by Lauren Smith
Lucien grinned. “Not at all. I do need her advice on a few things. The child does know her fashion.” She was a clever girl, but she filled that brain of hers with far too much fluff on the types of gowns and the styles of bonnets. Then again, he shouldn’t be wishing her intelligence was put to use elsewhere. Lord knows the little chit might end up a brilliant political hostess or married to a member of the House of Lords. He wouldn’t give her credit for anything less and the very idea of her having any influence over a man in politics was terrifying.
“Very well then, I shall see you both later.” Cedric drained his coffee, set the cup down and reached for his cane resting against the table’s edge. Cedric never let the cane out of his sight. A reminder of vigilance, perhaps. He paused at the door’s edge. “Remember to be on your guard, my friend.”
Once Audrey was ready to leave, Lucien ordered one of Cedric’s carriages to take them to Bond Street. With Lucien as an escort, Audrey would be free of the ogling of the charming Bond Street Beaux. They knew better than to stare at any woman in Lucien’s company. He viewed them with no small measure of condescension, like the harmless popinjays they were. The real danger for Audrey was being seen in public with someone like him. Rumors could spread like wildfire, and the press only fanned the flames.
Audrey flitted about on his arm, oohing and ahhing over every colorful window display they passed until she finally chose a fashionable modiste maker. Her lady’s maid, Gillian, a quiet girl around Audrey’s age dressed in a gray cotton gown, followed behind.
“Madame Ella is the best dressmaker in London,” she said. “She made that lovely gown of Horatia’s, the one that wretched driver destroyed.”
It seemed fortune favored Lucien today. This was exactly the place he needed to be to buy Horatia a new gown.
He kept his tone soft to prevent being overheard. “Audrey, would you be interested in helping me with a special favor?”
She grinned at him. “Oh I suppose, but I shall demand a favor from you someday.”
He had said nothing to give away his intent, yet she seemed to know she had him exactly where she wanted him. Were she a man, Audrey would have been a magnificent politician.
He tried to act casual. “As long as it is within the confines of the law and your brother won’t challenge me to a duel, then you shall have it.”
“Excellent. We have an agreement.” Her brown eyes twinkled with devilry, and he knew he’d come to regret this day. “What is it you need help with?”
“I’d like to replace your sister’s ruined gown, but I don’t wish to buy the exact same one she had before. I want something better. Something red perhaps…” His voice trailed off as Audrey’s lips parted in shock.
“You want to buy Horatia a gown?”
“Er…yes.” He held his breath, waiting for Audrey to reveal her knowledge of his secrets. Thankfully, she didn’t.
Her expression changed from surprise to one of calculation. Her shrewd gaze was fixed on him, as if she knew something about him that even he did not. It was most unsettling.
“Very well. Red you say? Silk perhaps?” she suggested with a smile that was beyond any hint of innocence.
She couldn’t know about his visits to the infamous Midnight Garden, or the games he’d played there, restraining women with red silk ties so he could take his time bringing them to screaming climaxes. He paid quite a handsome sum to keep his interests private. Yet the girl seemed to hint that she knew more than she should about him.
“Red is an excellent color on her, I agree. I haven’t the faintest idea why she doesn’t wear it more often.” Audrey turned and went to embrace the stately, mature woman who had appeared near the back of the shop. “Madame Ella!”
“Miss Audrey! I’m so glad you’re back. I kept those York Town gloves, the fawn colored ones you were so admiring a few days ago.” Madame Ella brushed a loose coil of dark hair back from her face and retrieved a small glove-sized box. Audrey barely repressed a squeal.
Madame Ella curtseyed when she saw Lucien hovering in the doorway. “Good morning, my lord.”
Lucien inclined his head and came over. He’d met her once before, a few years back when he’d come with his mother and Lysandra, his sister, to buy her wardrobe for her first Season. It seemed Madame Ella had an excellent memory.
Audrey took charge and commanded Madame Ella’s attention. “We are here to order a new gown for my sister.”
Madame Ella’s brows knit in concern. “She was not pleased with my creation?”
“On the contrary. She loved it, but it met with an unfortunate fate.” Audrey explained the previous day’s events.
“I see. So what did you have in mind, Miss Sheridan?”
“A green ball gown with a red satin over dress. Embroider the gown’s sleeves with holly designs, trim the hem with a flounce of white Belgian lace. And a green satin wrapping under her bosom.” Audrey looked over at Lucien, measuring him intently before she added, “Also, trim the décolletage with sprigs of faux mistletoe.”
Both Lucien and Madame Ella raised their eyes at this last request.
“Mistletoe?” Lucien asked Audrey in a hushed tone.
Audrey giggled.
“Don’t you see, Lucien? She’ll look so lovely in this dress, wrapped up like a beautiful Christmas present.” Audrey wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“And they say I’m wicked,” Lucien said to himself.
If the image Audrey had created in his head was even close to reality, Horatia would be a Christmas present worth unwrapping. With that mistletoe nestled against her breasts, he would be tempted to kiss every inch of her bosom to honor the tradition properly.
“Would she wear such a gown?” Lucien asked Audrey. He wouldn’t mind the cost of the garment, but if Horatia refused to wear it, it would be an unspeakable crime against the gown, its maker, and Lucien’s very ungentlemanly thoughts at that moment.
“She would wear it, if you asked her to,” Audrey replied, her attention now fixed on the gloves she’d taken from the box. She rubbed one of them against her cheek, gave a sigh of pleasure and set them back in the box.
“And what do you mean by that?” Lucien felt breathless as he awaited her response. Just what did she know?
Audrey shrugged. “She values your opinion. If you gave the gown to her and asked her to wear it then she would.”
Her answer seemed so resolute that Lucien couldn’t help but believe her.
“Then you have our order, Madame Ella. Just as Miss Audrey requested.”
“It will be my pleasure, my lord. Miss Audrey has the finest taste.”
Lucien patted Audrey’s soft hand. “Indeed she does.”
He instructed the modiste to send the bill for the gown and gloves to him. As they left the shop, he pulled Audrey aside, her maid staying discreetly a few feet away.
“You mustn’t let Cedric know I bought the gown. Do you understand? Lie if you must, say you purchased it.”
“Why should I—”
Lucien shushed her. “I can’t buy a woman a gift such as that and not have the entire ton thinking she’s my mistress, your brother included. Think of the consequences.” When her eyes widened and she gave a curt little nod, he knew she understood. Her sister’s reputation was paramount.
Horatia clung to her dark blue velvet cloak, pulling the ermine lined hood tighter against her face. Charles slapped the ribbons over the backs of the pair of horses, urging them to speed up. They were headed towards Bond Street, where no doubt Audrey had dragged Lucien to do some shopping since Cedric would be busy with other matters.
“Why are you in a hurry, Charles?” She leaned back in the carriage and glanced over her shoulder to check on Ursula, who rode in the back. “We barely rode at all in the park before you insisted we return them to the stables.”
When Charles shot a look her
way she saw his gray eyes were oddly turbulent, mirroring the stormy winter clouds above their heads. “I just remembered I need to take Audrey to see Avery. He’s back in London, you know. I’d be in trouble if I didn’t take her out on the Town for the afternoon with him. He does so adore your sister. You are welcome to come.” He glanced her way again.
Horatia shook her head. She didn’t feel the least bit sociable at the moment.
“You needn’t drop me off at home. Ursula and I can hire a hackney to get back.”
He scoffed as though affronted at leaving her alone. “Nonsense. I see Lucien up ahead. He’s with your sister. I’ll have him escort you home.” The words came out in an oddly strained manner, as though he was torn on the matter. “You don’t mind if I leave you with Lucien?”
“No, I do not. He will see me home safely, just as he’s always done.” Why she added the last part she wasn’t sure, but she felt it necessary to reassure Charles.
Horatia put a gloved hand on his arm. He didn’t even seem to notice. “Charles, are you unwell?”
He tensed. “No, I’m well enough. There’s much to give me worry these days. Don’t fret on my behalf.”
She stared at him for a long moment, wondering if she ought to inquire further as to the nature of his distress. Charles was always close-lipped when it came to such things. Her brother always claimed Charles couldn’t keep a secret, but Horatia knew better. When it came to matters of the heart, the Earl of Lonsdale could remain silent forever. She turned her attention to the streets again.
When they rolled up next to Lucien and Audrey, Charles called and waved them closer. He then got down to help Ursula off the carriage.
“Lucien, I need you to take Horatia home. Audrey and I have a lunch engagement with Avery, don’t we?” He slanted a look at Audrey.
She blinked once before remembrance flashed across her face. “Oh yes!”
Before Lucien could protest, Horatia and her maid Ursula were dumped into his care as Audrey and her maid Gillian usurped her sister’s spot on the curricle, and Charles tore off down the street.
“Did Charles just leave you behind so he could take your sister and my brother out for the afternoon?” Lucien asked in almost a stupefied tone.
“It would seem so.” Horatia was just as mystified. She blushed when she realized she’d been leaning into him as they watched the curricle drive off. With great reluctance she pushed away, not missing the way his hand lingered at the small of her back, as though he wished to keep her close. A little pang pinched her heart.
Lucien hailed his waiting carriage to take him, Horatia and her maid back to Curzon Street. He helped Horatia inside allowing her the seat facing forward. The carriage leapt into motion before Lucien had properly seated himself and was flung back onto Horatia. She cried out, more from surprise than any pain. He scrambled off her, apologizing profusely.
“Are you quite sure you are all right?” he pressed.
“I’m fine, my lord.” She made her tone cool, determined to erase the memory of last night’s bruising kiss and fiery touch. “You simply startled me. I’m not nearly as delicate as you seem to believe.”
When he grimaced she suspected he was recalling his encounter with her knee. The thought did not displease her.
“Did you have a pleasant time with Audrey?” she asked after an awkward silence.
“Yes, she convinced me to buy her Christmas present early this year.”
“How kind of you,” Horatia replied, thinking back on her own gifts from him.
Every year Lucien bought her a book, which she secretly treasured with all her heart, despite her knowing he only did it not to show favoritism with Audrey. Her sister was everyone’s favorite. Normally this didn’t bother Horatia, but with Lucien it struck her deep in the chest. His hazel eyes were fixed on her now, as though he could read her thoughts.
“I bought your gift as well, but it shan’t be ready for at least a few days. Madame Ella assured me it would be done in less than a week.”
“Madame Ella?” Horatia’s heartbeat skittered.
“I thought perhaps you would like a gown, since your other one was ruined.”
“You bought me…a gown?” Her entire body tensed at the thought of wearing something he’d given her. It lit her blood on fire with excitement.
“Would you prefer to have another novel? I could cancel the order—”
“No!” Hope filled her so tightly she had trouble breathing. “A gown would be lovely. However, I hope you had the good sense not to tell my brother.”
“Perish the thought.” He flashed that all too appealing rakehell grin. “Your sister and I designed this confection especially for you this Christmas season and it would be a shame for it to go unworn.”
Horatia bit her lip as excitement bubbled up within her. It was scandalous for him to buy her a gown, but she was secretly delighted. It meant he was thinking about her.
The coach pulled up in front of Sheridan House and Lucien got out. He came around to her side of the coach and had the approaching footman assist Ursula down while Lucien helped Horatia down. Ursula and the footman disappeared inside, leaving Lucien and Horatia alone for a moment.
She offered her hand but he ignored it and moved forward to catch her by the waist, lowering her to the ground. Heat rushed through her in a violent wave as he let her slide down the length of his body. When he set her down, she raised her eyes to his face.
“The ice is fresh. I wouldn’t want you to fall,” he said.
A passing carriage’s wheel dipped into a slushy puddle nearby, casting an icy spray. Lucien dragged Horatia into his embrace and shielded her from the splash with his body. He winced as the icy water soaked his clothes.
He was wet. Again. Why her own body shivered against his, she wasn’t sure. Droplets of water dewed on his eyelashes and hung from the wet lock of hair that fell into his eyes. She stared at him, fascinated at the way the jewel-like drops clung to his dark, long lashes.
“Blast. I must have offended the gods of carriages in some past life.” He gazed down at her, a wild wolf-like expression, both wintry and fierce filling his eyes. His passion could be her undoing if she let him. His lips were faintly blue and trembled. She ached to warm them with hers. A ridiculous notion, but damned if she didn’t want to taste him again, just one…little…
“I should go,” Lucien whispered.
“Stay.”
“I shouldn’t.” His warm breath fanned her face and heated her blood.
“At least come in and have your coat dried by the fire.”
I have only ever wanted to care for you, Lucien. Just let me care for you.
“Perhaps that is wise. I’ve no interest in getting a chill from wet clothes. Carriage gods be damned.” Lucien made no move to step back from her as she turned, staying caged by him as they reached the door. His breath tickled her neck and she shivered from something other than the cold. The door swung open as the butler and a footman helped them both inside. A sigh escaped her as reality intruded on her once again and she was forced to step away from Lucien. Why did they always have to move apart?
Once inside, Horatia took him to the morning room to warm up, but to their surprise the fire was unlit. Lucien peeled off his wet wool overcoat and looked at the cold fireplace with a raised eyebrow. For a moment she just stared at him. He glanced down, wondering what she was looking at. His shirt clung to his arms, highlighting his forearms and biceps. When he looked back to her, she’d gone wide-eyed and scarlet. Horatia hastily darted past him to the fireplace and pulled back the grate. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. She’d liked what she’d seen, he was sure of it.
A low and angry echoing sound announced either the presence of a ghost, or a cat up the chimney. “Mreoooww.”
“Muff!” Horatia got down on her hands and knees and peered up the chimney. �
��Come down right now!” She reached up into the sooty confines of the fireplace.
Horatia’s backside was on full display to him as she tried in vain to coax down the stubborn feline. The icy chill he still felt dissipated beneath the heat that swept through him. How would her hips feel between his hands? How would his name sound as it was moaned from those lips? Lucien shook his head, trying to erase those images and, more importantly, discourage an enthusiastic response in his loins.
“Here, let me see if I can get him.” Lucien knelt beside her. With the advantage of his longer arms, he could reach the crevice in which the renegade feline had lodged himself. “I see him. The question is whether I can reach him. You might want to shield your eyes, my sweet.” The endearment fell off his lips without thinking. He reached up, grabbed the cat by the scruff of his neck and dragged him down. Lucien coughed as he dislodged a wave of soot and it rained down around him and Horatia. They both fell back out of the fireplace and onto the floor.
Muff hissed and lunged into Horatia’s arms in his bid to flee. He dug his claws into her arms before propelling himself away, leaving a sooty trail of paw prints out of the drawing room. Horatia sneezed and tried to rise. Lucien caught her wrists but his hands came away bloody as he helped her to stand. Her forearms had been sliced by Muff’s not-so-tender escape.
Horatia, covered in soot and clutching her bleeding arms, looked absolutely miserable. Something in Lucien’s chest tightened. She was so brave; she hadn’t made a squeak of pain. If it had been him he would have bellowed like a wounded bear. Not her though, not Horatia. She bit her bottom lip, blinked away the moisture in her eyes and all he wanted was to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
“Come now, let’s get that taken care of.” He wrapped an arm about her shoulders and led her out into the hall and up the stairs to her bedchamber. He instructed a passing footman to bring warm water, some bandages and have the fire lit in Horatia’s room, assuming the blasted cat hadn’t gotten there first.
A few moments later, Cedric’s housekeeper, a matronly woman with graying hair at the temples, entered the room carrying water and bandages.