Chapter 7

7

Three days later, Lucien held the handle of the bat tightly and prepared for the ball to fly.

The August day was hot enough for a picnic and a game of cricket outside; the freshly cut grass under his feet emanated humid heat. He squinted against the wind. It smelled like flowers and vegetation and brought relief as it brushed against his bare, misted skin where his shirt was untied at the throat. The sounds of Pryde’s guests talking and laughing, and of cups and spoons clinking against saucers, came from the terrace at the back of Pryde Manor forty or so feet away.

The need to pound at something, to use his muscles rushed through his body, making it tighten.

You’ll die pox-ridden and alone…

To the devil with Chastity. How did she know that was his worst fear, the very words the nightmarish voice that tortured him in the dark hours of the night used when he couldn’t sleep?

And yet the voice kept whispering, pushing the horrid image into his mind.

His uncle, Lord Cedric Wrenn. Lucien, with his then-alive papa, had found the body. Riddled with lesions and ulcers, his uncle hadn’t looked like a man of thirty-two. Good God, he’d been as old as Lucien was now.

Pox-ridden and alone… That was exactly how the man Lucien admired had died.

A chill ran through him despite the heat.

The only way to stop those cold, nightmarish thoughts was sex. A warm female body.

Once, his uncle—then young and vibrant—had given a ten-year-old Lucien the advice that still guided him to this day: The only safe heart is a closed one. When you feel lonely, don’t go to someone and pour your heart out and make yourself a fool. You’ll only give them the power to hurt you. Much safer to seek a warm woman…or a man…anybody…to keep you company. You won’t feel lonely when your cock dives deep into someone.

That was what he desperately needed now. Hot female walls tight around his cock. His uncle was right. He wouldn’t feel so alone then.

But thanks to the goddamn bet, there was no distraction of bodily pleasure to be had. He couldn’t even distract himself, so to speak.

At least he held a bat in his hands. Hopefully, physical exertion would shut it all up.

“Are you all right, Lucien?” asked Pryde, who was stood behind him as the wicketkeeper. His task was catching deliveries that passed through the wicket, which was three wooden stumps topped with two wooden bails. “You keep sighing, twitching your shoulder. And you’ve seemed a little pale and out of sorts all morning. Did one of the ladies wear you out last night?”

Lucien’s mouth twitched as he threw his glance towards the terrace of Pryde Manor, where all twenty ladies, mostly in shades of white and cream, sat at the tables enjoying a picnic of tea, pastries, and sandwiches, surrounded by footmen in blue livery. There, he could clearly see Chastity—a dark figure in her usual gray dress. A few gentlemen who weren’t playing stood there as well, talking and entertaining the ladies. Lord Wardbury stood next to a table, speaking to Lady Virtoux, one of the most judgmental and superficial ladies of the ton.

Lucien might die pox-ridden in twenty years. And he would most likely die alone.

But so would Chastity—did she not realize that? She had built a brick wall around herself, constructed of intellect, to shield herself from social judgment and emotional pain. But it also kept out anyone who might wish to draw closer, who might one day love her…

“I’m perfectly well,” Lucien said through gritted teeth.

He saw how Chastity hugged herself, standing at the edge of the group where no one talked to her. Patience sat in the very center of the group, chatting with ladies left and right. Miss Anne Rose stood, somewhat like Chastity, alone with her cup of tea.

How was Chastity doing today? She looked as anxious and miserable as she had every day since their arrival.

Someone was wiggling her fingers at him, he realized—Lady Osborn. Mrs. Bernet was staring at him, too, her eyes hooded.

Both ladies’ attention inspired a familiar stirring in his loins, a heat that spread through his body. He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the ache of desire that pulsed through him, a reminder of the pleasure he was denying himself. The bet with Chastity had left him feeling like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

“Ah,” said Pryde. “Didn’t sleep alone, did you?”

Lucien sighed and looked away from the lady folk. He should focus on the game. Straight ahead of him, across the pitch, was Fortyne, who served as bowler, his auburn hair shining in the sun, his white shirt untied at the throat, like the shirts of all the gentlemen due to the heat of the sun. Behind him was Dorian, who served as the batsman, and Irevrence, the umpire.

“I actually did sleep alone, if you must know,” said Lucien. “But enough of that. Let’s play.”

Fortyne served, the ball flew, and he swung, his body singing with the joy of the exercise, and he forgot about any ladies who occupied his mind.

One—the most infuriating of all—in particular.

“Aren’t gentlemen a fascinating lot when they play sports?” asked Lady Virtoux, slowly fanning herself with a white lace fan that perfectly matched her white muslin gown.“Or ride…or hunt?”

That dress must feel divine , thought Chastity as she stood sweating in the midday sun, which her dark dress seemed to attract and magnify. She felt as if she was baking inside of this thing. Perhaps Lucien was right about ordering some new dresses. She might not be ready for jewel tones, but some lighter colors and fabrics would be welcome in this heat.

She had more or less hidden in her room and the library since embarrassing herself so badly the first day of the party, but Patience had cajoled her to join them today to watch the game.

Fortyne delivered a fast, precise ball aimed at the stumps. When Lucien swung the bat, the motion was fluid, a perfect blend of strength and control. As soon as the bat connected, a crack sounded across the field, and both he and Dorian sprang into action. The ball was sent skimming across the pitch.

“Run!” Lucien called out.

Lucien and Dorian dashed toward each other, their feet pounding against the grass with a rhythmic thud. The sun glinted off their sweat-misted skin, their muscles rippling beneath their damp linen shirts. Lucien’s legs moved with the grace of a Greek warrior. Dorian, who seemed even stronger and faster, pumped his legs, his eyes focused on the target.

As they crossed paths mid-pitch, they pivoted and sprinted back to their respective creases, each run adding to their team’s score. The ladies on the terrace watched with bated breath, the excitement of the game drawing their collective attention.

The men were deep in the game, moving with precision.Lucien’s sweat-dampened hair gleamed like gold in the sun, and the strength of his broad shoulders and the powerful lines of his back were clear beneath his clinging shirt.

“Oh, they are fascinating,” said Lady Osborn, who sat at the same round table as Lady Virtoux. “Like lions finally returned to the wild to hunt. Is that how you feel when you play cricket, Lord Wardbury?”

Lord Wardbury chuckled and coughed. “I wouldn’t know. I’m here with you.”

Chastity glanced at him, standing next to the ladies’ table, looking slightly uncomfortable. He had—very wisely—removed his tailored jacket, and just like many other gentlemen, wore a white linen shirt, a light waistcoat, and pale breeches. He looked tall and athletic, quite striking and handsome, making several young unmarried ladies fan themselves harder around him.

“Whyever not, Lord Wardbury?” asked Miss Megan Rixon, a tall and pretty lady of nineteen—a much better match for him, on all accounts, than a spinster who had no social wit or manners. “An athletic man like you.”

“Ahem.” Lord Wardbury hastily shoved the rest of the ginger biscuit he had been nibbling into his mouth and chewed quite uncomfortably while at least a dozen ladies surrounding him awaited his reply. “I’m rather more likely to be found behind a microscope than attempting to strike a ball flying into my face.”

Chastity felt a genuine spark of interest and enthusiasm jolt through her. Common ground, Lucien had advised her three days ago. Common ground!

“Me, too,” said Chastity, but her voice didn’t come out strong enough. She coughed and said very loudly, “Me, too!”

Everyone glanced at her, including Lord Wardbury…and Lucien.Apparently her voice had carried all the way to the pitch.

The next ball flew past Lucien. Damn it. Surely not because he was distracted by her?

Pryde sprang into action, his muscles bunching and releasing with masculine grace. He caught the ball deftly, a satisfied smile on his lips, earning a cheer from his team.

Lucien’s gaze remained on her, and a wave of heat rushed through her.

“Do you have a microscope, Lady Chastity?” asked Lord Wardbury.

Common ground…was this working?

She looked at Lord Wardbury, who was staring at her over the heads of the ladies sitting at the table. “I do,” she said, her heart beating fast.

Was Lucien right? Heavens!

He chuckled slightly and she smiled back. “I suppose you would, if you dabble in chemistry.”

Her smile fell. She could not believe he’d just said that. It was her life’s work.“Dabble?” she barked. “I do not dabble in chemistry. I am as serious about my research just as you are about yours.”

Oh, she was far too loud again, as every single person on the terrace and on the field stared at her.

“My dear Lady Chastity,” Lady Virtoux said, her voice carrying across the terrace, “how refreshing to see someone so…unconcerned with social graces. It must be liberating to focus solely on one’s intellectual pursuits when one has no husband or children to worry about.”

The other ladies tittered and whispered behind their fans, their eyes gleaming with malicious delight at Chastity’s public humiliation.

“And your choice of attire is equally distinctive,” Miss Megan Rixon said, her pretty face twisted into a sneer. “How brave of you to prioritize comfort over fashion.” She leaned to Lord Wardbury and added, in a lower voice, but one that Chastity and all of the ladies could still hear, “It’s no wonder respectable gentlemen prefer the company of more agreeable ladies.”

Chastity shriveled back into herself. Perhaps there was a way to salvage this. How many times could she cause Lord Wardbury discomfort?

“Lord Wardbury, I…” Chastity began, fidgeting with her hands. “May I offer my apologies for having called you…er…Wardrobe? It was the day of arrival, and the journey made me tired. I should have offered my regrets straight away, but I have not been well enough. The unfortunate incident has not let me rest since.”

He regarded her coolly, his blue eyes devoid of their previous warmth. “Thank you, Lady Chastity. I was not offended at all, but quite amused. Long journeys have a way of making us more tired than we like.”

Chastity’s heart sank at his polite but distant tone. A flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks, and her hands twisted nervously in the folds of her dress. The dismissive nature of his response was not lost on her. She struggled to maintain her composure, especially when the impeccably dressed ladies and gentlemen around them threw awkward glances her way. The tension that settled over the group weighed on her shoulders like marble slabs.

“You do look unwell, Lady Chastity,” said Lady Virtoux. “Perhaps you caught too much sun. May I suggest you go and find some shade?”

Chastity looked at Lord Wardbury, tears stinging her eyes. He looked at her with the same expression he had the day she’d grabbed his arm. Shock, barely hidden by a polite social mask.

How could Lucien ever think she could be both an attractive woman and a scientist when her intellectual pursuits and lack of traditional femininity meant she must conceal her true self? These people had just proved to her once again that to be accepted, one had to be like them—false in their exterior perfection.

This was futile. Neither Lord Wardbury nor any other man could ever love her for who she was.

“You’re quite right, Lady Virtoux,” said Chastity, already walking backwards to disappear from the judging eyes. “I am feeling unwell. I shouldn’t have presented myself in polite company today.”

Or any other day.

Returning to the house, she passed by the bushes that flanked the terrace and noticed Mr. Audley and Captain Harrington speaking with two older gentlemen. She was ten feet away from them, and they were talking quietly, but a welcome breeze carried their voices to her.

“Mark my words, gentlemen,” said Mr. Audley, “Lady Chastity will die an old maid, surrounded by her test tubes and beakers. No man in his right mind would saddle himself with a wife who cares more for her experiments than her wifely duties.”

“A shame, really,” said Captain Harrington. “She comes from a good family, but she’s wasted her chances with her eccentric behavior. She’ll be a cautionary tale for young ladies everywhere.”

The words struck her like a blow. Dorian must be so ashamed of her. She truly was the laughingstock of the entire party. Tears burning her eyes, she hurried inside before she committed yet another social atrocity. How much better it had been before, when she was invisible, minding her business. And what was so wrong with focusing on chemistry and science anyway?

“Chastity, wait!” a male voice called after her. “Chastity!”

She ignored him, hurrying inside and away from judgment and prejudice.

She would never win this bet. Never show to herself and to Lucien she could be both feminine and a scientist. Her research would forever be hidden in the depths of Whitechapel. She’d forever be a spinster and a secret scientist and nothing more.

No man would ever look at her the way Lucien looked at Lady Bustleton or any of the other beauties who fawned all over him.