[Samuel Barbara] Lucien's Fall(Book4You) (8 page)

Her quest brought her directly to the doorstep of Charles Devon, the marquess of Beauchamp. She had contrived to meet him and had rattled at length about her beautiful, intelligent stepdaughter, showing him the miniature Madeline had sent from Milan. By the time Madeline had actually returned from her extended tour of the Continent, the marquess was like a ripe peach, ready to be plucked.

Her joy had known no bounds when the marquess took one look at Madeline—the girl was quite astonishingly beautiful—and fell irretrievably in love.

Perfect.

Except for the presence of Lord Harrow. Briefly, she considered sending him away. But that wouldn’t do—it might even rouse his anger and cause him to seduce Madeline for sheer spite.

In the garden, the pair stood a few feet apart, a wide tension radiating from them.

Neither saw what to Juliette was plain; an arc of sexual tension sizzled between them at every meeting. Madeline was skeptical; Lucien amusedly and lazily in pursuit. But there was potential for great disaster there. Juliette could feel it in her bones.

There was, really, only one possible option: she would seduce him herself. It might mean losing Jonathan. The thought was almost insanely painful— but he’d soon tire of her anyway. It was better this way. She’d chase away a lover who’d grown too tiresomely passionate with his avowals of love, and reel in a new one who knew the rules and would not break them.

And Madeline would be appalled, forever protected from the advances of Lord Esher.

Perfect.

Among thy fancies, tell me this,

What is the thing we call a kisse?

—Robert Herrick

Madeline dithered over
her gowns before supper. It was the time of her monthly, and she felt thick and moody. Her hair on her neck was hot and heavy. Her bodice was constricting. Beyond the window, as if to reflect her mood, the sky was thick and dark and gray. From far off came the sound of thunder.

"Must you pull it so tight!" she snapped to the maid tugging her corsets closed. "I can scarce breathe."

"Aye," the maid returned calmly. "Yer mum sent up this new brocade and bid me tell you wear it."

Madeline eyed the gown, a watered silk the same passionate dark pink as the rose Lucien had plucked in the garden yesterday morning. It would suit her coloring, setting off her dark hair and the olive notes of her skin—her papa had often teased her about being a changeling child, switched by fairies for a Spanish baby.

But the bodice of the gown was so low it barely covered her nipples. The fashion was low cut, but this was ridiculous. When Madeline put it on, she felt miserably self-conscious and found her hand straying to be certain she had not inadvertently exposed more of her breast than she wished.

"I hate this dress."

"It’ll suit ye well, my lady. You’ll see." The girl smoothed a hand over Madeline’s cheek. "I’ll bring ye a bit of my special medicine in a little, all right?"

Madeline nodded gratefully.

Juliette sailed in, smelling of the cloves and pine nuts in her Imperial Water. She wore a Caraco gown in shades of plum. "How do you like the dress, my sweet? I think it will drive the marquess to distraction."

"I don’t think he’s the sort of man who allows himself to be inflamed by improper displays of women’s bodies." The corset pinched as the maid laced the dress. Madeline yelped. "Leave me be. I’ll have my mother’s help now."

The girl looked a little wounded, but Juliette shook her head as if to say, "Pay her no heed," and mollified, the girl left.

Juliette picked up the laces. "All men are inspired and motivated by lust, my dear," she said. "Never forget it."

"Not Charles," Madeline returned stubbornly. She tugged the bodice fretfully.

"And I’m not wearing this. It’s cut too deep."

"Charles, too. Turn around." She frowned when Madeline did as she asked. "I see what you mean. Where is that gold lace fichu?"

"I gave it away. It itched." She took another from her drawer, letting loose a scent of lavender as it unfurled. It was gauzy and light. Madeline crossed it over her chest demurely and began to tuck the ends into her bodice.

"Oh, not like that! It will ruin the effect completely!" Summarily, she took it from Madeline’s hands and rolled it into an elegant twist that she tucked into the edges of the bodice. Madeline’s nerves screamed, but she forced herself to be still until Juliette was done.

When her stepmother was finished, Madeline moved before she snapped at Juliette. Taking up an exquisitely simple diamond pin, she tucked it into her dark hair and admired the subtle wink of it. "Yes"

Juliette kissed her. "Wonderful,
ma cherie."

They walked down to the salon together. A quartet of musicians played in the corner, viols and clavichord, a sweet background note. Lightning flashed against the long French windows, illuminating the gray-green fronds of the trees tossing in a powerful wind. "It’s going to be quite a storm," Madeline commented.

The marquess joined them, bowing deeply over Madeline’s hand. His wig was rather more solid tonight and didn’t slip forward the way it often did. He’d left it unpowdered. The sable color gave life to his complexion, a brightness to his eyes. "You look especially well this evening, Charles," Madeline said.

"Thank you." His mouth was dry on her hand. "I might say the same for you, but it would be blasphemous to compare my humble health to your blazing beauty."

Madeline chuckled. "Quite poetic, my lord."

"Ah, there’s Lord Esher," Juliette exclaimed. "I have an important matter to discuss with him. Excuse me."

With a pang, Madeline glanced up. Lucien—for she’d come to think of him as Lucien, not Lord Esher, which sounded stuffy and elderly—paused at the door, as if deciding whether the company were to his taste. He cast his gaze toward the quartet, and Madeline saw him wince before he turned toward the rest of the room. His expression darkened when his gaze fell upon a new member of their party, Anna Stiles, the countess of Heath, an old friend of Juliette’s who liked to escape her elderly husband whenever possible. Lucien, staring at her, looked quite as thundering as the sky, but the countess only smiled.

"Looks like we’ll have a quite a storm," Charles said conversationally.

Madeline returned her attention to the man alongside her. "Yes," she said.

"You’re almost certainly correct this time." From the corner of her eye, she watched Juliette in her plum gown sail through the room.

From a corner, Jonathan suddenly appeared and waylaid her with a hand to her arm. He bent close to whisper something in her ear. Juliette tried to pull away, but Jonathan held her steadily, and in moments, Juliette appeared to sway toward him.

Then, abruptly, Juliette yanked away. With a sharp, quiet word that Madeline could only guess at, Juliette stormed through the little knots of people toward Lucien.

Madeline looked back at Jonathan, and quickly away, for there was on the young man’s face an expression of naked yearning of such vastness it pierced her clear through.

"Poor chap," Charles said. "He’s quite besotted, isn’t he?"

"I’m afraid so." Madeline watched Juliette approach Lucien, who stood lazily at one end of the room, gazing at the party with an air of aloof amusement. Juliette, tiny and perfect, her bosom as creamy and white as rose petals, smiled up at him. ’Whatever she said caused Lucien to laugh.

A tiny wave of something unpleasant washed through Madeline. With effort she said dryly, "It looks as if my stepmother has marked other prey."

"Indeed." He offered his arm. "Shall we walk?"

Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, she said, "Perhaps we ought to wander over there and chat with Jonathan. He looks quite devastated."

"Yes, let’s do."

But before they could move, Jonathan spun on his heel and left the room. Into the air rang Juliette’s high, clear laughter. Madeline narrowed her eyes. "I’ve despised her cruelty since I was a young girl."

"She was not cruel as long as your father lived. Perhaps it broke her heart when he died."

"Grief does not excuse cruelty." She saw Lucien lean forward as Juliette chattered, her color high, as if she were aroused. As Lucien bent over, his thick dark hair captured the light of the candles nearby him, and produced a deep mahogany gleam. As if in admiration, he touched Juliette’s shoulder, and his elegant, long fingers stayed there on her bare skin.

A single, sharp pain shot through Madeline’s heart, and she turned away. "They deserve each other."

Charles gave her a measuring gaze, and for an instant, Madeline wondered what he made of her behavior. But he said mildly, "Of course."

…

The dining room faced the gardens and the maze, giving a view of splashes of color and the tall trees. As the small party trailed into the room for supper, a violent flash of lightning blazed over the sky, almost immediately followed by a hard crack of thunder.

A collective cry rustled through the guests, and there was even one short, tiny scream from Lady Heath.

Madeline frowned. "I don’t think this is an ordinary storm," she said to the marquess, who lightly held her hand over his elbow. It was a familiar gesture, and a greater liberty than he’d hitherto taken, but Madeline allowed it. It was a comfort.
He
was a comfort—so solid and steady and calm. "Look how heavy those clouds are! Practically black!"

"It’s the wind that concerns me. The farmers at Kirkton will be fretting it, I reckon. The new wheat won’t take kindly to it."

As if to underscore his words, a full-throated gust roared over the balustrade and slammed into the windows with such force one of the doors blew open and crashed into the wall. Another cry went up.

It was the quick-footed Lucien who caught the door before a second gust could catch it and break the small panes. "It’s all right," he said, lifting a hand to the guests.

"Just wasn’t fastened properly."

Madeline wondered fleetingly if she ought to check the greenhouse, but servants were already carrying in the first course. She decided to wait until after dinner.

As she was about to sit down, Jonathan appeared. He looked smoothed, as if nothing had bothered him earlier at all. To the marquess he said, "Will you do me a great favor, my lord? Go take my place nearby the countess and allow me to sit with Lady Madeline."

Madeline gave Charles a slight nod. Already Lucien and Juliette were laughing and teasing at the head of the table. How artful she is! Madeline thought, watching her stepmother bend close to Lord Esher—just close enough to be seductive.

"Of course," Charles said. "Take good care of her." He walked to the head of the table.

Jonathan helped Madeline settle. He sat to her left, so he could watch Juliette while he spoke to Madeline. The ploy was so transparent Madeline smiled. She glanced toward her stepmother.

Juliette’s eyes blazed. Madeline was taken aback. It was quite unlike her stepmother to care about any particular lover too much.

"She looks ready to tear you to pieces," Madeline commented lightly, setting her napkin in her lap.

He shrugged.

Madeline noticed that his high cheekbones were flushed with emotion. His unpowdered blond hair was caught back from his face, and for the first time, she really looked at him. His was a very sensual face, and younger than she’d realized. He glanced down the table again, and his green eyes showed a sullen blaze much like Juliette’s.

Madeline shook her head. If both of them wished to be together, then why all the bother?

Both were well past the age of consent.

"It isn’t terribly flattering to be an object of service," she said, dipping her spoon into clear soup.

"I’m sorry." He looked up, rather startled.

"I lost a dinner partner who admires me so you might make my stepmother jealous. Where is the reward in that for me?" She smiled to show it was not meant too deeply.

His expression eased. "I can say without vanity that most girls your age would choose my company over your marquess."

"I’m not most girls."

"No. You aren’t, are you?" Casually, he looked past her, then back. "It’s Lucien who tantalizes you, isn’t it?"

That strange, sharp feeling went through her again. "Don’t be ridiculous. What earthly good is a rake of his sort?"

"Look at him."

Madeline turned her head. Lucien ignored his food and leaned back in his chair, his elbows braced against the arm rests, his fingers steepled in front of him. Dark amusement glittered in his eyes, curled his full lips. He looked like nothing so much as a cat in certain pursuit. When he caught Madeline’s eye, he winked.

Next to her, Jonathan chuckled. "He has no interest in Juliette, you know."

"No?"

"He wants you only."

Madeline bent over her plate. "I’d rather talk of something else," she said.

"Very well. Name your topic."

Just then, a broad slash of lightning burst with a blinding sizzle across the sky, followed instantly by a crack of thunder that sent dishes clattering and the overhead chandelier swaying on its chain.

"Strike me blind!" Madeline swore, jumping to her feet. A torrential rain began to pour from the sky.

Dinner forgotten, the guests left the table to crowd around the windows, exclaiming to each other over the power of nature. Madeline went with them, pressing her face as close as she could into the pane. Within moments, huge raindrops filled the small terrace beyond with water. Rain slammed against the doors. Wind tore leaves and small branches from the trees, and Madeline glimpsed small shreds of red and pink and orange borne away—flower petals torn from tender plants.

In the press of people, Madeline did not at first notice the heat along her arm and spine. Not until she scented a particular and distinctive smell did she realize she was hip to hip with Lucien. She shifted to break contact, and he did not follow but stood so close behind her she could feel the brush of his breath over her bare shoulder blade.

"Magnificent, isn’t it?" he said.

Annoyed, she tilted her head to look at him. "Must you stand so close?"