WANTON (4 page)

Lucas heaved out a heavy breath.

Aaron was Lucas’s only sibling and George’s heir apparent. At age thirty, Aaron was just five years older than Lucas, but he seemed decades more mature.

He was courteous and obedient and completely biddable in ways Lucas had never been able to be. As Aaron’s star had risen in their father’s eyes, Lucas’s had plummeted until it was difficult to remember that he and Aaron were even related.

Lucas liked Aaron well enough, although sometimes, he wanted to grab him and shake him and say,
Wake up and live your life! Stop being so obsequious to the pathetic fool
.

But Aaron was simply too polite to ever act up or misbehave.

“If we’ve stooped to your waxing on about Aaron,” Lucas told his father, “this conversation is over.”

“We are not finished.”

“We are.”

Lucas spun and started out.

“Where are you going?” George practically screeched the question.

“To London.”

“You don’t have my permission to leave.”

“Really, my lord? You think I need your permission?”

“You’ll will stay here and wed Miss Hubbard.”

“I won’t.”

“You have one month to change your mind.”

“Or what?” he asked as he had earlier.

“You’ll see,” George solemnly stated. “You enjoy mocking me, and you suppose I have no power over you. But by God, you’ll see what I can do.”

“Don’t command me, my lord. You can’t.”

Lucas stomped out, his father shrieking with offense, but Lucas ignored him and kept on.

CHAPTER THREE

“Hello, Miss Hubbard.”

Lucas smirked. His voice, unexpected and coming as it was from inside her sitting room, made her jump.

She whipped around. “Mr. Drake! What are you doing in here?”

“Your door was open.”

“So you felt free to waltz in?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any manners at all?”

“No, none.”

“Were you raised by wolves in the forest?”

“Worse. I was raised by my father.”

Actually, he’d been raised by nannies and governesses and tutors and servants. The main blessing of his childhood had been the rare encounters with Lord Sidwell. Whenever George had shown his smug face at the estate, the experience had always been unpleasant.

“I hardly know you,” Miss Hubbard snottily said, “and despite our scant acquaintance, you denigrate your sire to me. It’s contemptible behavior, but your comment doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why is that? Oh, that’s right. You’ve already learned that I’m a wretch.”

“Of the most despicable sort.”

“It usually takes a female weeks or months to recognize my true nature. How is it that you figured it out so quickly—and so accurately too?”

She assessed him, her impertinent gaze starting at the top of his head, then traveling down much as he’d done to her earlier in the parlor. Her evaluation was so blatantly rude that he was flustered by it.

“I’m an excellent judge of character,” she jeered. “It’s easy to see that you’re shameless and vile.”

“Vile!” He chuckled. “I must say, Miss Hubbard, it’s been awhile since the word
vile
was used to describe me. Disgraceful, yes. Appalling, yes. Dreadful, yes. But we couldn’t have arrived at
vile
so soon in our relationship.”

“I don’t have the time or energy to waste talking to you. Go away.”

With that arrogant retort, she spun on her heel and pranced into the bedchamber, effectively dismissing him.

He went to the door, a foot in the hall, the other in her suite, and he dawdled, having no idea why he’d stopped to speak with her. His own suite was at the end of the hall, and he’d been walking to it when he’d passed by her open door.

He’d specifically chosen his rooms because they were in an isolated wing of the mansion. His visits to Sidwell Manor were few and far between and always contentious. If he called on his father, he liked to have his own space, one that was removed from the rest of the family and their many absurdities, so there was never anyone housed nearby.

Clearly, his father had placed Miss Hubbard in close proximity to Lucas in the ludicrous hope that he would be intrigued by her. As if Lucas could be interested in such a grumpy, petulant spinster!

He’d dabbled with every type of female—short, fat, old, young, rich, poor, homely, pretty—and his frequent forays into passion had left him unequivocally bored with innocents and spinsters. Give him an experienced trollop, and he was happy.

Still, he was aggravated by Miss Hubbard’s disregard. Normally he couldn’t care less about a woman’s disdain, but for some reason, hers rankled.

For all his foibles and faults, he was an earl’s son. Every lowborn fiancée his father had found in the past—and there had been over a dozen—had been eager to marry into such an exalted family. Lucas was the one who declined the matches. The women never refused—well, at least not until they met him.

Miss Amelia Hubbard was the only one stupid enough or brave enough to rebuff him. He was a very proud man, and her rejection galled him as nothing had in ages. He wasn’t about to let her have the last word.

He marched over to the bedchamber. She was by the bed, folding a dress and putting it into a battered portmanteau.

“You’re really packing your bags?” he asked. “I thought you were joking.”

“Are you still here?” She didn’t bother to turn around. “I could have sworn I told you to go away.”

“I never listen to women.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

He blustered over and peered into the bag. She had a tiny pile of personal belongings: two plain gray dresses that were exact copies of the one she was wearing, some faded undergarments, a scuffed pair of winter boots, and a drab nightgown with flowers embroidered on the bodice.

“You have the most pitiful collection of clothes I’ve ever seen,” he said.

She pushed him away and kept on folding. “I apologize that I can’t live up to your lofty standards. No doubt the trollops in your life are much more extravagant.”

“Yes, they are.” He wouldn’t deny that he dabbled with trollops, wouldn’t pretend he was anything but what he was. “You’re attired like a vicar’s daughter or a schoolteacher.”

“That’s because I
am
a schoolteacher.” She scowled. “Or I was until your father lured me to this madhouse.”

He laughed aloud. “A schoolteacher?”

“Yes. What’s so funny?”

“He’s finally stooped to the bottom of the barrel. He could never get a woman of any rank or family to have me, so he’s been climbing down the ladder, until now, it appears we’re on the very last rung.”

“And you, Mr. High-And-Mighty-Drake, assume you’re too grand to marry a schoolteacher?”

“Absolutely too grand—as well as too disinterested. I’m a confirmed bachelor, Miss Hubbard.” He gave a mock shudder. “The very mention of a leg-shackle makes me break out in hives.”

“As if any sane female would have you,” she grumbled.

“You’re very free with your insults.”

“I’m simply listening to you and replying in kind.”

“Where did you develop your sharp tongue?”

“Where did you?”

“Are you always so curt and uncivil?”

“Are you?”

“Gad,” he scoffed, “I feel as if I’m talking to a ten-year-old.”

“So do I.”

She whipped around to face him, but he was standing much closer than she’d realized. Her shift of position thrust her body directly into his.

Suddenly, they were forged fast, chests, bellies, thighs, feet. She was just the height he enjoyed, five-foot-five or so, and with his being an avowed libertine, he couldn’t help but notice she was very shapely. And very pretty.

The women in his world were mostly blond, but she was a brunette, the dark shade enhancing the emerald of her bright green eyes, eyes that widened with dismay as she grasped that she was leaned against him.

She moved to step away, but before she could, he slipped a palm onto her back and kept her right where she was. He couldn’t figure out his purpose, but with their abrupt contact, there was a very strident, very stirring jolt of desire flowing between them.

With her being such a pedantic shrew, he was perplexed as to why he’d suffer any reaction at all, but the desire was there, as potent and tangible as an animate object.

She was so impertinent and priggish that he expected her to slap him, but she was made of sterner stuff. She glared, shooting him a look that probably scared her students to death.

“Unhand me, you fiend,” she seethed.

“No.”

“You’ve barged in where you’re not welcome. You’ve denigrated me, my clothing, and my profession. I don’t like you, and I won’t have you within a hundred yards of my person. How dare you take liberties?”

“Liberties?”

“You’re touching me. In my book, that counts as a liberty.”

“Not in mine.”

“Of course not. This little escapade means naught to you.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So why are you in here? I’ve inquired previously, but I don’t have an answer.”

“I’m so curious about you.”

“About me? You couldn’t possibly be.”

“I am. Women usually despise me, but it’s never an immediate dislike. It normally takes awhile for detestation to set in. Yet you loathed me on sight.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“A fair question, but as you’ve hurled as many insults as I, I believe I’m entitled to know why I’m so abhorred.”

She still hadn’t moved away, hadn’t slapped him in umbrage. She was gazing up at him with those shrewd green eyes of hers. She seemed very astute, as if she could see details she shouldn’t, as if she’d delved to his core and hadn’t found any redeeming qualities.

He didn’t
have
any redeeming qualities, so the realization shouldn’t have bothered him, but he was exceedingly vexed and didn’t like to ever feel that a woman was getting the best of him.

“Why are you abhorred?” she caustically spat. “You truly wish I’d tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Have you even washed?”

“Washed...since when?”

“Since your carnal tryst ended. When was that? A half-hour ago?”

“My carnal tryst?”

“Yes. You tumble the maids—”

“How the bloody hell do you know that?”

She ignored him and kept on with her chastisement. “Which I find to be completely predictable for a cur of your low character. But nevertheless, the behavior is reprehensible and not the sort I would tolerate in any man, particularly not one who has been betrothed to me.”

She shoved him away, and they stood, scowling, as if they’d gone toe-to-toe in the boxing ring and she’d won every round.

“You were watching,” he accused.

“Yes. I was passing by in the hall, and I heard a woman cry out. I entered the room to see if she was in distress.”

“How long were you there?”

“Long enough to learn everything about you I ever need to know.”

A montage of erotic images flashed through his mind. The two housemaids were slatterns who’d taught him fornication as an adolescent. When he visited Sidwell, he always cavorted with them. They were always enthusiastically ready, and he was always a tad stressed to be home. Why shouldn’t he avail himself?

Still, his cheeks heated with what might have been shame—if he’d ever been capable of shame.

“You certainly got an eyeful,” he mused.

“I certainly did.”

She was sanctimonious and smug, and if she’d been a man, he’d have knocked her to the ground just to wipe that haughty expression off her face.

She raised a snooty brow. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone so I can pack my bag.”

“You actually assume you’re leaving? You suppose you can thwart Lord Sidwell?”

“There’ll be no thwarting. I simply mean to go. I traveled here with good intentions, but I’ve spoken with my betrothed, and it’s clear I was horridly deceived.”

With that rude remark, she stomped to the sitting room, yanked the door open, and gestured to the hall. He was stunned that she had the audacity to toss him out. It made him eager to stay merely to prove how boneheaded he could be.

But he truly didn’t like her and still couldn’t fathom why he’d stopped to chat. She was very beautiful, but she was also discourteous and insolent and unpleasant. Lord help the fool who eventually ended up wed to her.

Taking his time, he sauntered toward her, pretending he was departing because
he
wanted to and not because she’d insisted. On arriving next to her, he halted and stepped in, positive that—finally—he’d unnerve her but, apparently, he couldn’t. She glared at him, her look scathing and impossibly astute.

The sparks flared to life again. He was a libertine with vast carnal experience under his belt, but he’d never felt anything like it. It rattled him, and he was curious as to what it would be like to seduce her, which would be the height of folly.

He glowered, trying to appear fierce, but anxious to conceal his puzzlement too. He was so attracted to her, and he imagined it was because she wasn’t interested in marrying him. If she had been, he’d have been halfway to London by now.

“I’d say it’s been charming to meet you, Miss Hubbard, but it hasn’t been.”

“I’d say the same, but I have to agree. You’re very likely the most wicked, despicable man I’ve ever encountered.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“No, and now that I have, I’d rather live a very isolated, very quiet existence. It will save me the trouble of running into another cad such as yourself.”

“Touché,”
he murmured.

He studied her and was terrified to note that he was wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

Better to kiss a venomous snake
.

“Goodbye,” he said, “and good luck with convincing Lord Sidwell to cancel the betrothal. Let me know how you conclude matters with him. I’ll be delighted to hear about it.”

“As you and I have decided that I’m not your fiancée, I am none of your business, Mr. Drake, so there won’t be any need for you to be apprised.”

She pulled the door wider, and she waited, waited, waited for him to exit.

He ought to have hurled a pithy, parting comment to put her in her place. Usually, he was quick with the appropriate cutting remark, but he couldn’t think of a slur that would be sufficiently callous.