he snapped, speaking so harshly that her eyes flashed a beguiling fire.

  The baron chuckled as L
ucien marched to the harpsichord and snatched up the charm. He strode to the door, snatching his coat on the way, and jamming the charm into the pocket.

  “Then go to London,” he ordered. “Take Philip with you.”

  He saw Sophia part her lips to argue, but pivoted and left the room.

  Distance was the only way to ensure he didn’t take more from her than he had any right to claim.

  He had to keep away from her for just two more days.

  Even if his heart yearned to spend every moment with his beloved.

  Sophia did not sleep.

  Not after Lucien’s kiss had made her blood simmer. She was restless, her thoughts churning, her fears multiplying in the moonlight. There had to be a solution, even if Lucien wouldn’t share it or didn’t know it.

  She dressed with haste in the morning and went in search of Philip.

  She found him on the stairs, carrying a pair of black boots polished to a gleam. “Were you there when the baron was invoked?” she demanded, knowing they wouldn’t have much time.

  Philip, to his credit, didn’t pretend ignorance. “Are you mad? I would never have let him do it.”

  “When he loses his soul to—”

  Philip held up a finger to keep her from saying the name aloud.

  Sophia corrected herself. “To the wager, he must also lose his life.”

  “I cannot imagine it would be otherwise.” Philip shook his head, then made to continue.

  “And the seven years ends when?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Sophia was horrified. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

  “He gave his word to you.”

  “I never expected him to keep it, certainly not at such a price.”

  “But it is done. A loa does not negotiate once the deal is made”

  “What can I do?” Sophia made a sound of frustration when Philip didn’t answer. “What do you know of his plans? What does he mean to do?”

  Philip sighed, glanced up the stairs, then leaned closer to whisper. “He almost has all of your father’s legacy. There is one last piece. There will be one last game.”

  “St. Maurice,” Sophia whispered.

  Philip nodded. “He kept his word on principle, but now that he knows you’re alive, it will all be left to you. I already have one letter to his solicitor. You will have the freedom to do as you desire, Miss Brisbane. He has bought you this.”

  Sophia’s heart clenched. “The price is too high if it means losing Lucien forever. You have to tell me when and where the game is. I have to stop him!”

  “They meet at ten tomorrow night,” Philip replied. “At the tavern in Bocka Morrow, the Mermaid’s Kiss. He’s booked a private room, dinner first, the game later.”

  “So late?” Sophia asked and Philip nodded.

  “On November 1, all the baron’s debts come due. The game must be done by midnight.”

  Less than two days away. Sophia seized Philip’s sleeve when he would have turned away. “I want to be there. I need your assistance!”

  Philip shook his head. “He will never allow it.”

  “I beg of you!”

  “You know that only one thing heals all wounds.” When she shook her head because she didn’t understand, Philip leaned down and whispered something in French. His accent was such that Sophia couldn’t understand him clearly.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded.

  Nelson came into view at the foot of the stairs, carrying the breakfast tray for Lady North Barrows, and surveyed them both. “Well, well,” she said, her tone knowing.

  Sophia realized she had her hand upon Philip’s sleeve and that they were bent together like lovers.

  Or conspirators.

  Philip inclined his head to the lady’s maid and continued up the stairs with purpose.

  “Strange place to find affection, Miss Findlay,” Nelson said on her way past. “But I always thought there was more to you than met the eye.”

  Sophia felt her cheeks burn as she descended to the kitchens, hearing the whispers begin to follow her. She had more important matters to consider, though. How could she save Lucien?

  What had Philip said?

  There was something distinctly odd about Miss Findlay’s manner.

  Eurydice had noticed the change as soon as Grandmaman had announced their journey to Castle Keyvnor. She had assumed at first that their governess didn’t like to travel, but that woman’s manner had become progressively more unusual with each passing day.

  Eurydice was certain that Miss Findlay had blushed when Lucien de Roye had invaded the library the day before. Blushed. At her age. She must be over forty!

  And why had Lucien de Roye come into the library at all? Eurydice had not been fooled by his survey of Daphne. No, he wasn’t intrigued by her older sister—which was to his credit in Eurydice’s view. She had heard him simply listen to Grandmaman’s comments in the corridor, as if such scathing conclusions about his character were irrelevant.

  Did he truly not care?

  Or was he in disguise? Eurydice liked that notion. He could be a spy, on a mission for the crown. He was French, after all. Maybe he spied upon Napoleon. She was sure that would suit his daring nature. Her cousins said he was an excellent shot, always dueling and winning. Always gambling and winning. He was a rogue, to be sure, but Eurydice decided it would be much better if he had a heart of gold.

  Miss Findlay was late this morning, and looked flustered when she arrived. She even appeared to be younger, as if her hair had turned less gray overnight. She seemed to be distracted, too, as if she considered a problem beyond awakening a fascination with German grammar in Daphne. Eurydice noted those inconsistencies and wondered at them.

  It was a mystery, and she was going to solve it.

  There had never been a day when Sophia had less patience with her charges. They had met various cousins and second cousins the afternoon before and were filled with new information and excitement.

  “There’s a ghost in this castle,” Daphne pronounced as soon as Sophia entered the library.

  She was late, and to her amazement, the girls were already seated with their German textbooks open.

  “There are two ghosts,” Eurydice corrected. “One in the attic and one under the stairs.” She nodded with the surety of someone who had done her research. “The woman is in the attic and the man is under the stairs. There may be even more.”

  Daphne waved off this clarification as irrelevant.

  “The woman is the one who screamed last night,” Eurydice said, but Sophia hadn’t heard a scream. Just the music. She felt hot in recollection of her dance with Lucien and irritated anew that she had no scheme to save him.

  Daphne continued. “There are witches in the village, who sell love spells.”

  “What do you care about love spells?”

  “I will buy one to make Lucien de Roye fall in love with me!”

  Sophia cleared her throat, noticing how keenly Eurydice was watching her. “Your grandmother would scarcely approve of that course,” she said crisply.

  “I’ll bet he is a man who knows how to kiss,” Daphne said, propping her chin upon her hand. Sophia felt her cheeks heat. “I’ve decided that I will only marry a man who knows how to kiss.”

  “Who is the son of a duke, and handsome, and rich,” Eurydice said with scorn. “I’m sure there are thousands of them to be had.”

  Daphne grimaced at her sister. “All I need is one.”

  “Then why do you care about Lucien de Roye?” Eurydice asked. “He isn’t a duke and will never be one.”

  “He will be my lover,” Daphne said smoothly. “I will marry the duke who knows how to kiss, bear him sons, then take Mr. de Roye as my lover.”

  “I doubt he will wait that long for you.”

  “You are just jealous, because he looked longest at me!”

  “I thought he was most interested in Miss Findlay.”

  Sophia glanced up in shock, only to find both girls star
ing at her. She opened her grammar book with purpose. “We will walk to the village this afternoon to see the witches,” she said, making no effort to simplify the phrase.

  There was silence for a long moment. Daphne folded her arms across her chest and glared at Sophia.

  “Wir werden zu Fuß das Dorf an diesem Nachmittag zu sehen, die Hexen,” Eurydice finally said with triumph in her tone.

  “Je vais prendre un amant français après j'épouser un duc,” Daphne said smoothly and with conviction.

  Sophia blinked in surprise.

  “I thought you hated French,” Eurydice said.

  Daphne smiled. “I just needed the right incentive.” Her smile broadened. “Perhaps I need a better tutor.”

  Sophia raised her hand to her brow. The last thing she needed was Daphne seeking out Lucien when the baron was preparing to take his toll. Then she blinked, realizing that Philip had spoken in French.

  L'amour vainc toutes choses.

  That was what Philip had said. Love conquers all.

  What if she seduced Lucien?

  Would that expression of her love save him from the baron?

  He had refused to ruin her before, but Sophia wasn’t inclined to take a refusal from him this time. Even if her choice failed to save him, didn’t she want to be with him one time before he was lost forever? Even if his soul was sacrificed, Sophia realized she couldn’t lose Lucien without one last kiss.

  Or more.

  Sophia’s pulse was fluttering when the harpsichord music began to echo through the halls once more. The moon was almost full, its light shining brightly through her window.

  She hadn’t even made a pretense of retiring. She’d been sitting on the side of her bed, in the dark, for hours. She would have loved to have had a bath, but there was no question of her requesting such a luxury as a governess. She’d fetched her own hot water and made do. She wore her shift, her dress without stays, and her shoes without stockings. She had no notion of whether she might be able to seduce Lucien, much less whether it would matter to his fate.

  The one thing she knew was that the man she loved was doomed, and she would do whatever she could to save him.