by Lauren Smith
“Here we are…” She winced at the sight of Horatia’s injuries. “Oh my poor dear!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Stanwick. Could you bring us some hot tea?” Horatia asked.
The housekeeper’s lips parted in surprise. “I shouldn’t leave you alone…”
“It will only be for a minute. Leave the door open if you must.” Lucien’s tone was less a suggestion and more a command.
“Very well, my lord, I’ll be back shortly.” Mrs. Stanwick set the bandages and hot water on the side table and went to fetch tea.
“You don’t have to stay. I can see to it,” Horatia said.
“Nonsense. I always took care of you when you were young, didn’t I?” The words were out before he could take them back. The baffled look on her face, highlighted by her rounded eyes, made her seem so young. She was nothing like his usual women. He liked them fine-boned and full-figured. Horatia had ample curves and a lovely face, but she lacked that edge of cool passion that all of his conquests had.
Lucien pushed her to sit on her bed while he took the cloth towels from the footman. The footman started a fire while Lucien cleaned his hands of soot. The newly lit fire crackled and snapped over the logs. It warmed his back, putting him in a strangely gentle mood.
Her bottom lip shook a second before she opened her mouth.
“Shh…” He wetted a towel and cleaned Horatia’s hands of the soot and wiped the dried blood away. After applying some salve to the cuts, he wound the bandages snugly around her arms. Then he then toweled off his face, as did Horatia. Lucien noticed she missed a few spots.
“What?” she asked when she caught him staring.
“Hold still.” He captured her chin and tilted her head back.
Her knees broke apart, allowing him to step closer to her. He brushed the moist edge of his towel over the tip of her little upturned nose, resisting the sudden urge to kiss it. He wiped away a patch of soot, just above her collarbone. Horatia seemed to be holding her breath.
When he finished, he dropped the towel and placed his hands on her skin. He traced her bottom lip with the pad of his right thumb, feeling its fullness. Horatia’s lips closed around his thumb as she kissed it. The warm wet caress of her tongue made his entire body tighten. Mesmerized, he pulled his thumb away and leaned down, closing the distance between her lips and his.
He coaxed her lips apart with an exploring tongue. Lucien’s hands curled around her hips, holding her still as he pressed himself into the cradle of her body.
The barrier of their clothes didn’t seem to matter. Horatia made a little sound of satisfaction as her tongue moved with his. For a brief moment he could forget she was innocent and everything he couldn’t have. She was just another beautiful woman that he was going to reveal a new world of dark passions to. Her throaty purrs drove him to the edge. He slid his hands down her outer thighs, coiling up her skirts and petticoats, relishing the satiny skin beneath his fingertips.
Horatia gasped out and jerked back. Their mouths separated with a soft pop.
Reality crashed down. He stumbled back and tried to gather his wits.
Horatia blinked, her brown eyes warm and sleepy. Her pink tongue flitted out to lick her lips and he all but dragged her back into his arms.
She batted her lashes. “I’m sorry… You just startled me.”
“No. It is better this way. We can’t… This never happened. Do you hear me?”
“But…” Horatia touched her lips, her eyes drawn up to his face, unable to look away.
Lucien had to put distance between them, and not just physical. “Listen to me, Horatia. I’m a hot-blooded rake, I got carried away. You should not have encouraged me.”
Her eyes flashed with barely hidden fire. “Encourage you? I did nothing of the sort.”
“You licked your lips and gazed at me with longing. It makes a man unable to resist you. It was clear you desired a kiss and I felt compelled to oblige.”
“You kissed me out of pity?” She looked torn between hurt and anger.
He hesitated, but only a moment. “Yes.”
Horatia’s voice shook and her eyes darkened with tears. “Pl…please leave.”
“Happily.” He left her room, slamming the door.
Can’t that man ever shut my door normally?
Horatia buried her face in her pillows and took several deep breaths, but it did no good. She fought the urge to cry, but tears still ran down her cheeks. It was then that Mittens sauntered out from under the bed, jumped up and nestled against Horatia’s stomach, purring.
There was something comforting about the animal’s unconditional love. Only after stroking the cat’s satiny fur did she finally calm down, but it was a long while before she could look rationally at the problem.
Over the years she’d heard whispers from maids and footmen about his sort. And of course, her brother’s warnings always rang inside her head. “Never trust men, Horatia. If someone asks to show you the garden at a ball, run and find me. You don’t want to end up with someone like Lucien. They’ll steal your innocence, break your heart and ruin any chance of a decent marriage. Word gets around and for us, reputation is everything.”
Lucien didn’t want an innocent woman. He wanted a wild and wanton creature in his bed. If she were to ever catch his attention it would require something drastic. After today, she was positive that he had some small attraction to her. If she could just get close enough to him to make him act on it… But she couldn’t get close to him. Most of the time he seemed to have enough sense to stay away from her. If only there was a way she could trick that stubborn marquess into seeing her as a woman, not his friend’s sister.
Horatia’s eyes fell to the open drawer of her vanity table. A silver loo mask lay in the drawer, a piece from a masquerade earlier that year. It spawned an idea. She needed to be someone else, the type of woman he would seek out.
But how to go about it? It would have to be in a location far away from her brother’s watchful eye. Someplace dark, perhaps at night so she would have less of a chance of being seen. If she could interact with Lucien in a place where she could wear a mask, he might not know it was her. The risk was high that he would recognize her after talking to her, but if she had it her way there wouldn’t be much talking.
All she needed was a chance to convince him that she was worthy of his attention. She wanted to be the seductress he made her feel like. Perhaps if she proved she was passionate, he would offer for her.
I’m such a peahen. The bitter thought struck her like a hard slap. Lucien wouldn’t offer for her. He’d use her and then move on. Then again, he’d come close to marriage once. Why not once again? And a tiny voice in her head whispered that ruination at Lucien’s hands would be worth it. Even if she spent the rest of her life as a lonely old spinster, one night with him outweighed a lifetime with someone she had no feelings for.
Forcing herself to focus on her idea, she evaluated her choices of clandestine meeting spots. This plan had all the earmarks of one of Audrey’s schemes. Audrey! That was it. The moment her sister returned, Horatia would consult her. She wouldn’t tell her what she intended to do, but she could solicit advice on how to bribe a footman from Lucien’s household to divulge the Marquess’s nightly activities and the places where he could be found.
For the first time in days, Horatia smiled with glee.
Chapter Five
Lucien entered his townhouse on Half Moon Street in a rage, his jaw clenched and aching. Today had been a disaster. He’d let himself lose control, get too close, and he’d enjoyed every minute of it.
If it hadn’t been for those warm brown eyes of hers, pleading for his kisses…
The door to the servants’ quarters opened and his valet, Felix, emerged with a stack of freshly pressed white shirts in his arms.
“Felix, I’m going out tonight. Ready my things.”
The valet nodded and hurried to Lucien’s room. Lucien’s hands twitched, feeling the urge to break something. He stormed into the drawing room and grabbed the first thing within reach, an expensive oriental vase. He arced his arm and—
“I say, Lucien, you all right?”
He spied his brother, Lawrence, a few feet behind him in the open doorway. Except for the fact he was five years younger, he was a mirror image of Lucien. Anger still boiling deep inside him like a dormant volcano, Lucien now aimed the vase at his meddlesome brother.
Lawrence stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “If you break that, mother will be most upset. She spent a fortune getting that back from Shanghai for you. To hear her tell it, she hired an entire caravan of elephants like Hannibal for part of the journey.”
With a snarl, he set the vase back down on the cherrywood side table and glowered at his smirking brother.
“I thought you were in France.”
His brother gave a casual shrug. “I came back with Avery.”
“Have you obtained lodgings?”
“Not as of yet.”
“Then you must stay here,” Lucien replied, but his heart wasn’t in the gesture. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain, not even his family. Was it so bad to want some peace and quiet to sort out the messy tangle of emotions that plagued him?
His brother flicked an invisible speck of dust off his coat sleeve. “I’m only here for a few days and I wouldn’t dare to impose, especially since you seem to be having rather heated issues with your décor.” Lawrence was well known for his sarcasm. Lucien had had words, and more than words with him over such remarks when they’d been younger.
“Just because we are no longer children doesn’t mean I won’t box your ears.”
“You could try.”
Lucien swung his fist good-naturedly at his brother, who danced back a step. They laughed, and Lucien found his anger deflated. God bless Lawrence.
“If you don’t wish to stay the night, what brings you here?” Lucien asked. “I thought perhaps you’d go straight to mother.” A terrible thought occurred to him. “She isn’t here is she?”
Lucien half-expected the formidable Lady Rochester to explode out of a closet. His mother had on more than one occasion hidden herself to eavesdrop on her offspring, only to reveal her presence suddenly and scare the bloody hell out of her children. Linus, Lucien’s youngest brother, refused to shut the closet doors in his bedchamber for that very reason.
She did so out of love of course. It was even a family joke. She’d been so besotted with their father that she’d insisted on naming every child with a name starting with L for love. Therefore they’d been named Lucien, Lawrence, Linus and Lysandra. Avery had been the only exception to their mother’s naming scheme. He looked just like their father and so bore the same name as him. The other Russells favored their mother in looks.
“Mother’s in Kent,” Lawrence said. “She sent word to you that she wanted to spend Christmas at home. Did you not get the letter?” Lawrence seemed genuinely surprised, since Lucien was the best of the Russell brood when it came to correspondence.
“I’ve been a bit preoccupied of late.” It was an understatement, a grand one at that. His study was littered with unopened letters, his mother’s latest one no doubt among the clutter on his desk. Lucien stroked his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. “Does mother expect me to come visit her?”
“Lord, no. Not that she wouldn’t mind, but I think she’s happiest when left alone to torment Linus and Lysandra.” Lawrence chuckled. “They’re both with her now, God help them.”
“What about Cambridge? Surely Linus has finished by now.” A thread of guilt wound through his chest, knotting around his ribs. Had he been so consumed with his own affairs that he’d lost track of his siblings’ lives?
Lawrence gave another shrug. “Only a short while ago.”
“If you are leaving in a few days, you must dine with me tonight.” Lucien’s desire to be left alone had changed, and he hoped his brother would agree. Lawrence would be a welcome distraction and keep him from dwelling on hopeless desires.
Lawrence smiled deviously. “Actually, I have scheduled an evening at the Midnight Garden. You are welcome to join me. Madame Chanson does miss your patronage.”
The Midnight Garden was a discreet club, full of hidden scandals and romantic trysts. The most public secret in London. Madame Chanson tailored it to the needs of any individual, man or woman wealthy enough to pay for membership. She brought in the most beautiful ladies, hired only the most handsome men, and the decadence of the surroundings promised sinful pleasures of all kinds. She’d also acquired the good will and patronage of those necessary to keep it open.
Lucien had, until recently, been a frequent guest of the Garden. But since he had been thrown into Horatia Sheridan’s life once more, and he’d not returned in search of pleasure. The one time he had ended in disappointment on all sides.
Perhaps that is what I need—a naughty tumble to erase the memory of Horatia from my mind. Lucien scraped a palm over his jaw before nodding. “I believe I shall. I’ve been too melancholy of late and my spirits need lifting.”
His brother laughed. “As do other parts of you, I suspect.”
Lucien ignored him. “What time is your engagement?”
“Nine o’clock. You’ll need a mask. Madame Chanson is in a masquerade mood this month and she’s requiring all her patrons to wear them. Rumor has it a delegation from Italy has arrived, and it’s for their benefit.”
Lucien frowned. Did he still have a mask? Surely he did. He had gone to many of those parties at Vauxhall during the Season and a number of them had required masks.
“I’d best go find one.” He started towards the stairs.
“I shall meet you at the Garden then, around nine,” Lawrence called out.
“Felix!” Lucien called out.
The valet popped his head into Lucien’s bedchamber. “My lord?”
“Change of plans. Set out my finest black breeches, black hessians and a black silk shirt. Also, do I still have a black domino mask?”
Felix’s eyebrows rose. “Are we dressing you for a specific occasion, my lord? I was under the impression that abductions were not among your interests.” The valet’s eyes were cool, but Lucien caught the glimmer of amusement there.
Lucien sometimes forgot that what were considered secrets upstairs were sometimes common knowledge downstairs. No doubt he referred to Miss Emily Parr’s adventure some months before.
“Abductions, when done properly, can turn out quite satisfactory. But fear not, Felix, tonight I’m off to the Garden. Madame Chanson requested all guests to wear masks.”
“Ah. The Italians are back, no doubt. Well, you are in luck, my lord. I kept a nice half-face mask that you wore last year. It should look splendid with your chosen outfit this evening.” Felix went to one of the dressers and dug through its contents until he found the mask. He set it down on a side table and slipped into the dressing room to fetch Lucien’s evening clothes.
Lucien left his bedchamber for the small washroom where he had a tub. He pulled the bell cord to signal to the servants below that he wished to bathe. It would be a while before the bath was ready so he had a footman fetch some letters from his study to read.
Once ready he sunk low into the tub of hot water and let the tension ease out of him. Being around Horatia always wound him up into knots. He splashed his face and scrubbed at his skin, trying to remove the memory of her body against his. Soot still clung to his hair, and he washed it thoroughly as well, wanting nothing left to remind him of how close he’d come to losing his sanity.
The more time he spent around her the closer he came to acting on those base desires that would betray his principles, ruin her reputation and incite her brother’s wrath. Yet the idea of coming to her and teaching her ho
w to embrace her passions was too tempting. It was this that held the thrill for him.
He did not spend his days counting conquests like other men, but rather he prided himself on helping women conquer their own souls and bodies by accepting their needs and learning fulfillment in bed. Passion was a thing meant to be shared between a man and a woman, and he’d never liked the idea of a woman simply lying limp beneath him. Sex was a mutual exploration, a gift shared, not something stolen or taken by another. So while his reputation as a rake was forever assured, one would receive quite a different opinion about him from his women. To them he was a liberator, no matter how brief their time together.
After his bath, Felix helped him dress, and Lucien was out the door. A footman hailed a black cab so his presence would not be noted when he arrived. The Garden was not a place where the insignia of the Marquess of Rochester should be seen. Lucien kept his mask on, checking the ribbon as his hackney pulled up front of the stucco townhouse that was the facade for the Midnight Garden.
A footman hurried down to meet him and bowed his head respectfully. “My lord.” The footman did not know his true identity, but all men and women in the Garden were greeted as lord and lady. If nothing else, it was good for business.
“Is Madame in?” Lucien asked the footman, following him up the steps. The young man nodded and opened the door for Lucien.
Day or night, the Midnight Garden was always dimly lit. It carried the ambience of a midnight rendezvous. Gilded wall sconces lined the entry way and halls splitting off to various rooms, of which there were at least twenty between the three floors. The walls were a deep burgundy with gold trim and the furniture was richly brocaded. Everything was selected to offer decadence and sensuality to the patrons who paid to enjoy their desires here.
For a good many years, Lucien had haunted these halls, seeking bedmates that would not fear him or his desires, and would trust him to master the pleasures of their bodies. Someday he hoped to find someone he could trust in return, but so far he had not. Since Emily Parr’s abduction he’d been reluctant to return to his old habits. He wanted to find a connection between himself and his bedmate. The brief, wild couplings, or the slow pleasure of seducing a woman into being bound was not the same as savoring a woman he truly cared about. After his frustrating encounters with Horatia, however, he was desperate for relief.