To Sin With A Scoundrel (23 page)

Lucas gathered her in his arms. “Don’t cry, darling,” he soothed.

Ciara answered with a fresh torrent of tears.

He held her close, rocking her gently and stroking her hair. Through her trembling, she could feel the strong, steady beat
of his heart.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you or Peregrine. On that you have my word.”

“Oh, Hadley, don’t make vows you cannot keep. I cannot bear any more broken promises from men.” She pushed away from his embrace,
blinking the droplets from her lashes. “Besides, we are not your responsibility.”

“No, but you are… my friend, Lady Sheffield. And I don’t leave my friends to fend for themselves.”

“Men may have that sort of bond between themselves, but I am under no illusion that they ever form
that
kind of friendship with the opposite sex,” she said, striving to sound unemotional. “There is only one thing that you want
from females, and it is not conversation or camaraderie.” A watery sniff then ruined the whole effect.

“We are, for the most part, despicable creatures,” he murmured. “But on rare occasions we are capable of rising above selfish
desires.”

A tremulous smile tugged at her lips. “I grant you that, Hadley. Indeed, I—I have not thanked you enough for your kindness
to Peregrine.”

“You give me too much credit,” replied Lucas. “Perry is a nice lad and I enjoy his company—and the chance to play a bit of
cricket. So you see, my motives are not entirely altruistic.”

“Yet you are patient and encouraging.” Ciara drew a ragged breath. “His father treated him as if he were naught but a disgusting
nuisance. Small children are a bother. They piss, they cry, they cast up their accounts. Sheffield used to say that he had
done his duty in begetting a brat. After that, his only interest in his son was to stay as far away as possible.”

To Ciara’s dismay, tears once again spilled down her cheeks. What an idiot she was to turn into a watering pot in front of
Hadley. No doubt he was used to weepy women, but she prided herself on controlling her emotions. Only in her most private
moments did she ever allow pain or weakness to show.

He would think her wheedling or…

His arms were suddenly around her again, his hand gently stroking her hair. “Easy, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, soothing,
as he hugged her close and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. Strangely enough, despite his half-naked state, there was none
of the sexual tension of their last few encounters. The intimacy radiated simple, solid warmth.

Even the brush of his lips to her brow, and then to her mouth seemed innocent.

All too soon, Lucas drew back from the gentle kiss and remained silent as she shuffled away.

“Sorry.” Ciara finally gathered her wits and raised her head. “Dear God, I don’t know what has come over me.”

“No apologies are necessary,” he chided. “You have been strong as granite for your son. But even granite must chip here and
there in the face of the elements.”

“G-good heavens, Hadley. H-have you been studying philosophy along with ornithology?” she said lightly.

“Me?” Lucas exaggerated a grimace. “Perish the thought. Even your alchemy could not brew up a potion that could turn a rakehell
into a respectable scholar.”

A strange feeling bubbled up inside her breast.
Longing, regret?
The earl had a very sharp mind, but he had chosen to hone a different side of his character. That he took his greatest pleasures
in drinking and carousing was something that set them fundamentally apart. No matter that some inexplicable force seemed to
draw them together.

Rather like a magnet and steel shavings.

Well, the last thing she needed in her life were slivers of sharp metal cutting too close for comfort.

Ciara felt a sudden chill, as if a knifepoint were teasing down her spine. She must set aside her attraction to this man—if
not for her own sake, for that of her son. Despite his moments of kindness, Hadley was unstable, unsound. Lud, on one hand
he played cricket with children, and on the other hand he cavorted bare-arsed with a courtesan in the middle of Berkeley Square!
She could not subject Peregrine to the vagaries of another wastrel.

“Hadley,” she began.

“Lucas,” he corrected. “Seeing we are engaged, it’s only proper that we start calling each other by our Christian names, Ciara.”
His breath stirred a strand of her hair. And a longing she dared not define. “What a lovely name—the sound is like a soft
wind blowing through pine boughs.”

“Hadley,” she repeated. “I—”

“I should like to hear my name on your lips.”

She hesitated.
No, no, no. That was too dangerous
. Yet the word seemed to slip out of its own accord. “L-Lucas…”

His mouth quirked in an odd little smile. “Hell, it sounds uncomfortably close to Lucifer, doesn’t it? But then, I suppose
that’s only fitting. A pity that it’s not nearly as poetic as yours.”

“I wonder that you always feel compelled to paint such a black picture of yourself.” In spite of her own misgivings, she couldn’t
help adding, “You are far from evil.”

“I’m far from good, sweetheart.” His features suddenly hardened. “Don’t be a fool and forget that.”

Heeding the warning, Ciara finally drew back from the comfort of his arms. He made no attempt to keep her close. “Thank you
for the reminder, Lord Hadley. You need not worry—I’m not about to join the legion of ladies chasing at your coattails.”

“It’s not my coattails they are after,” he murmured.

Ah, back to being the lewd libertine.

It was just as well, she told herself. Lucas had so much practice sliding in and out of the role. It now fitted him to perfection,
like the soft York Tan leather of his fancy gloves.

Fisting her hands in the folds of her skirts, Ciara matched his cynical tone. “You need not explain the graphic details. I
am well aware of the thrust of your comments. As well as your feelings on sentimental attachments.” She feigned a careless
shrug. “But Peregrine is not.”

Lucas ceased smiling. “Whatever my faults—and God knows they are legion—I would never hurt a child.”

“No, perhaps not deliberately,” she replied. “Yet I fear he is forming an emotional attachment to you. One that will only
lead to pain and heartache when it is broken.” She drew in a gulp of air, trying to steady her voice. “Perry is too young
to understand our arrangement, and he’s already experienced enough rejection.”
Oh no, not tears again.
It was absurd to be acting like a horrid novel heroine. “He’s so vulnerable. I beg you, do not encourage his—”

“Ciara.”

She fell silent.

“You think I mean to toss aside Peregrine, like a defective cricket ball?” asked Lucas.

Her gaze remained riveted on the tips of his boots.

“Whatever comes of our situation, I should be happy to continue my friendship with your son,” continued Lucas slowly. “He’s
an engaging imp, and, well, I rather like showing him some of the basics of being a boy.” After a moment, his expression turned
a touch more serious. “You need not fear that I will introduce him to any of my vices.”

Somehow, Ciara sensed that she could trust his word on that. “I don’t. But…” She heaved a harried sigh. “I don’t know, it
just all seems so complicated.”

He touched her cheek. “You have been teaching me that a scientist must step back and break down a complex problem into a progression
of simple steps. Let us not jump ahead of ourselves. Somehow, if we exercise care and caution, things will work out.”

Ciara felt her mouth quiver. “Oh, how very humbling it is to be reminded of my lectures. Do I really sound so pompous?”

“Wisdom is always worth repeating,” he murmured.

Fighting the flutter of her heart, Ciara wagged a finger. “Now you are doing it too brown, Hadley. Flattery will only get
you so far.”

“And from there?” His tone was light, and yet the fringe of his lashes did not quite obscure the odd glint in his eyes.

She regarded her hands, which were still knotted in the folds of merino wool. “I—I suppose we will just have to cross that
bridge when we come to it.”

W
icked, wicked, wicked.

Lucas propped his slippered feet on the fender and stared at the fire licking up from the burning logs.
Oh, he was an evil man.
Only the worst sort of depraved devil would be thinking such impure thoughts.

The flames flared, nearly singeing his soles.

Lady Sheffield—the sinfully sensuous Ciara—had turned to him for comfort, and he had been all too happy to oblige. He had
held her, stroked her, offered her a shoulder to lean on.

And said it was all in the name of friendship.

Liar.

Lecherous, lascivious liar.
Loosening the sash of his dressing gown, Lucas shifted uncomfortably against the soft leather cushions of his chair. Damnation,
an honorable man would not have taken shameless advantage of her momentary weakness.

Then again, he had never pretended to be a paragon of virtue.

Making a face, he poured himself a drink.

Lud, her body had felt so damnably good against his bare flesh. The pliant curves molding perfectly, as if made to fit him.
A part of him—admittedly a
very
small part of him—wanted only to offer stalwart support. The rest of his body wanted to slide up her skirts and make mad,
furious love to her.

The voice of reason in a shouting match with the howl of carnal desire?

It didn’t take a genius to figure out which one would overpower the other.

The coals hissed and crackled, setting up a plume of smoke.
Wicked man,
he repeated. Most likely his cods would roast in the deepest pit of hell for all eternity.

But the warning did not cool the heat of lustful, lecherous longings swirling deep inside him. He had never been a good man.
He lived for sybaritic pleasures. There was no reason to think he could change now.

He was, after all, Mad, Bad Had-ley.
Wasn’t he?

Reaching for the brandy, Lucas saw that the bottle was empty.
Like his own craven soul?
With a sardonic snarl, he tossed it over his shoulder. Yes, it had been rather nice having a lady look up to him as a hero
for once. A knight, not a knave.

But it was too damn hard to be noble. Playing the ruthless rake was far easier than girding his loins to joust at fire-breathing
dragons.

Ciara didn’t really expect anything more, having been disappointed by all the men in her life. Lucas felt a twinge in his
gut. She deserved better, of course. And yet he wasn’t altruistic enough to walk away. Life was full of bitter disappointments.
If he couldn’t give her peace of mind, he could at least offer her physical pleasure, if just for a fleeting moment.

What was wrong with that?

Prying the cork from a bottle of claret, he wet his lips with the wine. It was not as if she was a sheltered miss, innocent
in the ways of the world. She had experienced the slings and arrows of scorn. Right now what she needed was someone to make
her feel wanted. To make her feel alive again. He had sensed her softening.

Seduction, he reasoned, would be doing her a good turn. She might even thank him in the end.

Evil, evil,
chorused the tongues of flame.

He didn’t need their wagging whispers to know that the rationalization was a self-serving twisting of the truth. But closing
his eyes, Lucas chose to listen to the dark side of his nature. Their bargain was for an equal exchange of services.

She meant to teach him all about intellect?

Well, he would give her some lessons in lust.

So far their exchanges had only been foreplay…

Uncorking a vial of juniper essence, Ciara set about brewing a batch of medicinal bath oil for one of Ariel’s invalid friends.
The pungent evergreen was a powerful balm for calming both body and spirit.

Perhaps she had better make up an extra tub of the stuff. Both her mind and her muscles felt as if they were tied in knots.

Relax,
she scolded herself. All things considered, they had escaped the accident relatively unscathed. Peregrine seemed to be suffering
no lingering effects of shock. As for Hadley, by the time he had taken his leave last night, his limp was hardly noticeable.
This morning he would probably be a good deal stiffer…

Oil.
It was time to add oil to the mixture.

She hurried through the last few ingredients, and then left the pot to simmer over a low flame. In the meantime, she could
spend the next hour with the baron’s manuscript.

“Milady?”

Repressing a sigh, Ciara paused in the doorway of the library. “Yes, McCabe?”

“There is a gentleman downstairs to see you.”

“Please tell Lord Hadley that I am too busy for visitors this morning.”

The butler cleared his throat. “It is not Lord Hadley, milady.”

Her blood froze. The only other male who dared to call at Pont Street was her nephew. “Sir Arthur?”

“Yes, madam.”