"And what of you, ma chérie? Have you any childish escapades or deep, dark secrets to reveal?" Robin asked, his eyes shifting to Lucia.
Lucia blushed and looked at her plate. "No."
"You must have led a blameless life, en effet!" Georges marveled.
Lucia met the skeptical stares of the men, twin spots of color warming her cheeks. "When I was small, I danced in the street for the coins people threw or dressed like a cripple to beg in busy thoroughfares. When I was older, I picked pockets, flattered and seduced foolish people out of their savings, and fleeced young striplings of their gold at any game of chance you would care to name. I spent my childhood learning to gamble and fight and lie and steal and cheat and, most importantly, to scuttle away like a scared rat at the threat of discovery. A truly genteel education, was it not? And just the sort of well-bred upbringing so necessary to a blue-blooded brigand's bride!"
She rose from the table and Robin stood as well. "Ma chérie." he said a little helplessly. She ignored him, going to the hearth to stare into the crackling fire, unwilling to let her companions see her pain.
After awhile she felt Robin's hands caressing her arms as he stood behind her. "Lucia," he said, his voice soft and resonant in her ear, "your past makes no difference to me or to Georges."
"I don't want your pity," she said, jerking away from his touch.
His hands fell to his sides. "You shall never have it."
"I -- we -- I did what I had to do."
"You don't have to convince me, ma chérie," he said, drawing closer to her. "I know."
Turning to look into his sympathetic eyes, she discovered that he did know better. And more fully than anyone she'd ever met. His arms went around her and, with a little sob, she buried her face in the soft cloth of his coat. "You survived, Lucia," he whispered. "You've won! Let the demons go! Let them go, ma chérie! 'Tis what we both must do."
She rested in his comforting embrace, ignoring the small, persistent voice inside her that warned her not to trust him, that insisted that his touch was poison. She reveled in the sweet illusion of warmth and tenderness radiating from him, unable to deny her loneliness and her hunger for the affection that had been lacking in her life for so very long.
Robin stroked her hair and whispered against her ear. "How about a cup of tea, ma chérie, and a wild, disgraceful tale from my past to cheer you?" Looking tearfully up at him, she nodded and he led her back to the table. "Have you ever been to Venice, ma chérie? 'Tis a most agreeable city, unless you unwittingly steal an emerald studded chamber pot from the Doge." He launched into a mad tale of wealthy beggars, scandalous loveletters, secret messages scratched into porcelaine, and a beautiful lady assassin in a gondola. At the story's end, all three were laughing.
As a servant cleared away the dishes, Georges rose. "I am for my bed, mes amis. I bid you bonne nuit!"
"Get a good night's sleep, Georges. We have a great deal to do tomorrow," Robin warned. The marquis lifted his eyes to the ceiling in resignation, bowed, and left.
The evening fire crackled and hissed in the intensely silent room. Robin crossed to a corner table and filled a glass from a bottle of claret. "So," he said softly, "here we are."
"I am sorry if I spoiled your meal, Your Grace," Lucia said. "I am not usually prone to tears, but the last few days have been rather tiring."
"Not tiring, but terrifying, ma chérie." Robin frowned into his wine. "I have acted the part of a beast rather than a gentleman and I fervently apologize, although I can do nothing to change our present circumstances." He looked into her face, seeking, but not expecting, some sign of forgiveness. She remained silent, standing behind her chair by the dinner table, her fingers nervously tracing the carved decorations on its polished oak back.
"I can ape the gentleman, you see," Robin said after a moment. "I know his ways, for I was one once. During my years abroad, I abandoned that honor and humanity which raises one above the common herd. I refuse to abide defeat and I take what I desire by any means necessary, regardless of others. Once the deed is done, however, that small part of me that remembers a gentleman's honor begins to regret. I am not proud of the animal I have become and I do regret my actions of the last two days." He crossed the room to take her hands. "I simply couldn't afford to lose my chance at Mountheathe and, kissing you there in the moonlight, suddenly I was damned if I was going to let you waste away in Saddewythe's schoolroom."
Robin leaned toward her and his lips brushed hers. Enticed by this caress, he pulled her into his arms, coaxing her mouth to open to his tongue, gently demanding her surrender. He felt her lips growing warm and pliant, her body trembling within his embrace and his body answered. Knowing a serious discussion lay before them, he reluctantly released her, saying, "Come sit by the hearth with me."
He escorted her to a chair and sat down beside her. Holding her hand, he traced the heavy gold signet that served as her wedding ring while he spoke. " No doubt you have heard rumors and gossip pertaining to my celebrated past?"
"I was told that, in your youth, you abducted another lady," Lucia said, searching his face. "Did you love her very much?"
"Would God that I had!" Robin laughed harshly. "It would have given that whole fiasco some meaning, but, no, ma chérie, 'twas only youthful infatuation although I thought otherwise at the time."
"Then why did you?"
"I didn't! I did not abduct Valeria Ashwell. It was my cousin, Giles Bridland, who carried her off. I tried to stop him before the worst happened and his life became like the ones you and I have lived." He paused, sipping his wine and staring into the fire.
"Why did he abduct her?" Lucia inquired after a moment's silence. "Were they in love?"
"Giles was obsessed! He was certain that once they were married, Valeria would fall into his arms. The bloody fool! It was clear to anyone with half a mind that she only had eyes for Malkent!"
Robin's features darkened. Painfully drawing forth each bitter memory, he recounted Mountheathe's perfidy for Lucia as he had for Georges, patiently answering all her questions.
"Since Mountheathe had always hidden his indiscretions while I shamelessly flaunted mine," Robin ended, "and since Giles was Grandpapa's darling while I was the proverbial thorn in his side, my grandfather accepted Bridland's lies over my protestations of innocence. I was cast off and cast out." He drained the last of his claret and refilled the glass. "That is God's truth, ma chérie, although no one will believe it. At least, when they start telling you tales and hinting darkly, you will know the facts." His eyes searched hers in the firelight. "Ma chérie, I know I have treated you badly. Nothing can pardon my actions and you have every right to despise me, but, as your husband, I need your loyalty. Promise me you won't run away."
"You have my word, Your Grace," she said. "Since I have no place to go, I have little choice but to help you."
"You may help me best tonight, ma belle, by going to sleep. You look bone-weary." Smiling, he rose and pulled her to her feet, his eyes caressing her as he led her from the room. He watched her ascend the stairs, then returned to the parlor, smiling to himself as he contemplated the delicious enigma that was his bride. He sat by the fire sipping his claret, memories of their wedding flooding his mind. He frowned at his reprehensible conduct that night, but guilt was not an emotion he entertained with patience. He quickly dismissed it, dwelling, instead, on the milky softness of Lucia's skin beneath his fingers, the way her sapphire eyes deepened to violet as she quickened to his caress, that final exquisite moment of pleasure when the feel of her body against his nearly drove him mad.
Her history had touched his heart as nothing had in a long time and he knew an urgent desire to keep her from the world's cruelty; to see that she never again needed to place a wager or waylay a coach; never again faced starvation or flogging or pistol balls. He tried to imagine her as a highway robber and a vision of the bandit he had shot outside Vienna leaped into his mind. He had only caught a glimpse of the brigand's eyes before pulling
the trigger, but they were vivid in his memory now. Those eyes had been intensely, magnificently blue! He sat up abruptly. "Mon Dieu! Lucia! Ce n'est pas vrai! C'est impossible!"
"Do you always spout French to the empty air, Rogue?" asked a cold, contemptuous voice from the open door.
Robin glanced over his shoulder and then sank back in his chair. "So it's you, Malkent. I'm amazed you deigned to acknowledge me."
"You knew I was here in this inn?"
"Naturellement!" Robin sipped his claret. "Not knowing my surroundings and the people who inhabit them could cost me my life. Won't you come in and have a seat? Some claret?"
Malkent hesitated, then entered the room. Taking a chair, he declined the wine and studied the duke.
A decade ago, Lord Robert Amberley had been a devil-may- care young buck, full of laughter, wit, and charm. He had been a favorite with the ladies; indeed, with everyone save his grandfather whom he was very like. He had earned his sobriquet, 'Rogue Robin', within three months of coming to Town and had borne it proudly, striving to increase his celebrity by pursuing ever more outrageous exploits. He had been a rakehell, a gamester, a sporting blood, and something of a fop, but, beneath all his wildness and affectation, he had possessed a romantic heart, a quick intelligence, and a compassionate nature. Malkent had seen him kneel beside a beggar child in the street on a cold, rainy day and, with a gentle smile, press both his purse and his cloak upon the shivering urchin.
Tracy could not imagine such behavior of the man who sat before him. Robin's eyes were hard as granite, his smile unpleasant, almost a sneer. Bitter lines were etched around the grim mouth and the drawl he had adopted added sinister undertones to his conversation. His whole attitude as he lounged beside his guest was faintly insulting.
"Well," Amberley said, "how may I help you? We won't pretend that this is a social call."
"Why are you here, Rogue? You are not welcome in England."
"I have returned to accept my legacy, naturellement," Robin drawled. "I can't let a minor irritation like social disgrace keep me from a hundred thousand a year."
"How can you dare to face me or, more especially, Valeria?"
Robin's drawl disappeared as his steely eyes met the older man's. "I can face you both because I am not guilty of the charges leveled against me!"
"But Mountheathe said..."
"Mountheathe is the perpetrator of the crime, not I!" Robin tossed off his claret and sprang to his feet. "To what end is this discussion? I said it all ten years ago. To Grandpapa; to Clayton; to Valeria; to you, even to Giles! How he enjoyed watching me twist and writhe on his spit! If none of you believed me then, you certainly will not believe me now." He moved to the hearth and leaned one hand against the mantle, staring into the fire. "But I have done with soul searching, mon ami," he said after a moment. Sauntering back to his seat, he refilled his glass from a decanter on the table beside his chair. "You may put your fears to rest, Malkent. I do not wish to discomfit anyone. I will not approach you or Valeria or, indeed, anybody who does not desire my company. My wife and I shall remain in London until those who have an interest in the fact are satisfied that I have been married in accordance with Grandpapa's will. Then we shall retire to Lynkellyn Castle to raise our family."
"That dark-haired woman I saw with you is your wife?"
"Oui, enfin! We were married last night."
"The Saddewythes' governess?"
Lynkellyn cast him a sidewise glance. "You know about that, do you?"
"Cavanleigh said that Saddewythe would not be silenced. He kept raving about highwaymen, his daughter being assaulted, and his governess abducted."
"Well, I kissed the fair Pamela, but did not find her to my taste. A pretty child, but witless. The governess, on the other hand, has courage and wit and she's as cozy an armful as a man could want. I stole her from Saddewythe and left him his insipid daughter." Robin grinned defiantly and took another swallow of claret, aware, but suddenly uncaring, that the wine was loosening his tongue more than was wise.
"You abducted her just like Valeria!"
"No! Not 'just like Valeria'! I did not abduct Valeria! I was not so lost to all decency then!"
"But you are lost to all decency now," Tracy concluded.
"Mon Dieu! Mais oui, mon ami! I have earned the epithet, 'Rogue', in its vilest sense, a thousand times over. I do what I must to win."
"So fair play means nothing to you," Tracy said. "You would betray a more honorable man without a qualm."
Mockery twisted Robin's features. "If you are speaking of Giles, his honor is a paste jewel he displays for fools to admire!"
"Don't think to tarnish your cousin's good name, Rogue. No one of any breeding will listen to you. Indeed, if you think Society will welcome you because of your wealth and your dukedom, you're off the mark. I daresay every fashionable door in London will be slammed in your face."
"I don't give a damn about Society, Tracy. I am going to refurbish Lynkellyn House, fill my stables with decent cattle, and garb my pretty governess as becomes her new rank. I intend to live as befits the Duke of Lynkellyn, whether the world approves or not." Robin stretched his legs before the fire.
"I trust you will understand if I do not change my opinion of you," Malkent said, rising.
"Perfectly."
"I bid you good night, then, Rogue. I will not know you in the morning." Tracy bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
Robin glowered into the fire, sipping his claret. Malkent was but five years his senior and, during his one honorable year in London, Robin had striven to emulate the older man in all matters of dress and conduct. Together, they had ridden in Hyde Park, taken shooting lessons at Manton's Gallery, and polished their fencing techniques with a private master they had hired together. He had visited his first hell and his first brothel in Tracy's company.
Tracy Wallenham, Earl of Malkent, once his dearest, closest friend, now unequivocally despised him. Despair washed over him as his mind rolled the years away and the hauntingly familiar faces of other old friends and companions surfaced. They would all turn their backs on him if they encountered him in the street tomorrow, yet every one of them would hail Giles as friend.
Suddenly his fists clenched and he ground his teeth in fury. He could not live in undeserved disgrace any longer. He would drag Mountheathe's perfidy into the light for all to see or die in the attempt.
Chapter 8:
In Which His Grace Greets London...Discreetly
At dawn, Robin awakened Lucia with his kisses, stroking her and caressing her until she shivered with yearning desire. When at last they joined, she no longer felt pain, only a delicious warmth, slowly swelling to a white-hot blaze as he moved inside her. Her body fell into a rhythm with his, arching and undulating to his thrusts, urging him to take her ever closer to that exquisite explosion of primeval pleasure to which he had addicted her in a single night.
Her mind cried out at the same time that she was betraying herself by succumbing so readily to his advances; that she should be like ice when he touched her. Alas, she could not remain passive and aloof. Although it spoke against all decency, she wanted him to stroke her until her senses reeled. With this silent, shameful confession, she gave up thinking entirely and abandoned herself to his seduction.
"Give me your soul, my tigress!" Robin whispered against her ear as he plunged into her "Give me your heart! Your passion! Your essence! I want all of you!" As his thrusts deepened, the pleasure she wanted and needed grew stronger, swelling until it overwhelmed her mind and flooded her soul. She arched her back and cried out, her fingers kneading his back convulsively. He brought his mouth down on hers and thrust into her again, exploding gloriously inside her. Damp ebony tresses intertwining with wet copper curls, they lay together, trembling in each other's arms as wave upon wave of voluptuous rapture engulfed them.
At last, Robin moved to lay beside her in the bed, his dove- grey eyes, warm and gentle, searching hers. Seeing embarrassment and confusi
on in them, he asked, "Qu'est-ce que c'est, ma chérie?"
"I am ashamed," she whispered, pulling the covers higher. "I - - I conducted myself like a waterfront harlot when you -- when we -- " She stared down at her hands. "My mother raised me to be a lady. What would she think?" Lucia's voice trailed off as a blush stained her cheeks.
"My sweet, passionate tigress!" he laughed, brushing a lock of ebony hair away from her face. "I find your wildness exciting and your wantonness delightful! You are only responding to our lovemaking as nature intended you should, ma chérie."
She shook her head. "'Tis not at all respectable to -- to feel like this."
"No," Robin said, a tremor of laughter in his voice, "but, then, we are not at all respectable people, are we?" When he received no smile in answer to his sally, he tilted her face up to his. "A bit of advice, ma chérie. Today's happiness may vanish with tomorrow's dawn. Take your pleasures while you can and devil take the world's opinion. Surely, life has taught you that much? Besides," he whispered huskily, nuzzling her ear, "you were made for passion. I've never known anyone so exciting!" His voice was heavy with desire as he pressed her into the bed, his lips seeking hers.
A soft knock sounded at the door and Anne's muffled voice floated into them. "Beg pardon, Your Grace, but you did say to wake you at eight o'clock."
Robin lifted his head, smiling wistfully down at Lucia. "The world beckons, ma chérie." Anne knocked more loudly as he climbed out of bed. "Non!" he muttered resentfully. "Il demande!" He donned his dressing robe, shouting, "Yes! Yes! We are awake! Give us but a minute!"
While Robin crossed the room to open the door, Lucia, still in bed for lack of anything to wear, slid farther beneath the blankets, blushing hotly as Anne hurried in carrying a pitcher and basin on a tray, garments draped over her arm. She curtsied to the duke, informing him that, if it pleased his grace, his valet would attend him in the marquis's room. Nodding his acceptance of this arrangement, Robin cast one last forlorn glance at his lady and left the bedchamber.
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