His Wicked Seduction (27 page)

Horatia marveled at the stunning glint of the gems in the firelight before Lucien slid her glove over the bracelet and covered it. Horatia gazed back at him wordlessly. She had never looked more beautiful, more wonderful. The angels paled in comparison, and no saints possessed brighter halos of innocence and purity of soul than his darling sweet Horatia.

“Lucien.” She tried to say more but he could hear the break in her voice. She was overjoyed, filled with love and it humbled him.

When the last of the presents had been unwrapped, Sir John began to belt out carols in a deep rich baritone. His son, Avery and Lawrence all joined in while Lysandra and Audrey dissolved into giggles whenever the four men bungled the words. Linus stood by the fire fiddling with a woolen, navy blue scarf he’d received from Lucinda Cavendish. She joined him by the fire and with a small smile pushed his hands away and set about adjusting his scarf herself. Linus gazed down at her in open desire and admiration. Only Lucien seemed to notice when Linus set a hand on the young woman’s waist and pulled her a few inches closer to him.

Hot cider was brought by a maid and once more conversation settled about the room like the distant hum of bees on a summer day.

“I wish it could always be like this,” Horatia sighed dreamily.

Lucien agreed. There was nothing more wonderful than being warm and drowsy in a fire lit parlor surrounded by one’s family and friends while snow laced the world outside.

“I do too.” Lucien tightened his hold on Horatia’s hand and drank in the sight of her and his own family—the twinkle of his sister’s eyes, and the mischievous grins of his brothers. Even the reluctant grin of Cedric who was allowing Audrey to fuss over him while he tried on his new red hunting coat.

It was well past midnight when everyone decided to go to bed and the party reluctantly dispersed. Lucien retreated to his room and let his valet, Felix, prepare him for bed. Felix tried to hide a yawn and gave Lucien a weary smile as he went off to the servants’ quarters. Lucien donned his nightclothes and was in the process of wrapping his dressing gown about his bruised body when there was a knock on his bedroom door.

He went to open it and found a nightgown clad Horatia peering up at him in the dim light of the hallway.

“May I come in?” She slipped past him before he could answer and went straight for his bed, climbing in between the turned down covers.

“What about Ursula? Won’t she worry about you being gone?” He closed the door to his bedroom.

“She knows where I am and that she is to keep her silence on my whereabouts. I think she likes you, even if she does think you’re a rogue.”

“I am a rogue.” He stiffened his spine and mock scowled at her.

“Of course you are,” she answered in a tone one used to placate a fussy child and patted the spot on the sheets beside her. “Your bed is icy, my lord, come and warm me up.” She spoke like a princess wanting her devoted knight to heed her every wish. And Lucien was that knight.

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed with a mocking grin and she threw a pillow at him.

“It will take more than pillows to stop me, love.” He blew out the remaining candles before peeling off his robe. He didn’t want Horatia to see the bruises her brother had wrought on his body.

“Now, about warming you up.” Lucien tugged her into his arms beneath the covers.

What followed was a sort of lovemaking he’d never done before. No restraints, no delving into darker passions. He was tender and slow, and he poured his soul into every kiss and gave her his heart with every caress. Horatia cried out again and again beneath him. Lucien painted her face in his mind, ecstasy ravishing her features in the moonlight. He wanted to capture the beauty that was Horatia’s alone.

This
…he thought as he finally allowed himself to reach his release close to dawn in her arms,
this is worth dying for
. He briefly shut his eyes, hoping to catch an hour of sleep before Felix came to wake him.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“It is time, my lord,” Felix whispered, rousing Lucien from his bittersweet dreams. With great care he disentangled his body from Horatia’s. She remained asleep, but she spread one arm out unconsciously seeking his vanished warmth and Lucien felt her loss like a blow. He dared not touch her, dared not get too close or he’d wake her and never be able to leave.

Lucien donned a pair of trousers, then hastily pulled on a shirt and green waistcoat. Without bothering with a cravat, he pulled on his boots and left the room. With a single look back at his bed Lucien silently bid farewell.

“Sleep, my dear, and dream of the stars.”

He slipped down the hall until he reached Lawrence’s bedroom. He found the door unlocked and saw Lawrence lay sprawled on his stomach, entirely naked from what Lucien could see. He approached his brother’s bed and shook his shoulder.

“Wake up, Lawrence.”

Lawrence swatted a hand in Lucien’s general direction.

“Five more minutes, Tom.” Tom was Lawrence’s valet. Lawrence tried to roll over and face away from him. Lucien returned the favor by smacking the back of his brother’s head.

“Get up, Lawrence. I have need of you.”

“Hmph…Lucien?”

“Come on. I need you to come with me to the North field straight away.”

“The North field? What on earth for?” Lawrence sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking.

“I have an appointment with a pistol,” Lucien replied. That got Lawrence’s attention and he leapt out of bed.

“What?”

“Get dressed and I will explain along the way.” Lucien stood impatiently by the door as Lawrence threw on his clothes. Only when they were outside in the hall did Lucien explain about the duel.

“You are seriously going to duel Sheridan? I don’t believe it. Not you two.”

“Believe it, Lawrence. I blame Mother. If she hadn’t worked towards forcing my hand with Horatia I might have been able to introduce the idea of courting Horatia to Cedric slowly without the volatile reaction.”

Lawrence winced. “This is my fault. I can explain it to Sheridan. Maybe he’ll see reason and not continue with this nonsense.”

Lucien kept walking, his brother keeping pace. “Better that I alone face his wrath. I’m hoping he’ll have cooled down during the night. If not…”

They walked quietly through the halls and Lucien paused just outside the library doors, handing Lawrence his great coat.

“Wait here, I need one more thing before we go.”

When they reached the northern most field, where Cedric waited along with a confused and drowsy Gregory Cavendish. Lawrence and Gregory shared concerned glances as Lucien held out a boxed pair of pistols. Gregory and Lawrence assumed the duty of inspecting the weapons for any faults or tampering. Once the seconds determined the pistols were in fine working order, the men stepped back. Cedric and Lucien each took a pistol and then faced each other. The silence between them was only enhanced by their cloudy puffs of breath in the pale predawn light.

“Last chance to call this off, gentlemen.” Gregory waited, but neither side attempted to put a stop to the duel.

Cedric shifted on his feet, his lips parted as though he wanted to speak, but then gave a little shake of his head.

“Twenty paces each,” Cedric said.

“Agreed,” Lucien replied. His heart screamed inside his chest as he turned and began to measure out his paces.
Please God, let him come to his senses.
He made sure to take slow, measured steps, wincing each time the small clinks and creaks betrayed his best hope for surviving this should sanity not deliver him.

When the two were forty paces apart they raised their pistols in salute, waiting. Lucien slid his index finger out of the metal loop that enclosed the trigger, so that if he was hit he would not involuntarily fire his weapon.

The cold air shot through him like fire, his every sense on high alert. The smell of dead grass and the fell of crisp snow beneath his boots, the biting chill of the air and the endless gray skies melding with vast fields of virgin snow.
How sad that this last vision is so cold and lifeless
.

“You will fire at the call of three,” Gregory called out, his tone carrying across the field.

“One…”

Back down, you fool
, Lucien thought, and angled his body sideways to give Cedric as little of a target to aim at as possible.

“Two…”

Cedric dropped his pistol down to aim. Lucien dropped his arm farther, aiming his pistol instead towards his feet. Lucien’s mind flashed across every moment of last night. He willed himself to summon his last ounce of emotional strength to stand firm for Horatia.

“Three…”

Cedric’s hand visibly shook, then he cursed and fired.

Ptang!

The bullet struck Lucien’s shoulder and ricocheted, grazing his head. Lucien sighed with relief, even though the pain was agonizing. He hadn’t died. The pain lessened slightly. Good, he was going to be fine, what was a flesh wound after all?

“You must return fire,” Lawrence called out grudgingly. There were rules to these things.

Lucien fired his pistol into the ground. It was done.

As if the act had somehow released him, his body suddenly felt light and weak. He collapsed to the ground, clanking loudly. Maybe his head wound was more serious than he thought.

“You bloody fool!” Cedric tossed his pistol at Gregory before rushing over to where Lucien lay.

“Help me get this off.” Lucien dug his hands into his coat, hoping to remove the metal armor plates underneath.

“Good God, what on earth…” Gregory asked as he caught sight of the armor on Lucien’s shoulder, running down the length of his arm.

“That is what you retrieved from the library?” Lawrence examined his head. “Really, Lucien, where do you get these ideas? That’s almost as bad as the time you snuck of out of Lady Godfrey’s house right past her husband, dressed as a footman.”

With a pained chuckle, Lucien nodded. “Perhaps. But that had also saved my life. Cedric’s a fine shot and I didn’t want to risk it.” He glanced down at his shoulder.

Crimson stained the shiny metal where blood dripped from his temple. “Though I may have miscalculated somewhat.” He looked to Cedric. “You damned fool. You actually fired!”

“Why didn’t you fire back?” Cedric’s voice was filled with despair. Was the wound even worse than he thought?

“I did fire back.”

“Yes. Into the ground. You should have shot me.”

“And what would that accomplish?” Lucien sighed. “I wagered my life that you would back out, or misfire. I’d hoped you would reconsider or calm yourself before it came to this. The armor was a desperate plan in case all that failed. It seemed I was right to do so.”

Cedric looked pained. “I didn’t mean to fire at all. I meant to stare you down until you yielded. When you lowered your pistol it unnerved me, and my hand…it shook.”

Lucien’s smile withered and he grew serious. “No matter what you think, I meant what I said. I love Horatia more than anything…but I could never kill my closest friend, nor the brother of my greatest love.” Lucien tried to ignore the burning pain in his head. It felt like someone was branding his skull.

“You…you really love her?” Cedric asked. The pain in his eyes wounded Lucien more than the bullet.

“She is everything to me. Always has been. I just couldn’t face that before. I tried to push her away.” Lucien winced. “I don’t deserve her.” He shut his eyes as pain overcame him. A cold darkness swept over his limbs, numbing him to any other sensations.

“Help me get him up!” Cedric shouted at their seconds.

Lucien opened his eyes and tried to laugh. “I always knew she’d be the death of me,” he said before he went numb again.

“You die on me and I’ll kill you,” Cedric growled as Lucien’s eyelids fell heavily shut once more.

“Not planning on it,” he said, but his spiraling vision warned him otherwise.

Memories of Horatia clouded his mind as he sought to focus on the best moments he’d had with her. But death was cruel he supposed, because only the sad and awful moments rose to his mind. Shouting at her in the Midnight Garden. His harsh words, forced kisses and scathing glances.
Such a damned fool I was
, he thought as he was swallowed by darkness.

Horatia woke to an empty bed and frowned. Something was wrong. A sense of foreboding rippled through her like the remnants of a nightmare teasing the edges of her waking mind. She slid out of bed and slipped her shift and dressing gown back on. She wanted to seek out Lucien immediately but it seemed better to be fully dressed, should she have to canvas the huge mansion to find him. She trod down the hall and slipped inside her room.

She selected a gown that buttoned down the front, so as to avoid summoning Ursula. A moment after fastening the last button, she heard the distant crack of a gunshot. Horatia bolted to her window, which faced the northern field. She saw four distant shapes and a second crack cut across the field. One of the figures collapsed to the ground.

A duel! Why hadn’t she questioned Lucien? She’d sensed something was amiss last night, but she had ignored it. Why had she done that? In her panic she barely heard the door open behind her.

“A terrible thing, is it not, Miss Sheridan?” a voice said softly from just over her shoulder. She tried to scream as an arm banded about her neck, choking her while a hand clamped over her mouth. “But I’m afraid I’m now running short on time and there is still much to do.” The voice was strangely familiar. But even as Horatia thrashed against her captor she still could not see his face.

“I never would have guessed a quiet little chit like you would drive men to duel. Perhaps I will taste you for myself, just to see what the fuss is about.” A tongue flitted around the shell of her ear. Horatia tried to claw at his arm, but it only squeezed her throat tighter. Black and gray spots blotted her vision as she fought to breathe.

“Fiery little hellcat. Didn’t expect that from the likes of you.”

Horatia saw a brief opportunity and abandoned her attempt to claw his arm. Instead she pushed her head forward and then threw it back, colliding her skull with his. Her attacker cursed and loosened his hold. Horatia dropped to her knees, escaping the arm wrapped around her neck. She turned just in time to see the face of the man who’d assaulted her.

“You!” she breathed in shock.

A blow struck her temple, and Horatia saw no more.

Cedric cursed as he and Lawrence carried Lucien’s body between them across the field and into the house. Gregory had sprinted ahead to alert the house and have someone ride to Hexby. As Cedric and Lawrence were nearing the stables they learned that someone was Gregory himself.

“I’m off for the doctor,” he shouted and streaked past them on a dappled gray stallion. Avery and Sir John were the first two people to meet them at the front door.

“Good God!” Avery gasped at the bloody wound on Lucien’s head and Cedric’s grief-stricken expression.

“You were dueling?” Sir John growled. “Fools.” He relieved Lawrence of Lucien’s feet to help carry the unconscious Marquess up the stairs to an empty bedroom. The second Lucien was on the bed Lady Rochester burst into the room, fire in her eyes.

“Is he dead?” she asked, panic creeping into her.

“The blow glanced his skull,” Lawrence said. “He may still live.”

“May? Oh, he will not die. I want to kill him myself and he will not deny me that.” But when she caught sight of her firstborn bleeding on the bed, she crumpled to her knees. Avery caught his mother before she could faint dead away.

“Get her out of her here, lad,” Sir John barked. Avery obeyed, half-carrying his mother out of the room. Sir John turned his attention back to Lucien and started to rip off his shirt and remove the armor to see the damage better. The men winced at the bruises that ranged from Lucien’s collarbone down to his hips.

“Who in the bloody hell did that?” Lawrence asked.

“I did,” Cedric’s said, void of emotion. “We fought last evening before dinner.”

“What on earth possessed you to engage in fisticuffs and then a duel?” Sir John growled in such a way that he established himself the dominant male in the room of young foolish boys.

“He bedded my sister,” Cedric defended, but there was little heat in his tone.

“You’re a damned fool, Sheridan. Lucien loves her,” Lawrence said.

“I realize that…now,” Cedric admitted.

“Now may be too late,” Lawrence shot back.

“You think I don’t regret it?” Cedric snapped like a wounded animal and Lawrence saw the despair in his eyes. “I didn’t even want to shoot him but my hand shook so badly and I…”

“Then why duel at all?” Lawrence asked.

“I’d hoped he’d back down. I was too afraid to trust him with my sister’s heart. I could not let her be hurt. Not again.”

“I think you ought to go and wake your sister, Sheridan. She should be prepared for the worst.” Sir John put a steady hand on Cedric’s shoulder and pushed him towards the door.

“You’re right. Horatia must know.” He left the room where Lucien lay bleeding and unconscious. What could he possibly say to her?

“Cedric?” Audrey’s timid voice cut through his grief. She and Lucinda Cavendish were at the other end of the hall, clad only in nightgowns and robes.

“Where is Horatia?” he asked as they met halfway.

“I haven’t seen her. Is it true? You shot Lucien in a duel?” Audrey’s voice was tremulous and her eyes on the verge of tears.

“Yes.”

“It’s all my fault!” Audrey wailed. “I shouldn’t have told you about them. Lucien will die and Horatia will never be happy and you will be hung for murder!” She reached for Cedric, seeking comfort from him but Cedric angled her towards Lucinda.

“I’m sorry. It is far more important that I find Horatia right now,” he apologized. He had to put Horatia before Audrey today of all days.

She wasn’t in her room. The bed was unmade and empty, and her nightgown abandoned on the floor. Her wardrobe was open and Cedric guessed she must have dressed before leaving. He turned to search for her elsewhere but a slip of paper caught his eye resting on her pillow. He retrieved it and read it hastily.