“Quite honestly, I am taken aback by your interest in my daughter,” Lord Cedric Bromleigh said, looking Lucien up and down in confusion. “You are not what we had in mind for her.”
Not what they had in mind for her? Bloody hell! Lucien knew he was one of the best catches of the year. Most families would be thanking their lucky stars to have their daughter chosen by him. And just who did they expect was going to marry Faith, anyway? She barely opened her mouth and no one took notice of her because she blended into the wallpaper. Which is exactly why Lucien chose her.
The older man looked down his long nose at Lucien and continued his speech. “Lord Waverly, I’m a typical father in that I love my daughter more than anything on this earth. But I must tell you that I’m not typical in other ways. I allow my daughter to have her own opinions. As for myself, I would be more than happy to have you as my son-in-law. But this is not my decision to make.”
Lucien bit his tongue. After his drastic decision yesterday to help Colette Hamilton and his questionable motivation for doing so, he needed to be safely wed to Faith Bromleigh as soon as possible. Or at least be engaged to her, before he did anything more impulsive over Colette Hamilton again.
Before he did something even more dangerous.
As he sat in the chair across from him, Lord Bromleigh continued, “My daughter is an angel, pure of heart, and as good as gold. Her sweet, obliging nature and unsullied character would make any man proud to call her his wife. Faith knows how to run a home perfectly. She is intelligent and well read. I freely admit, she may not be the finest rose in the garden, but she is special and beautiful nonetheless. I would say she is a daisy. Plainly pretty, hearty, and constant. There will be no thorns from Faith, of that a man can be sure. Now, my fine Lord Waverly, you have a grand estate, a noble lineage, and great wealth. But if you have serious intentions of wedding my cherished and only daughter, you must prove yourself to her first.”
“Prove myself?” Lucien shook his head in disbelief. He had to prove himself to Faith Bromleigh? Was the man unbalanced? What was there to prove? By all accounts he was handsome, charming, wealthy, and an earl. And would be a marquis when his father passed on. Why wouldn’t she want to marry him?
“Yes,” Lord Bromleigh explained further. “You have proven yourself to be a good judge of character already by choosing Faith in the first place. Only a very wise man can see past the exterior façade of beauty to the true beauty within a human being’s soul, and I give you credit for being able to discern that Faith would make an admirable marchioness for you. I have no doubt of that. Now I need to know that you are her choice.”
“Her choice?” Again Lucien echoed Lord Bromleigh.
He gave Lucien a very serious look before saying, “Unlike most fathers, I do not intend to hand over my most prized possession to a man my daughter has no desire to marry, no matter how lofty his rank or title or how grand his wealth. I need to know that she cares for you, that marrying you is her choice.”
Suddenly relieved by that bit of news, Lucien relaxed. Well, that was different. He would have no problem on that score! Of course Faith would want to marry him. There were very few women he couldn’t persuade to marry him.
Lord Bromleigh tilted his head to one side and nodded. “You may court her if she wishes. But I will not force her hand on this issue.”
“Of course not,” Lucien agreed heartily, more at ease than he had felt a moment ago. “And I have no indication that she would be disinclined to such a match with me. Although I should inform you that I wish to marry her soon. By the end of the summer.”
“Why is that?” the man asked, his eyebrows narrowed in suspicion. “Why would you rush?”
“I am sure that you are aware of my father’s illness, but I’ve kept quiet how seriously ill he truly is. I would like him to attend my wedding, but I don’t think he will last much longer…” And I will surely do something I regret with Colette if I don’t get married soon. That temptation motivated him to marry just as much as his father’s illness.
“Ah, I see.” Lord Bromleigh’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, that is a very commendable reason, but I would prefer to see you court my daughter steadily and seriously. I wish for her to know you well before she makes the decision. She should be sure you are the one she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”
Lucien was sorely tempted to walk out and forget the whole thing. To spend months and months courting? To marry a girl who should be thrilled at the chance to marry him, the Earl of Waverly and heir to the Marquisate of Stancliff? The situation was laughable. He had no doubt he could sweep Lady Faith Bromleigh off her feet in an afternoon. Or less. Besides, he hadn’t the heart to sort through wallflowers again. He just wanted the whole issue to be settled as soon as possible.
“I shall court your daughter. But as soon she agrees to marry me,” Lucien said to Lord Bromleigh, “I must insist that we have a very short engagement. And in the interest of time, I will procure a special license.”
“I have no objections to a quick and quiet wedding, but again, Lord Waverly, that would be Faith’s decision to make. Women set such a store on weddings. In the meantime, you may only escort my daughter to functions at which I will be present,” Lord Bromleigh stipulated.
“Of course.”
“My wife and I shall be attending the opera tomorrow evening with Faith, and you are welcome to join us.”
“Thank you. I would be honored to join you.”
“Good luck, and good day to you, Lord Waverly.” Lord Bromleigh shook Lucien’s hand.
Ignoring the tightening sensation of a noose around his neck, Lucien shook Lord Bromleigh’s bony hand. In two months’ time, the man would be his father-in-law. As Lucien left their house, a strange feeling settled in the pit of his belly.
He climbed into his waiting carriage and instructed the driver to take him home. When he arrived at Devon House, he went straight into his private study, shutting the door behind him and pouring himself a glass of scotch. Seated at his polished cherry wood desk, he stared out the window, not really seeing the people that walked by outside as his mind warred with his heart.
He had made the right decision, he told himself over and over. Why didn’t he feel better about it? Ignoring the images of Colette Hamilton that kept intruding on his thoughts, he turned his attention to the stack of letters waiting for him on his desk. Maybe work would take his mind off the hollow feeling welling up inside.
As he leafed through the letters, he could not concentrate on any of them and gave up, tossing the pile aside in frustration. One letter fell to the floor. He glanced at it and stopped cold. He recognized the handwriting immediately, for he had received a letter from her once already. The feminine script was elegant and dramatic, just as she had been.
His mother.
Good God, she had sent him yet another letter. He sighed, his heart heavy with trepidation. What more could she have to say? His hand shook slightly as he broke the wax seal.
My Dearest Lucien,
You have not responded to my last letter, which I can only assume means that you do not wish to see me. But I implore you, as your mother, to relent and allow me to visit. I don’t ever expect you to understand or forgive me for what I have done, but please give me this one opportunity to see you. I am aware your father is ill and perhaps has not much time left. Please, Lucien. I must see you both.
I am, as always, your loving
Mother
Unmoving and staring at the words, Lucien clutched the note in his hand. When he had ignored her first missive, he assumed that would let her know that he did not wish to see her and she would not contact him again. Now it seemed he would have to respond to her in some way. His father did not have the strength to see her, of that he was sure. But what if what Jeffrey suggested proved correct? Perhaps seeing his mother again would give his father some small measure of peace before he passed away.
And what about himself? Did he want to see the woman who aba
ndoned him when he was ten years old? What could she possibly have to say for herself after all that time? How could she justify leaving her husband and son and running off with another man? Did she expect their forgiveness? Their understanding? As far as he was concerned, there was no excuse for her behavior.
Lucien crumbled her letter in his hand. Taking a clean sheet of paper from the desk drawer, he dipped his pen in the inkwell and began to write.
Chapter Fourteen
A Night at the Opera
As guests filled the theater, Colette sat with Juliette, Jeffrey Eddington, Uncle Randall, and Aunt Cecilia in the private box of the Duke of Rathmore. She and Juliette giggled with delight when an invitation had been sent to Uncle Randall requesting that he and his two nieces join the Duke of Rathmore and Lord Eddington at the opera. Unable to turn down a coveted invitation from the powerful and influential duke, Uncle Randall and Aunt Cecilia accepted eagerly, anxious to elevate their social standing. When they arrived at the theater they were a bit disappointed when Lord Jeffrey Eddington begged their forgiveness at the fact that his father had suddenly taken ill, and offered his deepest regrets.
Even without the duke actually present, Aunt Cecilia still preened ridiculously, giving herself airs with the fact that she at least was sitting in the duke’s private box. She missed the sly wink Jeffrey gave to Colette and Juliette. Juliette could barely suppress her amusement at Jeffrey’s little trick that enabled him to spend an evening at the theater with her and Colette.
Once again Colette found herself wondering just what Lord Jeffrey Eddington’s intentions were in pursuing them in such a way. In any case, she was content to be out with him for he was such fun, and her uncle could not reprove her for this night at least.
Colette leaned over the railing to peer at the audience members below, admiring the lovely gowns and fancy attire. The theater overflowed with guests eager to see the latest Italian opera that evening. Elegant lords and ladies tried to appear important and acted as if they truly cared about the opera but were really only there to see and be seen. Heavy matrons and elderly noblemen sat looking bored in their seats. Giddy debutantes, preening in their newest fashions, surreptitiously attempted to flirt with handsome young men under their mothers’ watchful eyes. The chatter reached a fevered pitch but no one was talking about the opera. It was a typical night in London.
As her gaze drifted up to the boxes across from where they sat, Colette’s breath caught as she noticed a familiar figure. Lucien Sinclair. He appeared to be with an older couple and a young lady in a green silk gown, while he sat rather impassively, making polite conversation with the older gentleman.
Juliette leaned close to her and whispered in her ear so their aunt and uncle could not hear. “Do you see who Lord Waverly is sitting with? That is Lady Faith Bromleigh, the one I told you about. Those are her parents.”
Colette mumbled, “They make a nice pair together.”
Juliette shrugged as if she did not agree. “You must be blind. Do you think he kisses her in dark gardens? I doubt it.”
Colette shook her head, ignoring the sudden nauseous sensation in her belly. Although she could not picture Lucien Sinclair kissing Lady Faith the way he had kissed her, she did not like to picture him kissing anyone else.
Had she only imagined the feelings between them? Perhaps she had read too much into his attention to her. He had not made any formal overtures to her or asked to court her, as he had obviously done with Lord Bromleigh’s daughter. He had not asked her to the theater. He had not asked her to go riding in the park. He had not formally called on her in any way.
No, he had just kissed her passionately. And his kisses left her weak, shaking, and hungry for more.
Yes, it was the kissing that gave her pause. Others might say that he kissed her because he was a rake, but somehow, deep down, she knew there was something more between them. It was the way he had kissed her. The way he held her in his arms. And how he said to her afterward that kissing did not always feel that special. She believed him.
Or was she simply a fool who wanted to believe him?
Her heart sank as she watched Lucien sit with Lady Faith at his side. She was a true lady. And not just because of her title either. Colette knew that Lady Faith Bromleigh, with her modest clothes and shy demeanor, would never deign to work in a bookshop as Colette did. She would never dirty her hands working for a living. She was the perfect earl’s wife. Something Colette could never be. And that was why Lucien was sitting in the theater with Lady Faith Bromleigh and not Miss Colette Hamilton.
“Would you care to borrow my opera glasses?” Jeffrey asked her with an innocent grin. “You would be amazed at how much clearer everything is with these.”
Unable to stop herself, she murmured, “Thank you.”
She took the small brass binoculars from him and held them to her eyes, peering at the people below, attempting to gaze nonchalantly around the theater, as she gradually moved her line of vision to the Bromleighs’ box. She took a closer look at Lady Faith Bromleigh, the woman whom Lucien intended to marry.
The girl was passably attractive. With her pale blond hair parted severely down the middle, she could not quite be called pretty for she had not enough light in her blue eyes or a hint of a smile in her expression. It was difficult to imagine her doing anything but sitting with her hands folded primly in her lap.
No, she was not fashionable nor elegant in the least. Faith’s dark green gown was high-necked and plain, quite different from Colette’s off-the-shoulder gown in a delicate shade of blue, edged with a darker blue lace. Earlier Juliette had remarked that the color emphasized her eyes as well as her bosom and Aunt Cecilia had said the gown was the height of fashion, so Colette had felt quite flirtatious wearing it. Now however, seeing the somber way in which Faith Bromleigh was attired, Colette suddenly felt overexposed and flashy. Obviously Lucien preferred women who dressed modestly, without drawing any attention to themselves.
Very slowly, without attracting attention, she moved her line of vision to peer at Lucien, who sat beside Faith Bromleigh.
Her heart nearly stopped beating and she suppressed a horrified squeal as she found him staring directly at her with his own pair of opera glasses. Startled and embarrassed to have him catch her spying on him, she hurriedly dropped the glasses in her lap just as the house lights dimmed. Grateful for the dark, she wished she could crawl under the chair and hide. How mortifying to be caught looking at him! It was not until the orchestra began playing that it suddenly occurred to her that she had caught him looking at her, too. She smiled.
Colette did not know Italian, but it hardly mattered, for she became lost in the beautiful singing. Able to discern the poignant love story, she became riveted by the action on the stage and was startled at the drawing of the velvet curtains at intermission.
Jeffrey and Uncle Randall left the box to bring the ladies some refreshments.
“Which one of you does he fancy?” Aunt Cecilia hissed as soon the men were gone. Almost as tall as Uncle Randall, Cecilia possessed severe facial features that only accentuated her haughty demeanor: a long pointed nose, sharp cheekbones, and thin lips that pursed into a perpetual frown. Her wheat blond hair was pulled tightly from her face.
“What do you mean?” Colette asked, knowing full well to what her aunt referred.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Aunt Cecilia said flatly. “Lord Eddington is obviously interested in one of you enough to extend an invitation to your uncle and me tonight. I would simply like to know which one of you it is.” Her keen eyes flicked back and forth over them.
“I have no idea.” Colette told the truth.
“Well, perhaps he is still making up his mind between you,” Aunt Cecilia ruminated aloud. “If either of you can bring him up to scratch, that would be something! For all that Lord Eddington was born on the wrong side of the sheets, his father is still the Duke of Rathmore. Imagine marrying into that family! Has he said nothing to indicate interest
in either of you?”
Colette shook her head. Juliette kept her mouth closed, oddly enough.
Aunt Cecilia continued, “He’s a charmer, that one. And quite handsome, too.”
A look came over her aunt’s face that Colette had never seen before. A little sparkle appeared in her eyes and she almost smiled.
“Perhaps your uncle will be able to get some information out of him while they are alone,” she continued, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders. “Still you must be careful with a man like Eddington. People can easily get the wrong idea.”
Before Colette could respond, Lucien Sinclair opened the curtains to their box. Looking more handsome than ever in his fine evening clothes, his virile presence engulfed her.
“Good evening, ladies. I happened to notice you from across the theater and thought I would stop by to say hello.”
“Hello,” Colette said. She could barely breathe at the sight of him and she did not imagine that his gaze rested on her longer than necessary. The stunning emerald green of his eyes and his thick lashes startled her.
An actual smile appeared on Aunt Cecilia’s face. “Why, Lord Waverly! What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”
Lucien said, “You ladies look lovely this evening.”
Aunt Cecilia beamed at his compliment while Juliette rolled her eyes in an unladylike manner, but Colette felt he was looking only at her.
“How is your father, Lord Waverly? Is he well?” Aunt Cecilia questioned him.
“Thank you for asking, Lady Hamilton. He is much recovered.”
“I am delighted to hear it.”
“Have you enjoyed the opera so far?” Colette asked, hating how ridiculously nervous she felt in his presence. The strange tension between them seemed more heightened than usual.
“Not particularly,” he said, his expression unreadable.
“No?” Judging from the subdued demeanor of the Bromleigh family, Colette could not help but believe he referred to the company he kept rather than the opera performance itself.
When His Kiss Is Wicked Page 14