Rogues Gallery (64 page)

"And I was about to say the same of you. You are impossible, Hugh. You always have been. It is beyond me how you found a woman to marry you."

"I am fortunate my wife proposed to me." At the fierce look in her eyes, he squeezed her. "Do not think you can pinch your way into my good graces. Those fingers can be quite diabolical at times."

Her soft laugh was a balm to his heart. "What if I were to promise to utilize them in a different fashion?"

"That sounds tempting," he admitted, chuckling. "Though I would be every kind of fool if I believed you."

"I am wounded," she said, her lips pouting in such a tempting way. Her voice was husky, belying her actual words.

Hugh returned his attention to her earlobe, dotting it with tender kisses. She tilted her head to give him even better access. Much as he would love to see her hair draped over her shoulders, at this moment he was grateful for the topknot that left her graceful neck and ears exposed for his pleasure.

"Hugh, please," she said, her voice nearly a whimper.

"I love you, Felicia. I adore you. I will worship you all my days, for I cannot imagine a life without you. Please do not ever doubt my love for you, no matter what pig-headed thing I am bound to say or do in the future."

Felicia stopped him with a kiss, one that was as heartfelt and passionate as his own words. He groaned as he tasted her, unable to resist her a moment longer, ready to show her how much he loved her.

She finally broke off the kiss. "Oh, Hugh, you know how much I love you. You have given me a family I will always cherish. Even if our children end up headstrong like me."

"And stubborn like me." He chuckled. "Lucinda is going to be a frightfully bossy older sister."

"Indeed she is." Felicia grinned as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. "But won't it be amusing, a passel of children with Flighty Felicia and Lord Wastrel as their parents?"

"You may have just convinced me to permanently lock the connecting door—ouch!"

"You deserved that. Now let us retire while you tell me again how much you love me."

"I would prefer to show you." His lips lifted into a slow grin. "It is likely to take a very long while. The remainder of the day, at a minimum. Lord Wastrel never likes to be rushed."

She grabbed his hand and led him to the bed.

Aphrodite shivered as Ares trailed his finger down her exposed arm.

"I am rather confused," he said, his voice soft.

"About what?" she managed. It was difficult to concentrate on conversation once his lips touched her skin, following the path his finger had just travelled.

"The curse. It didn't seem to go the way we expected, did it?"

"Not precisely."

Ares lifted his head to gaze at her. She placed her hand on his nape, gently moving him back to the spot on her neck that always made her quiver. She felt the rumble of his laughter against her pulse.

Another nibble, and another kiss, and she would not be able to converse at all. Thank the gods she was immortal, and had centuries to indulge her passions.

"The curse," she breathed, stroking Ares' hair at the same time, "did work. Only I did not discover until later, much later, that it was not Felicia who was cursed. It was actually Hugh."

"How so?"

"Felicia was already halfway in love with him, so when she and I came into contact, it merely raised it from its dormant state."

"So she
was
cursed."

Aphrodite laughed at the bewilderment on her beloved's face. "No, it was Hugh that needed to find his one true love. If it were not for Felicia pursuing him so assiduously, he would have never found her."

"Especially when she was eloping every fortnight."

"Yes. And it's obvious they are perfectly matched."

"It did not seem so at first," he reminded her.

"No, but that was what made it so amusing."

"So we are done with curses now?"

She hesitated.

"Noooo," he moaned.

"I have some loose ends to tie up."

"Ahh, Aurore and her coachman, Frederick."

She flushed at the mention of her longest-running failure. "Yes, but I have hopes, I mean, plans to rectify that. And I have something in mind for the other two gentlemen in that family, though I am torn between the Duke who has a half-hearted belief in the curse, and that gambler who believes only in his own luck."

"Perhaps you can instruct them on what a grand gesture entails, since neither of these rogues have any notion at all."

Aphrodite laughed. "I knew you had a romantic streak."

"Well, since there are likely to be many lovers who require your assistance, it would be wise for me to enjoy our sojourn here." Ares gathered her into his arms, his face lit up with a smile that always made Aphrodite catch her breath. "Perhaps we should retire to consider all the possibilities, amorous and otherwise."

She blinked to break the spell her lover was casting over her, while she could still gather her thoughts. "You are much too distracting," she confessed.

"That is my goal. It is always my goal."

"I shall not be dissuaded," she said, attempting a stern demeanor.

He laughed, and led her to their bedchamber. "Nor shall I."

The End

L
ondon, 1811

"Dash it all, Wetherby's cannot lose its lease. It is my favorite club!"

Lucien Harcourt, Earl of Aylesworth, gaped at his best friend. Surely Duncan had misheard. Or perhaps it was some gossip being bandied about by a rival establishment.

"The owner passed away," Duncan replied matter-of-factly. "And presumably the new owner has other plans for the property."

Who could possibly want to change Wetherby's? Dark wallpaper and dim lighting were an essential part of its masculine appeal. The club was an escape from the rigors of the London Season, providing refuge from the matchmaking mamas intent on destroying every bachelor's joyous lifestyle.

Lucien slumped in the wing chair, which was one of many that had been artfully arranged to prohibit conversation, or encourage it, depending on a man's mood.

His mood was far from happy just then.

"I spent the past year in France, at Whitehall's behest, eagerly anticipating my return to Wetherby's. Only to discover it will close its doors at the end of the month."

Duncan lifted two glasses of brandy from a waiter's silver tray, handing one to Lucien with a sympathetic look. "It appears so."

"You are a barrister. Surely you could devise something to halt this travesty."

"That is not in my power, I am afraid." A mischievous gleam appeared in Duncan’s eyes. "Perhaps a new dalliance is the diversion you need."

Lucien's mood deteriorated even further. "I had planned to resume some previous liaisons. Instead—"

"Your absence has not made the female hearts in London grow fonder?"

"Not one whit! I shall give you an example: the delightful Lady Belinda Fairholme." The name elicited a wealth of naughty memories. "Now she is the Duchess of Alcourt. Even worse, she is besotted with the Duke. At the Blyth rout she wouldn't give me more than a brief nod. Not quite the cut direct, but perilously close."

Duncan's eyebrows lifted as if he was astonished, but the rogue covered his smile with one hand.

"And Lady Barstead." Lucien's fond remembrance of that wicked interlude dissipated quickly. "After a year on the continent, I can safely say I am not the reason for that impending arrival."

Duncan choked back a laugh. "We may have to revoke your title of 'every maiden's dream'."

"While I may have to rescind your status as lifelong friend, for giving me that name in the first place."

Lucien added a glare, but it only set off another round of laughter.

"You are telling me there were no opportunities to hone your wooing skills while in France?"

"Would I be grousing now," Lucien retorted, "if I had been wresting state secrets from beautiful
mademoiselles
?"

"Ahh. It is no wonder you are out of sorts."

"As well as completely out of charity with anything French." Lucien sighed. "Everything I wished to come home to has changed in my absence."

"True. And I do wish I could stay to commiserate with you," Duncan said, "but I must return to my bride. She is preparing for a visit from some long-lost relatives, and has asked for my assistance."

"Yet another shock to add to the lengthy list: you getting leg-shackled while I was abroad." Lucien took a sip of brandy. "I cannot wait to meet this paragon who reformed your views on marriage."

"Come round later and I shall make the introductions." Duncan drained his glass and then grinned. "Though I suggest you make it
much
later. Ginny and I shall be otherwise engaged for quite some time this afternoon."

Lucien laughed. "I almost envy you, a married man."

"Perhaps you shall be the next one caught in parson's mousetrap."

"If you believe that," Lucien scoffed, "then marriage has addled your brain. You know I love the ladies too much to settle on just one. As soon as a pretty miss catches my fancy, another lovely bats her eyelashes and I'm chasing my heart in another direction."

Duncan snorted. "It is not your heart you are following."

"Perhaps not," Lucien said with a grin. "But you are correct about one thing. Wooing a lovely young miss is precisely what I need right now." He stood, filled with purpose. "And since I shall not find her here—"

"
Excusez-moi?
"

The unmistakably female voice made every man in the room turn towards the open door. A few gasps were next, since women were never permitted in Wetherby's, or in any men's club in London.

Lucien immediately strode to the entryway, ready to aid their elderly butler before he was overpowered by a battalion of vocal bluestockings. The old man was leaning toward the intruder, his hand cupped around his ear, his expression slightly befuddled.

Lucien could not see who was accosting the faithful retainer, but he heard a woman, with a distinctly French accent, declaring, "
Monsieur
, this building belongs to me!"

***

T
he new owner of Wetherby's was a woman? A French one?

Lucien halted, stunned by the realization. But then he saw the comely female with chestnut curls and widened hazel eyes doing her best to peek around the half-open door, and his male instincts took over.

He headed towards her with his most charming smile in place, a host of flirtatious compliments at the ready.

This disastrous day was about to change for the better.

Before he could even utter a greeting, she gave him a swiftly dismissive look and then veered her attention to Duncan, who was standing slightly behind him.

"
Mon Dieu! Si beau.
So handsome you are."

Lucien nearly gasped. Any other time he would have enjoyed her coquettish smile, and the way it deepened her dimples.

But not while she was flirting with his newly married friend!

Duncan did not even try to hide his enjoyment of Lucien's setdown. "I believe you said you own this building, Miss—?" he asked.

"Annabella Dumont."

She extended her gloved hand, and Duncan graciously bowed and kissed her fingers. When she turned to Lucien, he sprang forward, intent on outdoing his friend and rival as in the old days. However she gave his outstretched fingers a brisk shake and turned back to Duncan.

"Miss Dumont." Duncan bit back another smile. "Permit me to introduce Lord Aylsworth. And I am Duncan Carlisle, Esq."

She nodded her head briefly in Lucien's direction, the minimum that politeness called for. Lucien could feel his scowl taking up permanent residence.

"I recently learn of my inheritance." She reached into her reticule and extracted a well-creased piece of paper. "And I come to see about its transfer to me."

"You travelled alone?" Duncan asked. "It is rather dangerous at present to do so."

"
Non
, of course not. I come with my maid, Molly. While I have travelled much in Europe, I have never been to
Angleterre
, I mean England, even though I am half-English."

Lucien couldn't halt his snort of disbelief, but he instantly wished he had.

"You have a problem with the nose,
Monsieur
?" She regarded it quite seriously, turning her head to view it from all angles. "
Oui
," she said, nodding gravely. "It is a large device. It must cause much trouble for you."

He clenched his hands at his sides before he could give in to the urge to gauge the size of his nose. He saw Duncan recovering from a bout of coughing, and then Miss Dumont winked mischievously at Duncan.

The minx was deliberately torturing him!

"Perhaps I can see what the terms of your inheritance include," Duncan offered. He read through the document, his eyebrows elevating as he neared the end.

"Well?" Lucien fervently hoped the troublesome miss was mistaken, and owned another building, farther away, in another portion of London entirely. Or even better, in France, preferably the distant southern portion of that country.

Anywhere but here.

"While this contains some unusual provisions—" Duncan cleared his throat. "Miss Dumont, you are indeed the proud owner of this building."

Lucien's shock was complete. "Surely you're not saying she is related to old man—"

Duncan gave him a warning look. "Perhaps Miss Dumont would consider renewing the lease."

"
Non
." She shook her head, emphatically. "
C'est impossible
."

"Why?"

Her face brightened, and the beautiful site nearly made Lucien forget her maddening refusal. All of a sudden he wanted to be the reason for her obvious joy, making her eyes sparkle like they were now, bringing that delightful flush to her cheeks—

"I am opening a
salon
."

Lucien groaned.

Of course it would have to be something French.

***

A
nnabella stepped forward, eager to see the interior of her new
salon
, but she was instantly blocked by the vexing Lord Aylsworth.