Lord of Fire (43 page)

Well, another overbearing Knight brother!
she thought, her nostrils flaring with indignation. On second thought, Lucien deserved some kind of punishment for having chosen to pursue his enemy over her. Let him gnash his teeth over it, she decided.

She gave the stone-faced hero a brilliant smile, rested her gloved hand lightly upon his, and walked with him to the dance floor.

Behind her, the brawl that had seemed on the verge of exploding promptly fizzled out. Her three suitors, Lucien’s five young rogues, and even Caro watched in crestfallen silence as
Alice and Damien joined the minuet.

“This is a most unexpected honor,”
Alice remarked.

“I’m rather surprised myself,” he replied. “As a rule, I hate dancing, but I had to speak with you.”

“Oh?”

She could not fail to notice the many pairs of eyes on her. Women who vied for Lord Damien’s attentions watched her jealously, as did
Alice’s affronted suitors. She only wondered if Lucien was watching. It pained her to glance at his brother, for Damien looked exactly like him, and she missed that devil so much. There were only two small differences that she could discern—Lucien wore his hair a bit longer than Damien’s close-cropped style, and Damien’s eyes were a deeper shade of gunmetal-gray, while Lucien’s were silvery, like the flash of a steel blade.

When the patterns of the minuet partnered them once more,
Alice laid her hand on Damien’s and slid him a wary look askance as they proceeded through the graceful movements.

He hesitated, attempting friendly conversation. “Lady Glenwood mentioned to me once that you are a great favorite with young Master Harry.”

Alice
smiled at him in spite of herself. “As he is with me.”

“You like children, do you?”

“Most of them,” she replied, turning with him. He eyed her with a speculative gleam in his eyes that reminded her entirely of Lucien—and made her ache for that scoundrel.

“How is Harry these days?”

“Recovering from a bout of chicken pox, I’m afraid.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“We must all go through it sometime, I suppose.”

“Miss Montague, you must permit me to call on you,” Damien said abruptly, gripping her hand with a slightly harder pressure. “We have much to discuss, but this is not the place. May I see you tomorrow?”

“Why?” she asked candidly.

The figures of the dance separated them before he could answer, but she had a fair idea that she knew what he wanted. A single dance for the sake of vexing Lucien was one matter, but his insistence on a private meeting implied something else entirely.

She paled as her mind filled with unbidden imaginings of Lucien drawling out the tale to his brothers of how he had seduced a virgin and made a wanton of her. Would all the dashing Knight brothers regard her now as fair game?

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Damien said quickly, taking in her ashen countenance as the figures of the dance partnered them again.

“Don’t I?” she asked coldly, feeling as though Lucien had betrayed her all over again.

“Miss Montague, there is no need for terror. No further harm shall come to you. I give you my word on it. Tomorrow I will explain—”

She wrenched her hand out of his light hold. “No explanation is necessary, my lord. Believe me, I understand perfectly.” She pivoted and strode away just as the music ended. Her heart pounded and her legs trembled beneath her as she shoved her way through the crowd.
I have to get out of here.
She could not face her suitors right now. She needed a moment to collect her whirling thoughts. What had she done to her life? What had
he
done to her? Oh, she wanted to throttle that silver-eyed fiend!

Miss Goody Two-Shoes! Sensible
Alice! Somehow she had proved to be a bigger fool than Caro.

Hastening out the other side of the ballroom, she ducked out the door to the veranda. The nip of the air was cold, but she walked out to the stone balustrade, determined to clear her head before facing them all again. Worse than her guilty conscience, worse than Lord Damien’s suspicious attentions, was knowing that Lucien was here tonight and really had not the slightest intention of acknowledging her. It really was
over
.

She closed her eyes in a wave of pain, then looked pleadingly at the heavens when she heard the French doors creak open behind her.

“
Alice!” Roger’s insistent call intruded upon her solitude. “What on earth are you doing? Come in at once! You’ve been ill—”

She turned around and stared at him, the wind rippling through her gossamer white skirts and lifting tendrils of her hair. He stopped abruptly and let his gaze travel boldly over the length of her. “My God, you’re beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away. Resting her hands on the cold stone balustrade, she lifted her chin and searched the dark sky as though the answers she sought might be written in the stars. They were not.

“What did you wish to speak to me about?” she asked wearily.

“
Alice . . . are you quite sure you had the influenza?”

She spun to face him, her heart in her throat. “Why do you ask that? What are you implying?”

He furrowed his brow at her snappish tone. “You seem so changed. Maybe it was something more serious, a brain fever. Did you see a proper Town doctor? I’m worried about you.
Alice, you know how I feel about you.”

She stared at him, taken aback; then she let out an inward groan as she intuited the reason he had wanted to speak to her alone. The man had, after all, asked for her hand in marriage on three separate occasions in the past.

No doubt misreading the desperation in her eyes, he took her hand gently in both of his. “When I saw you walk in tonight looking so beautiful, I knew I couldn’t wait anymore.
Alice, either marry me or tell me it will never be. This is torture.”

“But, my good fellow, young ladies delight in dealing out such torture as this,” a deep, silken voice said suddenly from out of the darkness.

Alice nearly shrieked with surprise and whipped her hand out of Roger’s light grasp as Lucien came sauntering out of the shadows in all his deadly elegance. His swagger was a touch unsteady as he took a swig from the bottle of burgundy in his grasp. His cravat was askew, his hair rumpled, and to her astonishment, he appeared quite drunk.

“I beg your pardon, sir!” Roger said hotly, his smooth cheeks flushing. “I would like some privacy!”

“I’m sure you would, but I have come as your guardian angel,” he said with a slight, tipsy bow.

Alice
narrowed her eyes and scowled at him for all she was worth, but her heart was pounding recklessly with the sheer thrill of his presence.

“Are you quite sure you’re ready for marriage?” he asked Roger, turning on his dazzling charm. “And are you sure you
really
know her?”

“You drunken lout!” Roger said, his embarrassed blush deepening by the second. “You’re the other Knight twin, aren’t you?”

“Whatever gave it away?” Lucien asked with an insolent smile.

“I don’t care who you are, if you do not hie yourself off this instant, I shall call you out!”

“Roger, you will do no such thing,”
Alice cried, aghast.

“Do you doubt my skill?” Roger asked her indignantly.

“Of course not. You—you cannot fight this man. He is obviously drunk. It would not be honorable.”

“And ladies
so
like honorable men,” Lucien drawled.

Roger huffed and grasped her arm. “Come inside, my dear. This cretin has no proper feeling for the tenderness of young ladies’ sensibilities.”

“Yes, run along, Miss Montague. If you plan on marrying him, you’d best get used to doing as he says,” Lucien advised bitterly, his silvery eyes raking her with angry scorn mingled with desire.

“How dare you address her?” Roger barked, releasing her. He stepped in front of her and faced Lucien, who suddenly grabbed him by his lapels and yanked him off his feet.

“You little prick, I’ve half a mind to throw you through that window,” Lucien snarled, casting aside his urbane facade.

“Lucien, no!”
Alice cried.

He instantly released Roger, who in turn gave
Alice a stunned look. “You know this man?”

It was a moment of truth.

She stared at Roger, unable to speak. What he read in her eyes in that moment, she would never know, but he shook his head in shocked anger, pivoted, and slammed the door behind him as he stalked back inside. She flinched at the bang, then turned to Lucien.

“You
villain
,” she spat. “Snake! What are you doing, spying on
me
now?”

“Oh, did I interrupt your new romance,
Alice? I’m terribly sorry! How would you have answered if I hadn’t interfered? Would you have said yes to his proposal?” he demanded in fury, his aura of drunkenness vanishing at once—another ruse.

She shook her head at him in contempt. “It’s none of your affair.”

“The hell it is. You’re mine. I’m warning you, if you think to marry someone else behind my back, you sign that man’s death warrant.”

She thrilled to the ferocious possessiveness he displayed, but hid her hungry reaction. “More bloodshed, Lucien? Is that your answer for everything?”

“What are you doing in
London? I told you not to come here! Where the hell is McLeish?”

“I don’t know where he is, nor do I care. As for what I’m doing, obviously, I am getting on with my life—without you.” She shoved away from the balustrade and marched back toward the French doors, but his hand clamped around her arm, yanking her back to him.

“Get your hands off me!”

He pulled her hard against his chest and claimed her mouth in a punishing kiss of scorching want. Her body cared naught for her anger, responding to him with a will of its own, but she fought his black magic, refusing to succumb to his power.

“You still want me,” he whispered. “I can feel it.”

She pulled back violently in his embrace, planting her hands on his chest to hold him back. “How dare you kiss me?” she hissed, her bosom rising and falling rapidly.

“Maybe you’d rather if Damien did,” he snarled. “Are you going to throw yourself at every man you see tonight, or only the ones in my family? Why stop at my brothers? There’s always Damien’s regiment.”

With a cry of rage, she slapped him hard across the face before she could even think.

The low, angry laugh that came bubbling out of him was an animal sound of pain. “Is that all you’ve got? Hit me again,
Alice. Harder.”

Her blazing eyes filled with tears at the hurt they both had suffered.

Lucien took in the sight of her tears for a second, then stepped back and with a wild growl, hurled his half-full wine bottle across the broad veranda, shattering it on the stone balustrade, just like he had shattered her heart. The red wine stained the gray stone as it spread and dripped like blood. He turned back to her, his silver eyes glittering with fury and pain.

“Do you think I want it this way?” he whispered harshly. “Do you think I don’t dream of you every damned night?”