by Lauren Smith
“Bloody hell!” Lucien hollered as Miss Burns let out a harpy-like shriek that reverberated through the metal.
Unable to stop, Horatia giggled. Miss Burns pulled the bucket off only to trip down the stairs and fall face first into a flowerbed. With another shriek of rage she tore off back into the gardens. Lucien ran a few steps as though to pursue her but then looked up, his eyes meeting Horatia’s through the slats on the gazebo roof.
“Horatia Sheridan, get down here this instant!” He stormed out of the gazebo.
Horatia climbed back down from the roof, her body quaking with fear. When she was within reach of him, Lucien gripped her by the waist and wrenched her from the trellis. Horatia felt more thorns tear into her but she dared not make a sound, not even one of pain.
“What did you do that for?” he snarled, hazel eyes blazing.
His tone terrified her and she gulped. “I…” She fisted her hands in her skirts and stepped away from him.
“Spit it out!”
He would never harm her, not physically, but the idea of him being angry at her made her heart jerk against her ribs.
“You can’t marry her,” she begged.
“What?” Lucien looked angry and confused.
“She’s awful. You can’t marry her. You can’t.”
“Whom I marry is my business and mine alone. Do you understand? It is none of your concern.”
“But I love you.” She had never spoken that thought aloud before, never even knew that she felt it that strongly. But once she said the words, she knew they were true. At fourteen, Horatia had fallen in love with Lucien.
The words silenced Lucien, but not for long. “You don’t know the first thing about love. You’re a child,” he spat.
She looked up at him with pain in her eyes, humiliation bleeding through her, enhancing the splintering of her heart. She put a hand to her mouth to silence her cry of agony, both of body and soul.
“I…I’m sorry,” she said. Tears blurred her vision and pain laced her every movement.
Lucien wasn’t looking at her, he was looking straight ahead. Miss Burns had returned to the gazebo and had seen everything. She flashed them both a hateful glare and turned away.
Lucien cursed under his breath. “Do not bother to apologize. What you’ve done today can never be forgiven.”
He turned on his heel and chased after Miss Burns.
Horatia sat on the gazebo floor for several long minutes, trembling. Something deep inside her chest seemed to break, and it was only after she finally remembered to breathe that she realized it must have been her heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Horatia hated how that memory always managed to choke her at the worst times. She blinked and turned at the sound of a polite cough. Lucien was leaning against the wall a few feet away, watching her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, pushing away from the wall and coming towards her.
“I’m fine.”
Lucien frowned and cupped her chin in one hand, turning her to face him.
“I can always tell when you lie,” he said, as if the knowledge of this surprised him.
“Yes. I hate that.” She needed to get away from him. She needed room to breathe.
He dogged her steps as she left and picked a room at random to try and hide from him. She shut the door and slid the lock into place, relaxing when he tried the knob and couldn’t get inside. Leaning back against the door, she listened to him walk away. Her heartbeat slowed in her chest.
Suddenly one of the study bookshelves swung open. Lucien emerged and eased the bookshelf back into its place, grinning. Horatia gaped. Rochester Hall had secret passageways? How had she not known about them? She truly ought to have been nosier as a child.
“Why do you hate that I can read you so easily?” he asked.
Horatia studied the room with a slight frown. This was Lucien’s study. His scent filled the air and a messy pile of letters littered his large desk. She couldn’t have picked a worse room to try and escape from him. He was everywhere. And she would not be able to hide from him anywhere on the estate. There were likely passageways all through the house connecting all the rooms.
“Lucien, could you please just leave me alone? You’ve made your peace with me, and I with you. Can we not leave it at that?” She turned her back to him but he chuckled, coming closer.
“My dear Horatia, I fear you and I are England and France. We quarrel and battle and therein lies the pleasure of our relationship.” He brushed back a loose curl that had draped over her shoulder. She flinched, though not from displeasure. Even the barest hint of heat from him was something she could not endure for much longer without wanting to turn in his arms and beg for a kiss.
“I am tired of battling with you, Lucien. It has caused me nothing but grief.” She moved towards the window behind his desk, looking over the snow covered gardens. The flowers were all withered and sheathed in ice, and it struck her how much she sympathized with those flowers. Her heart felt much the same, withered and frozen. But Lucien wouldn’t let her alone. He was right there behind her, warmth emanating off him in sweet waves, heating her back.
“Then I will leave you, but only if you allow me to honor tradition first. I’ve heard it is bad luck to ignore such things.” His breath fanned her neck, sending shivers of anticipation through her. Who would have thought the word tradition could be so seductive? Horatia whirled around to face him, her nose brushing his as she hadn’t realized how close he was.
“Tradition?” she asked.
Lucien’s eyes flicked up to something over their heads. A sprig of mistletoe, pinned to the wood above the large window.
“But if someone were to come in and see us…” she trailed off as she focused on his lips.
“This is my study. No one will disturb us. Besides, you locked the door.” He reached up to brush his knuckles across her cheek, and then his fingertips danced down to her neck where they wrapped around the back of her head. He massaged her scalp in slow tender movements as he pulled her closer. When she was flush against the length of his body, his other hand banded securely about her waist. She moaned and he caught the sound with his lips, plundering her with a possessive tongue.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he said between languid kisses.
“You have?” she asked faintly, leaning more into him than was wise or proper.
“God yes!” The hand about her waist dropped to her bottom and clenched her tight, pushing her against the evidence of his desire. “Have I told you how good you taste?” he murmured, brushing against her lips in a teasing fashion. Horatia shook her head the slightest inch. “You taste heavenly, yet sinful.” He licked his way to her left ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth.
Horatia’s knees buckled. She clutched his upper arms to keep from collapsing like a rag doll. Lord, the things he could do to weaken her! Hadn’t she only just resolved that morning to move on?
“Lucien,” she gasped.
“Lucien, yes or Lucien, stop?” He flicked a fingertip over the hardened nub on her right breast through the silk of her gown.
“More,” was all she could manage.
With a growl of desire he backed her up into the corner between his bookshelves and the wall. He dipped a hand down to her skirts, rucking them up to grip one of her thighs. With a swift stroke he bared her leg and had it wrapped around his hip so he could push closer into the welcoming cradle of her body. Her head fell back, allowing him access to the underside of her chin and her neck. He devoured her skin with kisses like a starving man.
The closeness of their bodies was both startling and enchanting. Horatia lost herself to Lucien’s seduction. How could she have ever wanted him to leave her alone? For one single kiss she’d walk through fire, for a heated glance she’d brave her darkest nightmares. All Horatia could think beyond more
, more, was that she would do anything for him. Even after all these years that hadn’t changed—so how could she have convinced herself otherwise?
Lucien couldn’t stop himself. Her hands fisted in his hair and her silken mouth welcomed his tongue with a reckless intensity he’d never experienced from any woman before. He’d had countless lovers and mistresses, but none had so completely abandoned their control as Horatia did. She did not lose herself. She was still Horatia, from the soft brown waves of her chestnut hair to the tips of her blue slippers. But when she kissed him, she threw caution, morals and hesitancy to the wind in a way that had him desperate to possess her.
He’d always prided himself on his own self-control. Of course, lately he seemed to have little of it and Horatia had been testing what remained to its limit. He wanted to sink so deep into her that he’d never leave, wanted to lose himself in her eyes and drown in the symphony of her breathless cries. He’d thought of nothing else the entire carriage ride to Kent. Each time a curl of her hair was jostled by the bumpy road, he’d watched with envy as it caressed the tops of her breasts. When she’d fallen asleep, her lips had softened into a cupid’s bow. Usually she kept those lips pursed into a tight line around him. The things he wanted those lips to do made him groan helplessly as he pushed himself even harder against her.
Through the haze of his desire, Lucien was suddenly aware of a voice calling his name, and it wasn’t Horatia. It was like a pail of cold water dropped on his head, followed by the pail. It was Cedric, outside the study door.
“Lucien, you devil! Where’d you run off to?” With regret he stepped back from Horatia, holding a finger to his lips to indicate silence.
“Quick, under my desk,” Lucien said in a hoarse whisper.
Horatia took refuge under the desk, never more thankful it was a large bulky beast and not a spindly-legged dainty creation. Tucking her skirts under her, she curled up just as Lucien unlocked the door before moving around to the front of the desk, to block the small bit of open space between desk and floor. Horatia held her breath as her brother opened the study door and entered.
“There you are! I thought perhaps we’d have a game of billiards to pass the time before dinner. What do you say?” Cedric offered hopefully.
Horatia heard Lucien clear his throat. “Uh, yes. Excellent. You go on. I’ll be there directly. I just have a letter I need to see to first.”
“Are you all right, Lucien? You look a bit flustered.”
“Of course. It’s a natural reaction to my mother’s rantings about marriage, no matter who her current target might be.”
Cedric laughed. “That I can well understand. I shall wait for you in the billiard room.” She heard the door click shut.
Lucien exhaled a long slow breath. Horatia echoed it with one of her own. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened had Cedric found the door unlocked. Lucien helped her out from underneath the desk. He held her still as he inspected her with a critical eye. Then his hands moved to her hair, tucking stray wisps back into place and securing pins.
“Better,” he said as he worked.
“Have you had much practice at this?” She regretted the words the moment they left her.
Lucien raised one brow. “Do you wish for me to deny it?”
She could never ask him to deny what he was. She loved all of him, even the wicked parts. “No.”
“There. I think that should do.” He stepped back to examine her, cool and distant once again. These mood swings of his were impossibly frustrating.
“You can use the secret passage. It opens up down the hall. I apologize. I ought not to have done this to you. You don’t deserve to be manhandled in my home. I promise it won’t happen again.” Before Horatia could find it in her to reply, he was gone.
“That’s a promise I wish you hadn’t made,” she told the empty study.
Horatia waited in Lucien’s study and found herself gazing at the bookshelves. There was one section, near the window that caught her eye. Six books were placed neatly in a row, and each title was familiar to her. Among them was Lady Eustace and the Merry Marquess. These particular six titles were a matching set of the books she’d received the last six Christmas holidays. Curious, Horatia crooked an index finger into Lady Eustace’s spine and pulled the volume off the shelf. She opened it, finding an inscription on the title page that read “Gave to Horatia Sheridan, 1819.” He was documenting his gifts to her? To what end?
She examined the other five books, finding similar notations inside, and each book looked well read. Horatia had the most astonishing vision of Lucien reading each book as she did, as if to try and see what she would experience in each book. It was a decidedly happy thought, to know he took great pains to connect with her, even in such an indirect fashion. The sting of his promise to not repeat his seduction lessened in light of these small treasures.
When Horatia finally left Lucien’s study she did not find herself alone in the hallway. Lady Rochester was exiting the chamber across the hall.
“Horatia.” She waved for Horatia to come to her. Horatia swallowed uncomfortably as she approached Lucien’s mother.
“You’re blushing, my dear,” Lady Rochester observed. “You needn’t worry that I shall press you as to the reason why. I suspect that my son is involved.”
“Linus?”
Lady Rochester shot her a look that seemed to ask what genus and species of fool Horatia took her for.
“We both know that you’ve loved Lucien since you were a child. Let us not deceive ourselves in this any longer. Now, come this way. You and I are going to have a little talk.”
“But…”
“Don’t protest, Horatia. I’m an old woman and I’m used to getting my way.”
Horatia tried not to show her incredulity. Lady Rochester may have been in her fifties but she seemed anything but old. She followed Lady Rochester to a room a few doors away to a small, personal chamber of Lady Rochester’s.
“Have a seat, Horatia. For heaven’s sake, try not to look so ill. I do not mean to bite you.” Lady Rochester seated herself in a pale blue chaise across from her.
“So you are still in love with my son.” Horatia didn’t reply. “Do you wish to win him?”
“I think it is fair to say that I shall never have any chance of winning him.”
Lady Rochester smacked her armrest with surprising force. “Nonsense. He’s perfectly susceptible to being won over by the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?” Horatia did not particularly like the sound of that, given the context of their conversation.
“You are smart, beautiful and a challenge to him. He may not realize it, but he won’t be satisfied until he’s had you. Am I correct in assuming he has not fully claimed you?”
Horatia felt her head spin, she who never once had the inclination to swoon in her life. “I’m sorry, Lady Rochester, but your question—”
“Oh come now, Horatia. We are women of the world. Society would have you believe otherwise but these topics should be discussed, and frequently. I have never encouraged my children to hide their curiosity or enjoyment regarding the act of lovemaking. Hang polite society and their close-minded nonsensical propriety. A little more boldness and a lot more candor on such matters, and people would have a far easier time of match-making.”
Lady Rochester’s faint hint of a smile reminded Horatia of Lucien. He favored his mother in looks and characteristics.
“So he hasn’t compromised you then. Fully I mean?”
“No, Lady Rochester, we haven’t…” she finally managed to say.
“That will make this much easier for us.”
“What will?” Horatia found herself asking.
“He’s not yet had you. He clearly desires you. If we use that lure of forbidden fruit to our advantage, and I may yet have a wedding before I reach my grave.”
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“I don’t wish to trap him into a marriage. He would despise me. I would not do even one thing to incur his wrath again.”
This statement had a great effect on Lady Rochester. “What have you done to incur his wrath before?”
Horatia laughed bitterly. “I’d imagined the whole house knew. You really do not know why Lucien has been cold to me these past six years?” Lady Rochester shook her head. “You recall the last time I was here, when I was fourteen?”
“Naturally. I often wondered why you and Audrey did not return when Cedric came to visit after that. But then your brother always was a tad overprotective, and I’ve seen fathers and brothers do similar misguided things in the name of good intentions. ”
“The day that you found me in the gardens distraught by Lucien and Miss Burns, I found Linus placing a pail of water on top of the gazebo and went up to take it down. But Lucien chose that moment to take Miss Burns into the gazebo to propose marriage. I acted rashly, childishly, and dumped the bucket over her head. She ran away and Lucien yelled at me. I told him I loved him and he laughed in my face. He blames me for Miss Burns’s refusal to marry him and I have suffered every moment since. That is why I cannot win him.”
Through the entire explanation Lady Rochester was still and quiet, but by the end of the tale she was uncommonly pale.
“Lady Rochester, are you well?”
“My dear, it was me. God in heaven, it was me,” Lady Rochester said.
“What do you mean? What was you?”
“When Miss Burns came into the house, wet and furious, Linus and Audrey saw her. My boy teased her by waving an empty bucket and I assumed he had dumped the water on her. Then I saw her strike my son. I told her then in no uncertain terms that she was to leave Rochester Hall immediately. I said that if Lucien were to continue to court her or propose to her, and if she did not refuse him, I would destroy her, and I left her with no doubt that I could do so. I had no idea my idiot offspring would connect you and her departure in such a foolish fashion.”