His Wicked Seduction (The League of Rogues Book 2)

by Lauren Smith

  She let Ursula dress her. When she had finished, Horatia walked out of her room and towards the stairs. A black and white cat strolled into view, its yellow eyes wide and a dead mouse hanging limp between its teeth.

  “Muff! You know better than to bring your presents inside!”

  She darted after the cat. Muff ran down the stairs and past the main door into an unused parlor. The cat slipped between the marble fireplace and the fire grate, vanishing from sight, along with its prize.

  “Oh honestly,” Horatia growled as she pulled back the grate.

  Muff had disappeared up into the fireplace, possibly even the chimney. The dinner guests would be here soon and she couldn’t risk getting covered in soot. Luckily no servants would light the fire in this room tonight. Hopefully the cat would have enough sense to vacate the chimney before morning.

  Muff was one of a pair of cats residing at the Sheridan townhouse on Curzon Street. The other cat, Mittens, was a black female. Cedric had bought them for Audrey as a Christmas present when she’d been a child. She’d also been given a pair of mittens and a muff, and had naturally named her cats the same. But that was the sort of thing Audrey would do back then.

  The felines were quite ancient now. Horatia dreaded the day she’d find one or both of them passed away. They were her faithful companions, guardians of the library, defenders of the kitchen.

  Horatia was more reserved and subdued than Audrey. She had few friends and often spent her days reading or riding. The cats would join her in a window seat or a chair and curl their tails around their bodies, purring with unconditional love. Being around them she forgot her troubles, forgot that she desired a man who was nothing but cold to her.

  The front door knocker rapped. Audrey flew past the open study door, her face beaming with excitement. It seemed her sister had recovered from her scolding. Horatia hesitated before joining her in the hall. She knew Lucien would be there, and as always, she was torn between wanting to see him and dreading his callous disregard of her. Taking a deep breath, she went out to meet her guests.

  Her eyes always found Lucien first. Among the group of handsome men standing in the hall, he alone enraptured her. With dark red hair just long enough to curl above his collar and burning hazel eyes, he was temptation personified. Horatia would happily fall at his feet and offer her body, heart and soul to him as tribute. But he’d reject her, just as he always did.

  Lucien’s gaze fixed on her while the rest of the crowd headed towards the drawing room. He remained still, tracking her every breath, every move. The gleam in his eyes startled her as a flash of heat went from her breasts down between her legs. Her face flushed. Lucien answered with a cold smile, as though he knew exactly what he’d done to her.

  Lucien offered her his arm, and she hesitated only a moment before crossing the hall and dropping her fingers onto his sleeve. He tucked her arm more firmly in his, the warmth of his fingers burning her skin. She glanced about, wondering if anyone would notice, but no eyes looked her way. Unable to resist, she leaned into him, settling her arm in the crook of his, relishing the warmth where their bodies touched.

  “Shall we?” Lucien’s voice was soft and dark. A tone more suited for the bedroom than the hall.

  Her throat went dry, but she managed a shaky nod.

  After dinner Lucien and the other men opted to play whist, but he couldn’t focus on the cards. The ladies in the far corner of the room had his attention. Ursula, one of the Sheridan girls’ lady’s maid sat in a chair, reading from a thick tome, oblivious to her young charges. Horatia and Audrey sat on either side of Emily, the young Duchess of Essex. Emily and Horatia were clad in shimmering gowns, while Audrey’s was a light pink muslin. Their heads bent close as they whispered, making him think of three fairies who escaped from the court of Queen Mab in Romeo and Juliet. Occasionally one shot a glance at the men before returning to their secretive conversation.

  Lucien would have paid anything to be a fly nestled on the wall close to them—to better see Horatia’s lips part and form each word, just as much as he’d love to have those lips wrapped around his aching shaft, sucking him to sweet oblivion.

  Christ. Lucien forced his gaze away from her.

  “What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Charles asked him.

  It seemed he wasn’t the only one dying of curiosity.

  “God, I wish I knew,” he admitted truthfully, just as Audrey broke into a fit of giggles.

  Charles waggled his fingers at Audrey and blew her a kiss. Audrey blushed and quickly turned her back on them.

  “You ought not to encourage her, Charles. She’s young and impressionable.” Lucien remembered all too well the perils of having a lovesick child follow him about.

  “What is there to encourage? The little sprite hasn’t the least bit of interest in me.” Charles smiled wryly. He leaned back in his chair in a picture of relaxed ease.

  “What? Are you sure? I always thought maybe she…” Lucien trailed off when he noticed Audrey’s head turn in a very definite direction, and it wasn’t towards Charles.

  “Oh dear,” Lucien kept his voice low. Audrey clearly had eyes for Godric’s half-brother, Jonathan.

  “Oh dear, indeed. We best watch out for fireworks. Cedric will rip Jonathan to pieces.” The smug look on Charles’s face nearly made Lucien laugh.

  “You want him to get caught, don’t you?”

  Charles yawned. “This month has been a dead bore as you well know. After Tisdale gave his notice I just haven’t been out as much unless it’s with you. Watching Cedric chase Jonathan about town over Audrey’s honor would certainly entertain me.”

  Lucien’s humor fizzled. If Cedric ever found out that he wanted Horatia—in ways that would bring a blush to a courtesan’s cheeks—Lucien was a dead man.

  When the men finished their game of whist and downed the last of the brandy, they decided the evening was at last over.

  “That’s enough for me.” Godric turned towards the ladies. “Come along, Em. Time to depart.”

  Emily didn’t spare her husband a glance. She had one hand on Horatia’s shoulder and another on Audrey’s while she spoke to the pair of them in a huddle. None of the men really bothered trying to figure out what women whispered about. Lucien guessed it would always remain one of life’s mysteries, like why a woman needed countless bonnets when they were such ugly and useless things. It was a damned nuisance trying to untie yards of unnecessary ribbons in order to touch a woman’s hair while he was kissing her.

  “That’s an unholy alliance if I ever saw one,” Cedric noted.

  The Sheridan sisters were trouble enough, but adding Emily was like a lit match near a very large powder keg.

  “I’d best collect my wife before she causes trouble,” Godric replied.

  Lucien didn’t miss Godric’s pleased tone as he had said ‘wife.’

  Godric stood, then walked quietly over and plucked her away from the group, scooping her up into his arms.

  “Godric!” Emily kicked her feet in outrage. “Put me down at once!”

  “I don’t think so, my dear. It’s time I put you to bed.” Godric bent his head low so his face was inches from hers.

  “Oh if you must.” She tried to sound reluctant, but there was a breathless quality to her voice that fooled no one. For a moment, Lucien was struck with a sharp sense of envy. If Horatia weren’t related to his friend, he would have been carrying her out the door in the same fashion, to find the nearest bed.

  “Good night, everyone!” Godric called over his shoulder as he and Emily left the drawing room.

  Cedric shook his head, but his eyes glinted with merriment. “By the way they act I swear you’d never know they were married.”

  “They are indeed fortunate,” Ashton said. “To be so in love that marriage is a blessing rather than a burden.”

  “Perhaps we
ought to leave as well?” Jonathan cast a nervous glance in Audrey’s direction, who stared right at him mischievously. He had been staying at Ashton’s townhouse to give the newlyweds some time to themselves before he moved in with them. Godric had settled an unentailed estate upon Jonathan, but had put it in trust until his brother was ready to settle down and run the property himself. Until that time, Jonathan would live with Godric and his new wife.

  “After you, Jonathan.” Ashton inclined his head to Lucien, Charles and Cedric, and bid the Sheridan ladies good night before departing with Jonathan.

  Cedric looked hopefully at his remaining companions.

  “You are both welcome to stay the night.”

  Charles agreed at once. “I’ll send word to my valet.”

  Lucien, however, was reluctant.

  Cedric’s eager smile faltered. “I’ll understand if you wish to decline, Lucien, but I do hope you will stay. After receiving that letter about coach accidents, it would be good to have a few of us keeping watch.”

  His friend looked so earnest that Lucien didn’t have the heart to desert him. “Very well, then.”

  “Excellent,” Charles and Cedric chimed in unison.

  Lucien felt as though he’d made a grave error in judgment and would soon pay dearly for it. Still he would rather be here protecting Horatia. She was safer with her brother, himself and Charles keeping watch. Then again, she wasn’t protected from every threat. Lucien felt the desire to slip into her bedroom tonight and crawl into her bed, pinning her beneath him and…

  Damnation. Being in the same house with Horatia for an entire night was both his greatest temptation and his worst nightmare.

  Chapter Three

  Horatia still hadn’t changed into her nightclothes. Restlessness had her up well past midnight. Knowing Lucien was somewhere in the house was unsettling, and she worried about that blasted cat. Muff should have been curled up on the extra pillow in her bed, but he was conspicuously absent. There was a chance a passing footman or maid had closed the grates around the fireplace and he hadn’t been able to get back down.

  Unwilling to let him stay in the cold chimney all night, Horatia abandoned her room and went in search of the cat. She tried to think of all of the other places he could be, and not the one place she wished she could be at that moment. In Lucien’s arms.

  It had been months since he’d last spent the night, and her brother was delighted to have him and Charles there. If not for the League, Cedric would have been exceedingly lonely. She knew he loved her and Audrey, but he’d always longed for brothers. It was hard to miss the way he brightened whenever his friends came over for dinner, or how he looked forward to afternoons at his gentlemen’s club, Berkley’s. Perhaps it was because he could relax around them, and not have to play guardian.

  After their parents died, Cedric had taken on a great amount of responsibility, not only to care for and raise her and Audrey, but matters of business and peerage as well. It was good he had such friends to ease his burdens and the pressures of family.

  She slipped down the stairs to the ground floor and passed by the drawing room, where cigar smoke scented the air and muted laughter echoed against the partially open door.

  At least someone was having a good evening. Irritation rippled beneath Horatia’s skin. Lucien seemed to enjoy torturing her. Between his heated looks and cool smiles he was driving her mad. It was frustrating to not know how to act around him, whether to be warm or to keep her distance.

  One of the men said something and Lucien’s rich laugh teased her ears. Her insides shook with longing. She wanted to make him laugh like that, to be the center of his focus.

  A small dark shadow flitted across the hall and dashed through the library door.

  “Muff!” Horatia hissed, hoping to both summon and chastise the rebellious feline. Given the nature of cats however, she knew it was a fool’s errand.

  Horatia entered the library, lit a candle and started searching under couches and behind chairs. She almost missed the soft click as someone came in behind her and shut the door. The flame of the candle in her hand sputtered as she turned.

  Lucien stood not five feet from her, watching her with hooded eyes. The aroma of brandy quickly reached her. The candlelight threw flickering shadows across his handsome face, highlighting a small scar near his brow.

  In a few slow strides he towered over her. Horatia was suddenly very aware of his masculinity—the breadth of his shoulders, his height, and that the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. She knew herself to be tall, but next to Lucien she felt small, delicate and vulnerable. It was strange, but she liked feeling so helpless around him. Filled with longing, she barely stopped herself from reaching for him. He was too handsome, too virile. Whenever he was near he reduced her to a wild, wanton creature that would do anything for the chance to know pleasure in his arms.

  “Horatia.” Her name rolled off his lips like a fine dessert, sweet and decadent. “You ought to be in bed.”

  The wicked way he said “bed” made her lightheaded.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He leaned forward, his body close to hers as he blew out the candle in her hand. The sudden darkness around them made her catch her breath. A beam of moonlight broke through, lighting their faces. The smoke curled and danced up between them. Lucien’s smile offered her a world of knowledge about pleasure.

  “There’s a lovely little remedy for sleep that I always employ. Do you want to know what it is?” His low voice set her skin on fire.

  I shouldn’t answer. I know what he’s going to say. “What is it?” Blast!

  The faint moonlight from the tall library windows lit his face as he leaned even closer to her.

  He grinned down at her like a Cheshire cat. “I find the nearest beautiful woman, slip into her bed and wrap myself around her.” His warm brandy-tinged breath fanned her face. Tingles of awareness spiked through her body and she stifled a gasp.

  He raised a hand, drawing one elegant finger along her cheekbone. “Your face is warm. Have I made you blush? I’d like to make other parts of you blush as well.” Lucien took the candle holder from her and set it on a shelf.

  Horatia’s knees shook. She stepped back and her head collided with the bookshelf behind her. Lucien closed the distance between them and braced his hands on either side of her face. His lips were inches from hers.

  “Shall I kiss you, Horatia? I find you hard to resist when you look up at me with those dark eyes. They are begging me to kiss you. Did you know that?” His voice was a soft growl that made her breasts heavy and her nipples harden.

  Incapable of speech, Horatia managed to shake her head. She wanted to throw her arms about his neck and drag his mouth to hers. She ached to run her hands through his dark red hair. Endless nights had been spent imagining what this moment would be like, when he’d be close enough to touch, to kiss.

  Something deep inside her tore in anguish. He wasn’t meant for her. Everyone knew he took only experienced, beautiful women to his bed. Lucien would never really consider her that way. She was acceptably attractive, but no diamond of the first water. With nothing to offer Lucien, he must be teasing her the way any rake did an innocent. He was the serpent, offering her carnal knowledge. Everything she wanted and couldn’t have. It was an awful thing to be in love with such a devil.

  Lucien moved his lips to her ear, using a finger to trace a loose pattern along her collarbone, down her chest and towards the valley between her breasts.

  She inhaled, her breasts thrusting upward. “You’ve been drinking, my lord,” she said. When he teased a finger below the fabric of her bodice, brushing a tight nipple, she gasped.

  The grin he gave her was one of pure sin. “I certainly have…”

  Horatia reached up and tore his hands away from her bodice. She tried to knock his other arm out of her way to leave. “H
ow dare you!”

  Lucien grabbed hold of her, dragged her back against the bookcase and trapped her with his body. He fisted a hand through the loose coils of her hair, dragging her head back. Her eyes rose to meet his. A hunger churned in his gaze, swirling in eddies of changing colors.

  “Tell me to let go of you,” he begged in a ragged whisper. “Tell me.”

  She stared at him, unable to voice a protest.

  “Christ. I’m not a saint, woman. I can’t… Oh to hell with it.”

  The warmth of his breath tickled her lips before he devoured her neck in a slow languid kiss. Pools of wet heat built up between her legs and his tongue flicked out against her skin as he tasted her. She moaned. Lucien slid his hand down over her bottom, catching her in his grasp, jerking her hard against his stiff shaft.

  Her legs shook against him, loose and unprotesting as he parted them with his thigh. He dragged her up the length of his leg so her toes barely touched the ground. The movement sent shockwaves of excitement through her and made her inhale sharply. Her hands fell to his shoulders, seeking to hold on to him. His lips found hers again and her palms skated up his neck into his hair, the strands whispering over her skin. She dug her fingers in and tugged on his hair. He growled deep in his throat and kissed her harder.

  Saying no to him was the furthest thing from her mind. There was nothing beyond this moment—his kiss, the sliding touch of his palms, his fingers digging possessively into her flesh, cupping her bottom until a staccato rhythm throbbed deep inside her. It beat against his hard, muscular thigh, flooding her with awareness. She tried to rock against him, to create more friction. Anything to get closer to him, to satisfy her need for something she didn’t fully understand.

  “My God, you were made for sin,” Lucien groaned as he tried to move his other hand deeper into the confines of her bodice.

  She was made for sin? Was she nothing more than a body he’d like to bed? A temptation to release his needs upon? The words lit a flame under Horatia. She clawed his chest and sank her teeth into his shoulder to get free. Lucien jerked back with a low curse, letting her feet hit the floor again.