The Art of Ruining a Rake (30 page)

Lucy balled her fists. That man! Why did Roman have to be so
agreeable
?

She paced the short length of her room, quickly realizing she couldn’t possibly join her brother for dinner. Not in this state. Not when she wanted to kiss Roman and shake him at the same time. Trestin was the one who had insisted she develop feelings for Roman. As if she needed her brother’s help in that area!

This was ridiculous. She couldn’t spend the rest of her evening torturing herself with the memory of Roman’s kindness. Taking a firm stance, she marched to her escritoire. The stack of blank pages was the perfect outlet for her roiling emotions. She’d write a letter to her sister. It wouldn’t be the same as talking to her directly, but at least Lucy could collect all of her thoughts in one place.

But it wasn’t Delilah’s dear face Lucy saw when she seated herself and took up her pen. It was Roman’s. If only he hadn’t been so
nice
! Or stolen her right from under his friends’ noses. She warmed thinking about his possessive, outrageous behavior.

To make everything that much more confusing, he’d made her laugh when she’d wanted to cry.

If she could bottle the emotions he made her feel and hawk them on street corners, she’d need never worry about her finances. Roman was an addictive elixir. A danger to women, a sin no female could resist. If she could reproduce him perfectly, make others feel as exhilarated and scared and jealous as she was in his presence, she could—

Excitement coursed through her. That was it! Why had she never thought of it before?
 

Roman was the perfect muse.

Without lifting her pen once, she wrote five sentences. She had to cross out his name twice and replace it with
James,
but the rest came without thought.

Ink droplets splashed as she refreshed her pen, she was so eager to catch her flow of streaming thoughts. When next she looked up, it was to realize Carson had brought her a tray without her noticing. It sat untouched and cold at her elbow.
 

Lucy blinked.

She set the page she was working on aside.

And started another.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, Roman was made to cool his heels in Ashlin’s small parlor. Lucy wasn’t ready to receive him? Odd, as Roman was certain he’d told her he would come.

When she did appear, bosom rising as though she’d hurried to don her long-sleeved promenade dress and wool coat, she appeared chagrined. “I’m afraid I lost track of the time.”

“It’s no bother. I didn’t expect to be the punctual party for once, is all.” He offered his arm. “Another walk in the park, my dear? I have but an hour to spare before I must meet with my chief engineer. Or do you prefer a quick jaunt to Hatchard’s?”

Her eyes brightened at the mention of the popular bookstore. Then they dimmed and shook her head regretfully. “An hour is hardly enough time to peruse the shelves properly. I’m pressed for time, myself.”

“Are you, now? Have I interrupted something?”

“No,” she said unconvincingly. “I was at an impasse. I fear I’ve written myself into a corner of sorts.”

They left the town house and stepped onto the walk. Roman guided Lucy in the direction of Hyde Park. Despite the shining sun, it was cold out, and his breath gusted before them. He drew her closer to his body, as if the extra inch could warm her through.

“Into a corner? What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer at first. Not until they’d entered the park and passed three children being minded by a harried-looking nursemaid. “I thought it would be easy enough to wrangle a proposal out of James—my character, you know—but he’s much more stubborn than I credit him for.” She looked up at him. “I suppose that sounds silly. James is my creation. He ought to do as I tell him to do.”

“I’ve never met anyone who likes to follow orders. If he’s not behaving as he ought, mayhap it’s because the story you’ve planned for him isn’t right.”

Her brows knit, but she didn’t argue.

He savored the feeling of making her think. They went on in this fashion until they reached the Serpentine, then started back without discussion. She clung to his arm as they walked. Tighter and tighter, as if she didn’t realize she was gripping his sleeve so hard she’d leave wrinkles.

He liked that.

She was quiet today, but it was a companionable sort of silence. He didn’t press her for idle chatter. Any onlookers espying them in the park would see two people completely at ease in each other’s company, so much so they didn’t require words to make their outing pleasant.

He could have strolled with her like this forever.

They couldn’t. She wished to work on her manuscript, and he needed to return to his duties so he could become a man worthy of her affection.

Upon returning home, he went straight to his library. He’d done a fair amount of work before dashing off to woo Lucy, but there was still time before his engineer arrived to read through the latest contract one more time. He drew up short when he entered his warm library—the fire was kept at all hours of the day now, as he slipped in whenever he felt the urge—and pinned his brother with his haughtiest disapproval. “I told you to stay out of my chair.”

Tony’s pen flashed across the page. “Mine is the one with the missing brass studs. If it happens to be stationed at your desk, then that hardly seems my fault.”

Roman wandered the library in a half-circle before approaching the station of desks. A smudge of dust came away as he stroked the tip of his glove across Tony’s desktop. “You must be eager to retake your seat in the House soon,” he ruminated aloud.

Tony continued to scribble notes on his ledger paper. “They’ll get on.”

“What could be more important than the entire country’s future?” In this Roman truly was confused. Why did Tony pour his entire being into an estate he didn’t own, yet shrug away his much more personal duties as a Member of Parliament?

Tony rested the quill pen across his draft, finally affording Roman a morsel of his attention. “Why? Are you thinking about taking up
your
seat in the House of Lords?”

Roman leaned against the edge of Tony’s desk. “I was rather thinking you could resume yours in the House of Commons.”

His brother’s jaw tightened. “Plymbridge needs me.”

“Or it could need me.”

Tony’s blue eyes snapped. The color drained from his face. After several tense moments, he said, “That is your right.”

Roman almost looked away. The betrayal on his brother’s face made him feel like a bounder.

“Why would you waste your talent here?” Roman asked after a time. “As an MP, you can change the tides of the entire world.”

Tony’s sputter of disbelief was the saddest sound Roman had ever heard. “Name one cause more significant than our family’s future.”

Roman drummed his fingers in the crook of his elbow. “You tell me. Why did you become an MP? It wasn’t a requirement. You ran for office.”

As Tony rose to his feet, his wingback chair scraped against the polished floor. He came around the desk and sat against the edge, seeming to accept—as Roman had—that this discussion was long overdue. “I’d make a very cynical cleric. Military life is far too chaotic. I don’t have the head for memorization that Bart has. As a second son, Parliament was my only choice.”

So his brother didn’t live and breathe politics? Roman supposed he could have guessed as much by the attention Tony afforded his seat of late.

“You’re popular in our borough,” Roman reminded him. “You have a passion for people. Seems to me, you could combine your two pursuits and make the world a superior place.” He waited until Tony nodded grudgingly before continuing. “All men must have a purpose. Yours is to represent our district. Mine is to head our family.”

“It isn’t required of you,” Tony countered sharply. “I’m perfectly happy to—”

“But I am not!”

Tony crossed his arms. Hurt and anger warred on his face, but wisely, he didn’t argue.
 

Roman shook his head. “What kind of marquis will I make if I never control the signet? What sort of husband fails to understand how his affairs are handled? And the father who leaves his son’s inheritance to another’s managing? I ask myself these questions daily. My decision is no reflection on the job you’ve done to date.”

Tony’s shoulders shook. “Isn’t it, though? A lord doesn’t resent his secretary. You wouldn’t be prying my fingers off of your holdings if I’d done my job well.”

Roman slashed his hand between them. “You are my
brother
. You’ve shown me what it means to be the marquis with talent and aplomb. You’re not being sacked. Just redeployed. Not far, either. I’ll need you. But I must make mistakes I can learn from, and to do that, I must have full control.”

Tony looked to the ceiling, but not before Roman saw his distress. Roman steeled himself. If Tony sent him contracts every day for the next thirty years, he’d never learn. And yet, he felt contemptible for forcing his brother out of the role he had carved for himself.

“I’ll go,” Tony agreed at last. “For the upcoming session, to start. I adjourned early last session to oversee the boundary litigation. I should see to my constituency. But should you change your mind, I won’t be far. Just,” he pointed his finger toward the billiards room, “right there.”

Roman pushed off of his desk. He clapped his brother’s shoulder. “There’s plenty to be done in the Commons.” Then he remembered Lucy and inspiration struck. “Our women desire the vote.”

When Tony gawped at him as if he’d sprouted a new head, Roman added, “Before you tell me suffrage is a man’s purview, let me assure you, there is nothing more inspiring than a woman who knows her own mind.”

Tony grimaced. “Or a man who does.” Then he sighed with resignation. “It seems you’ve made your decision. Very well, Montborne. Welcome to management. I hope you find it every bit as rewarding as I have.”

THE NEXT TIME Roman wanted to call on Lucy, he sent a note ahead. Nevertheless, she had not come down by the time he arrived. Waiting wasn’t a problem for him—he was only taking Lucy back to his house for a private dinner, anyway—but he preferred to wait somewhere with a bit more liquor.

Upon reaching the library, Roman availed himself of Ashlin’s brandy and took a satisfying sip. This was a much better way to pass the time.

“It’s not enough you’re after my sister,” Ashlin drawled behind him, “you must make off with my best brandy, too?”

Roman turned, took another delightful sip, and inclined his head. “You know better than I how Lucy can drive a man to drink.”

“Lucy.”
Ashlin joined Roman at the sideboard and poured his own snifter. “You’re having her to dine at Merritt House, I hear.”

Roman’s heart sped. No other woman of his acquaintance, bawdy or otherwise, had ever stepped foot in Merritt House. “A hand of cards, perhaps some billiards. A fine roast and even finer port. Yes, she’s agreed to join me.”

Ashlin raised the glass to his lips. His eyes, the same amber color as the brandy, held Roman’s over the rim. “Is that wise?”

Roman didn’t try to hide his offense. He narrowed his eyes. “You may come if you like. It might do you some good to get out of these tiny apartments.”

Ashlin drained half the contents of his snifter and set the remainder on the sideboard. “Tell me something. Do you miss Celeste?”

Roman stared agog at him. “Do I what? Do
you
?”