WANTON (11 page)

“I hadn’t thought of that!” Priscilla moaned. “He wouldn’t, would he?”

“Who can predict how such a scapegrace might behave?”

“If he slithers in, I’ll kill him. I will, Mother.”

“That will certainly ingratiate you to your new husband.” Claudia sighed. “What else did you discuss?”

“I shared our view of Miss Hubbard.”

At the admission, Claudia yearned to shake Priscilla.

Claudia had spent her life bragging about Priscilla’s attributes. It was easy to tout her beauty and charm, but Claudia had steered clear of any mention of intellect that would have had people snickering behind their fans.

“I warned you to leave Lucas alone,” Claudia scolded.

“I’ll be countess someday. It’s only right that I have a say.”

“Lucas wouldn’t think so, and I doubt Lord Sidwell or Aaron would either.”

“You can complain all you want,” Priscilla chided, “but I managed to wring a promise out of him that he wouldn’t marry her.”

“You believed him?”

“He promised.”

“Yes, and
he
is Lucas Drake. He’s a renowned liar; everyone knows it.”

Priscilla frowned. “He might proceed even though he swore he wouldn’t?”

“With him, it’s always a possibility, but don’t fret. If it appears he might change his mind, I have other plans I’ll implement.”

“What plans?”

“You needn’t be apprised, but trust me, if I receive the slightest whiff of a wedding being in the works, I’ll get it ended at once.”

“How can you? Lucas seems awfully determined to me.”

“He may
seem
to be determined, but no one is more resolved than I am to have my way. There will be no union between Lucas and Miss Hubbard. Not ever.”

As she voiced her assertion, there was a flurry of activity by the door. Barbara Middleton made a flashy entrance, but then, she always flaunted herself, and Claudia couldn’t help glancing over.

But it was her companion that had Claudia scowling. Though Claudia couldn’t bear to acknowledge it, she was positive the girl was Amelia Hubbard. Yet she was so altered that it was difficult to recognize her.

She was wearing a brilliant silver dress that shimmered when she moved. Her shoulders and arms were bare, the bodice of her gown tightly fitted, her corset pushing up a very fine bosom. Expensive jewels decorated her neck and fingers, and her hair was styled in an elaborate coif complete with ringlets and feathers.

She looked wealthy and exotic in a manner Claudia couldn’t begin to describe.

What on Earth could have happened? Had Lucas seen this transformation?

A shiver of dread slid down her spine and, suddenly, she wasn’t confident of anything.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lucas sat at the pianoforte in the music room in his father’s town house.

He was a gifted musician, and he credited his skill to several tutors whom he’d actually liked and respected as a boy. It had never been a chore to practice, plus his father had deemed artistic instruction to be frivolous and unmanly. The more Lord Sidwell had harangued that Lucas should give it up, the more resolved Lucas had been to excel.

Normally, he’d have invited a dozen people to listen to him play. His ability was one of his few talents, one of his few joys, and he liked to show it off. But he was hiding in the dark, a single candle burning on the table behind him.

Any visit to his father was distressing, but this occasion was even more stressful than usual. The party had left him out of sorts. His conversations with Bryce Blair and Priscilla made him want to bang his head on the wall, so he was banging on the keyboard instead.

He was feeling particularly morose, his life off balance and out of alignment. He’d spent the prior decade in the army and had assumed he was eager to resign his commission, but he hadn’t peered very far down the road to how he’d fill his empty hours after he was home. He liked to exude a façade as a sloth and ne’er-do-well, but in reality, he hated loafing.

A man of his status could choose from numerous leisurely pursuits—gambling, drinking, dining—but they all took money. A fellow could coast on credit for only so long, and he’d far exceeded his limit. There wasn’t a person in the kingdom who would loan him a farthing.

James had talked of traveling to India, of joining a companion’s business venture there. Lucas had planned to glom on to the undertaking, knowing that James would drag Lucas wherever he needed to go.

But James had—suddenly and surprisingly—proposed to Lucas’s cousin, Rose Ralston. Lucas was angry about the decision because it had ruined what small prospects Lucas had had for himself. He was an adult who was fully capable of forging his own path, so it was silly to blame James for leaving Lucas without a foundation, but he couldn’t move beyond the grievance.

The door opened, and he glanced over as Nanette entered. Her strong perfume wafted ahead of her, annoying him with how it announced her presence before she arrived.

They’d been casual lovers for years, but there could never be anything more between them. Lucas was too poor to suit Nanette’s tastes, and Nanette was too loose with her favors to suit Lucas’s.

Whenever he was in London, they’d start in again, both seeming unable to resist the gossip they stirred. And of course, if Lucas’s name was linked to Nanette’s, Lord Sidwell had an apoplexy, so there was an added benefit from fraternizing with her. It drove his father mad with outrage.

Even without his father’s disapproval to urge him on, they would have dallied. She was amusing and brazen and very forward in a way he liked. Typically, she could make him laugh and forget his troubles, but for once, he simply wanted to be alone while he tried to figure out what was wrong.

“There you are.” She pranced over, leaning on the box of the instrument to exhibit a fabulous amount of cleavage. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

“I’m right here.”

“Yes, and who would have expected you to show up at your father’s party? It’s the last place I would have thought. When I heard where you were, I couldn’t believe it.”

“I agree. It’s difficult to imagine.”

“I rushed over to see for myself.” She gestured to the keys. “Play a song for me that’s racy and jolly.”

“I can’t perform any bawdy songs tonight.”

“Well, I’m in an awful mood, and I need cheering.”

She leaned nearer, her perfume enveloping him in a cloud. That sensation of choking was back, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “but I don’t have it in me at the moment.”

“Aren’t you a piss pot! Let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t think so.”

She never paid attention to anyone but herself—they were much alike in that—so she didn’t notice his doldrums. Nor would she have known what to do with them if she had. The fact that he was hiding should have been a prime clue that he was intent on solitude. But not to her.

“Come on!” she nagged. “I’ll take you somewhere more lively, and we’ll have you squared away in a thrice.”

She grabbed his arm to pull him from the bench, and he shook her away, his stern scowl finally registering.

“Not tonight, Nan. You go on without me.”

“What fun is it for you to tarry all by yourself?”

“I’m not looking for fun. I’m looking for peace and quiet.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Drake,” she snottily retorted.

“You’re excused,” he replied, and he wondered if they were fighting.

They didn’t have the sort of relationship where they quarreled, and if they were at a spot where they might begin to bicker occasionally, he’d start avoiding her.

“I’ll be at the theater,” she said.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll be gambling after—if you’d like to find me.”

“I probably won’t.”

She studied him, her pique clear, her temper barely concealed. She didn’t like to be contradicted or opposed, and he never did. He was always eager to gambol in any outrageous manner she suggested, but the aggravation in his gaze told her he wouldn’t blithely follow along for a change.

“Fine,” she griped. “Sit and mope.”

“I plan on it.”

“See if I care.” She flounced out, muttering as she shut the door, “Horse’s ass.”

As the silence settled, he mused, “I definitely can be, Nanette. I definitely can.”

Her departure left him even more morose—if that was possible. He fanned the air, trying to dispel her cloying perfume, but had scant luck.

He fiddled with the keys, dabbling at melancholy tunes. Miss Hubbard was on his mind. Bryce Blair was on his mind. Aaron—and his approaching wedding to Priscilla—was on his mind. His chat with Priscilla had him seriously considering whether he should scuttle the engagement, whether he should tell Aaron about his prior flirtation with her.

Lucas could embellish the incident and make it sound much worse than it had been. It would be horrid behavior, but he’d be saving Aaron a lifetime of misery. Should he? Or should he just let it be? What duty did he owe his brother? What discretion did he owe Priscilla? Was Aaron’s decision to marry her—and the potential for disaster—any of Lucas’s business?

Suddenly, the door opened again, and he sighed with exasperation and whipped around, expecting it was Nan, expecting to curtly order her out.

But it wasn’t Nan. It was Amelia Hubbard.

He hadn’t seen her since he’d stupidly blustered over to Barbara Middleton’s and had assumed he could put her in her place. After his ignominious exit, he hadn’t intended to talk to her ever again.

Now...she’d appeared, as if by magic.

She was wearing another expensive gown with a tight corset that displayed her terrific breasts to their best advantage. Barbara Middleton had taken Miss Hubbard under her wing, and the older woman was working miracles. Lucas had consorted with hundreds of beautiful females, but he couldn’t remember being with one who was quite so exotically pretty.

The sight of her set his nerves on edge, set his body on edge. His manly instincts were alert and ready for any stimulation.

For a charged moment, they stared, and a thousand wild thoughts careened through his head. It dawned on him that he was thrilled by her arrival, but his reaction made no sense.

Was he growing smitten? Was she ensnaring him somehow? Obviously, he was responding physically to her presence. Why would he?

He refused to be enamored and reverted to form, forcing himself to recall that he was bored, that he was at loose ends, that he wanted to dawdle and mope and currently had no patience for courteous conversation.

“Hello, Mr. Drake,” she said.

“Miss Hubbard.”

“I didn’t realize you were in here. I apologize for interrupting.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I heard there was a lady’s retiring room in this hall. I must have taken a wrong turn.”

“And you just happened to stumble into the one room where I’m sitting by myself? How convenient.”

“Not really. I can think of a dozen things I’d rather do than speak with you.”

“Are you following me, Miss Hubbard?”

“Following you! Don’t be absurd.”

“Then what is your explanation?”

“I told you I was lost.”

As she closed the door and walked toward him, he was even more annoyed.

“Guess what recently occurred to me, Miss Hubbard.”

“What, Mr. Drake?”

“When a bachelor such as myself is trapped in a dark parlor with an unwed female, he risks being roped into matrimony. Is that your ploy? Are you hoping your brother will burst in and demand I marry you?”

“My brother? How did you discover that I have a brother?”

“I have my ways,” he said. “Chase Hubbard? That’s who you claim as family? He’s a scoundrel if there ever was one.”

“Yes, he’s a lot like you.”

He snorted with disgust. “If he’s about to barge in, there’s an important fact you need to know.”

“What is that?”

“I won’t wed you. I don’t care how your brother screams and rants, you’ll simply be ruined, your reputation shredded, and I’ll still be a bachelor.”

“My brother isn’t even in the house,” she scoffed. “He wasn’t invited, and even if he had been, he’d never let me marry you. He has his faults, but he’d never chain me to a cad such as yourself.”

“Your scapegrace brother has scruples?”

“More than you, I bet.”

She reached the pianoforte, and she rested her elbows on the box much as Nan had a bit earlier. To Lucas’s surprise, he didn’t mind her presence as he had Nan’s. Miss Hubbard was wearing perfume, but it was a faint fragrance that hinted at flowers and a summer morning. The aroma made him want to shift nearer to get a better whiff of it.

“You’re looking awfully fetching tonight,” he groused, hating to see her stellar condition for it heightened his interest in a manner he didn’t like.

“Why, Mr. Drake, that sounded like a compliment.”

“I can dish them out when need be.”

She pointed to the keys. “It’s rumored that you’re quite accomplished. Play a song for me.”

“No.”

“Please? When I was employed, my fellow teacher and friend, Evangeline, often entertained us. I miss those days.”

He scowled. “Evangeline? That’s not a common name.”

“No, it isn’t.”

A niggling feeling of dread swept over him. “Where were you teaching?”

“Miss Peabody’s School for Girls.”

“Lord, spare me.” He gazed up at the ceiling as if the comment was a mock prayer.

“What do you mean?”

“Evangeline Etherton, right?”

“Yes.”

“If you taught with Miss Etherton, you also taught with Rose Ralston.”

“Yes, I did! How did you know?”

Lucas bent forward, laid his forehead on the keys, and shook with mirth.

He’d spent the past several weeks with Rose, whom he’d ultimately learned to be his cousin. She was marrying James and was the reason James would no longer be Lucas’s bachelor chum, the reason he and James wouldn’t be sailing to India.

Rose Ralston was impertinent and sharp-tongued and bossy, traits that Lucas detested in a female. She was also an excellent judge of character, and she’d accurately assessed Lucas’s true disposition from the very first.

Miss Hubbard had worked at the same school? The two women were friends? What were the odds that Rose would be betrothed to James and Miss Hubbard to Lucas? Had there been a fire sale of brides at the place? James’s grandfather had arranged his match with Miss Peabody. Lucas’s father must have done the same.