Authors: Alexandra Ivy
My Lord Eternity (10 page)
His chuckle echoed through the peaceful meadow. “True enough. Still, I do not believe that you will be overly bosky from two glasses of champagne.”
Jocelyn was not nearly so confident. Already there was a giddy glow flowing through her blood, and a decidedly unfamiliar excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
Of course, she did not believe for a moment that the tingling sensations came from the expensive bottle of champagne. Only this gentleman had ever been capable of creating such a dizzying flood of emotion.
At this moment, however, she readily ignored the whispers of warning in the back of her mind. She did not desire to be the sensible, utterly dependable maiden who never accepted risk in her life.
With a small smile she picked up the full glass. “Then I shall be daring.”
As if sensing her uncharacteristic mood of carefree joy, Lucien shifted closer to her seated form, his warm scent cloaking about her.
“I desire to propose a toast,” he murmured as he held out his glass to touch her own.
Jocelyn regarded him in puzzlement. “A toast? To what?”
“To you, my dove. And all your amazing qualities.”
She fought back a sudden rush of embarrassment at his soft words. “Absurd.”
“No.” He captured her gaze with ease. “You are without a doubt the most remarkable woman I have ever encountered.”
Unaccustomed to such blatant flattery, Jocelyn shifted uneasily. “Hardly remarkable.”
“Do not contradict me,” he commanded in arrogant tones. “Not only do you risk your own well-being each evening when you go onto the streets, you have been the savior to women who had no hope. They have a future because of you.”
“I pray you are right,” she retorted, her thoughts turning back to the women they had just left behind. They had endured so much. Far more than any maiden should have to bear. Only time would determine if they could overcome the pain in their lives. “They deserve a measure of happiness.”
That tender expression that always stole her breath softened the elegant features.
“Happiness that you have given to them. I do not know any other woman who could have accomplished so much.” He reached out to remove the forgotten glass of champagne from her hand and placed it upon the grass with his own. “Not only have you taken them from the streets, you have offered them a home and allowed them to learn skills that will keep them provided for the future.”
She ducked her head as she felt a childish blush steal into her cheeks. This gentleman managed to make her feel like a gullible schoolgirl.
“Lucien, please. I do only what I can.”
“And modest as well,” he murmured softly. “A most potent combination.”
“You are being a fool,” she chided in flustered tones.
There was a moment's pause before Jocelyn felt a warm hand cup her chin and gently press her countenance upward.
“Look at me, Jocelyn,” he commanded.
Slowly she lifted her heavy lashes to meet the eyes that glowed with a pure golden light in the falling dusk.
“What?”
“Be proud of what you have accomplished,” he said firmly. “Be proud of who you have become. It is far more worthy than being the neglected wife of some mindless dandy.”
She paused as she pondered his words.
It was true that the road she traveled had not been the one she had expected to. Certainly she could never have dreamed as a child she would one day live in the dark streets of St. Giles with only an elderly servant as company.
Still, she could not deny that she found it difficult to think of herself in an elegant town house with nothing to occupy her mind beyond the cut of her dress and the latest gossip.
Could she ever have been satisfied with such an existence?
Could she have found joy in tending to a husband who preferred his life at his club and his mistresses while she chatted over tea and flitted about dance floors?
Her life might not have been of her choosing, but Jocelyn knew in her heart that it provided a sense of accomplishment that she never could have found in the more fashionable world.
“Yes,” she at last breathed softly.
A sudden expression of satisfaction rippled over Lucien's countenance before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her own.
Caught off guard, Jocelyn did not even make a pretense of resisting the sweet caress. She did not desire to resist, she fuzzily acknowledged.
Tantalizing warmth shimmered through her blood, a burst of excitement exploding within her stomach. Her lips parted in silent invitation, and with a fractured groan Lucien gathered her in his arms.
“You taste of champagne,” he murmured against her mouth.
Her hands rose to clutch his shoulders. She struggled to think through the fog of pleasure that clouded her mind.
“Lucien.”
“Yes, Jocelyn?”
“It . . . it is growing late.”
He gave a soft laugh, his warm breath sweetly brushing over her sensitive lips.
“Yes, it is. I have waited too long to hold you in my arms.”
She felt lost in the golden heat of his eyes, longing for nothing more than to remain pressed against the strength of his hard form. This was where she truly belonged, she inanely acknowledged. The only place she desired to be.
Alone with this man who had filled her empty heart with joy.
Nearly overwhelmed by the stark realization, she struggled to break the spell of enchantment.
“You have won no bets,” she reminded him in breathless tones.
His brows rose in a teasing fashion. “Ah, you have forgotten. Earlier I wagered that I would discover your small farm fascinating, and I assure you that I did so.”
She gave a choked laugh at his absurdity. “That was no genuine wager.”
“Of course it was,” he argued, his hands stroking the curve of her back. “And now I demand my forfeit.”
Jocelyn shivered in delicious anticipation. “I do not believe that you play fair, sir.”
“Why, Miss Kingly, surely you do not accuse me of cheating?”
It was decidedly difficult to keep her mind upon the playful conversation when those hands continued to trail up and down her spine and the temptation of his lips were only a breath away.
“You are certainly swift to take advantage of the situation,” she accused him.
“I must need be swift with you, my dove. You are far too elusive for my liking.”
She searched the dark countenance, wondering why she did not feel the panic or even reluctance that had plagued her since the scandal. Surely she had not forgotten just how dangerous desire could be to a young maiden?
But even as she sought the lingering sense of distrust for such passions, she discovered that she felt nothing but a growing need to give herself utterly to this man.
“Not so elusive,” she murmured.
She heard his breath catch in his throat, then, with a low moan, he was pressing her close and kissing her with a barely concealed hunger.
Jocelyn clutched at his shoulders, reveling in the demands of his lips. This was what she ached for. This restless, yearning desire. This consuming passion that must surely be fulfilled.
She leaned closer, sighing softly when the seeking lips left her mouth to trail a scorching path down her jaw and then the curve of her neck. She took no note of the gathering darkness or of the soft call of distant birds that echoed through the air.
There was nothing beyond the magic of Lucien's touch.
After what may have been mere moments or hours, Lucien reluctantly pulled back to regard her with a darkened gaze.
“Ah, my dove, you have firmly captured me in your spell,” he said in husky tones.
She gave a dazed shake of her head. “I have no spells.”
“Tell that to my heart.”
Her eyes widened at his soft words. His heart? Could he possibly mean . . . did he imply that he was in love with her? Could his emotions have become as deeply entwined as her own?
“Lucien, Iâ”
Without warning he suddenly pressed his fingers to her lips, halting the impulsive confession that she had been about to utter.
“No, say nothing,” he said, an oddly regretful expression upon his handsome countenance. Almost as if he knew what she was about to say and was determined to prevent the words. “The time will come when we may freely speak of such things. But not yet.”
She frowned at his unusual reserve. Lucien was not a man who deliberately hid his emotions. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Why?” she demanded, an unwelcome disquiet worming its way into her heart.
Something that might have been pain rippled over his finely chiseled features.
“Because I could not bear to lose you.”
Chapter 9
A peaceful silence had descended upon the cramped sitting room. Seated in a chair beside the window, Jocelyn glanced toward the golden-haired gentleman who was settled upon the sofa.
After an evening devoted to ensuring the children in the warehouse were well fed and also seeking out the various prostitutes who had come to depend upon Jocelyn's assistance, they had returned to the quiet house for a light dinner.
Although feeling far too restless to seek her bed, Jocelyn had been determined to avoid yet another of Lucien's dangerous games. She was not a fool. She was well aware that she was but a breath from tossing aside all sense and giving in to the passions simmering within her.
So, collecting her large sewing basket, she had made her way to the sitting room, determined to finish the linen shirt she had been stitching for Thomas.
Much to her amazement, Lucien had swiftly joined her. She had half expected him to demand that she fulfill her side of their devilish bargain. She had, after all, taken the money he gave her each evening for accompanying her to the streets. But instead, he calmly scooped up a blouse she was altering for Annie from the basket and with needle and thread had moved to the sofa to work upon the unfinished hem.
He should appear the fool, she told herself as she covertly studied the lean profile outlined in the flickering candlelight. Whoever heard of a sophisticated gentleman stitching like a common tailor?
But there was nothing foolish in the beautiful features set into lines of concentration, or the slender, artistic fingers that moved with a supple grace. He appeared perfectly comfortable and not at all embarrassed to be performing such a menial, womanly task.
She tried and failed to think of any other gentleman of her acquaintance who would be so secure within himself.
There was simply no one else to compare with Lucien Valin, she acknowledged with a faint sigh. It was little wonder that he had so easily bewitched his way into her heart.
As if sensing her intense regard, the golden head abruptly lifted and he flashed her that wicked grin that never failed to stop her heart.
“Well?”
Lost in the beauty of his smile, it took a moment for her to realize he was holding up the small blouse for her inspection. Feeling decidedly foolish, she rose from the chair and crossed the floor to take the garment.
Soon she would be one of those witless maidens who could do nothing but giggle and simper when in the company of a handsome gentleman, she chided herself.
“You are very swift,” she murmured, hoping to hide her brief flare of embarrassment.
“Will it do?”
Rather absently raising the blouse to glance at the fresh hem, her attention was firmly caught by the tiny, utterly precise stitches.
Not even the most talented dressmaker could have achieved such efficient work.
She gave a slow shake of her head. “I do not believe it.”
He rose to his feet, his golden brows raised at her muttered words. “What is it?”
“It is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
He gave a choked laugh. “And that is a bad thing?”
“Everything you do is perfect.” She lifted her head to meet his glittering gaze. “Do you have no faults whatsoever?”
“You are being absurd.”
“Indeed?” She regarded him steadily. “I have yet to see you fail at anything. You have mastered chess, hazard, archery, and cribbage. You charm young children, wary women, and even Meg, who is never charmed. And now you sew a perfect hem.”
Surprisingly his amusement faded as he reached out to gently remove the blouse from her hands. He tossed it upon the sofa before turning to grasp her shoulders.
“Jocelyn, I can assure you that I am far from perfect,” he said, what might have been regret darkening his eyes. “In truth, there are any number of my acquaintances who would assure you that I have more than my fair share of faults.”
She frowned, unable to accept his words. Surely all who met Lucien tumbled into love with him. How could they not?
“I do not believe you.”
His fingers briefly tightened, his lips twisting in a rueful fashion.
“You should. I can be irresponsible, frivolous, and inclined to infuriate others with my peculiar sense of humor.”
She searched his expression, sensing a vulnerability that she would never have expected beneath his smooth assurance. It pierced her heart in a manner that she had never experienced before.
Barely aware of what she did, Jocelyn raised her hand to lay it against the satin softness of his cheek in a comforting motion.
“I enjoy your sense of humor,” she said with a fierce sincerity.
The golden eyes abruptly shimmered in the dim light as he reached up to cover the fingers still pressed to his countenance.
“Oh, my dove, you do know best how to touch my heart.”
Her breath caught at the fragile, wondrous moment.
The sensations that filled her were not those she had experienced with Lord Patten. This had nothing to do with vanity or a need for adventure or even the desire for physical pleasure.
What she felt now was deeper, more profound. Her heart, even her very soul, knew the truth.
It was perhaps the most important moment in her entire life.
“Do I?” she whispered.
“Can you doubt it?” he demanded in hoarse tones.
“Lucien . . .”
Her lips parted in an open invitation for his kiss, but even as his head began to lower, an unreadable emotion swept over his countenance and he was pulling back.
“Jocelyn, we must speak,” he abruptly insisted.
A chill inched down her spine. She reluctantly recalled his manner earlier in the day. She had been so close to confessing her feelings. She had wanted him to know that he had found a place within her heart. But even as the words had trembled upon her lips, he cut her short.
And now, once again, he was holding her at length.
There was clearly something wrong.
“I thought we were speaking,” she said in a failed attempt at humor to cover her fear.
His features became unreadable as he drew in a deep breath. “There are secrets you do not know of me, Jocelyn. Secrets that are not easy to confess.”
She stiffened, feeling as if her heart were being squeezed with a ruthless force.
“Are you married?”
He appeared momentarily shocked by her question before he gave a sharp shake of his head.
“No. I have never desired to bind myself to another.” His hand moved to touch her cheek. “Not until now.”
She unwittingly hid a sigh. Surely anything could be overcome as long as he was free to offer her his heart.
“Then, what is it?”
Surprisingly she felt his fingers tremble against her face, as if he were struggling to control his inner emotions. The chill within her became more pronounced.
“You said that I was different. I fear that you were quite right. I am unlike any other gentleman you have ever encountered.”
Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “That does not matter to me, Lucien. Considering most gentlemen I have encountered, I can only be relieved that you are different.”
He gave a sigh, his fingers compulsively moving down her cheek to stroke the line of her jaw.
“That is because you do not yet comprehend what I mean by different.”
“You are not making any sense. I know you. There is nothingâ”
Her ardent words were untimely interrupted when the door to the sitting room was rudely thrust open. With a gasp of dismay Jocelyn jumped away from Lucien and turned to meet Meg's speculative gaze.
“Meg.” She ridiculously ran her hands over her gown, realizing that the servant was bound to have noticed the intimate familiarity between her and Lucien. There would no doubt be a stern lecture on the morrow at her foolish weakness. “Has something occurred?”
The housekeeper flashed Lucien a jaundiced glare before returning her attention to the flustered Jocelyn.
“That gent is here again.”
“Gent?”
“That one who ruined my floors.”
With her thoughts still tangled by Lucien, it took a while before Jocelyn at last realized Meg must be referring to the Bow Street Runner who had called before.
“Mr. Ryan?”
“Aye.”
Her hand lifted to press to her heart. It was far too late for any callers. What could he possibly desire?
“I see,” she murmured. “I suppose you should show him in.”
Meg planted her hands upon her hips. “At this hour?”
Jocelyn gave a lift of her shoulders. “I would rather discover what Mr. Ryan has to say than to spend the entire night speculating.”
The servant gave a disapproving click of her tongue. “The man should be abed, not out disturbing young ladies.”
“He is only doing his job, Meg. Please show him in.”
Just for a moment the woman hesitated, as if determined to protect Jocelyn from the intruder. Then with a sniff she turned on her heel and stomped toward the door.
“Indecent,” she muttered as she stepped into the hall.
Dismissing the housekeeper's obvious annoyance, Jocelyn slowly turned to meet Lucien's searching gaze. She did not want to be interrupted at this moment. Not when she needed to know what Lucien had to say, and to be reassured that everything was going to be well. Not when she needed to be held in his arms and for this night forget the ugly streets and fear that lurked just outside her door.
But it was impossible.
Mr. Ryan would not have called if he did not have something of importance to reveal. Whatever her reluctance, she knew that she had to see him.
“Lucien, I must meet with Mr. Ryan. Perhaps youâ”
Without warning he stepped forward to grasp her upper arms firmly. “No.”
She gave a startled blink. “What?”
The elegant features hardened to a determined expression. “He can speak with me present.”
“But why? This has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it does. If it affects you, then it affects me. I will not leave.”
A ridiculous rush of relief threatened to buckle her knees. She had prided herself on her strength. She depended upon no one, and that was precisely how she desired it to be.
But suddenly she realized that there was something very wonderful in knowing Lucien was near.
Not that she intended to confess her desire for his company, she wryly acknowledged. He was far too confident as it was.
“Is that a command?”
He grimaced, belatedly realizing how sharply he had spoken. “No, I am not that foolish. But you need not brave your troubles on your own, Jocelyn. I am here to be at your side. Will you allow me to remain?”
She allowed her expression to soften. Really, this was the most remarkable of men.
“If you wish.”
With a swift motion he bent downward to brush his lips over her forehead before pulling back and moving discreetly away. She resisted the urge to touch the tingling skin, instead attempting to smooth her countenance to the calm composure she had once found so very easy. It would not do to appear like a giddy schoolgirl in the first throes of love.
It was scandalous enough to be discovered with a gentleman in her sitting room at such an hour.
Squaring her shoulders, Jocelyn was prepared as the burly gentleman entered the room, clutching his hat in his hands. His shrewd gaze briefly rested upon the silent stranger near the empty fireplace before he was offering Jocelyn a small bow.
“Ah, Miss Kingly, forgive me for intruding once again. And at such a late hour.”
She managed a small smile. “Not at all. May I introduce you to Mr. Valin? Mr. Valin, this is Mr. Ryan. He is from Bow Street.”
The two gentlemen shared a long, silent gaze before the Runner was giving a nod of his head.
“A pleasure, Mr. Valin.”
“Mr. Ryan,” Lucien murmured.
“Would you care for tea?” Jocelyn politely offered. “Or perhaps you would prefer brandy?”
“Nothing, I thank you. I will not intrude long.”
“Do you have word of Molly's killer?” she hopefully prompted, not at all surprised when he gave a regretful shake of his head.
“I fear not. Despite my numerous nights upon the streets, there does not appear to be anyone willing to admit they were acquainted with Molly or if they noted her upon that specific evening.”
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