Chapter Twenty-Six

L ucien smiled at the man sitting across his desk from him in his study as the clock in the entry hall struck eight in the evening. It had been one hell of a long day, yet it wouldn’t be over for several more interminable hours to come.

Being good was proving to be damnably difficult.

Lucien took the liberty of refilling both their glasses with the best cognac he possessed. He was not above resorting to bribery if that was what it took to change Jess’s mind. “So you understand what I’m asking of you?”

Thomas Barnes, the general editor of The Times , nodded and rolled the cigar between his thumb and fingers, watching the wisp of smoke trail its way toward the ceiling. “Damn surprising, though, I have to admit.”

Lucien sank back into his leather chair. The man had no idea.

When Lucien heard Jess utter the words that she would never marry him as long as he held secrets, he knew he would have to charge full-on into the fray or lose her forever. It would be the most important fight of his life, and he had to call in all his resources to win—God help him, including the newspapers.

Barnes had only recently been named general editor, but of all the editors at the four most important daily papers in London, he was the one Lucien had the best chance of winning to his side. His political leanings were anything but conservative, and the man openly disliked the peerage system, railed against its privileges, and was willing to do whatever he could to upend the House of Lords. He was perfect for Lucien’s scheme. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or so the saying went.

Lucien was certain Barnes would never be his friend, but they both had a mutual interest in turning public opinion against the lords.

“I’ll be honest.” Barnes leaned back in his chair. “When I received your request to meet with me this evening, I thought it was a lark. After all, what could the Duke of Crewe possibly want with my newspaper? You wouldn’t have even deigned to sue us for slander unless it was because we hadn’t blackened your reputation enough.”

“True.” At least, it was before.

“But I thought I would stop by before heading out to dinner.” His clothing confirmed that. He was dressed in New Bond Street’s finest, right down to the shine of his shoes and his ruby cravat pin. “Thought we’d have a short chat and that I’d be on my way long before the first course was served. But after what you’ve just told me…” He swirled his cognac and gave a faint shake of his head. “I’ll be lucky if I arrive before dessert.”

“If you do this for me, Barnes,” Lucien offered, “I’ll buy you dessert every night for the rest of your life.”

Barnes chuckled and took a few short puffs of his cigar. “And all I have to do is convince London society that its worst blackguard deserves its sympathy.”

“Surely, you know how to do that. Simply stress all the good deeds I’ve been doing, all the secret donations to charities—”

“And made even more generous by your insistence upon anonymity,” Barnes interjected, “along with all the children, women, and poor you’ve been helping.”

Lucien grimaced. “Best to leave out the bits about helping the prostitutes, though.”

Barnes laughed and flicked the ash from the end of his cigar.

“Play down my role as a mercenary,” Lucien reminded him.

Barnes’s eyes gleamed. “The exact opposite! I’ll turn you into a war hero.” He clamped his cigar between his teeth. “Your father refused to allow you to have a commission in the British army, so the only way you could join your fellow countrymen in fighting to save European liberty from a despotic Boney was to fight with our most loyal allies in the coalition. Instead of being castigated for it, you should be praised. If only more spoiled sons of peers did as you, perhaps we could have kept the arrogant bastard on Elba, and there never would have been all those killed at Waterloo.”

Knowing better than to say anything to that ludicrous twisting of the truth, Lucien took a sip of cognac. If only it were that easy to clean his soul of the blackness of all he’d done in the wars and actually make him a hero… Impossible. The only person who had ever made him believe he was capable of doing that was Jess.

If he lost her—if he lost the happiness and comfort she alone was capable of providing—God help him. He simply wouldn’t survive.

“And the other?” Lucien asked, leveling a look over the rim of his glass that brooked no nonsense.

“Don’t worry. I know my business and how to do my job.” Barnes pointed his cigar at Lucien. “That is, as long as you keep your end of the bargain and do not offer your story to any other paper.”

“As long as you keep your end of the bargain,” Lucien repeated, turning the words into a warning. “If not, you know what I’m capable of doing.”

“Apparently, Your Grace,” Barnes muttered, his brows drawing together, “no one really does.”

One woman did. She was all that mattered.

“I want it all in the evening paper tomorrow,” Lucien continued, “printed and distributed as early as you possibly can.”

“A declaration of war?”

“An early engagement announcement.”

Barnes barked out a laugh. “Same thing!”

A knock tapped lightly at the door.

“Come,” Lucien ordered.

The door opened, and McGregor hurried inside with an apologetic nod to Barnes for interrupting. “Sir, you have a message from Mr. Graham.” The butler handed Lucien the sealed note. “Your other guests have also arrived. I’ve shown them to the billiards room as you requested.”

Perfect. “Thank you.”

McGregor waited beside the desk, knowing Lucien would have a return message.

“My apologies.” Lucien told Barnes and held up the note. “I’ve been expecting this.”

“Of course.” Barnes would give him wide berth for anything, Lucien knew. After all, he was plying the man with the best cognac France could produce…and had just given him exclusive information for the story of the decade.

Lucien cracked the seal and scanned the message.

Your Grace –

I have issued invitations and am preparing all the documents, as you requested. They will be completed on time. As for the other, I will make certain Miss Davidson and Miss St Claire arrive at 4 o’clock sharp.

Will you do me the honor of being my best man at the wedding?

– H. Graham

“McGregor, tell Mr. Graham thank you for his work.” Lucien’s mouth curled into a smile. “And that I would be honored.”

With a curt nod, McGregor left.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Lucien said apologetically as he rose from his chair, “I have yet another meeting tonight in preparation for tomorrow. I’m certain you understand.”

“I do, as long as I’m the first newspaper editor who hears of what happens,” Barnes said, finishing off his cognac with a large swallow before levering himself to his feet. “I can show myself out.”

“Thank you.”

Lucien nodded his goodbyes and strode from his study.

He heard his friends’ voices before he reached the billiards room in the rear of the house where a garden room should have been. But he was a bachelor, after all, and where else would a scoundrel keep his gaming tables if not in the most ludicrous place imaginable? That was just another of the many things he hoped to change over the next few weeks.

He stopped in the doorway and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossed his arms, and smiled to himself at the sight of his friends. Devlin Raines, Shay Douglass, and Chase Maddox had been his best friends since they were fourteen, when they all met at Eton as students of Anthony Titus, ma?tre d’armes and former captain of the King’s Guard.

As he watched them now, moving around the room as they took turns making shots and helping themselves to the liquor cabinet, time seemed to fold in upon itself. For a moment, Lucien could almost believe they were all back at school with their lives still ahead of them and so many mistakes not yet made. Mistakes that could still be avoided.

“I don’t understand the appeal of this game,” Chase commented as he rubbed chalk onto the end of his cue stick, not yet realizing that Lucien stood in the doorway, hidden by the shadows. “How men can waste entire evenings playing it, how they can lose fortunes over each ball. After all,” he murmured as he stepped up to the table and leaned over to line up his shot, “it takes no more skills than a solid understanding of geometry and a steady hand.” He sank two balls with a canon shot and grinned. “Luckily, I’m blessed with both.”

“ Luck is right,” Devlin countered, toasting the shot by raising his glass of port. “I’ll wager a hundred pounds you can’t sink that shot a second time.”

“I wouldn’t want to show both of you up.” Chase shook his head and plopped down onto one of the red leather chairs lining the wall and hooked his leg over the rolled chair arm as if they truly were still students. He crooked a wide grin and flipped the score string on the wall over his head with the tip of his cue. “Especially since I just won.”

Devlin snorted at that.

Even Shay laughed as he fished into the table’s pockets to retrieve the balls and set them back out onto their spots.

Good God , Lucien couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Shay laugh, certainly long before his brother died and long before he fell in love with Lady Sophie Winter, even when he knew he could never have her. It had been too long since he’d seen the same in Chase, who was momentarily carefree, the specter of grief for once not darkening his brow. Even Devlin, who was successfully working to exorcise the demons that had pursued him since childhood, was happier than he’d been in years. If ever.

No small part of that had come from the four of them working together to support each other as they always had. As he hoped they would do for him again tomorrow. He knew the battle that had to be waged, and he couldn’t face this fight alone.

“Thank you for coming,” Lucien said as he pushed himself away from the doorway and stepped into the room. All three pairs of eyes landed on him. “I need your help with a very delicate matter.”

“What is it?” Devlin asked.

Lucien took a deep breath and explained his plan, why he was doing it, and how much he needed their help to succeed. The rest of his life depended upon what happened tomorrow.

When he finished, Chase came to his feet as the solemnity of the situation descended upon them and walked forward. “You have my help.”

“And mine,” Devlin added, joining them.

Only Shay hesitated.

“You don’t have to be part of this,” Lucien told him quietly.

Shay slowly came forward, the lamplight revealing the terrible scars that had turned him into a hermit over the past few years. No—it wasn’t the scars that had done that, Lucien knew; it was how he’d gotten them.

“You know I would help you in any other way I could,” Shay answered. “But not that, not going to Parliament. No one in London can see me.”

Lucien knew why not. Sophie Winter. He knew of no other man in the world who was haunted as much by a woman as Shay was by Sophie.

“I understand,” Lucien said. “That’s why I need your help with something else.” He arched a brow. “How good are you at planning weddings?”

Shay stared at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head.

But Lucien explained his plan, and when he finished, Shay held out his hand to agree to play his part. When he took it, Lucien pulled Shay to him and briefly embraced him. He had no words for the sacrifice Shay was making for him—that all three of them were making.

Lucien loved these men. They were brothers to him, as close to his heart as Phillip, no matter that they didn’t share the same blood. He would do anything for them, including laying down his life. They would do the same for him.

But God help him if they didn’t win this fight.