Chapter Eleven

A t intermission, Hart stood and attempted to subtly stretch his shoulder. Having it in one position for the last hour had made it ache. Hell, it ached when he moved it, and when he didn’t move it, it was a lose-lose situation.

Trudy stood and turned to the two of them. “Be expecting that people will come by to see us during the break. You two need to stand at least two feet apart at all times. No more holding hands in the dark.”

“We weren’t holding hands!” Lucy blushed.

Hart felt heat creep into his cheeks as well. It was true; they hadn’t been holding hands. Although his hand resting on her knee probably hadn’t been entirely proper. But Lucy had seemed so agitated. He had drawn soothing little circles across the silky fabric covering her knee every time her leg began to bounce again. Something was definitely bothering her.

“Aunt, I promise to be on my best behavior. Of course, I don’t know if this one can.” He jerked his thumb at Lucy.

“Really.” Lucy huffed and walked to the back of the box. She snatched up a glass of champagne from the silver tray on a slim side table.

“Just teasing, brat.”

Trudy gave him a stern look. She took his arm and walked to the balustrade. “Hartwick, who will you introduce her to this evening? Have you narrowed our list to appropriate candidates?”

Hart shook his head. He hadn’t thought about the blasted list in days. None of those men were good enough for Lucy anyway.

“Well, then I’m thinking the Earl of Rawlings’s son. He is a handsome boy, and I see he is here escorting his sister tonight. Adeline and Lucy are already acquainted. I’ll send a note to invite them to come visit our box.” She bustled off.

Hart glared out at the auditorium. Lord Rawlings’s son was… well, there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was three years older than Lucy, a perfectly appropriate age. But he was also rather bland, a typical cutout of a young aristocrat. Hart supposed that Viscount Danby would be a step up from her solicitor fellow. At least he would have a proper income to take care of her in style.

As he scanned the crowded theater, Hart caught the gaze of a woman who sat in a box one row down across the way. The last woman he ever wanted to be snared by in any way again. Lady Mirabelle’s red-painted lips curled up into a friendly smile. Hart gave a small nod and turned his back to her, finding Lucy stood right behind him. She held out a glass of champagne.

“Do you know her?” Lucy peered around him, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, from a long time ago.”

“Ah, she was part of your harem.” Lucy took a sip of her wine.

“More like I was part of her harem. She led me to believe I was important to her, but in fact, she was married with a husband in the navy.”

Lucy’s mouth formed a small O of surprise.

He shrugged. “I was very young. It was a good lesson learned. I will never settle for being someone’s alternative again.”

The curtain that led to the corridor was pushed back. An elderly couple swept into the box. In the next moment, Trudy turned, with a sharp jerk of her head, beckoned them. He and Lucy dutifully walked over.

“Good evening, Lord Bartleby, Lady Bartleby.” Hart greeted the couple.

“Good evening, Your Grace. Are you all enjoying the show?”

Trudy grasped Lady Bartleby’s hand warmly. “Yes, indeed. Now that Lord Hartwick is back in town, he will be escorting our dear Miss Middleton to events this season. It was his father’s wish that the duke see Miss Middleton safely settled in a good marriage.”

“I see, yes, of course.” Lady Bartleby replied. “Well, we just stopped by to say hello as we make our rounds. Please, enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you.” Trudy dipped her head. “You as well.”

The couple exited as quickly as they arrived.

“That was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t it?” Hart said softly out the side of his mouth.

“There can be no subtlety when we are refuting rumors,” Trudy replied in a firm tone.

Several more sets of elegantly dressed patrons filtered in and out of the box. Always with wide smiles and shrewd gazes skimming over the scars on his face, assessing his suitability to be allowed back into society. Hart rolled his right shoulder again and gripped the head of his walking stick, just barely stopping himself from pulling out his watch fob to check how many more minutes until intermission was over.

“Adeline, how nice to see you,” Lucy exclaimed from next to him as Viscount Danby escorted his sister into the box. She took a step forward and kissed her friend’s cheek.

“Good evening, Your Grace. May I present my sister, Lady Adeline Amberley.” The viscount turned to the ladies. “Lady Weatherby, Miss Middleton, a pleasure as always.”

“Please come in,” Trudy replied. “There is perhaps more room at the front for you young people to converse.” She waved her hand, shooing them. The curtain moved aside, and yet another grey-haired couple came through to greet his great aunt.

Lucy and her friend walked toward the railing at the front of the box. As he and Lord Danby stepped up beside them, Hart felt positively old and creaky standing next to the three younger people. They chatted about the latest race in which their friend had a horse entered. It felt like forever since he had attended an event at Ascot just to watch the race and have fun. Fun, what was that?

Lucy had increasingly overtaken his thoughts the past few days. He wondered what those plush pink lips would taste like. How her curves would fit up against him. Would she be soft and pliant in his arms? Her sapphire earrings swung to-and-fro as she laughed at something her friends said. Hart stared at the smooth column of her throat, imagining licking his way up to her ear and whispering, in great detail, all the things he wished to do to her. His cock twitched and Hart ruthlessly leashed his runaway thoughts. What was he doing? Focus on the conversation, you filthy bastard.

Lady Amberley glanced over at him through the round spectacles she wore before her gaze flitted back to Lucy. “I was able to look up the symbol that you showed me. It is indeed Egyptian. It’s called the Knot of Isis. Isis was said to protect people from their enemies.”

Lucy turned to him. “This was what I wanted to tell you. The symbol we found is for protection.” Lucy smiled at her friend. “Adeline is quite the scholar of ancient civilizations.”

“It stems from my interest in astronomy. Did you know that many of the constellations are named for ancient Greek and Roman stories about the gods?” Adeline said.

“I did not,” Hart replied. “I had wondered about the symbol. I found it on a stamp among my father’s correspondence supplies.”

“Our friend Lady Blakely recognized the Knot of Isis as well. Her father has the symbol hanging on the wall in his study,” Lucy said.

That was interesting. Lord Blackpool had been a close friend of his father’s when Hart was younger, but the two men had a falling out and hadn’t been friendly in years. How did the Knot of Isis connect the two of them?

“Lord Danby, you attended Oxford, yes?” Lucy asked.

“I did.”

“Do you know any of the school’s student societies that use the Knot of Isis as their symbol?”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s a bit like a cross, except the top is a loop, and the arms turn down at right angles.”

Adeline took hold of her brother’s hand and drew what Lucy described on his palm with her finger.

“Ahh yes, I have seen that before, but not at Oxford.”

Lucy tilted her head to one side. “Where?”

“At a hel—um a gaming establishment just east of Drury Lane in Holburn. It’s carved into the stone above the entrance.”

Hart quirked his lips at the younger man’s catch. A gaming hell in Holburn seemed an unlikely place to see the same symbol that a duke used to mark his correspondence. “Interesting. What’s the name of the place?”

“The Blue Angel.” Danby flushed as his gaze slid to the ladies.

His sister laughed. “It’s fine, George. We know men attend all sorts of unsavory entertainments.” She patted her brother’s arm. “We’re not na?ve.”

“Hmmm, my curiosity is piqued,” Lucy said.

Hart raised an eyebrow.

“Not about the gaming hell. About why it has the Knot of Isis over the door.”

“Me too,” he murmured.

Danby turned to his sister. “We’d best head back to our seats.”

She nodded and gave a small curtsy. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Amberley. Lord Danby.”

After the viscount and his sister left the box, Trudy came to take her seat next to Lucy. “Did you have a nice visit with Viscount Danby and his sister, dear?”

“Yes, it’s always a pleasure to see Adeline out of the house,” Lucy replied.

“Her brother is very handsome, don’t you think?”

“George? Yes, I used to have quite the adolescent tendre for him.” She chuckled.

Hart frowned. Handsome, bah. He took his seat, and he kept his hands to himself as the gas lights were dimmed. After he dropped off the ladies tonight, he would take a ride to the Blue Angel. Perhaps someone would be willing to tell him about the Knot of Isis.

*

“No, absolutely not.” Hart glowered at Lucy across the dim interior of his carriage. Since Trudy had gone on to play cards at Lady Fenwick’s house after the performance, he had agreed to escort Lucy home. Alone with him, Lucy had sprung her crazy idea on him.

“But I can help ask the right questions. And I’m very observant,” Lucy replied.

“I am not taking you to a gaming hell. Absolutely not.” He crossed his arms and then winced as his shoulder throbbed painfully.

Lucy pouted, her full bottom lip pushed out, enticing him to lean forward and nip it with his teeth. She was a far too tempting package, more than she realized. Not for a million pounds would he take her into a hell filled with drunken men.

Her eyes narrowed. “You should go home and have your valet wrap that shoulder in hot towels, then give it a massage.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my shoulder.”

“ Pffft. It has been bothering you all evening. Don’t deny it. I told you I am very observant.”

He sighed. Observant? Trouble was what she was. “It gets stiff easily when I am in one position too long. It will work itself out eventually.”

“Martyr,” she muttered. “I have some salve specially made for Trudy’s rheumatism. It works wonders when massaged into stiff joints.”

“Great, now I am in the same league as old ladies. Perfect.”

Lucy stifled a giggle behind her hand. The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Trudy’s house. “Why don’t you come in for a moment, and I will fetch you a jar. It smells divine, not like old ladies. I promise.”

He reluctantly nodded; he didn’t want to make her cross with him again. He didn’t have to actually use the stuff. They exited the carriage. “Thomas, wait for me here. I won’t be long.”

The front door opened as they ascended the steps to the townhome. Lucy gave the butler a smile as they entered the house.

She handed him her wrap. “Thank you, Harris. Lady Weatherby will be home later. She is playing cards with her friends.”

The butler accepted Hart’s hat and gloves.

“Harris, can you tell Mrs. Keely that I need a jar of the salve that I ordered for Lady Weatherby. Deliver it to the Blue Room please. We will wait there.” She turned to Hart. “This way.”

He hesitated.

“It is bad manners to leave a duke loitering in the entry.” She headed down the hallway.

Hart either could follow her or stand there looking like a fool.

When they entered the room, it was unlit, and he paused letting his eyes adjust. Lucy crossed quickly to a table and lit a candle in a small hurricane lamp. The glow from it illuminated her soft features as she walked with it in her hand to light the tapers on a candelabra that sat on the low table in front of the sofa. Hart navigated carefully with his walking stick over to the seating area, trying not to trip on the side tables. He chose to sit in a wooden chair across from the sofa where Lucy had settled herself. Knees spread, he rested his hands on the top of his cane.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but we only have sherry. I know you don’t care for it.”

“It’s all right. I am attempting to drink less these days. I fear my bad habits have been amplified this last year. I hope to remedy that.”

“Has the recovery been hard? Physically, I mean.” Lucy asked.

He shrugged. “At first, yes, but now the eye is just a nuisance. The shoulder is what still pains me. The physician said that the scarring from the burns has pulled the skin too tight and most likely is tugging on the nerves beneath. There is nothing that can be done.”

“I don’t accept that. There is always something to be done.”

Hart smiled at her mulish expression. How did she always walk around with such certainty that life would work out the way she thought it should?

A small rap at the door was followed by Trudy’s housekeeper stepping through the threshold. “I have the salve for you, miss.”

Lucy rose and accepted the glass jar. “I’m going to send this home with the duke to help with his shoulder. I’m sure Lady Weatherby would approve. I’ll let her know in the morning.”

“Yes, miss.” The lady curtsied and quit the room.

Lucy strode over to him with a determined set to her mouth. “Take off your jacket, Your Grace.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m going to prove to you that this stuff works wonders. Don’t be a prude. Take off your jacket and untie your cravat so I can gain access to your shoulder.”

A prude? Him? He would have been considered by many to be a hedonist. A year ago, no one would have dared called him a prude. Challenge accepted. Hart rose to his feet slowly in front of her. After setting his cane aside, he removed his jacket with only a small wince. Keeping his eyes locked on hers. He untied the knot in his cravat. Her eyes tracked his movements as she watched him pull the length of linen slowly from around his throat. He laid both it and his jacket down on the table next to the chair. Next, he unbuttoned his vest. Lucy’s gaze followed each button as he slid them loose. He spread the brocade fabric open with a grin, gratified to see her swallow hard.

“Sit down, please,” she directed him in a low, soft voice.

He did as he was told and settled again in the chair. Finding himself at eye level with her gorgeous décolletage and the smooth, pale column of her throat, he closed his eyes briefly. Praying to preserve his self-control.

Lucy stepped to his side. He heard the rattle of the lid being set aside. Then she lifted the opened jar in front of his nose. “Smell, what do you think?”

It smelled like echinacea and lemon balm. A pleasant fragrance that was, like she’d said, not at all cloying or feminine. “Smells good.”

“Alright then. You just need a good dollop, then rub it between your palms to warm the oils present in the salve.” She pushed aside the open collar of his shirt and was about to slip a hand underneath when he gripped her wrist.

“Are you sure you are willing to touch the scars?” he asked.

This was a mistake. She was going to be horrified by the damage.

Lucy looked down at him calmly. “Hart, I was there after the accident. I know what to expect.”

She had been? “Those first few weeks are a blur of pain and opium. I didn’t know who was nearby.” He dropped his hand back to his lap. He didn’t like that she had witnessed him at his worst. But at the same time, it was a relief to have someone truly understand how bad it had been.

Her hand slipped underneath his shirt, and she spread the salve along the top of his shoulder, rubbing it gently over the puckered skin and down the back of his shoulder blade. Her light touch felt heavenly. It didn’t do anything for the ache, but he wouldn’t complain about having her hands on him. It had been so long since he had allowed anyone to touch him.

Lucy stepped behind him and pushed the fabric further off his shoulder. Then with both hands she began to knead his shoulder with deeper strokes across the muscles.

He grunted at the pain it elicited. But soon, the initial twinges smoothed out. The feel of her hands warming his skin and her fingers kneading away the tightness beneath was divine. His whole right side relaxed as he leaned into her ministrations. It was all he could do to not let out a moan of pleasure. Slowly, the shoulder began to feel looser, more pliable. Lucy moved one hand down into his sleeve to rub along his bicep and upper arm. She had to lean down to reach, and her breath tickled his ear sending a shiver of desire racing over his skin.

“How’s that feel?” she murmured softly.

“Amazing.”

She let out a throaty laugh, and the husky sound of her amusement bewitched him.

He tugged her around by the arm and pulled her onto his lap. “Oh, you just love to be right. Is that it?”

Her eyes were alight with humor, her lips parted in a surprised gasp. Before she could answer him. Before he could think that he shouldn’t. He leaned forward and kissed her.