Chapter Sixteen

H art sucked in a ragged gasp of air. What had he said? Brother?

“W-what do you mean?” he stuttered.

“I said it came to me through family. Surely, you’re not that dense. My mother was your father’s mistress.” His lips thinned. “For a time.”

His head reeled. “When?”

“Between you and your brother.”

It was too much to believe. These things being said about his father. He wouldn’t believe it. “No, my father wasn’t that kind of man. He loved my mother; he mourned her death deeply.” He took a menacing step forward, but Seaton just stood there with a mocking smirk on his face.

“Believe whatever you wish, little brother. It doesn’t change the facts.”

“Don’t call me that.” Hart shoved the bastard in the chest. “You’re lying. You must be lying.”

“Don’t make me regret taking this job.” Seaton grasped the front of Hart’s jacket. He leaned in close. “I could kill you just as easily as breathing.”

A familiar voice pierced through Hart’s fog of rage.

“Get your hands off of him!”

He turned from Seaton.

Lucy was barreling toward them at full steam. She snatched up his cane from where it rested against the bench, and in a move smooth and practiced, she whipped it around so that the tip pressed against Seaton’s throat. “Step back, you fiend.”

Seaton’s eyes widened, but he was surprisingly calm. He let go of Hart’s jacket. His lips curved up into a smile. “A friend of yours?”

Hart took a step back and closed his eyes as he tried to rein in his emotions. Tried to find some balance in a world turned upside down.

“Yes. Yes, I am. No one attacks my friends.” Lucy’s eyes blazed with anger. “Get away from him.”

Hart finally managed to find his voice. “For Christ’s sake, Lucy. What are you doing here?”

“I was just taking a walk and saw this man attacking you.”

“He wasn’t attacking me. Well, not yet. Here, pass me back my walking stick, please.”

She gave Seaton a wary once-over before lowering Hart’s cane and handing it back to him. Hart looked over her shoulder and saw her maid cowering by the bushes about twenty feet away. Poor girl. How did she keep up with her mistress?

Seaton smoothed out the lapels of his black jacket. “Perhaps you don’t need me after all with this hell cat at your side.”

“Don’t call her that.” Hart growled.

He glanced around. The park was blessedly empty. The last thing they needed was to create a scene. What had he been thinking to lose his composure like that in a public place? He needed to get Lucy away from here. He would deal with Seaton later.

“Walk me home?” He asked Lucy, winging out his elbow.

Lucy put her arm through his, and he led her away from Seaton. “Who is that?” she whispered.

“Mr. Seaton.”

“After you calm down,” Seaton called out from behind them. “Find me if you want answers. Blood is thicker and all that.”

Hart twisted around to throw out his own rejoinder, but the man was gone. Disappeared like mist.

“That was Mr. Seaton? Did he tell you about the building?” Lucy said.

Hart just shook his head. “Can we just walk?”

She nodded. They fell into an easy stride as they exited the park. The quiet of the trees bleeding away to sounds of carriages and people as they reached Pall Mall Avenue. Muscle memory had Hart making his way to the right corner of St. James Square where Hartwick House lay. He needed to be home. A gentleman would have escorted Lucy and her maid home first, but right now, he was reluctant to let go of the anchor she provided. Her familiar scent of orange blossoms and the strong grip of her hand on his arm soothed the incessant hammering of his thoughts. He would have a carriage take them home. As they entered the house, the cool, quiet interior hit his soul like a balm. Home. Hart drew in a deep breath.

Townson hurried over to take their things. Had the man said something? Hart couldn’t focus. He felt rooted to the spot as he stared up at an ugly painting of a pack of hounds running through a bucolic scene that hung on the wall above the first landing. Lucy was right; the decor was so bland. There wasn’t a single thing that indicated the house belonged to him. Everything was just as it had been when he was a lad. It was a house full of ghosts. Ghosts, which apparently, he’d known hardly at all. He scrubbed a hand down over his face. God, what a day.

“Townson, a bottle of my best brandy, to the study,” he said.

“A tea tray, Townson,” Lucy contradicted. “Perhaps a splash of brandy in his grace’s cup.” She gripped his elbow. “Come on, Hart, it’s time to tell me all about your day.”

He stared down at her hand. The hell if he wanted to talk about his day over tea. “Townson, have the carriage take Miss Middleton and her maid home. And bring the brandy to my study.” As Hart strode down the corridor, he could hear the clicking of her shoes on the marble floor behind him.

“Hart, wait.”

Ignoring her, he strode into his study. Stopping midway across the room, he looked around. Stuffed animal heads and oil paintings depicting men on horseback following packs of hunting dogs hung along the walls. Hart preferred holidays at the sea to weeks spent hunting in the country. He spun slowly in a circle. A large wooden model of his father’s yacht, Hart’s yacht now, sat atop the mantle. He always got sick aboard that damn boat. Everything in this room was a reflection of his father. Why hadn’t he changed anything in the last five years?

His eye caught sight of a porcelain dog that sat on top of the curio cabinet across from the desk. It was a hideous piece. The dog sat on its haunches with its paws in the air. It was dressed in a sailor uniform, a jaunty hat perched crookedly on its head. Two oversized eyes seemed to stare into his soul. His father had thought it hilarious, but Hart had always hated it. Why was it still there, staring at him day after day? He crossed, snatched up the offending object, and tossed it into the fireplace. The porcelain shattered against the cold brick interior.

“Hart!” Lucy exclaimed. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” He turned to face her.

She was so fresh and pretty, always glowing with some inner fire. The antithesis of how he felt most days. Hart wished to reach for her, if only to be near that sense of surety and optimism she wore so naturally.

She stood with one hip resting against the side of his desk, her arms crossed across her chest. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened in the park with Mr. Seaton. It certainly didn’t appear that nothing was wrong.”

He couldn’t possibly explain to her all that he had found out today. He hadn’t even had time to let the shift in his reality sink in. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was she always pressing him? Why did she even care about a temperamental bastard like him?

He crossed to her. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to explain my foul mood. Go away, Lucy.”

Her eyes went wide, but she shook her head. “No, I won’t leave you to get drunk and sulk.”

“Why not? Why do you care what I do?”

“Hart, of course I care about you!” She stepped closer.

Her proximity set off alarm bells in his head. His whole body tightened as he tried to keep from pulling her close.

“Why are you always pushing at me? What do you want?” he growled.

His gaze lowered to her mouth. He desperately wanted to kiss her. To lose himself in her for a few moments of peace from his churning thoughts. But she had been angry at him the last time he’d kissed her.

“I want…” Lucy stared up at him, the blue of her irises like the delicate petals of larkspur in a country field.

Pink stained her cheeks and her rosy lips parted as if to say more, but she didn’t finish her thought. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her mouth. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. That small action caused his groin to tighten in response.

Just one taste. Hart slid a hand around her nape. He took his time lowering his lips to hers, watching for any sign of displeasure. But she stepped forward, erasing the space between them, so he captured her mouth and sank into the kiss. Her soft lips slid against his with purpose, exploring and nipping. Setting him on fire.

He’d been so wrong. There was no peace to be had in this embrace. This kiss called forth a fucking inferno of need. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her. God, she felt perfect tucked against him. With every brush of her hot tongue against his, his cock hardened in response. Her hands slid from his shoulders to tangle in his hair.

Hart picked her up under her backside and set her on top of the desk. “Is this want you want?” he murmured against her mouth. Please say yes.

“Yes.” Her fingers tightened in his hair.

He moved his lips across her cheek as he lifted her skirts high enough so that he could press himself between her spread legs. “You shouldn’t play with fire, brat, or it might consume you. It’s been a long time since I had a woman in my arms.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear about your harem, Hart.” Grasping his face between her hands, she took possession of his mouth.

God, the passion inside this one small woman, perhaps it was he who would be consumed. He thrust his hips forward against her skirts. Too many clothes… He reached down to skim his fingers along her silk-covered calves and slowly pushed her skirts higher.

“Ahem, Your Grace.” Townson’s voice carried from the doorway.

Hart tore his lips from hers and dragged in a ragged breath. Lucy’s breasts rose and fell rapidly as she also sucked in much needed air.

“The carriage for Miss Middleton is ready,” Townson’s voice was like a deluge of cold water pouring over his head.

“Thank you, Townson. She will be right out.”

He heard the click of the door as it closed. He leaned his forehead against Lucy’s. “You should go home.”

“But you haven’t told me—”

“You should go home.” He reiterated as he tugged her skirts down.

What had he been thinking? Grabbing her around the waist, he picked her up off the edge of his desk and put her on her feet. He had not been thinking, only lusting. He was one giant mess of throbbing emotions. Lucy did not deserve to be mauled by him.

He tucked an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for caring. I’m sorry I’m such a miserable bastard.” Then he gave her hand a tug and pulled her across the room before she could say anything else.

As he opened the door, she turned to look up at him. Her mouth opened to say something, but he placed a finger over her lips to stop her. Then he gave her a push through the threshold and firmly shut the door.

Leaning back against the solid wood, he closed his eyes. Dear Lord , Lucy was temptation itself. Regret wound its way through his gut. He needed to stay away from her if she was ever to have a chance at a future with a nice young gentleman. Perhaps the paper had been right. Ruin seeks to ruin.