Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

H oratia still hadn't changed into her nightclothes. Restlessness had her up well past midnight. Knowing Lucien was somewhere in the house was unsettling, and she worried about that blasted cat. Muff should have been curled up on the extra pillow in her bed, but he was conspicuously absent. There was a chance a passing footman or maid had closed the grates around the fireplace and he hadn't been able to get back down.

Unwilling to let him stay in the cold chimney all night, Horatia abandoned her room and went in search of the cat. She tried to think of all of the other places he could be, and not the one place she wished she could be at that moment. In Lucien's arms.

It had been months since he'd last spent the night, and her brother was delighted to have him and Charles there. If not for the League, Cedric would have been exceedingly lonely. She knew he loved her and Audrey, but he'd always longed for brothers. It was hard to miss the way he brightened whenever his friends came over for dinner, or how he looked forward to afternoons at his gentlemen's club, Berkley's. Perhaps it was because he could relax around them, and not have to play guardian.

After their parents died, Cedric had taken on a great amount of responsibility, not only to care for and raise her and Audrey, but matters of business and peerage as well. It was good he had such friends to ease his burdens and the pressures of family.

She slipped down the stairs to the ground floor and passed by the drawing room, where cigar smoke scented the air and muted laughter echoed against the partially open door.

At least someone was having a good evening. Irritation rippled beneath Horatia's skin. Lucien seemed to enjoy torturing her. Between his heated looks and cool smiles he was driving her mad. It was frustrating to not know how to act around him, whether to be warm or to keep her distance.

One of the men said something and Lucien's rich laugh teased her ears. Her insides shook with longing. She wanted to make him laugh like that, to be the center of his focus.

A small dark shadow flitted across the hall and dashed through the library door.

"Muff!" Horatia hissed, hoping to both summon and chastise the rebellious feline. Given the nature of cats however, she knew it was a fool's errand.

Horatia entered the library, lit a candle and started searching under couches and behind chairs. She almost missed the soft click as someone came in behind her and shut the door. The flame of the candle in her hand sputtered as she turned.

Lucien stood not five feet from her, watching her with hooded eyes. The aroma of brandy quickly reached her. The candlelight threw flickering shadows across his handsome face, highlighting a small scar near his brow.

In a few slow strides he towered over her. Horatia was suddenly very aware of his masculinity—the breadth of his shoulders, his height, and that the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. She knew herself to be tall, but next to Lucien she felt small, delicate and vulnerable. It was strange, but she liked feeling so helpless around him. Filled with longing, she barely stopped herself from reaching for him. He was too handsome, too virile. Whenever he was near he reduced her to a wild, wanton creature that would do anything for the chance to know pleasure in his arms.

"Horatia." Her name rolled off his lips like a fine dessert, sweet and decadent. "You ought to be in bed."

The wicked way he said "bed" made her lightheaded.

"I couldn't sleep."

He leaned forward, his body close to hers as he blew out the candle in her hand. The sudden darkness around them made her catch her breath. A beam of moonlight broke through, lighting their faces. The smoke curled and danced up between them. Lucien's smile offered her a world of knowledge about pleasure.

"There's a lovely little remedy for sleep that I always employ. Do you want to know what it is?" His low voice set her skin on fire.

I shouldn't answer. I know what he's going to say. "What is it?" Blast!

The faint moonlight from the tall library windows lit his face as he leaned even closer to her.

He grinned down at her like a Cheshire cat. "I find the nearest beautiful woman, slip into her bed and wrap myself around her." His warm brandy-tinged breath fanned her face. Tingles of awareness spiked through her body and she stifled a gasp.

He raised a hand, drawing one elegant finger along her cheekbone. "Your face is warm. Have I made you blush? I'd like to make other parts of you blush as well." Lucien took the candle holder from her and set it on a shelf.

Horatia's knees shook. She stepped back and her head collided with the bookshelf behind her. Lucien closed the distance between them and braced his hands on either side of her face. His lips were inches from hers.

"Shall I kiss you, Horatia? I find you hard to resist when you look up at me with those dark eyes. They are begging me to kiss you. Did you know that?" His voice was a soft growl that made her breasts heavy and her nipples harden.

Incapable of speech, Horatia managed to shake her head. She wanted to throw her arms about his neck and drag his mouth to hers. She ached to run her hands through his dark red hair. Endless nights had been spent imagining what this moment would be like, when he'd be close enough to touch, to kiss.

Something deep inside her tore in anguish. He wasn't meant for her. Everyone knew he took only experienced, beautiful women to his bed. Lucien would never really consider her that way. She was acceptably attractive, but no diamond of the first water. With nothing to offer Lucien, he must be teasing her the way any rake did an innocent. He was the serpent, offering her carnal knowledge. Everything she wanted and couldn't have. It was an awful thing to be in love with such a devil.

Lucien moved his lips to her ear, using a finger to trace a loose pattern along her collarbone, down her chest and towards the valley between her breasts.

She inhaled, her breasts thrusting upward. "You've been drinking, my lord," she said. When he teased a finger below the fabric of her bodice, brushing a tight nipple, she gasped.

The grin he gave her was one of pure sin. "I certainly have…"

Horatia reached up and tore his hands away from her bodice. She tried to knock his other arm out of her way to leave. "How dare you!"

Lucien grabbed hold of her, dragged her back against the bookcase and trapped her with his body. He fisted a hand through the loose coils of her hair, dragging her head back. Her eyes rose to meet his. A hunger churned in his gaze, swirling in eddies of changing colors.

"Tell me to let go of you," he begged in a ragged whisper. "Tell me."

She stared at him, unable to voice a protest .

"Christ. I'm not a saint, woman. I can't… Oh to hell with it."

The warmth of his breath tickled her lips before he devoured her neck in a slow languid kiss. Pools of wet heat built up between her legs and his tongue flicked out against her skin as he tasted her. She moaned. Lucien slid his hand down over her bottom, catching her in his grasp, jerking her hard against his stiff shaft.

Her legs shook against him, loose and unprotesting as he parted them with his thigh. He dragged her up the length of his leg so her toes barely touched the ground. The movement sent shockwaves of excitement through her and made her inhale sharply. Her hands fell to his shoulders, seeking to hold on to him. His lips found hers again and her palms skated up his neck into his hair, the strands whispering over her skin. She dug her fingers in and tugged on his hair. He growled deep in his throat and kissed her harder.

Saying no to him was the furthest thing from her mind. There was nothing beyond this moment—his kiss, the sliding touch of his palms, his fingers digging possessively into her flesh, cupping her bottom until a staccato rhythm throbbed deep inside her. It beat against his hard, muscular thigh, flooding her with awareness. She tried to rock against him, to create more friction. Anything to get closer to him, to satisfy her need for something she didn't fully understand.

"My God, you were made for sin," Lucien groaned as he tried to move his other hand deeper into the confines of her bodice.

She was made for sin? Was she nothing more than a body he'd like to bed? A temptation to release his needs upon? The words lit a flame under Horatia. She clawed his chest and sank her teeth into his shoulder to get free. Lucien jerked back with a low curse, letting her feet hit the floor again.

Undaunted, he said, "Careful with that temper of yours, my dear," and moved in to kiss her again.

Under other circumstances she might have melted in his arms. But he'd gone too far. Horatia brought her knee up into his groin.

Silence filled the room. For a moment Horatia wondered if it had made him a statue. At last a moan, several octaves higher than before, escaped his lips as he staggered back a couple of steps, then sank to his knees.

"Damn you, woman!"

"Serves you right, you…you horse's arse!" She covered her mouth, shocked at her own language.

Despite Lucien's pained groan, he chuckled.

"Touché, my sweet. Touché." He tried to reach for her again but Horatia bolted to the door.

"Damnable creature. I was going to apologize," Lucien muttered to himself as he hobbled over to a chair and collapsed.

The numbing affect of his brandy had worn off and guilt was wrapped around him like a death shroud. He'd been an absolute bastard. He should have known better than to drink when she was near. There had to be a way to make up for his lack of judgment .

He wracked his mind for some idea, some way to make amends. He'd apologize of course, but women were masters of holding guilt in trust and collecting interest on it. A trinket perhaps? A lovely bauble she could wear with a new gown… A gown! He'd buy her a new Christmas gown, one to replace the one that had been ruined.

Horatia never spoiled herself, other than to buy an expensive gown each December. The rest of the year she wore her usual silk garments, fashionable but rather understated. It was only during the holidays that she seemed unable to resist the allure of an enchanting dress. He wished he could have seen her gown this year before it had been ruined.

He would buy her something new, something with a precariously low but still socially acceptable neckline, made from bright red silk, his favorite color and fabric. Even now he could imagine how it would feel under the light pressure of his hands as he caressed her, explored her. His loins tightened with lust and the pain of his recent injury inflamed all over again. He was being duly punished for his rash actions.

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Horatia panted, her face flushed. She trembled with a mixture of longing and regret. Even when the man was a merciless rake she still wanted him. That was part of the allure she supposed, that threat of his passion manifesting itself in an explosive kiss, a demanding caress of covered places. Sleep would be impossible now.

Where was Ursula? Had she already retired? Her lady's maid never failed to stay up late to help her undress. But Horatia was too exhausted to worry about that. She wanted to sleep and didn't want to wake the house looking for her maid.

A light scratch at the door had her turning in relief.

"Oh Ursula, I hoped—"

Yet it wasn't her maid. Lucien leaned against the doorjamb. He looked less foxed than before, which surprisingly didn't comfort her at all.

She tilted her chin up. "What do you want, Lucien? Haven't you done enough damage for one night?"

"I'm sorry, Horatia. I was indeed a horse's arse." He smiled a little.

"Well then, since we are in agreement, you may leave. I have things to see to. Besides, if Cedric found you here—"

"Things? What could you possibly have to do after midnight? Off to a secret rendezvous with a lover, I suppose?"

The very idea was ridiculous. She would never look at another man when he was all she'd ever wanted. It made little rational sense to love a man who had no real interest in her, yet here she was. When she'd been younger, Lucien had been exceedingly kind to her. He'd been the one to rescue her from her parents' coach.

Unwanted memories whispered at the corners of her heart, slicing her soul deep. Her parents lying broken and lifeless around her like marionettes with their strings cut. Their eyes, open yet seeing nothing, heads at awkward, unnatural angles. The coach on its side, massive splinters of wood embedded in bodies. People screaming. Then a burst of light as the coach door crashed open above her and she glimpsed a halo of fiery hair and warm hazel eyes. "Come now, sweetheart, reach for me. There's a good girl. Take my hands, Horatia, and I'll keep you safe."

Safe. It was all she'd ever wanted, and for a short time, he'd kept his promise. But when she'd ruined his proposal to a woman, he began to keep his distance. It only became worse when she'd had her come out two years ago. He'd taken one look at her when she'd entered Almack's assembly rooms and strode away, leaving her feeling utterly alone in a ballroom of familiar faces. Where he'd been only distant before, he'd now become cold. Her heart was cursed. But she could dream about what might be, so long as he remained unmarried. It was pitiful that she had only her dreams to look forward to, and even worse to love and desire a man who would never truly see her.

"Please leave." She tugged at the back of her gown, exhausted.

Her struggles didn't escape his notice. "Having a bit of trouble?"

Before she could protest he shut the door and rotated her so her back faced him, then proceeded to unlace her gown.

She tried to pull away. If anyone found them there'd be the devil to pay. "You shouldn't be in here, let alone helping me undress!"

He swatted her bottom and she gasped, shocked yet aroused at the same time. "Do you want out of this gown or not?"

She jerked free of him and he lifted his hands in surrender. "Fine! Sleep all night in that. I don't care."

He was nearly to the door when she spoke. Her voice small, tentative and unsure. "Lucien."

He hesitated, hand at the doorknob.

Slowly, she offered her back to him. It amazed her she could still trust him after what he'd done in the library.

Lucien resumed his work of freeing her from the gown. She knew his reputation, knew he'd been with scores of women. While that bothered her, she couldn't help but notice his fingers were clumsier than she expected.

"Shouldn't a rake be practiced at this sort of thing?"

Lucien answered with a growl of irritation, his fingers tugging at the knotted laces.

"Who trussed you up like this? These knots look to be the work of an expert seaman." With a final tug the bodice hung free about her, then he loosened her stays. Horatia's heart quickened as she crossed her arms over her breasts, hiding them. She'd been so focused on undressing she only now realized Lucien was in her bedchamber and she was half-naked. Never before had she been so vulnerable.

A harsh breath hissed through his teeth. His hands moved up to her neck, falling on the grooves between her shoulders and throat. She repressed a shiver of fear and delight. Would he kiss her again? Would he dare do more than that? Her body and soul screamed for more, begged to be held by him.

God, I am a glutton for punishment .

Lucien cleared his throat and awkwardly stammered, "I'm… I'm sorry about what happened earlier. I was not myself."

Horatia's heart thrashed. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. His eyes were fixed on the column of her throat, but his expression was unreadable.

"You are forgiven." She ought to have said she never wanted him to do something like that, but deep within her she knew she wanted him to lose control and kiss her like that again.

If only he hadn't been so cold, so ruthless when he kissed her, as though she was nothing more than another conquest in a long line of women begging for one ounce of his affection.

Lucien's blood thundered in his ears as his self-control waned. Horatia stood still as a statue, her breath faint as if she waited for him to act further. He shut his eyes, banishing the image of her naked beneath him until he could summon the strength to remove his hands from her and step back.

"Thank you," she breathed .

"You're welcome." He wanted to drag her into his arms and plunder her mouth with his, but the moment had passed. He snagged the reins of his remaining control and left her alone.

Lucien exited Horatia's bedchamber and hurried back to his own.

He questioned his sanity for touching her, kissing her, wanting her. He was a stout defender of the League's ‘no seduction of sisters' rule. How many times had he threatened Charles upon pain of death to stay away from his own sister?

If Cedric ever found out I kissed her, and helped her undress … Lucien cringed. Men had killed over smaller slights to their sisters' honor. Cedric? He was a God-fearing man, but put in that position it would be wise to fear Cedric more than God.

Lucien had the door halfway closed when Charles burst inside.

"What the hell are you doing?" Charles shut the door, grabbed Lucien by his shirt, and shoved him backward. Lucien stumbled and hit the bed behind him.

"Care to explain why I just saw you coming out of Horatia's room?"

"It isn't what you think. We weren't—"

"Do not lie to me. You're worse at that than you are at whist." Charles's gray eyes were fathomless. "You weren't in there long enough for anything serious, but you were in there. I want to know why."

"I insulted her earlier this evening. I had to apologize."

"And you couldn't do that in the bloody hallway? "

Lucien folded his arms over his chest and glared back. "I didn't want her to slam the door in my face, so I went in after her. You know how women are. They hold grudges of biblical proportions if you don't apologize immediately. I've had enough upset mistresses to know when I need to beg forgiveness for the sake of peace."

"So you're treating Horatia like one of your kept women?" Charles arched a brow.

"Believe me, Horatia is the last woman on earth I would willingly seduce." The lie was heavy and bitter on his tongue. He'd started to seduce her mere moments ago. But he wasn't thinking straight. The damned brandy had him tied in knots. Reminding him of when he'd tangled his fingers in her stays. God he wanted to go right back to her room and shred her clothes from her body and take her to bed.

"There is no rule against being friends with a man's sister. Cedric would never shoot you over that. But you've been cold to her these last few years. Is friendship beyond your grasp?" Charles crossed his arms over his chest.

Lucien sighed heavily and leaned back on his bed. It was time to resurrect the old lie. Charles couldn't be trusted with the truth, it would be the same as telling Cedric.

"Do you remember, years ago, when I was courting Miss Melanie Burns?"

"Of course…" Charles voice trailed off.

Melanie Burns, one of the wealthiest, prettiest heiresses had nearly married Lucien. Instead, after Horatia's interference, she had refused his proposal and a month later was engaged to none other than Hugo Waverly. Rather than be truly angry with Horatia, he'd been thankful. She'd saved him from marriage to a woman who ended up his enemy's wife. For the next four years he'd been cordial, but maintained some distance. Then there had been her coming out when she turned eighteen. He'd never forget the first night she went to Almack's. Her hair had been artfully styled, her dress more elegant than her usual day gowns. She'd been utterly captivating that night and the only thing he could do was run. Put distance between them before he did something foolish. Resurrecting the proposal incident had been the only straw he could grasp as a reason to stay away from her. If he couldn't get his hands on her, he couldn't kiss her, couldn't make love to her, couldn't love her. It was for the best, though of late, it was working less and less.

"Are you saying Horatia had something to do with Melanie Burns?"

"Yes," Lucien answered flatly.

"How? She was a child back then."

"Horatia was with Cedric at my estate in Kent on a visit. Melanie Burns was there. I was in the middle of proposing when Horatia dumped a bucket of pond water over our heads from the gazebo roof. Melanie was humiliated, her dress was ruined and the little imp, Horatia, dared to laugh at her. No matter how much I apologized later, Melanie refused to marry me."

"Then she married Waverly. If he's more her type, you ought to thank Horatia, not punish her. "

"There's more to it. Horatia professed her love for me. She was only fourteen," Lucien growled.

"A child's infatuation. That's no reason to be cruel," Charles replied softly.

"I told Horatia I would never love her. That she meant nothing to me."

A epiphany struck Charles's face. "You broke her heart."

"I couldn't help it. I was so much older than she. Now she's grown and I don't want her setting her cap at me. I'm not attracted to her and never will be." Lucien prayed with every fiber of his black-hearted soul that he sounded truthful.

Charles was silent for a long moment.

"Ash once told me that between love and hate there is a fine line. Sometimes you can cross it without even realizing it."

"You can't seriously be suggesting that I love Horatia! You know the sort of woman I need. She's too prim and proper for my tastes. I don't feel anything at all for her—certainly not love ." A bitter taste filled Lucien's mouth at such a denial. He felt too much for her, and although it couldn't be love, it was stronger than lust and therefore more dangerous.

Charles frowned, his gray eyes surprisingly tinged with sadness.

"Are you so adamant to avoid her because of the second League Rule? Have you learned nothing from Godric and Emily?"

"Wouldn't you avoid a woman if it meant your friend might seek satisfaction against you? Charles, you know me. You know how I am with women. I couldn't stay around her for much longer and not desire more than friendship, and anything beyond that could end very badly. I don't have to remind you how protective Cedric is of his sisters. He's always taken Rule Two very seriously."

"You really cannot control yourself around her? Your only solution is to be cold and cruel in order to avoid temptation?" His friend seemed baffled, but then, Charles was the sort of man who was never tempted by forbidden things—he dove headlong into them.

"Unfortunately, that's exactly what I'm saying. The more I'm around her, the more I want to be with her. We both know I'm not the marrying type, so any time spent with her would have one conclusion and no one would like the result."

Charles raked a hand through his hair. "You're a fool, and you're hurting Horatia because of it. I can't stand to stay here, not when I'm tempted to box your ears."

"Charles." Lucien put a hand on his friend's shoulder as he turned to leave, but Charles shrugged free as he turned to leave.

"Good night, Lucien."

Lucien stared at the door as it closed. A lump worked in his throat. Was Charles right? Had he been keeping his distance from Horatia to avoid more than bedding her?

Lucien loved women, but he didn't fall in love with them. It wasn't in his nature, and the women he'd had understood this. Horatia deserved a man who could be loyal. He could never have her, not as a lover or a wife. Cedric would never give him permission, and in any case there was the League's second rule. Still, the thought of having her, calling her his very own…

Why did it make his heart hurt so, knowing it could never be?