The Art of Ruining a Rake (33 page)

Does she know she is part of my soul? My best friend, my right arm, the pillow on which I sleep at night? Yes, Lucy-love, she knows.

He hadn’t realized how very permanent those words would be.

Lucy jumped to her feet and brushed past him. “I must go.” He didn’t catch her wrist to stop her, like he wanted to do. He didn’t chase her. He didn’t move at all because if he did, if he tried to comfort her but didn’t tell her about Letitia and his years as London’s male whore, he would make things that much worse.
This
was the moment to confess all. This was the time to have out with it or risk her derision forever.

“Lucy,” he said when her slippered foot touched the threshold, “wait.”

She did.

“It’s in the past,” he croaked. Not enough, not nearly enough, but all he could manage to say.

She turned toward him, her face a picture of disbelief. “Is that supposed to fix everything? You
lied
to me.” She blinked, seeming to come to a new realization. “I knew you weren’t in love with me. I never believed you. But it was worse than codswallop, wasn’t it? You were in love with
her.
While we danced, while we whispered, while we kissed—by your own admission, you were nursing a broken heart for
her
. Oh!” She clamped a fist to her mouth. Her eyes squeezed tight.

If he’d wanted to break a strong woman, he was doing a fine job of it.

The worst part was that he could say nothing to defend himself. Ashlin had thought he was making a mistake before? This was a mistake. Honesty was ruining everything.

“I’m telling you about Celeste because I want you to hear it from me. Celeste knows. Ashlin knows. But Lucy, so does everyone else.”

The color drained from her face. Then her eyes snapped as she realized what he’d said. “You’re only telling me because I’m bound to hear it eventually? How despicable!”

He winced. “Give me a chance to explain. Please.”

She continued to glare at him, but she didn’t leave. She waited for him to convince her he wasn’t a terrible example of humanity, which, unfortunately, he could never do.

He wanted her to understand. He wanted her to know how he felt about her, even if he couldn’t absolve himself of his past. “I planned this evening around telling you. I want you to believe me when I say I care for you. Yes, I pursued you for all the wrong reasons last year, but that’s not why I’m here now. I
like
you. You fascinate me. I wish I could wash my sins away, but I can’t. There’s only me, Lucy, and I have been every bit as dissipated as you’ve been led to believe. Worse, actually. I’ve done things you can’t even fathom.”

He’d been about to say more, to explain what he meant by atrocities she couldn’t imagine, but she was looking at him strangely. Yearningly.

Her hitched breath sent a spike of lust through him.

A fiery, consuming need to prove she was his flourished through him until he burned with the need to give her everything he had, and more. “Lucy.”

She moved toward him by centimeters, her motions drugged. Or mayhap it was her body warring with her desire to loathe him.

He caught her wrist just as she raised her hand to touch the nape of his neck. “Lucy,” he said again, her name scarcely more than an exhale. “I didn’t say all that to get under your skirts.”

Her brown eyes were lucid despite her dazed movements. “That’s why I want you.”

She was near enough to intoxicate him with the scent of her perfume. Near enough to kiss her with his undeserving lips. He brushed against hers once, teasing himself with their softness. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

Her eyes darkened as if he’d said something very, very tantalizing. Then she rose on tiptoe, pulled his head down, and kissed him.

Every sinful thing he’d done paled in comparison to his need to have her. He lifted her onto the billiards table, sliding his fingers into her hair until the dark curls tumbled around her shoulders. He kissed her neck, dragging his lips along her skin while his fingers sought entry beneath the layers of gown and petticoats and chemise that hugged her slim curves.

“What the devil?” he said, pulling away from Lucy as Dare burst into the room.

Dare’s attention was focused on a bookcase beside the marble bust. He gave no sign of seeing them, but searched frantically inside the cabinet, flinging articles to the floor as he tore through its contents. “Where is it?” he muttered to himself. “Don’t tell me Tony put it in with the rubbish… Ah-ha!”

Roman met Lucy’s concerned look, then kissed her forehead and went to his brother. “What are you doing?” he asked as he sneaked up behind Dare.

Dare didn’t respond. He retrieved the item on the shelf and whirled partway around—

He had a gun.

“Darius!” Roman spun around, terrified Lucy was in the barrel’s path.

She wasn’t where he’d left her. Her black coiffure was all he could see of her as she crouched behind the sideboard, safe.

He pivoted back to his brother, whose empty, haunted eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to Roman’s presence.

Darius hugged the pistol to his chest as though he feared—rightly—that Roman planned to snatch it away. “I need this,” he said.

“Like hell you do.” Roman held out his hand. “Give it over.”

Dare clutched the pistol tighter. “You don’t care.”

“I care you’re about to get yourself
hanged.
Do you plan to shoot your creditors?”

Dare hissed at him. “Don’t make me sound like an idiot.”

“Stop acting like one.”

Dare’s countenance darkened. “My situation is life and death.
My
life or
my
death. Give me the blunt to get these bullies off my back or let me leave.”

Roman grabbed the pistol by the barrel. It came easily out of his brother’s grasp, easier than he’d expected. Just holding the cold metal was enough to give him chills. He’d never been one for pistols, along with all the other “gentlemanly” pursuits he’d avoided. In this moment, however, he was glad he’d learned enough to know the damned thing wasn’t loaded.

His finger brushed the trigger accidentally.
BAM.
The pistol fired, blasting a hole into the wall at his left.

Dare jumped back. “Imbecile!”

Roman’s heart pounded so hard he was almost dizzy with it. He pointed the muzzle toward the ground, holding the pistol slightly in front of him. “Lucy!” he called in a surprisingly strong voice. He needed to know she was unharmed.

She didn’t answer.

“Lucy!” he said more harshly, as panic rose in his chest. He turned to look for her.

Her coiffure was still visible behind the sideboard. He couldn’t tell if she was alive and shaken or dead. She couldn’t be dead. The bullet had clearly gone through the wall.

Logic didn’t comfort him. He ran to her side and fell to his knees, setting the pistol on the carpet where she couldn’t see it. Her face was drained of color. Her teeth chattered, and her hands gripped her knees so hard, her skirt pulled taut over them.

“Lucy,” he said, more comfortingly this time. “Lucy, it’s all right. No one was harmed.”

“My lord!” a voice came from the hallway.

“My lord, what has happened?”

Servants were beginning to crowd the doorway. Roman tried to take Lucy’s hand, but she wouldn’t release her hold on her knees. He pulled her to him and wrapped one arm ineffectively around her, but she didn’t ease into his embrace.

Mr. Benjamin forced his way through the crowd. “My lord, is anyone hurt?”

Roman spared a glance at his brother, who remained where he’d left him. “Just shaken up,” he told Mr. Benjamin. He cast Dare a warning glower. If they all realized he’d been stupid enough to misfire the pistol, so be it. He didn’t want them to know why he and Dare had been arguing. If Tony learned of their brother’s behavior, he’d insist Dare be cut off. Roman didn’t think abandoning their brother was best for anyone.

“We found the bullet,” a servant said from the hallway. “Went through a painting in the next room. An ugly one at that.”

Mr. Benjamin returned with the bullet and brought it to Roman. In a low voice he said, “The Sheffield landscape, my lord.”

Roman didn’t release Lucy. He didn’t need to touch the misshapen lead. “Then it
is
an ugly one. Take it down. I’m certain you can find a better piece to replace it.”

Mr. Benjamin nodded, then exited the room, closing the door behind him. His deep voice could be heard shooing the servants back to work.

“Make a list of your creditors,” Roman said to Dare. “We’ll review it in the morning when I’m less likely to throttle you. There may be one or two we can cover. Like as not, you’ll end up in debtors’ prison for the others, but at least you won’t be dead.”

Dare’s lips tightened. “Debtors’ prison almost killed Constantine. But then, you wouldn’t care about that, would you? You don’t care about
me
.” With one last, longing look for the pistol, he went to the door and left.

Chapter 16

LUCY FLED MERRITT House as soon as she could convince Roman to see her home. She detested guns of all kinds. Most especially pistols that could be easily hidden, for this precise reason. Roman could have blown himself to bits, and all for a mistake!

His attempts to comfort her had no effect. Nor did his later offer to purchase her shooting lessons to make her feel at ease. She was a crack shot; she already knew it. Her father had taught her to hit a jar at forty paces when she was just a girl. Precisely the reason she didn’t want to be within reach of a firearm, or within firing distance of
him
. For all that he had been their neighbor at the time of their parents’ deaths, surely he understood her revulsion at the very idea.

Roman easily kept up with her hurried pace. “I’ve shaken you up, haven’t I?” he asked pointlessly.

She reached the door to her town house. “Good night.” She turned away to make his dismissal complete.

“Lucy—” He stopped on the step just below hers. “Lucy,” he said again, lowering his voice, “I know how you must feel—”

“I don’t want to be in the same room with a gun!” She spun so they were face-to-chin and fairly spat, “You could have
died
.”

“I know.” He dipped his head. He hadn’t stopped to don a hat; two spiral curls fell across his brow. She yearned to smooth them back even as she forcefully kept herself from pummeling her fists against his chest. How could he have done something so stupid? Why in Zeus’s name had it been left
loaded
?

“I’ll remove it. I’ll check every nook and cranny and see that any others are removed, too. Please don’t look at me like I’ve disappointed you again. I can’t bear it. Lucy-love, I want you to feel safe with me. Always.”

The door opened behind her. Without a word, she whirled about and went inside. But he followed her.

After that pretty speech, she let him.

Her heart was still pounding. Her hands were still shaking. But there was something else, too. She told herself it was fright. She tried to convince herself it wasn’t the impossibly tall man divesting himself of his outer coat and gloves beside her, his movements as elegant as his words, that caused her head to feel light all over again.

“Brandy,” he said to Mr. Gordo. “Double for me. In a room where we won’t be disturbed.”

Her head snapped up.

Roman was looking at her as if to ask,
where can I comfort you?
Let me make this better.

Both men watched her for an answer. She couldn’t quite bring herself to gainsay Roman.
 

“Which one, Lucy?” he prodded.
 

She folded her gloves together and set them on the table. Delaying. Deciding. “The breakfast nook, I think,” she finally replied. Almost immediately she wanted to take back her suggestion. The small room would be stifling with him in it.

At least it had no couch. She was much less likely to fall into his arms if there was nowhere to fall
to.

Mr. Gordo left to execute the order. Roman indicated for her to proceed. “Lead the way.”

She hesitated. He smiled at her. How had she never noticed the tiny creases in his face? He seemed gentler, as if those lines made him human. “Friends help each other,” he said lightly. “They don’t frighten each other half to death, then run off.”