Almost Perfect (10 page)

Sighing, Lucien opened his arms and backed away a step. “Your forfeit--”, his voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m satisfied.”

An aching laugh escaped Cassie. “Liar,” she whispered.

Lucien made a sound deep in his chest. Reaching out, he caught her face in his hands and took a second kiss. The depth of his need left her knees weak.

He released her, this time backing beyond arm’s length. “You’re right, I’m not at all satisfied,” he said, his voice low and hard. “Because of that I cannot stay.”

He turned and walked away into the darkness. Cassie drew a broken breath and sagged against the wall, consumed by how deeply she wanted him. Her fingers shaking, she did her best to straighten her turban, tucking dislodged hairs back beneath the soft cap. She slapped her skirts back into decent folds and pulled her shawl up over her shoulders. And she still left the alcove feeling as if she walked on ice.

She came around the statue just as a laughing Eliza raced onto the brick porch. Eliza slid to a halt as she saw her sister. “Oh, but you’re too late, Cassie. We’re just coming back within doors. We’ve ruined our footwear with the dew I’m sorry to say.”

“What a shame,” Cassie said, walking into a circle of lantern light. How could her voice sound so normal when her insides felt like jelly?

Eliza frowned, reaching out to smooth hair off Cassie’s face. “What’s this? Your turban is askew and your hair’s all tumbled.”

Cassie gave thanks that it was only her hair that had tumbled. “Will you fix it for me, darling?”

Eliza flashed a bright smile. “You know I won’t.” She snatched the turban off her sister’s head.

“Eliza!” Cassie protested, grabbing for her cap.

With a laugh Eliza danced away. “Didn’t I tell you not to wear this silly thing in the first place? I don’t know why you insist on dressing like some dowager.”

Cassie lunged for her sister. Eliza dodged, squealing happily. “If you want it you must come and get it,” she taunted, backing away, holding out the turban for Cassie to take.

“Give it back,” Cassie demanded even as she gave thanks for her sister. Racing around Lord Ryecroft’s park would not only serve as the perfect excuse for her disarray, but would be the distraction she needed to put aside her longing for Lucien. Then she’d be free to return to the card tables and devote herself to saving her sister.

Eating himself alive for want of Cassie, Lucien circled the house to the front door, surprising the footman tending the entrance. He gave the servant a nod then made his way to the residential wing. He couldn’t face Devanney, or anyone else in the drawing room, until he once more had his body under control.

He took the stairs two at a time, then walked down the corridor to his room. The image of Cassie’s bared back this afternoon returned to haunt him, just as it had all evening. Knowing that she slept only yards from him did nothing for his already weakened control. As long as she shared a bed with her sister she might as well be a continent away.

Stopping in front of his door, Lucien closed his eyes. Lovesick fools and poets spoke of the earth moving beneath their feet at a lover’s kiss. Lucien had considered such protestations only poetic poppycock until a few moments ago. The earth had moved when Cassie touched her mouth to his. His legs still trembled beneath him.

Throwing open the door, Lucien strode into his chamber. Hastings, his valet, sat in the middle of the bed--a bed more than big enough to accommodate lovemaking--with his long legs and stockinged feet folded tailor-fashion beneath him. He played solitaire. His eyes round as coins, his mouth gaping, he scrambled off the bed.

“My lord, I didn’t expect you,” he stuttered, striving to reclaim his dignity and straighten his clothing at the same time.

“For good reason. I didn’t expect to be here,” Lucien said, working to make his voice gentle when he wanted to roar in frustration.

“Ah,” the valet said, pursing his lips in comprehension. “I think you might need a little of the local brew. I’ve tasted it. Laidlaw keeps it at your lodge,” he said, referring to the husband of Lucien’s housekeeper. “It’ll dull anything that pains you. Lord Ryecroft’s butler will happily send a man to procure some in trade for a bottle of the French brandy hiding in Graceton’s cellar.”

Scotch whiskey. Little did Hastings know how often Lucien had shared Jamie Laidlaw’s brew these last two years. He smiled at his valet. Hastings was obtuse, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a genius with more than just neckcloths.

“Ryecroft is richer by a bottle of brandy. Be quick about it, Hastings.”

“Another beautiful day,” Devanney said, his tone taunting.

His head pounding, Lucien looked at his cousin, his hands too tight on his reins. Beneath him his tall bay gelding snorted, dancing a little in reaction. The bay was too high-strung for his own good, requiring constant attention, something Lucien didn’t have in any supply this morning. Devanney stared straight ahead from the saddle of his favorite horse, as big and ugly a beast as any Lucien had ever seen.

The house party was making its way by horse and donkey to the abbey, enjoying a day perfect for such an outing. The sun stood directly overhead in a sky marred by only a few clouds. A meadow opened up before them, sprinkled with late summer flowers going to seed. Sheep grazed, still looking naked after their shearing last month. A distant copse of trees framed the weathered skeleton of the ancient monastery.

Both Lucien and Devanney wore brown coats, buckskin riding trousers, Hessians, and tall hats upon their heads; it was the uniform required of all country outings. Only their waistcoats were different. Devanney’s was a warm red while Hastings had declared that Lucien should wear cream colored silk.

Laughter rose from the riders to Devanney’s left. Squinting against the sun’s painfully brightness, Lucien glanced at last night’s stargazers. The group had swelled to twice its number with the addition of Devanney’s local guests. Cassie and her sister, mounted on sprightly donkeys from Devanney’s stable, rode at their center.

Cassie looked radiant this morning, dressed in a blue riding habit. A straw bonnet framed her oval face, pressing tendrils of golden hair against her brow and cheeks. The blue ribbons knotted beneath her chin complimented her complexion. Her brown eyes soft and pretty, she smiled at Lady Forster. Dear God, but he still wanted her as deeply as he had last night.

“Dare I tell you that you look the devil’s own this morning?” Devanney asked, sending a laughing sidelong look in Lucien’s direction.

“I can’t imagine why,” Lucien replied with no little sarcasm. He knew better than to overindulge in any spirits, much less Scotch whiskey. Rather, he’d known better until Cassie’s kiss left him beyond control. He vaguely recalled describing in lewd detail what had happened in the garden alcove to Hastings.

“Where did you disappear to last night?” Devanney asked, probing where he had no right to pry.

“To bed,” Lucien said shortly.

“An early night?” Devanney prodded again.

“An early night,” Lucien agreed, doing his best to close the door on the topic.

The mere hint to mind his own business didn’t stop his cousin. “Too bad you didn’t join the youngsters in their romp. Mrs. Marston came back looking in fine fettle, for a dowager that is.” He laughed. “Even Percy raved over the escapade, although he bemoaned the state of his shoes and trousers.”

“You don’t intend to let this go, do you?” Lucien eyed Devanney, his hands once again tight on his reins. His gelding snorted in complaint.

Devanney grinned. “How can I, when I’m eating myself alive, needing to know what’s happened? First you won’t have Mrs. Marston. Twenty-four hours later you’re following her out of the drawing room, grinning like a satisfied cat. Not twenty minutes later I learn you’ve retired early. Meanwhile she’s in the garden playing hoodman blind with the others.”

The thought of Cassie enjoying herself while his desire for her ate him alive didn’t sit well with Lucien. Surely their interlude hadn’t affected him so much more than it did her. He looked over Devanney’s shoulder at Cassie.

She had her face tilted upward to address Egremont, who sat on a tall steed. The curve of her neck and arch of her back reminded Lucien of how she’d lifted her breasts for him to kiss. Blast it, she had to have been as affected as he.

Stewing on the thought, Lucien turned his gaze back onto Devanney. “I’m not responsible for what Mrs. Marston does or doesn’t do.”

The words came out more harshly than he intended. Lucien stifled his groan, recognizing his mistake. Now nothing would stop Devanney’s prying.

His cousin chuckled, the sound low and taunting. “Let me guess. She refused you, and in doing so inadvertently whetted your appetite for her.”

His cousin was half right. Lucien’s appetite for Cassie was well whetted. If only she had refused him. Instead he had to live with the knowledge that if he’d pressed her just a little harder last night she would have surrendered herself, body and soul, right there in the alcove.

The thought gave Lucien pause. Why hadn’t he pressed her? After all, the whole point of pursuing her was seduction, and she’d been his for the taking.

The sound of a galloping horse rose from behind them. Both Lucien and Devanney turned to see who came. It was Percy, looking more centaur than man atop a splendid thoroughbred mare. There was nothing flashy about the lad this morning; Percy was deadly serious about his horses and racing.

“Egad,” Lucien said to Devanney, “has the world ended? What’s he doing up so early?” Lucien couldn’t remember ever seeing Percy about before two in the afternoon.

Devanney shrugged. “Can you consider a man arisen when he hasn’t yet seen his bed? Percy said he had business in Hawick this morning. Rather than sleep for an hour or two he chose to watch the sun rise, then rode out. That’s an expensive looking nag he rides.”

So she was, but then one expected nothing less from Percy. The black mare had powerful, fluid lines, her stockinged legs owning the perfect taper of her breed. She’d make a good addition to Lord Westmorland’s stable. She might even make Percy some money on the course.

As always Percy couldn’t resist offering his audience a show. Standing in his stirrups, coattails flying, hat cocked at a jaunty angle, he sent his new horse tearing through the ranks of Devanney’s guests, whooping with joy all the way. The older men and dowagers in the party shook their heads and fingers in chastisement. The younger women bent admiring glances in Percy’s direction. Not so the young men. They watched Percy’s mare in envy.

“Egremont, come ride with me,” Percy shouted, beckoning to his friend as he reined his new acquisition into a walk alongside Lucien’s fretful bay.

Despite the thick dark rings hanging beneath his bloodshot eyes, Percy’s neckcloth was fresh and his jaw devoid of what little beard he could grow. “Good morrow, my lords,” he said in congenial greeting. “What do you think of her? She’s a little young, but she has heart. Why, she wanted to gallop all the way here from Hawick.”

Egremont grinned at Percy as he reined in his horse alongside the mare. “She’s everything you said she’d be, Percy. Graceful lines and a pretty face. What more could a man want in a horse?”

Lucien’s gaze strayed to Cassie. Graceful lines and a pretty face. What more could a man want of the woman in his bed?

Percy hid a yawn behind his hand then frowned at Lucien. “How now, my lord. You look gray at the gills and pinched this morning.”

“He overindulged last night,” Devanney offered, smiling.

Lucien glared at his cousin. Just as he thought. No doubt Devanney had the news from his butler who’d brought the whiskey.

“You?” Percy said to Lucien then offered a commiserating nod. “Know how that goes, old man.”

Then Percy noticed the ruins looming ahead of them. “Look at that! I made it just in time. We’ve arrived.”

John Knox’s faith and Cromwell’s cannons had turned a once thriving religious community into nothing but an empty stone shell. But in destruction the building gained a lyrical beauty. Ivy softened its lichen-stained walls. Empty of the colored glass they’d once contained, the delicate pointed stone windows marched down the abbey’s side.

Percy frowned at Lucien, then looked away, only to grimace and once more meet Lucien’s gaze. “My lord, I hesitate to ruin your day, but I cannot in good conscience withhold what I saw in Hawick this morning. Lord Bucksden stays at the inn there.”

Rage tore through Lucien at the mention of that dastard’s name. His hands jerked on his reins. His bay reacted by kicking at Percy’s mare.

Whinnying in surprise, the mare bucked. Percy’s hat flew. Egremont’s mount bolted. That only further startled the mare. Bucking and leaping, she bolted into the sedate ranks of the riders.

Shouting, Devanney’s guests scattered. The mare carried a hard-pressed Percy around the altar end of the ruined church. Devanney, Egremont and Lucien followed. Everyone else guided their mounts to the far safer nave end.

By the time Percy regained control he and his mare were halfway across the erstwhile monastery’s grounds. He brought the trembling horse to a halt at the edge of the tumbling stream that cut through the ancient property. Dismounting, he stroked and murmured to the mare. Devanney and Egremont joined him after tying up their horses. Lucien guided his bay to a halt far enough from the thoroughbred that his horse could do no more harm.

He considered staying with his horse. For him, anger was a private emotion, its expression too extreme to be borne in any polite company or near those whose opinions he valued. But the need to verify what Percy said was too great. It took every bit of his will to tame what roiled in him as he left his gelding to graze as he would and joined the others at the water’s edge.

“You must be mistaken, Percy,” he said. “Bucksden knows I summer in the area. He’s been careful to avoid me for almost three years now.”

Although Lucien had spoken only to Devanney of his need to end Bucksden’s life, Bucksden had recognized the threat in Lucien’s face the few times their paths had crossed before Dorothea’s death. That had been enough to convince the earl he was safer at a distance from Graceton’s lord.

“I’m not mistaken,” Percy insisted, stroking his horse’s side. “It was Bucksden, although he looks as though he boxed the watch and got the worst of it. Head’s swathed in bandages and his eyes are blackened.”

Lucien tried to take some satisfaction in the card cheat’s injuries. He couldn’t. He wanted to be the one who dealt Bucksden his wounds. And so he would do, as soon as he had a son to carry on his line and name.

Which he wouldn’t have if he didn’t get himself a wife.

Lucien freed a disbelieving breath; by God, but Devanney’s distraction was working. From the moment Cassie had exposed her naked back to him yesterday Lucien had completely forgotten about arranging his next marriage.

Miss Elizabeth Conningsby strode around the end of the abbey church. She carried Percy’s hat in her hand. Cassie followed her sister.

Lucien stared at Cassie and felt nothing. His attraction to her hadn’t survived the depths of his hatred for Bucksden. Cassie caught his look. Color seeped into her cheeks, only to ebb almost as swiftly. A tiny crease appeared on her brow and she hurried her pace.

“Mr. Percy, are you safe and well?” Miss Elizabeth asked as she closed the distance between them.

“I am, Miss Elizabeth,” Percy replied, turning to show the beauty his finer side.

Laughing, Egremont stepped a little ahead of Percy to usurp his friend’s pose. “His wholeness is a matter of some question. Look inside that hat and see if the idiot didn’t lose his brain along with his chapeau.”

Miss Elizabeth smiled impishly, her brown eyes sparkling over two gentlemen competing for her affections. She stopped before them. Cassie halted a few steps behind her, watching Lucien more closely than he liked.

“Here you are, sir,” Miss Elizabeth said, handing Percy his hat, “none the worse for the experience. The hat, I mean.”

“I’m eternally grateful, miss.” Percy restored his hat to his head, tilting it a little. “Do come see what I’ve acquired. Have no fear. She’s really the most gentle of creatures.”

“She’s beautiful,” Miss Elizabeth said, her hands caught close to her chest and her enthusiasm contrived. “But her coat is wet. Perhaps I can admire her later, when she’s clean? Well, now that you have your hat, I’d like to return to the ruins. I brought my sketch pad, thinking to do a little drawing. This place is gorgeous. I don’t want to waste a moment with my back to it.”

So saying, Elizabeth Conningsby started away from Percy and Egremont, tossing an enticing glance over her shoulder as she went. Neither young man could resist. They flew after her.

“I’ll come with you,” Percy announced, taking one arm as one of Devanney’s following servants came to care for his horse.

“Would you show me your drawings?” Egremont asked, taking her other.

“I’d be delighted.” Laughing, Elizabeth sashayed past her sister.

Lucien waited for Cassie to follow. Instead, she stood as if she'd been planted. Devanney glanced at her, then his brows lowered and he stepped to Lucien’s side.

“Shall I stay or go?” he asked quietly, offering to be the ear Lucien needed to work his way out of rage at the same time he tried again to use Cassie as a distraction.

If Lucien hadn’t been trapped in cold anger he might have laughed. His cousin still believed Cassie held some attraction for him. She didn’t, not now that he knew Bucksden was within reach. Nor was he ready to talk his way out of his rage at the earl.

“Go,” he replied.

Devanney gave a nod then strode after the giggling threesome. Once his cousin had rounded the church’s corner, Lucien turned his gaze on Cassie, waiting for her to leave as well now that they were alone and unchaperoned. He craved time and privacy to restore his control.

Instead, she held her ground, watching him in return. That tiny frown still marred her pretty brow. “Are you well?” she asked at last.

“I’m not injured,” Lucien replied shortly.

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Cassie’s tiny frown blossomed into full blown concern. “A moment ago you looked so bleak. I thought perhaps something had happened?”

A breath of a laugh escaped Lucien. Bleak wasn’t the emotion he’d been feeling. Anger, for certain. Frustration, perhaps, even impatience. If only he had a brother, or a cousin who bore the Hollier name. Instead, he was the last man in the long, unbroken line of men who had held Graceton’s title since the Conquest. Because of that Lucien couldn’t call out Bucksden until he had a son to follow him, even though he knew he was a better man with weapons than Bucksden. A man who cheated at cards would have no compunction about cheating in a duel, not when it meant preserving his own life.