Chapter 5

5

The next day, carriages were arriving one by one in front of Pryde Manor, guests dressed in the latest London fashions stepping out of them. The manor was a palatial three-story house with tall columns and tall windows, surrounded by beautiful parklike grounds, rolling hills, and woods.

Archibald, the Duke of Enveigh, stood next to Lucien along with Dorian, Patience, and Constantine, the Duke of Pryde. Enveigh sported a tailored dark green velvet coat bearing a sigil of a snake. His gray eyes, sharp under his light brown, slightly disheveled locks, focused intently on Miss Anne Rose as she descended from the carriage with the footman’s help.

“All roses are especially pretty this summer,” Enveigh said.

Lucien chuckled, looking over Miss Anne Rose’s small figure. She was a thinner version of her sister. Like all of the Roses, she had a round, angelic face, high cheekbones, golden locks, and some shade of blue eyes.

“I could not agree more,” Lucien mumbled, though more to vex Dorian than with any true intent to seduce his best friend’s sister-in-law. He was already sufficiently entangled in a delicate situation with Dorian’s little sister.

Who, by the by, stood across the forecourt and was about to make a spectacle of herself. Chastity’s eyes locked with his for a moment as she walked with intent towards a group of gentlemen, all of whom were blasted eligible bachelors. Lucien’s chest tightened with worry for her, and yet he knew she needed to learn to open up. To show the world the beautiful person she was inside.

“Don’t you dare take a single step towards Miss Rose,” growled Dorian whilePatience left his side and maneuvered among the guests towards her sister.

“Neither of you,” added Pryde, who stood straight and ceremonial, watching over his guests with the satisfaction of a king looking at his orderly court. “The Duchess of Rath asked me to invite her sister as a favor, to perhaps introduce her to the polite society of which the Roses have been deprived. As this was my fault, too, due to what transpired with her brother’s apparent suicide, and because I consider the duchess a friend, I invited Miss Rose. Not to be seduced and ruined, but to potentially find a husband. Besides, she has an admirer who specifically changed his plans the moment he heard she would be attending in order to be here.”

“Yes, Patience and I will need to manage Miss Rose’s suitors,” said Dorian before his gaze swept to Chastity. “I’m grateful I won’t need to deal with any suitors for my sister’s hand, at least.”

Lucien forcefully tore his eyes away from Chastity.

“I was merely teasing His Wrathfulness,” said Enveigh with a sigh. “Miss Rose is family. She’s to be protected.”

So was Chastity.

And yet, wasn’t Lucien breaking the second sacred vow of their sinful brotherhood, to protect each other’s family, by pushing Chastity into situations where she would likely embarrass herself…and most of all, perhaps, by ruining her with his victory condition?

Lucien winced as Chastity executed an ungainly curtsy, her form bent at an awkward angle, while addressing the gentlemen. The assembled bachelors wore slightly puzzled but polite masks of attention.

“Precisely,” said Dorian. “Any of you can have any woman except those who belong to family. Especially you, Your Lustfulness.”

Lucien tore his attention from Chastity to find Dorian glaring at him. Worry shot through his gut. For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t found out about the bet, had he?

“I say—” Lucien looked around to find Pryde and Enveigh staring at him, too. “Why am I suddenly the object of such scrutiny? Have I missed something?”

“Patience told me about Maisie,” said Dorian accusatorially. “If there’s a child, you’re taking care of her and the baby. I will not have a servant mistreated and left in need for the rest of her life. Clearly, a duke can’t marry a maid. But at least have the courtesy to support her.”

Pryde cleared his throat uncomfortably. This topic always struck too close home. Pryde’s secret was shared between the seven dukes as per their third credo—all secrets are shared—but it always caused a moment of anxiety.

And not just in Constantine.

The fear of having a child had always plagued Lucien. One didn’t fuck more women than one could count without being afraid of becoming a father. He had his means of protection against pregnancy. Condoms—sacks made of a sheep gut—were one thing. The other, of course, was pulling out before finishing.

With Maisie, he hadn’t even fucked her. He’d fingered her well, and she’d sucked his member.

Against his better judgment, he imagined a babe that could have come from their coupling if he had allowed himself that indulgence… He couldn’t remember her face very well, so the babe’s face was blurred, as well. But even blurred, it had the power to pierce an ice-cold blade of fear through his gut.

A child fathered by any Duke of Luhst was going to be a disaster, just as he was. A wretched human being with no morals and an unstoppable urge for pleasure.

“Stop fooling around with my maids,” Dorian disrupted his disturbing thoughts. “Can you not control yourself?”

Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered that Dorian was right. Chastity had been right. So had Patience.

“All desires are natural,” said Lucien with a tight chuckle. “Isn’t that one of the credos of our brotherhood? The one we all signed?Isn’t that why the Dukes of Sin exist?”

“Not with maids,” said Pryde, who knew all too well of extramarital affairs from his own parents. “Not with family. Your desires still are natural, friend, just like all of our desires. But there must be boundaries. Fortyne wouldn’t take advantage of one of us financially. Enveigh would never touch Rath’s wife. The brotherhood is sacred. I wouldn’t want you to fool around with my staff, either. I have a responsibility towards them, to keep them safe, to keep their working conditions acceptable. If you wish to enter into secret liaisons with widows or unsatisfied wives, of which there are a few here, I will not say a word.”

Oh, if only they knew… He was not planning to liaise with anyone, not during the thirty days of Pryde’s house party.

And yet, as he imagined having no way to distract himself from how lonely he felt, hiseyes scanned the guests, searching. Wearing colorful gowns of all colors, there were two dozen or so pretty ladies, at least half of whom would be the perfect distraction from the knowledge of how truly unworthy and unlovable he was deep inside.

The only one in a gray gown was Chastity, who was wearing a wooden sort of smile as she listened to one of the gentlemen. All of them were turned away from her. Oh no, what was she doing?

Forty-year-old LadyCharlotte Osborn, a platinum-haired beauty, was making eyes at Lucien from the small group of ladies in which she was standing about twenty feet away. She was talking toLady Justina Fitzroy, Marchioness of Virtoux.

Lucien was barely listening to his friends as he watched Lady Osborn. Even the imperial cut of her burgundy gown could not hide her hourglass figure and generous curves. Her husband, the Viscount of Osborn, had died three years ago at the age of seventy-three. She was free and available, and the look she was sending Lucien told him her bed had a cold spot waiting to be warmed up…by him.

He knew what that was like, except he never wanted the same woman to fill the cold space in his bed for more than one night. He just wanted the warmth of a body to chase the loneliness away.

Lucien felt the familiar stirrings of desire, the pleasure of the chase waking up his cock. Excellent. She would make him feel needed; every cry she’d utter as he brought her to her release would show him he mattered.

“Do not worry, friends,” he said as he kept his eyes on Lady Osborn. “No maids or sisters will be seduced during this party. I do have control over my desires if I wish to execute it. And, by the way, there will be no children as I never find my release inside a woman.”

With that, he walked towards Lady Osborn. As he did, he could swear at least three other ladies sent him inquiring, estimating looks. He’d already had a brief encounter with one of them—Mrs. Jessica Bernet, a handsome woman and the wife of a rich banker’s, who had slept with her once on their wedding night and never again.

Normally, he could have any of them. All of them, one by one, would be a delicious treat at this house party.

But the bet…damn it. Could he really not control himself? He could. Just a little taste of Lady Osborn and he’d be strong for the rest of the days. What else was there to do with this loneliness?

As he passed by Chastity, he overheard some of her conversation.

Chastity looked like she was hanging on every word of a handsome man in his late twenties with dark, wavy hair and a touch of silver at his temples despite his youth. A possessive churning twisted in Lucien’s gut. It wasn’t that the man was more handsome or charming than he; he wasn’t any taller or more athletically built than Lucien. It was how Chastity was looking at him, her sharp, intelligent eyes wide with admiration as she looked at his classically handsome, chiseled face.

He knew who this must be. The man she had bet on. Lord Wardbury.

“So there we were, all trying to jump the stream,” Lord Wardbury was saying, “and Mr. Audley slipped, landing on his face in the mud. He looked like a swamp monster!”

The Mr. Audley in question was known by the entire ton as a celebrated poet and artist. The man chuckled softly and looked shyly at his shoes. He was of a mediumheight, with a slender, graceful build. He had thick, dark hair that fell in unruly curls around his face, and deep, soulful brown eyes.

With them stood a third gentleman, whom Lucien just now recognized as Captain Harrington. Lucien knew him from the gentlemen’s club Tyche. He was tall and lean, with ruggedly handsome features, shoulder-length sandy blond hair that he always kept tied in a tail, and a sun-bronzed complexion.

Suddenly, Chastity erupted into a loud, hearty laugh that echoed across the courtyard, drawing everyone’s attention. Mr. Audley frowned, staring at her in disbelief, his cheeks deepening with the red stain of embarrassment. He kept a straight face, his astonishment only visible in his wide eyes.

“Ah, Lord Wardrobe,” Chastity said in an unnaturally high voice Lucien had never heard before. “What an excellent jester you are!”

To Lucien’s and everyone else’s astonishment, she leapt one step towards Lord Wardbury and grasped him around his forearm as though she was drowning.

No, Chastity! No lady could touch a gentleman in public unless they were dancing.Lord Wardbury stared at her hand in bewilderment, and his mouth stretched into an awkward smile. Captain Harrington coughed as he looked away. Mr. Audley’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“At least you didn’t call me ‘Lord Wordy,’” Lord Wardbury replied.

Lucien’s stomach wrenched for her. He had an urge to step in and help her, to rescue her from the social grave she was digging herself into.But this was a bet, he reminded himself. And she was doing exactly as he had expected—proving him right.

And in one month, he’d have her in his bedroom, all to himself, all night long. He’d see her squirm as she worried about what he’d do. She would be so surprised when he merely engaged her in conversation all night. The pleasure of watching her icy facade crack would be unmatched.

Lord Wardbury’s polite smile faltered as he glanced around uncomfortably. Chastity snatched her hand back as if scalded, her cheeks flushing as her laughter turned into a fit of awkward coughs. Wardbury took a hesitant step back.

Perhaps he was a celebrated physician, but for a smart man, he was quite short-sighted. If Lucien had Chastity’s hand on him, he’d find many ways to enjoy it.

No doubt desperate to change the topic and salvage some dignity, Chastity blurted out,“You’re not Lord Wordy! You’re a renowned physician.”

“Are you well, Lady Chastity?” asked Lord Wardbury, now appearing concerned. “You look rather pale. Might you need something to drink or to eat?”

Chastity gave another barking laugh. “Oh, yes, perhaps you’re right. There’s a footman with wine and one with game pies. I think I desperately need both. As Aristotle wisely said, ‘Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.’”

Lord Wardbury raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his piercing eyes. “A noble thought, though it belongs to Hippocrates rather than Aristotle.”

Chastity, now completely crimson, nodded and walked away in defeat.

No. Lucien couldn’t let her feel this way. He couldn’t let her be alone now.

He had taken a single step after her when Lady Osborn stepped into his path, her lips stretching in the most decadent smile.

“Your Grace,” she said, her eyes hooded. “I believe we met at the Harmony of Roses ball this season, did we not?”

“We did,” said Lucien, his gaze darting past Lady Osborne’s face and following Chastity, who now stood alone, next to the footman holding a tray of wineglasses, at the edge of the courtyard, hugging herself. “A most pleasant encounter.”

“Was it?” she asked, biting her lip slightly. His attention was drawn to those beautiful plump pink lips, imagining them wrapped around his cock. Heat rushed to his groin. “Yes, of course it was…”

Forget Chastity. But he couldn’t help looking in her direction. Should he go to comfort her? He could always find Lady Osborn again.

But Patience and Miss Anne Rose had come to stand by her side, talking. He couldn’t possibly join her now. She had her female friends; God forbid they think he actually cared.

She was fine now.

He looked back at Lady Osborn. “I dreaded this house party would be dull. But it will be much more interesting now that you’re here. Please, tell me, did you not say in London you had a particular affection for roses? I know Pryde has a gorgeous rose garden.”

Her smile stretched with understanding. “I most certainly do have a special affection for flowers.”

“Follow me, but so that no one sees us.”

Behind the rosebushes, where no one would see them, Lucien cornered Lady Osborn against a Greek column Pryde’s gardener had so tastefully arranged here. She smelled like something powerfully sweet—lilacs, perhaps. He’d always found the scent overwhelming. Still, his lust won out and his lips drew so close were almost brushing against hers.

“Your Grace.” Her hand traced the outline of his jaw. “I heard you’re especially talented in oral matters. Would you care to demonstrate?”

He chuckled. His mind went blank. His cock was already at attention. “The demonstration of my oral skills is my favorite part.”

His hands slid down her waist, feeling the curve of it through the thin burgundy fabric, then up to her breasts to massage them. Hmm, they were ample indeed, so abundant they barely fit in his hands. He could feel her nipples puckering through her corset.

“I have not been touched this way since the ball… Please…”

“All in good time.” He buried his face between her breasts.

She giggled, squirming.

Squirming…

Like he wanted Chastity to squirm. He imagined Chastity’s bosom, her smell in his nostrils, the feel of her skin against his lips and tongue.

Chastity, who was standing embarrassed and humiliated because of their bet. She was doing what she was clearly so uncomfortable doing, and making a complete fool out of herself… While he was still indulging, following his old ways.

No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t lose this wretched bet!

Besides his pride being injured, he’d also have to tolerate her smug expression as she rubbed his face in the fact that she was right and he was wrong.

That he didn’t have it in him.

He straightened and stepped back. He couldn’t do this. He had to prove to her—and to himself—that he could abstain.

“Is anything amiss?” asked Lady Osborn.

“I am very sorry,” he said. “You are beautiful, and under normal circumstances, there would be nothing more I’d like to do than continue our encounter. But not today. Please, excuse me.”

With that, he left, his mind reeling. He’d just proven he could abstain…

But there was also the matter of the improper thoughts he harbored about his best friend’s sister.