Lucien yanked his hand free, shattering the fragile moment of peace between them. He stuck his face close to hers, fury teeming in his eyes. “I lost everything I was, everything I had, because of him.” He spun away and she thought he intended to leave, but he merely stalked like a savage beast over to the window. “You live in a world untouched by the horrors of the world, Eloise,” he said tiredly. With his disapproving tone he may as well have delivered a gentle rebuke to a child. “With that commission purchased by my father, a path he was determined I take as a third son of little value, I killed men.”
She flinched, wanting to stop the flow of his words, but needing to hear the hell he’d endured. “Frenchmen not older than you were when I left gutted by my bayonet. Men I called friends, writhing on the fields of battle with their insides splayed open begging to die…”
Eloise clamped her hands over her ears, but he strode over and, with his hand, removed them, awkwardly clasping them within his grip. “If you are insistent on returning me to the man responsible for the nightmares, then you’ll hear it all.”
She shook her head, tears clogged her throat, filled her eyes until he blurred before her. “Please.”
An ugly grin formed on his lips. “What do you know of it? You never held someone in your arms while they died. You never knew the agony as that person sucked in a final breath and was no more…”
She blinked, fighting to keep from crying, lest he misconstrue her tears as a sign of weakness, but a lone, dratted drop escaped. Followed by another. And another. Until they streamed down her cheeks in a silent, steady torrent. He was wrong. She had known that pain. She’d held Sara and Matthew in her arms and heard that very same uneven, agonizing breath he now described. The memory of that day would forever haunt her. “I know more than you think,” she said on a broken whisper.
His lips twisted again in that dark, macabre rending of a smile that spoke more clearly than words his doubts. “I’m returning to see my family. Not because I wish to, but because you willed it. There will be no joyous reunion. There will be no grand showing of remorse and repentance between father and son, if that is what you desire, Eloise.” He raked a stare over her that brimmed with resentment and fury. “I leave in the morning and when I return to London, I don’t want to see you. I’ll resume my responsibilities in the marquess’ service and you and I shall continue to move in our different social spheres. I want the memory of you to end with my father. Is that clear?”
Eloise managed a shaky nod. “Yes,” she said, amazed that he couldn’t hear the cracking of her heart. “Abundantly.” He started for the door. She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she called out, “Lucien?”
His steps slowed and he turned back to face her.
Eloise wet her lips. “I just thought I should mention I intend to leave in the morning, as well.”
“For where?” he blurted, and for that slight moment, there were none of the harsh lines, no frown on his face and he was the Lucien of old.
“Why, for Kent.” She cocked her head. “To see your father.”
Chapter 13
She was going to drive him bloody mad. He’d always known it. First when she’d been a girl of six and insisted his toy soldiers dance with her ruffled dolls. Then when she’d insisted on picking flowers in the fields of daisies after they’d gone fishing as children. And now… at his thirty years to her twenty-eight, with her so casually dismissing his rage and cold demands and expressing her intentions to journey to Kent.
“You’re mad,” he managed to get out.
She pursed her lips. “Indeed, I am. Livid. But I’ll not allow that to prevent me from seeing your father once more.”
He drew in a breath, counting silently to five. “I meant insane. Bound for Bedlam.”
Eloise’s eyes formed moons in her face. “Oh.” She shook her head. “No, I’m the other type of mad. The angry one.”
He felt his lips turning up in a grin and he quickly suppressed it, refusing to allow Eloise and her charming mouth and sweet spirit to overshadow her betrayal.
She folded her arms mutinously over her chest, plumping the lush mounds of her breast, drawing his attention downward. “And I’ll have you know, despite your displeasure, I intend on going.”
Lucien tried to process her words. He really did. However, the burning rage that had driven him to her doorstep and into her townhouse like a madman receded under the sudden realization that nothing but a thin robe and nightshift shielded her slender but generously curved body from his gaze.
“Did you hear me?” she snapped, her bosom moved up and down with the force of her breathing.
He stared transfixed by the ethereal sight of her, bathed in the faint candle’s glow. When had Eloise Gage grown from the stubborn, wild child running the hills of Kent to…this enticing, captivating creature with a woman’s curves and a siren’s mouth?
She waved a hand in front of his face. “Hullo, Lucien.” Fire snapped in her eyes.
The one constant for Eloise would appear to be the whole stubborn business. He shot his arm around her waist and angled her body close to his. A startled squeak escaped her as he angled her body close. “You always did interfere, didn’t you,” he whispered against her temple.
She frowned up him. “I prefer to think of it as helping.”
“It isn’t. A help,” he clarified, lest any doubt remain.
The muscles of her throat moved and he took in the length of her graceful neck. He’d never before found a neck as a thing of beauty. Quite practical and not at all sexual, there was something wholly enticing about the graceful length of Eloise’s. “Wh-what are you d-doing?” she whispered.
Going mad right alongside you. Lucien groaned and crushed her lips under his, swallowing her breathless moan with his. He slanted his mouth over hers again and again until she whimpered. She reached her arms up and twisted her fingers in his hair, tugging his head forcefully down, better opening herself to his kiss.
He deepened the kiss, giving her what she craved, his tongue engaged in a wild thrust and parry that evoked erotic images, all of which involved Eloise stretched on her back, arms up, legs open. Lucien dragged his mouth away, to her groan of protest, but he merely shifted his lips to the wildly beating pulse in her neck. He nipped and sucked at the delicate flesh that had so enticed. Her head fell back and a small, keening cry escaped her.
He looped his arm about her lithe form, never mourning the loss of his arm more than he did in the moment. The empty place his forearm used to be fairly itched with a hungering to hold her, drag her close and use both arms as he longed to, exploring every curve and contour of her body.
“Lucien,” she whispered.
Just that. His name. His name uttered on a hungry, whispering moan jerked him back to the moment. He set her away so quickly she stumbled back. Desire clouded the blue-green of her eyes, turning them a cobalt blue. She blinked. Panic built in his chest. “This will not happen again.”
“Why?” She may as well have been asking the time of day or for tea and biscuits as calm as that one word utterance was.
Yes, why not? A traitorous voice inside his head chimed in agreement.
He steeled his jaw. “I’ve already told you, Eloise. After I’ve visited my father, I’ll return to my life and you’ll return to yours. And this,” whatever madness now gripped them both, “will be forgotten.”
She settled her hands on her hips in her resolute I’ve-made-up-my-mind-and-you-have-no-other-choice way of hers. “You will join me on the journey?” she said in a question that was not at all a question.
“Will I…?” He closed his mouth and counted once more to five, praying for patience. “No, I will not join you on your journey. You are not going.”
She pointed her eyes to the ceiling, similar to the way she’d done as a young girl trying to convince a fifteen year old boy there was nothing more natural in the world than partnering a young lady in the steps of the scandalous waltz as set out by her damned
tutors. “I’m going,” she said. “I intend to leave at first light.” She gave a toss of her head. A single blonde curl fell over her eye. “After all, I’m a widow now, Lucien. I’m permitted certain liberties.”
With her pledge, all she forced him to consider was her setting out on the damned roads without a chaperone, with no company but perhaps that of a lady’s maid and mayhap a strapping footman. He frowned.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, angling her head.
Except, by her aging butler’s total lack of ability at tossing him out on his ear as he’d surely deserved, as a member of the marquess’ staff himself, he had to admit that the lack of footmen to protect and defend their mistress from a furious gentleman did not speak volumes of their capability. With a growl, he spun on his heel and marched to the door once more.
The rustle of skirts indicated that she gave chase. “What—?”
“I intend to ride. You shall remain in your carriage and beyond that, I’ll have nothing else to do with you or your interfering,” he directed that to the doorway. With that, he stalked from the room. The skin of his neck burning from her stare trained on his retreating frame.
Eloise stared after Lucien. She touched her fingers to her mouth. Her lips still burned with the taste of his kiss, her flesh throbbed to know more of his touch. In all her greatest dreams of him, she’d imagined a life that included him in it. A life where he viewed her as more than the childhood friend who’d kept stride with him and his brothers. The day he’d fallen in love with Sara, half of Eloise’s heart had died. The other half had lived, in the hope that one day he would at last realize she was there.
Then the muscles of her stomach knotted. Even with the passion between them, and the now three times he’d taken her in his arms, he still did not belong to her.
Eloise sat with shaky legs into the nearest seat, sinking into the stiff folds of the pink satin sofa. Worse, he despised her. Blamed her for trying to restore the loving relationship he’d once known with his family. She stared down absently at her lap. However, he spoke with all the passionate ire of a man who still had family. Yes, he’d lost Sara and his child and that loss would forever haunt him. But for the loss, he still had Palmer, Richard, and, for now, his father.
She had come to appreciate in the aftermath of her father’s death and then the sudden loss of her own husband just how alone she was. Her world once full of those who cared had become remarkably empty, leaving her with nothing more than a disapproving brother-in-law for occasional company. No, Lucien was not alone. He’d merely chosen to subsist in a state of solitude. She firmed her lips. He might resent her, even hate her for her interference in his life, but her actions were driven by love for him…and his family. If she could somehow bring him together with his brothers, then the total loss of him from her life would cripple her, but would bring her some measure of peace in her rather lonely life.
Only, if she were being truthful with at least herself, she wanted more. She wanted him.
Chapter 14
The following morning, with her trunks loaded into a waiting carriage, Eloise accepted the proffered hand of a waiting servant. She gave a murmur of thanks and paused in the threshold of the doorway to survey the quiet streets. The same niggling fear that had danced about her mind all that morning while her belongings were packed and her carriages readied, resurfaced.
Lucien did not intend to come.
When day broke, she’d convinced herself he would be there. She’d delayed her travels, until she was forced to realize he had changed his mind. A single drop of rain landed on her nose. She brushed it off with the tip of her gloved finger.
“My lady?” the servant asked, concern lacing his question.
She gave a shake of her head and, with a small smile, climbed inside the carriage. The door closed behind her with a soft click. Eloise peeled back the red velvet curtain and stared out at the gloomy London streets. Thick, gray storm clouds hung in the sky, blotting out day’s bright light. The impending storm perfectly suited her mood that morning.
The carriage dipped under the weight of her driver climbing onto his perch and then a moment later the carriage rocked forward. She stared out at the pink stucco façade of her townhouse. Except for Colin’s passing five years earlier, when she’d retired to the country for her period of mourning, she’d not left her modest, comfortable townhouse.
Palmer had written to her frequently, urging her to visit but the pain of her memories were too great to go back to the place she’d loved, lost, and then suffered the pain of Lucien’s loss. A ball lodged in her throat and she swallowed several times, but it remained. How very like this day was to the day Sara had drawn her last breath. Her fever had raged for nearly a week, climbing until delirium replaced sanity, and vacancy replaced knowing in the woman’s eyes. For all the doctor’s efforts and then Eloise’s, ultimately nothing she’d done had mattered. She pressed her eyes tightly closed to blot out the memories, but they’d slipped in and would not relinquish their hold.
Lucien’s son had succumbed to the fever that same evening. It had been as though the small, cherub-cheeked babe had decided a world without his mother and father was not a world worth living in.
Eloise released her hold on the curtain and the velvet fabric fluttered into place. She dug her fingers into her temple and rubbed in small, continuous circles. Lucien blamed her for having interfered in his life. As the carriage rattled along the quiet, London streets, carrying her to the Kent countryside, she wondered how much greater that blame would be if he’d known just how greatly she’d failed Sara and his child.
She sighed. It seemed for all her intentions where Lucien was concerned, she was determined to fail him.
She’d waited for him. For the hours Lucien had sat astride a chestnut mount provided by the Marquess of Drake, discreetly out of view of Eloise’s servants running back and forth with trunks and then empty arms. She’d always been a perfunctory young girl, expressing annoyance when he’d kept her waiting on several scores. He’d never taken her for a young lady who’d delay her journey by hours.
Then, she exited the townhouse, her small shoulders squared and her chin tilted up. With her poise, she had the gracefulness to rival the queen herself. He ran his gaze down her frame. And in her emerald green cloak, fine fabric of an expert cut highlighting her station, lest he forgot the great divide between them. His breath snagged in his lungs as she accepted the hand of a servant, allowing him to assist her up into the carriage.
Lucien narrowed his eyes on the handsome footman who took her hand in his. Even with the space between them, he would have to be blind to fail to note the lust in the bastard’s eyes. By the Devil and all his army of demons, if the man was in his employ he’d have sacked him without a reference for daring to look at Eloise as he now did. Why should you care? She is not your responsibility. And after this journey, she will be nothing at all to you.
Just then, Eloise froze, one foot inside her black lacquer carriage. She glanced about and he suspected that he was in fact the person she sought…and worse…her delay was, in fact…because of him.
Her plump, red lips he’d worshiped with his mouth just yesterday turned down in a disappointed frown and then she disappeared inside the coach. Moments later, her carriage rocked forward and continued a rumbling path down the empty London streets.
He nudged his borrowed mount forward and set out after her. This sudden urge to join her inside her fine carriage had nothing to do with the uncharacteristic chill of the spring air. And everything to do with her.
A single raindrop hit his eye. Followed by another. With the reins to his horse gathered in his hand, he pulled the brim of his hat lower but it did little to protect him from the steady rain now streaming down. It ran in cold rivulets down his cheeks. But he no longer felt the chill. Living in the muddied, cold and wet fields of European battlefields, one tended to no longer feel inconveniences such as a little rain. Lightning streaked across the sky and then the heavens
opened up in a torrent of rain.
With a silent curse he kicked his mount forward and followed her as they put the streets of London behind them. The relentless storm soaked his garments. He embraced the discomfort, welcoming the sting of the rain until it chilled him through, leaving him numb for it distracted him from the memory of her hurt last evening.
Last night, when he’d sought her out, he’d done so filled with a fiery rage of having his life dictated for him yet again. And this, in Eloise, the woman he’d considered a great friend, had felt like the very worst sort of betrayal. In the light of this new, gray day with her fast-moving carriage bearing her onward to his family, he was humbled under the realization of just what a foul brute he’d become. That, in matters of betrayal, he’d failed Eloise far more than she’d ever failed him. Loyal and steadfast since they’d first taken an oath of friendship with mud and saliva, he’d repaid that loyalty then…and now…? By shutting her out of his life.
He closed his eyes a moment. Then opened them, blinking back the pouring rain that blurred her carriage. He squinted into the distance and his guilty musings fled. What was her driver thinking? The foolish man sped along at a breakneck speed. Lucien’s heart froze as her carriage precariously tilted left and, with a curse, he kicked his mount into a full gallop.
By God, if she broke her Goddamn neck in these muddied roads racing to his father, he’d first off her driver and then kill her all over again for her foolishness.
Chapter 15
Eloise read the contents of the note in her hand, her stomach churning. She set it aside on the carriage bench, abandoning her efforts. Since she’d been a child, she’d been squeamish in a carriage. Reading only exacerbated the discomfort. She sucked in several slow breaths through her nose. All quite unnatural…and a real bother. She sighed. Regardless, she well knew what the missive from Palmer said. She also knew even as neither he nor Richard would ever say anything…they would be disappointed in her inability to sway Lucien’s mind.
Lords of Honor-The Collection Page 10