Chapter 11

11

“Chastity,” Lucien called, and she whirled around.

He looked her over. The archery competition which, of course, Dorian had won, had been earlier that day. No one else had the arms and chest of steel that he had, and his aim had always been exceptional.

Now, Chastity wore the ruby red dress, her hair done in a high chignon tied with a crimson ribbon, and her eyes were so heartbreakingly beautiful he wanted to look straight into them forever.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked with more spite than he intended.

Truth was, he had been in agony since the competition. He hadn’t expected her to be such a quick student in social skills, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. And that she suddenly became the sole attraction of the gentlemen on her team was not a surprise at all.

“I am,” she said, her back straight, her shoulders delicate under the puffed crimson sleeves. “Is that wrong?”

The side-eyes the footmen cast upon them didn’t escape Lucien, and he clenched his jaw tightly in frustration, wishing for privacy. “No,” he said as he walked towards her and stood so close he could inhale her scent. “Not exactly.”

“What, then?”

Apart from Chastity being everything a man could dream of? And now being the object of at least two men’s interest? She’d done nothing wrong. Just her breathing next to him made him feel like he was flying.

What claim did he have on her, really? No claim at all. She’d never be his, no matter how much he dreamed of her. Because she was Dorian’s sister. Because she was family. And family was to be protected.

From such rotten predators as him.

“Have caution,” he said.

“In what regard?” she asked.

He could smell vanilla on her breath, perhaps from a scone she ate, and he quite decadently wanted to taste the flavor on her lips.

“You’re inexperienced. I know what men want when a pretty lady walks in.”

“Was it not the whole point of our bet, that I should attract a man’s interest?” she asked.

“It was. And yet, you don’t know what grown men will do if there’s competition. They might deceive you. Take advantage of you.”

She scoffed. “I know what’s going on with you, Lucien. You felt pity for me before, so you helped me. Now you see I’m not just a meagre girl. I can actually win the bet. Please keep your precautions to yourself. Being victorious in this is going to be almost as enjoyable as watching you suffer.”

Suffer? Was it that obvious he couldn’t bear seeing all these peacocks doing their dances around Chastity?

“From abstinence,” she said.

Oh.

That.

Somehow, that part was much less painful than watching her attract male interest left and right.

“Yes,” he said. “I barely hang by a thread.”

“Well, keep at it. You’re surprising me.”

A night of scholarly amusements must be the worst thing to happen to him, Lucien thought as he followed Chastity into the large drawing room with pale blue walls, a large gilded mirror over the marble fireplace, and several paintings hung on the walls. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the guests, who were already being assigned to teams that consisted of one lady and one gentleman. Several small rosewood tables were strategically placed throughout the room. A silver bell gleamed at the center of each table, ready to be rung by eager contestants.

Chastity made her way towards Pryde, who was deep in conversation with Lord Wardbury. As she approached, the scientist looked at her with unmistakable appreciation. Of course he would. Any man with functioning sex organs could not do otherwise. She looked like a goddess.

One by one, the gentlemen drew the names of their female partners from the hat. When Lucien looked at Chastity’s name, he finally felt a jolt of victory rush through him and grinned at her, but she only scowled back at him. Lord Wardbury moved several paces closer to Lady Osborn, offering her a polite nod before his gaze flicked back to Chastity again.

“Forgive me, Pryde,” Wardbury said, “but is it possible to make a switch?”

No. Not this. Lucien had a sinking suspicion just what kind of switch he wanted.

“But your partner is Lady Osborn,” said Lucien. “You pulled her name out of the hat with your own hands.”

Chastity stepped closer to Wardbury, a glimmer of hope in her eyes that made bile rise in Lucien’s stomach.

Wardbury’s gaze locked with Chastity’s. “I wondered if perhaps, if Lady Chastity doesn’t mind, Lady Osborn could switch with her.”

Lucien’s fists clenched. If Lady Chastity didn’t mind… He minded the switch very much!

“That would be agreeable,” said Lady Osborn, who caught Lucien in her hooded gaze. Tonight, her neckline was so low he could actually see the outer edges of her areolas. “In fact, I encourage it. His grace and I are great friends.”

“I don’t mind, either,” said Chastity with a shy smile to Wardbury that set Lucien’s teeth on edge.

“Very well,” said Pryde with a helpless shrug. He raised his eyebrows at Lucien with a question, his penetrating eyes on him. “If no one really minds…”

This was Lucien’s chance to stop this nonsense. It was in his own interest as her rival and because he simply hated the idea of Wardbury anywhere near her. But Chastity’s eyes were big and hopeful on the blasted man. And how could he bear to see her disappointed? He needed to let her go. Get her out of his head. Stop being so selfish.

“No one really minds,” he murmured, and the sight of her genuinely happy smile both broke his heart and made it soar.

He groaned as he sat in the chair next to her. This was torture. To his left, was Chastity. Unattainable Chastity, and the reason for his bad mood. To his right, was the most delicious woman, very much attainable and so available she was practically drooling while looking at him.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be all he’d need for release.

And yet, he couldn’t have either of them.

If hell existed, he was in it.

The Lord must be punishing him for his sins. Truly.

“What metaphor may I use for your gown tonight, Lady Chastity?” asked Lord Wardbury playfully. “Would Mr. Audley condemn me for a bad poet, too, if I told you the most beautiful rose stood no chance next to you?”

Chastity chuckled sweetly. “I do not know a woman who wouldn’t like to be compared to a rose. Do you enjoy poetry?”

Oh, kill him now.

Poetry… That was what she’d always liked. What he’d never understood. He was not a poet. He was not a scientist. All his talents, as Lady Osborn said, were oral. Well, physical in general.

Lucien’s body burned with the need for release. All this jealousy, all these conflicted feelings—the torture of seeing Chastity upset, then helping her, now regretting both his support and her success… Never had he ached for the distraction of coupling as he did now. His skin prickled with the desire for escape.

While Pryde stood before his guests and announced the rules of the night of scholarly amusements, talking about the number of questions and the points and the prize, Lucien’s gaze dropped to Lady Osborn’s breasts, readily on display.

“Does your scholarly knowledge match your skill in archery?” asked Lady Osborn, and he felt her foot slowly tracing his ankle, sending a shiver up his leg.

He could feel the warmth of Chastity’s arm on his other side.

“Such a sharp eye, such strong arms,” said Lady Osborn. “You came in second. But, if you like, with me, you will come first.”

To his utmost vexation, his cock reacted to her words. He desperately needed a release. Chastity’s blasted bet didn’t even allow self-pleasure.

Would it be so terrible to lose? It would be so easy just to say yes to Lady Osborn now and then find a quiet dark corner after the other guests retired, or he could find his way to her bedchamber, and that would be it.

But feeling Chastity’s presence to his right, he just couldn’t.

He could hear every word of her conversation with Lord Wardbury. Her clever questions, Lord Wardbury’s enthusiastic replies. Never once did he ask her a single question about herself. Nor did Mr. Audley, nor Captain Harrington.

None of them truly knew her—how smart and kind she was, what a brilliant and sensitive mind she had.

And yet, they were happy to chat about themselves.

Peacocks, that was all they were.

“Perhaps in the next competition,” he replied to Lady Osborn. “Certainly, today’s competition is over.”

She raised her eyebrow and sighed, leaning back. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

While Pryde fumbled with pages to prepare his questions, Lord Wardbury leaned closer to Chastity. “You should ring our bell, Lady Chastity.”

Lucien snorted. “He’s certainly wise,” he whispered to her so that the man didn’t notice. “You’ll know your replies faster anyway.”

Chastity scoffed softly. “You might as well leave. Your partner cares not a whit about the questions, and you’re missing a night of great potential by thinking with the wrong head.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes at her, but only met Lord Wardbury’s confused gaze. The man must have realized they were whispering.

“Let us begin with a simple question, to warm up,” said Pryde. “Who authored the famous play Hamlet ?”

Several hammers ran against the bells at the same time.

“Your Grace, Duchess of Rath, you were first, I believe.”

Patience exchanged a delighted glance with Dorian, who beamed back at her. “William Shakespeare,” she replied.

“Excellent! First point goes to the Duke and Duchess of Rath. I believe the next question will be a little more difficult, but there are several bright minds here.Who discovered the element oxygen in 1774?”

Whispers and murmurs ran through the room. Lady Osborn looked at Lucien, clearly bored.

Lucien couldn’t believe it. He knew the answer.

In the meantime, Chastity and Lord Wardbury leaned together and whispered hotly.

“ASwedish chemistCarl Wilhelm Scheeleproduced oxygen in experiments in the early 1770s and named it ‘fire air,’” whispered Lord Wardbury. “AndAntoine Lavoisier from France later named the gas ‘oxygen’ and researched its role in combustion and respiration. But he only published his work in the 1770s and 1780s.”

Chastity nodded quickly. “Indeed, and yet, he’s asking about 1774. It was an Englishman—Joseph Priestley!”

“Yes!” exclaimed Lord Wardbury. “Ring the bell!”

Lucien groaned. Why was he listening to this? He rang the bell at the same time as Chastity. “Joseph Priestley!” Chastity cried out.

Lucien nodded and said nothing.

“That is correct!” said Pryde and made a note on his paper.

Chastity leaned closer to Lucien. “You rang your bell, too. Did you know the answer?”

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you say it?”

Lucien sighed. “Because I’m thinking with the wrong head.”

Questions continued. Captain Harrington, paired with Miss Anne Rose, sat ramrod straight in his chair, his eyes frequently straying from his partner—as lovely and as agreeable as the young lady was—to steal glances at Chastity. Not far from them, Mr. Audley was at a table with Mrs. Jessica Bernet, who stared at Lucien, while the poet seemed to have little interest in the questions at hand, his gaze alternating between Chastity’s animated face and Lord Wardbury’s proximity to her. Even Lady Virtoux, seated beside a bewildered country squire, appeared to have traded her usual judgmental manner for excitement over the evening’s intellectual pursuits…

But as the game progressed, it became painfully obvious that the power couple of Chastity and Wardbury gave no chance to anyone else. They finished each other’s sentences. When one didn’t know the answer, the other one did, and most often the one who knew all the answers was Chastity.

Patience and Dorian were close seconds, but—of course—Chastity and Lord Wardbury won, which meant they would open the final ball.

The look of adoration on Wardbury’s face made Lucien’s heart wrench completely in his chest.

No doubt, Chastity would be the perfect Lady Wardbury.

While he’d die in twenty years, pox-ridden and alone.

But at least not from a broken heart.