WANTON (13 page)

Lucas was worried enough about her that he’d shown up in the middle of the afternoon to rage about the scoundrels who were lurking. Who could have predicted such a result?

George grinned. He’d been picking brides for Lucas for six or seven years, and Lucas had never so much as remembered the name of any of them from one minute to the next. What was George to make of it?

He was determined that Lucas marry. Bachelors needed taming, needed to have their wings clipped, and Lucas was no exception. The entire kingdom was at risk with him having so much leisure time. There was no telling what harm he might perpetrate.

For the good of society, he had to wed, and if Miss Hubbard could bring it about, George had every intention of signing over the estate she’d been promised. She would remove Lucas to Surrey, would keep him at home for as long as she was able. Each day that Lucas was with her in the country—and out of the city—would be a blessing, and George would produce that conclusion if it killed him.

He listened as Lucas stomped out of the house, and George figured it might be wise to have a servant tag after him to find out what entertainments he’d attend that evening. Obviously, Miss Hubbard had gotten under Lucas’s skin, and George wasn’t too proud to send a note to Mrs. Middleton to apprise her of where Lucas was likely to be. Wherever Lucas visited, Miss Hubbard should be there too.

George rose and went to the hall to summon the butler. As he glanced at the table where the mail had been placed, he was stunned to discover that Miss Hubbard’s letters were gone. Lucas was the only person who had passed by and could have taken them.

“Well, well,” George mused again. “It looks as if Lucas will play the part of messenger after all.”

George would have given his right arm to be a mouse in the corner, watching as Lucas arrived. He decided to gift Barbara Middleton with a celebratory bottle of brandy. The scheme she’d hatched with the girl was definitely working.

* * * *

“Mr. Drake is here.”

“Mr. Drake? Now?”

“Yes,” Barbara’s butler blandly said. He was always stoically reserved, never exhibiting the slightest hint that he was shocked by any of the goings-on in the residence. “Shall I show him in?”

Amelia peered over at Barbara, and Barbara told the butler, “Give us a few minutes to prepare. Keep him in the foyer, cooling his heels.”

He left, shutting the door behind him. She and Barbara were in the rear parlor. It was late afternoon, and Amelia was having tea while Barbara was enjoying harder spirits. They were chatting with Chase’s friend, Bryce Blair, whom Barbara had enlisted to make Mr. Drake jealous.

Amelia doubted that such a feat could be accomplished, but after the kiss she and Mr. Drake had shared, Barbara was ecstatic, convinced matters were proceeding perfectly and swiftly. Mr. Blair would help them push things to the next level.

He was a handsome rascal—tall and blond-haired with mesmerizing blue eyes and a masculine swagger similar to Mr. Drake’s. With her brother’s encouragement and permission, Mr. Blair had eagerly agreed to participate in their plotting.

Amelia thought he was precisely the type of rogue who could lure a female into all sorts of trouble. She also suspected his reputation matched Mr. Drake’s in every way. If Mr. Drake could be goaded into a reaction by another man flirting with Amelia, Mr. Blair was certainly one who could render the response they sought.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Barbara gleefully stated.

“I don’t like that gleam in your eye,” Amelia said. “I’m starting to understand you awfully well. I can tell you’re planning mischief.”

“Of course I am. How else can you win Mr. Drake? It won’t happen without bold gestures and brazen behavior.”

“We don’t even know why he’s come,” Amelia protested.

“We don’t need to know
why
,” Barbara claimed. “The fact that he’s here is enough.”

“What did you have in mind?” Mr. Blair asked Barbara.

“Let’s have him think you’ve been alone for some time. How about drinking and playing cards?”

“My two favorite sports,” Mr. Blair said.

“We have to relax you.”

Barbara jumped up to rearrange the room. The tea service was whisked away. Cards were dealt, brandy poured, and she had Amelia take several swallows.

“He should smell liquor on your breath,” Barbara explained. “He’ll be furious to suppose you’ve been imbibing with Bryce.”

“I really can’t imagine he will be,” Amelia said. “I can’t picture him being upset about me for any reason.”

“You’re such a ninny, Amelia. I’m an expert on men, and you aren’t. Mr. Drake is in a dither or he wouldn’t have visited.”

Mr. Blair removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves as Barbara yanked the combs from Amelia’s chignon. The lengthy tresses fell down her back, and she was disturbed by her disheveled condition. Despite their scheming against Mr. Drake, it was horridly inappropriate for Mr. Blair to see her with her hair down.

She scowled at Barbara, and Barbara chided, “Do you want an estate in Surrey or not?”

“Yes, I want it.”

“Then don’t complain. Honestly, it’s just your hair. You won’t expire over it.”

Barbara reseated them so they were sitting together on the fainting couch by the fire. She took a final glance around to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything, but she was pleased with what she’d wrought.

She grinned. “This will be so much fun. I wish I could stay and watch.”

“You have an absurd sense of humor.” Amelia sounded like a scold.

“Try to be flirtatious, Amelia. I know it’s difficult for you, but
try
.”

“I will,” Amelia promised.

“Don’t worry about her,” Mr. Blair said. “I’ll be flirtatious enough for both of us.”

“Marvelous,” Barbara gushed. “I’ll have the butler send in Mr. Drake. Be ready.”

She snuck out and, momentarily, Amelia heard footsteps approaching. The butler arrived in the doorway and announced, “Mr. Drake to see you, Miss Hubbard.”

He shuffled off, and as Mr. Drake appeared in his place, Mr. Blair picked up a glass of brandy and held it to Amelia’s lips as if he was encouraging her to drunkenness.

She laughed and shoved the glass away, then peeked over at Mr. Drake who was as still as a marble statue.

“Mr. Drake, this is a surprise.” She hoped she looked naughty, as if she’d been caught doing what she oughtn’t. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by again.”

“Hello, Drake,” Mr. Blair snarled, and he leaned in a little closer to Amelia. “Why are you here?”

Mr. Drake didn’t reply. He simply narrowed his gaze, as if attempting to get a clearer view of what he was witnessing. Ultimately, he nodded at Mr. Blair and said, “You two seem awfully cozy.”

Mr. Blair responded, “Amelia and I are becoming great friends. Aren’t we, dear?”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed. “He humors me immensely.”

Heat flashed in Mr. Drake’s eyes. “I’m sure your brother likes him too.”

“Of course Chase likes him. Chase introduced us.”

“Lucky you,” Mr. Drake seethed, and he glared at Mr. Blair. “Beat it, Blair. I must speak to Miss Hubbard. Alone.”

“It’s up to the lady whether I remain or not,” Mr. Blair retorted. He smiled at Amelia. “What say you, darling?”

Amelia glanced between them several times, pretending to consider, then she sighed. “Would you go? Mr. Drake is upset, and I’m guessing he won’t leave until he gets his way.”

“He’s a terrible boor, so I’m guessing he won’t either.” Mr. Blair pushed himself to his feet, clasped her hand, and lingeringly kissed it. “Until tonight,” he seductively murmured.

He shot her a look so full of longing that she was taken aback by it. His skill at artifice had her wondering if he wasn’t experienced on the stage.

“What’s happening tonight?” Mr. Drake asked.

“We’re meeting at all the balls,” Mr. Blair fibbed. “We have our schedules arranged.”

“How nice.” Mr. Drake oozed sarcasm.

Mr. Blair bent down to Amelia and whispered in her ear. From Mr. Drake’s vantage point, the moment likely seemed intimate and scandalous, but what Mr. Blair actually said was, “I always thought he was an arrogant ass. Make him sweat!”

He stood, grabbed his coat, winked at her, and sauntered out. In order to exit, he had to walk by Mr. Drake. As he passed, they bristled like dogs about to fight.

Would they brawl? Over her? How thrilling! How absurd!

Mr. Drake waited until Mr. Blair’s strides had faded down the hall, then he shut the door and came over to her. He carried a stack of letters, and he dropped them in her lap.

“What’s this?” she inquired.

“It’s your mail. It was delivered to Sidwell Manor, but you’d already left. Eventually, it was brought to London.”

“I’m so excited to have it. Thank you.”

“I’m delighted to be of assistance.” Again, he oozed sarcasm, his tone indicating he was anything but delighted to be in Barbara’s house again.

He whipped away and went to the sideboard to pour himself a whiskey. He kept his distance, watching her, ire rolling off him in waves.

She ignored him and flicked open the first letter.

“It’s from Rose!” she beamed, and as she perused the words that had been penned, she chuckled.

“What does she say?” he asked.

“She heard that you were to be my husband. She advises me that you’re a wretch, and I should run as far and fast as I can to escape you.”

“We’re not engaged, so there’s no reason to escape.”

“No, there isn’t.”

Amelia continued to ignore him, and he brooded and fumed, as she read a few more missives from Rose, as well as a few from Evangeline. Evangeline was still at the school, but it was closed, and she was packing her bags to leave for her own marriage to an unknown fiancé.

Amelia hoped Evangeline was headed for a spouse who was a tad happier to have a bride than Mr. Drake had been. She’d hate to have Evangeline leap into a similar disaster.

She picked up another letter from Rose, and at the news provided, she frowned.

“If your scowl grows any deeper,” Mr. Drake jeered, “your face will stay that way. You’ll never smooth out the lines.”

“Rose is getting married, but not to Mr. Oswald.” Mr. Oswald was an elderly landowner to whom Miss Peabody had betrothed her.

“No.”

“She’s marrying...James Talbot? Who on Earth is that?”

“He’s a friend of mine.”

“Oh, no,” Amelia groaned. “Perhaps I should write to
her
. Perhaps I should tell
her
to run away.”

He shrugged. “James is all right. He doesn’t have any of my bad habits. Not many of them anyway, and he’s suddenly become very rich. She’ll be fine.”

He was staring at her, his gaze heated, his attention fierce. She tossed the letters aside and returned his stare, struggling to appear just as severe and expecting her intensity would spur him to spit out whatever was bothering him.

When he remained silent, she finally asked, “Was there something you wanted?”

“I spoke with my father about you.”

“And...?”

“He’s worried about your conduct, so we’re taking you to Sidwell.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m having the time of my life. I have no desire to wallow in the country ever again.”

“Mr. Blair is not an appropriate acquaintance for you.”

“My brother approves of him.”

“Your
brother
,” he tightly spat, “has granted Mr. Blair permission to seduce you.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“Blair bragged about it to me.”

“I’m not a child. He can only succeed if I’m amenable.”

“I’ve warned you before, Miss Hubbard. You’re a lamb among the wolves. If Blair decides to misbehave, you haven’t the sophistication to stop him.”

Her exasperation flared. “I don’t understand you, Mr. Drake.”

“What’s to understand?”

“We’re not related, you and I. We had a fleeting connection when your father betrothed us. I was willing to proceed—until I met you—and you were resistant from the start. We both consider the engagement ended, so I can’t figure out why you’re pestering me. Can you?”

“You haven’t the sense God gave an ant,” he hotly said.

“You’re such a flatterer, Mr. Drake.”

“Someone has to take you in hand.”

“And that would be you?”

“Yes.”

“No. I have a brother who’s looking out for my interests, and Barbara is a terrific friend. Between those two, I have plenty of people to protect me. I hardly need you butting in.”

“You’re on such a dangerous path—and you don’t even realize that you are.”

“It’s
my
path. You shouldn’t fret over it.”

“You’re acting recklessly, like an immature child.”

“If you’re trying to sway me to your way of thinking, insults won’t work.”

“You fool,” he muttered. “You bloody, dense fool.”

He swallowed his drink and set down the empty glass with a determined thud. Then he marched toward her, enraged and so thoroughly focused on her that she didn’t know what to make of it.

Butterflies swarmed in her belly. There was a thrilling anticipation in the air, as if any wild, perilous thing might transpire.

He approached until he was directly in front of her. Sparks ignited, a wave of energy flowing from him to her, charging the area around them. She was agog, being pelted with a type of emotional uproar she didn’t comprehend and couldn’t begin to manage.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he fumed, the question sounding like an accusation.

“Doing what?”

“You flirt and charm and play the coquette. Am I supposed to be smitten? Am I supposed to become ensnared? Get it through your thick head: It will never happen. Never!”

As he voiced the word
never
, he reached for her, partially lifting her off the fainting couch, as his lips captured hers in a torrid kiss.

He’d kissed her in the music room at his father’s house, but this embrace bore no resemblance to that earlier one. This was desperate and feral and delicious in a manner she’d never imagined kissing could be. She might have been careening down a river in the wilderness, bouncing over rapids and boulders, and she had to hold on and pray she didn’t drown in the end.