WANTON (3 page)

“Let’s go in, Miss Hubbard,” the earl said.

“Yes, let’s do.”

He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Forcing her widest, merriest grin, she straightened her spine and waltzed into the room. The earl stomped in behind. She wouldn’t be intimidated or made to feel unworthy. She was the daughter of a French count and had been taught by Miss Peabody how to carry on in even the most trying of situations. If it killed her, she would get through the awkward moment.

Mr. Drake was over by the sideboard, pouring himself a hefty brandy. He downed the liquor in a long swallow, then spun to face them, and if Amelia had been a swooning type of female, she’d have fainted on the spot.

“Oh, my Lord,” she muttered.

It was the roué from the suite upstairs, the one who’d been tumbling the housemaids. When she’d been spying on him, she’d predicted him to be a laborer or tradesman who’d bra
zenly sneaked in. But he wasn’t common or ordinary. He was Lucas Drake, second son to George Drake, Lord Sidwell, and Amelia wanted to cry out with offense, but she didn’t.

She was at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to think? What was she supposed to
do
?

The earl had taken her arm and was guiding her across the floor, continuing on until they were directly in front of Mr. Drake.

“Lucas, welcome home.” The earl spoke in a stilted, cold way.

“Your lordship.” Mr. Drake nodded, his tone just as stilted—and a tad snotty and disrespectful.

“This is Miss Hubbard,” the earl pointed out as if it wasn’t already clear.

Mr. Drake insolently studied her, his cheeky gaze resting on the top of her head, then meandering down in a completely improper manner. Once his assessment was finished, he smirked.

“She’s prettier than the other ones.”

“The other whats?” the earl said.

“The other candidates you found. I’m not getting married.”

“Miss Hubbard isn’t here to...marry you,” the earl fibbed. “She’s visiting. That’s all.”

“Visiting, really?” Mr. Drake sneered.

“Yes, her father was an old friend of mine. She recently returned from...France.” The earl shot a glare at Amelia, warning her not to contradict him. “She needed a few quiet weeks to settle in before she jumps into the hustle and bustle of London.”

“A likely story,” Mr. Drake scoffed, and he glowered derisively at Amelia. “I don’t care what Lord Sidwell has promised you. I don’t care what he paid you or what gifts he offered. I’m
not
interested in marrying, and I’m most particularly not interested in marrying
you
.”

Amelia glowered too, deciding she’d been correct in her initial appraisal. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, tall, blond, blue-eyed, wide-shouldered, tan and fit. His face could have been painted on an angel on a church ceiling. His body could have been used as a model for an artist to sculpt the perfect marble statue.

He was imperious and jaded, cynicism rolling off him in waves, and no doubt he’d had dozens of lovers, perhaps hundreds or thousands. He was extremely magnetic, brooding and mysterious, the kind who would have women throwing themselves at him, the kind who would tumble the maids in a deserted bedchamber because the maids couldn’t resist.

This man was to be her husband? This man was the one Miss Peabody had chosen?

Amelia had never been especially close to Miss Peabody, but the stern, older woman had been a maternal figure to Amelia, the nearest thing Amelia could claim to having a mother. Amelia had thought Miss Peabody liked her, but now, with this debacle looming, she could only assume that Miss Peabody hadn’t liked her at all.

Was this some sort of cosmic trick? Amelia had lived a stellar life, had tried to be a decent person, had obeyed moral strictures and practiced good deeds. What sin could she have committed that would have required this horrid punishment?

From the moment she’d entered the room, she’d been frozen with shock, rendered mute by mortification. But she wasn’t a weak or frail creature, and she wasn’t afraid of Lucas Drake. Nor was she impressed.

“
You don’t wish to marry me?” she haughtily inquired in her most severe schoolteacher’s voice.

“No, I don’t. Not if you were the last woman on Earth.”

She scoffed. “Funny that.”

“What?” He frowned, his confusion obvious.

“I wouldn’t marry you either. Not if you were the last
man
on Earth.” She turned her furious gaze to the earl. “I’m sorry, Lord Sidwell, but there’s been a mistake.”

“No, no, don’t be hasty,” the earl said.

“I’m not being hasty. Your son is a wastrel and libertine, and while I may currently have few options as to my future, I shouldn’t have to settle for such a wretch.”

“Wretch!” Mr. Drake sputtered.

“Yes, wretch,” Amelia repeated. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t care for the company in this room. I must pack my bag.”

“Miss Hubbard!” the earl snapped. “You’ve only just arrived. You can’t leave.”

“Yes, I can. You’ve brought me here under false pretenses. Please make the appropriate arrangements so I can depart at the earliest opportunity.”

“I won’t,” the earl huffed.

“Then I shall go on my own.” She flashed her most condescending smirk at Mr. Drake. “Good luck in your bridal search. I hope you get the girl you absolutely deserve.”

“Just a darned minute, you little—” Mr. Drake started.

“We have naught more to say to one another,” she replied, and she swept out, regal as any queen.

* * * *

“Nothing ever changes around here.”

“You’re correct. You’re as obstinate and unreasonable as ever.”

Lucas glared at his father, and his father glared right back. Lucas would have laughed if it wasn’t all so exasperating.

His father—George Drake, Lord Sidwell—was a pompous, condescending ass. He assumed himself to be powerful and commanding, but in reality, he was pathetic and ridiculous.

His rank of earl was just a generation old, a pittance in the history of the ancient, landed British families. Lucas’s grandfather had won the title after performing a service for the king that had been so important, but so secretive that no one knew what it was.

George was new to his station, new to his role, and he was ceaselessly vexed by the fact that he didn’t receive the respect he felt was his due. His peers treated him like an interloper, and it was ludicrous for him to put on airs. Yet he always did.

“I haven’t been in the house an hour,” Lucas chided, “and you’re already throwing a bride in my face.”

“I told you she’s not a bridal candidate,” George insisted. “Why can’t you ever listen?”

“Not a candidate? You seriously expect me to believe you?”

“Yes.”

George puffed himself up, appearing even more absurd, and not for the first time, Lucas wondered if George was actually his father.

Lucas’s mother had died when he was a toddler, and he didn’t remember her, but there was constant gossip that she’d been loose with her favors. If the stories were true, Lucas couldn’t blame her. After all, the poor woman had been wed to George. Who wouldn’t take lovers?

With George being so short and plump, and Lucas so tall and fit, they didn’t resemble each other in even the smallest way. It was definitely possible that they shared no common blood and would explain why he and George loathed each other and always had.

“Her father is a friend,” George claimed, but he was fiddling with his lapel, a blatant sign that he was lying.

“A friend you’ve never previously mentioned.”

“You don’t know all of my acquaintances.”

“Thank God,” Lucas muttered.

“We went to school together.” The fiddling increased. “I told him I’d welcome his children if they wished to visit.”

“His children? How many does he have?”

“Ah...” George hesitated for an eternity. He was slow on his feet, and it was another good indication that he and Lucas weren’t related.

Lucas could lie like a drunken sailor.

“Give over, my lord,” Lucas scoffed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Still, George persisted. “She’s staying for a month or two, and I’ve promised to help her gain entry into the best circles.”

“Well, that will certainly ruin her chances.”

“I expect you to be courteous and cordial.”

“Shall I dance attendance on her? Shall I escort her about the neighborhood and introduce her to the neighbors.”

“Why, yes, that would be very kind of you.”

“And while I’m escorting her, I’ll just happen to grow enamored. Is that what you’re hoping?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to attach yourself to such a fetching girl.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Get it through your thick head, Father. I’m
not
marrying, and I’m most especially not marrying some trembling ninny you’ve selected. Stop playing all these games. Please!”

“She’s not a trembling ninny!” George’s temper was spiking, his volume rising, as he wagged an angry finger at Lucas. “She’s a beautiful, educated, well-mannered gentlewoman of good birth and good reputation. You’re lucky she’d show her face in this house. You should be flattered!”

“Flattered? Really?”

“Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a female who would lower herself to have you?”

“Yes, you’ve been very clear, so why keep trying?”

“I had to scrape the bottom of the barrel with her. She’s doesn’t have any family to object.”

“I thought her father was your close friend.”

“Ah...ah...”

His lie exposed, George flushed with chagrin, but he quickly recovered and drew himself up to his full height—which was many inches shorter than Lucas’s six-feet.

“By God,” George thundered, “you will wed Miss Hubbard or I’m through with you!”

“So she is a possible bride. You’re admitting it?”

“Yes. I arranged the match, and I won’t apologize for it.”

“And I won’t shackle myself to her, so why torment me? Why torment yourself?”

“I am your father! You will do as I say!”

“I haven’t yet.”

“No, you never have, and look what’s become of you.”

It was an old argument that had no resolution.

From Lucas’s earliest memories, he and George had butted heads. If George said the sky was blue, Lucas would say it was yellow merely to be contrary. They’d never understood each other, had never gotten on or felt any bond.

No matter how Lucas succeeded, how he thrived, it was never enough for George. Lucas had been belittled and berated and condescended to for so long that it was ingrained in his nature to prove himself a sloth and ingrate.

He’d spent the prior decade in the army, forced to join at age fifteen when he’d stupidly fought a duel and had wounded another student at school. They’d been quarreling over a married woman—a professor’s wife—and it was a scandal that still shocked people and was the reason, all these years later, that no reputable family would hand over a daughter to be Lucas’s wife.

George had pulled a dozen strings and pushed Lucas into the army rather than his being prosecuted for the duel. His military service was supposed to have calmed his more despicable tendencies but, unfortunately, no character alteration had occurred.

He was just as lazy, insolent, corrupt, and immoral as ever, his experiences as a soldier simply honing his more shady propensities.

“What is your plan, Lucas?” his father seethed.

“I have no plan.”

“You’ve resigned your commission in the army. You’re back in England. What are you hoping to do?”

“I’m not
hoping
to do anything.”

Actually, he was to have left for India with his best friend, James Talbot, but James had stunned Lucas by suddenly deciding to wed. So the trip to India was cancelled, and with the journey off the table, Lucas was at loose ends and trying to devise a path that didn’t involve employment or penury or matrimony.

“You have no income,” George nagged. “You have no prospects.”

“No, not a one,” Lucas blithely concurred.

“I’m told you can’t show up in London. There are too many creditors chasing you.”

“It is a nuisance,” he agreed.

“You’ve slithered home, which means you’re expecting to ingratiate yourself so I’ll pay your bills.”

“No, I slithered home because you demanded I visit. I came to see what nonsense you’d concocted this time.”

“Marriage is not nonsense!” George bellowed.

“It certainly is in my book.”

“You require a steadying influence, Lucas. A wife will provide you with stability and purpose so you’ll carry on in a normal fashion.”

“I have no desire to carry on normally. It’s not in my nature—as you’ve pointed out on a thousand previous occasions.”

“The marriage with Miss Hubbard is contracted. The dowry has been tendered, the contacts signed. You
will
wed her—or else!”

“Or else what?”

“You will be disowned and disavowed.”

“Disowned?” Lucas laughed. “You’ve never helped me. How could my situation grow any worse?”

A sly expression crossed George’s face. “However, if you marry her, there will be no need for a breach between us. In fact, I’ll reward you quite handsomely.”

“You will?”

“Yes. I’ll square your debts, and I’ll give you the family property in Surrey. The two of you can retire there, so you’ll be away from the temptations of town. You’ll have a fine living from the proceeds of the estate.”

Lucas snorted with disgust. “I’ll become a gentleman farmer? Is that the future you see for me?”

“A
married
gentleman farmer.”

“Oh, gad,” Lucas sighed. “I don’t know why I ever come to Sidwell.”

“You come because I am your father, because I am your lord and master. You will do as I say! And you will do it gladly.”

“That top-lofty tone works with Aaron”—Aaron was Lucas’s perfect and faultless brother—“but it doesn’t work with me. I can’t figure out why you imagine I’ll be swayed by it.”

“Aaron understands his place. Aaron understands his role.”

“Yes, yes, Aaron is so bloody wonderful.”

“You will not denigrate your brother! Not in this house where he has always exhibited the utmost deference to me.”