Lucien's Fall Read online

  "Madeline," he whispered, and kissed her face, her eyes, her bare shoulders. "I love you, let me love you. Let me show you."

  She shoved him, hard, and he stumbled backward. Angrily, she pushed her hair off her face. "Love." She spat out the word. "You wouldn’t know love if it killed you."

  "Madeline—

  She struggled with the dress, trying with a flush on her cheeks to cover herself. She turned her back to him. "Go away, Lucien!" she cried.

  The sight of the small white rise of bones in her back pierced him. Stabbed with uncommon guilt, he reached for her sleeve, and before she could shove him away, tugged it into place. "Madeline—"

  "They that are rich in words in words discover that they are poor in that which makes a lover,’" she quoted softly. "Go, Lucien. Can’t you see I’m not like you? Seduce some other woman."

  "I don’t want another woman," he said.

  She looked at him. "You’ll destroy me."

  Music ripped through his brain, bright and loud and sorrowful. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left her. She was right—he was a coward and a rake and he had no business dragging her down with him.

  With a kind of lost desperation, he headed for the stables.

  * * *

  Juliette thought the weather oppressive, and it had grown worse by evening, when it should have been cooling off. Instead of soothing breezes blowing in from the water, there was a thick humid stillness weighting the air. It affected the guests adversely, making them quarrelsome. Madeline had snapped at her, and Anna bit the head off three maids, sending one after the other down the stairs in tears. In exasperation, Juliette herself had stopped by the countess’s room, on a thin errand, to help her dress. Anna complained about this and that, but it was plain she was pouting because she wanted Lucien, and Lucien didn’t return her lust at all.

  "I’d watch him, Juliette," Anna said as they went downstairs. "I can’t think how you’d let such an incendiary sort in the same house as your unmarried daughter."

  Juliette laughed that off. "Madeline is quite able to take care of herself."

  "Perhaps," Anna said with a flick of her fan, "but perhaps you’ve simply forgotten what it is to be young."

  She sailed off.

  Juliette made a face at the haughty, retreating back. Under her breath, she said, "Perhaps you’ve forgotten!" She turned to examine herself in the long mirror on the wall. Her neck, though not so taut as it once had been, showed no crepeiness, and her eyes were as bright and clear as they’d ever been. But weren’t there a few more lines around her lips now? And a little dry look around her eyes? At thirty-six, she was bound to show some of the years she’d lived, but had it marred her?

  So deeply did she examine her face that she did not hear Jonathan’s approach, and she startled when he slipped his arms around her waist, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "Why do you frown so, beautiful lady?"

  A rush of thick warmth filled her. Together they were so beautiful a pair—he so tall and elegantly slim and blond; she smaller, rounder, but just as blond. She lifted a hand and touched his jaw, admiring him in the reflection. "I was only wishing to be younger," she said, and ruefully smiled.

  He bent his head and kissed the side of her neck. "Do not change even one thread of yourself. I adore you as you are."

  The crown of his head, showing hair smoothed back from his high, aristocratic forehead, aroused her oddly, and she turned her face to meet the kiss he had waiting, reaching behind her to touch him boldly. "I hope you’ll not dally this night, my love," she said with a throaty laugh. "I have something I think you’ll like very much."

  "Oh?"

  "You’ll see."

  A discreet cough from a footman broke them apart. Juliette smoothed her coif and sailed regally into the dining room, wickedly glancing over her shoulder at Jonathan, who struggled to right his clothes. He winked at her. She flipped open her fan and laughed.

  Anna was only jealous.

  Or was she? One of the first people Juliette spied as she came into the salon was Lucien, dressed elegantly in black. He leaned insouciantly against the wall, a glass of port in his hand. Looking at him, Juliette felt a clutch of fear.

  He burned. The fire lay bright on his features, lighting them from within, giving his face a haunted, brilliant cast. The restless heat was in his form, as taut and poised as a cat about to spring, and in the careless, deliberate flame of his movements.

  But it was mostly in his gaze, in the burning look he sent across the room. Juliette touched her ribs, knowing who would be at the end of that fevered blue gaze, who would be the subject of that pointed and urgent passion.

  Madeline.

  Who sat to one side by herself as she tried to ignore that sizzling look. Tonight she wore a gown of turquoise silk that accented her olive-toned skin and dark hair. The color pointed up the natural red of her lips, the rosiness of her flushed cheeks—and what girl could help being flushed when pinned by such an intense perusal?—the depth of her dark-lashed eyes.

  Juliette, seeing Madeline through Lucien’s eyes, was quite startled by the hitherto unseen sensuality of the girl’s movements, in the tilt of her head, the rise of her breasts over the low-cut gown, in the nervous way she sucked lightly on her lower lip and let it go.

  Dear God.

  For a long terrible moment, Juliette was paralyzed by all the things she’d not observed because she’d been swept into such a state by her affair with Jonathan. A taste of bile rose in her throat. She looked from Lucien to Madeline and back again. Madeline carefully sipped her port, settled her hands back in her lap. She looked up at Lucien, and Juliette clamped her teeth together to catch the cry that nearly tore out of her throat, because for one bright, shattering moment, Juliette saw that Madeline was most desperately in love. She probably didn’t even know it.

  Anna sidled up next to her. "Nothing to worry over, is it?" she said slyly, and laughed.

  With a steely calm that had served her well for more than twenty years, Juliette smiled at her longtime friend and competitor. "Nothing at all," she said, and flicked open her fan with an arch of one perfect brow. "Now you’ll see what a master might do, my dear."

  But as she sailed confidently toward Lucien, her heart slowly shredded. It had been a most expensive and delectable luxury to fall in love with Jonathan— she had known that. She had not known it would cost her heart, her love, and her daughter.

  Her only hope of saving Madeline lay in successful seduction of Lucien Harrow, and preferably, in flagrante, so all the world knew.

  Including Jonathan. Including Madeline. Who would both, she had no doubt, hate her when it was revealed.

  But Juliette had not risen from the life of a dressmaker’s daughter to the status of countess by whining over the cost of sacrifices. With a determined and glittering smile, she bore down on Lucien Harrow.

  He roused himself to greet her, and she saw with alarm that he’d grown thinner these past weeks, as if the fire were consuming him from within. What a terrible waste if such a man had consumption.

  But no, there was none of the telltale weakness about him. Indeed, it seemed as if he never slept. Perhaps he had only been indulging too much in the wrong things. "Good evening, Lucien," she said, flicking open her fan.

  "Good evening." Quite automatically, he paid tribute to the beauty of her bosom with his eyes, and to her lips, and to her hair—no wonder he was so successful with women, Juliette thought—how many men really looked at a woman that way?

  With a coquettish smile, she inclined her head. "I wonder if you’d play a little game with me," she said.

  "A game?" He lifted an amused brow.

  "Yes. Close your eyes."

  He obliged her. Juliette noticed distantly that he had astonishingly long lashes, and they fanned like a child’s over his high cheekbones when he closed his eyes. It gave his gaunt face a curiously touching and vulnerable look.

  "I’ve a bet with Lady Heath," Juliette said, "that you can name the
dress color of every woman in this room, and I’ll win a sovereign more if you can tell me their jewels, as well."

  Lucien smiled. "You wear yellow with garnets. Lady Heath is wearing royal blue brocade and sapphire and diamond ear drops with a long necklace upon her breast."

  "Lovely!" Juliette crowed. There was no bet of course, but men could not resist showing off. It was one of the kernels of knowledge that served her best all these years. "Squire McKinnley’s wife? And Lady Roake?"

  "A green satin with diamonds. Lady Roake is wearing a ghastly robe of brown with—" He frowned. "I can’t think of her jewels—the dress was so appallingly made. Ah, she is wearing topazes, unfortunately. The whole outfit is unfortunate."

  "And Lady Madeline?"

  His eyes opened. "I don’t recall."

  Juliette shivered at the burning in the vibrantly colored irises. "Oh, surely you remember something."

  "No," he said, and lifted his glass of port. "As I’ve said, I do not care for innocence, Countess, but much prefer"—he lifted that sardonic brow and let his eyes drop, once again, to her mouth—"more experienced beauties."

  "Ah," Juliette said, smiling through her knowledge that he lied as baldly as it was possible to lie. "Perhaps then you will dance with such beauty after supper?"

  He bowed. "It would be my pleasure."

  As he wandered off, Juliette felt a clutch of foreboding. No good would come of any of this. She could feel it in her bones.

  Chapter Fourteen

  But my kisses bring again, bring again

  Seals of love, but seal’d in vain, seal’d in vain.

  ~ Shakespeare

  The evening was sheer misery for Madeline. She’d tried to get out of dinner altogether, but Juliette had seen through her ruse and ordered her to dress and come down to eat. As a hostess of Whitethorn, Madeline had a duty to be present at all evening gatherings unless she were quite desperately ill. Which anyone with half an eye could see she was not.

  Not in body, anyway. But didn’t an illness of the heart or spirit come to the same discomfort? Madeline was so ashamed of herself she could barely lift her head. Since she could not share that emotion with her stepmother, Juliette was immovable.

  So it was that Madeline, disturbed and sulky, swollen with a thousand emotions she didn’t dare examine, suffered through supper. Suffered the silly conversations and the gossip and the mean-spirited barbs that masqueraded as wit. Suffered the cloying presence of Lady Heath, who seemed not to leave Madeline’s side for even a tiny moment all evening.

  And suffered most of all the intent and invasive gaze of Lucien Harrow, who overtly and broodingly watched her all evening.

  But why not? He had nothing to lose—his reputation would only be enhanced if he succeeded in tumbling her, and he’d told her that first night that he would do whatever was necessary.

  Even tell her he loved her. That sinfully false declaration of love bothered her most. For one long, shimmering instant, Madeline had wanted with all her being to believe him.

  Shame pulsed in her, a heated wash that touched her in the places he had touched her, filling her with a yearning and revulsion she could not reconcile. How could she, after so many years of observing the habits of lazy rakes and their women, have fallen under his spell so violently? Lord Esher, by his own admission, was a most accomplished seducer.

  But in the maze this afternoon, it had been his despair that moved her, the hopelessness burning in his eyes—a sorrow so vast she couldn’t begin to understand it, an unhealed grief so long buried it festered like a maltreated wound.

  Thinking of it gave her an odd feeling in her stomach, a breathlessness. His mouth, so close to her own, had been too inviting to resist. His face, so beautiful and haunted, had seemed to beg for her caress. So she had touched and kissed, and—

  No, she would not think of the rest.

  There was dancing after supper, line dances that thankfully kept her apart from the narcotic presence of Lord Esher, who seemed busy enough with other women anyway that she needn’t have worried.

  He didn’t speak to her. After supper, he didn’t look at her anymore either, and disappeared for a long time. Jonathan came up to her as she drank a cup of punch, hoping to find oblivion in the potent brew.

  "Have you seen your stepmother?" he asked.

  Madeline shook her head. "Nor do I care if I ever do again."

  He chuckled. "Don’t be so sulky, my dear. She wants only what’s best for you."

  "I have the headache," she said crossly. "I am weary of guests and dinner parties and music. I want silence and my old country life."

  "Come." He held out his arm. "A little air will no doubt clear your mind."

  With a sigh, Madeline took his proffered elbow and allowed herself to be led into the night. Skimmers of clouds drifted over the stars, and only the smallest of moons illuminated the night. It was very dark.

  "Isn’t that better?" Jonathan asked, as they moved away from the house and all the noise, moving down the newly raked gravel path that led to the rose gardens.

  She nodded. "I fear I was not made for these times. Perhaps I would have been better born when there were no carriages clattering down the roads, and so many people in one place."

  "There is no shame in wishing for a quiet life, Madeline. It suits you, and you should pursue it."

  "Yes" She thought of Charles, and regret crippled her again. How could she have been so wanton with another man after promising herself to him? How could she betray him so? With effort, she said, "I believe I will find that life with the marquess."

  "I’ve no doubt at all."

  They circled the graveled paths and headed back to the house. The sulky meanness she’d been feeling eased, along with the muscles in her shoulders and neck. Perhaps she had been foolish today, but it was not the end of the world. Charles need never know she’d nearly been ravished by a rake—and resisted. She had to remember that: in spite of her wanton arousal, her very deep wish to do with Lucien whatever he wished, Madeline had not succumbed. In spite of her traitorous body, her spirit and will had resisted him.

  With a smile, she said, "This has helped immensely, Lord Lanham. Thank you."

  "My pleasure."

  As they moved over the lawn to the house, there came a cry and a groan from a hidden spot. Madeline froze, looking urgently up at Jonathan for direction. If they continued forward, they ran the risk of exposing lovers in the act. Just now, Madeline could not manage even the thought of it.

  Jonathan seemed to read her plea. Putting a single finger to his lips, he melted into the shadows of a great, old elm and pulled her with him. In the shadows, they crouched.

  "It’s Lucien, you know," he whispered in her ear. "There is no other man at this party who’d consider a midnight seduction in the garden."

  A pain as violent as a knife rendered Madeline without speech. She wanted to cover her ears so she would not hear the sounds, but instead pressed her hands to her mouth. Why did it wound that he should have found someone else to ease his carnal hungers? Had she not just congratulated herself upon resisting such advances? But wound it did—the gash deep and sharp. She thought of his face this afternoon, bathed in the still cloudy light, so beautiful and fragile and vulnerable, thought of his mouth, so rich and— Foolish, foolish woman!

  In the cover of bushes, the rising and falling of voices seemed to go on forever. Urgent, then softer, then argumentative and soothing. Male and female, weaving together, pausing, starting.

  At last, the sounds ceased and a pair of shadows emerged. Madeline recognized Lucien’s elegant figure, graceful as a cat even at night in the shadows.

  She also recognized the woman with him. With sorrow, looked up to Jonathan, who went utterly rigid. A choking sound escaped his throat and for a moment, she wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Rush from the bushes to demand a duel? Faint? Kill them both?

  Lucien shook off Juliette’s hand on his arm and stalked away, obviously angry. Juliette laughed, and
the sound carried an edge. She let Lucien go, and stood a moment in the darkness, rearranging her gown. It was plain it had been unlaced, and Juliette could not seem to catch the strings.

  Without a second thought, Madeline moved from the shadows to her stepmother. "Whatever are you doing?" Madeline asked, as if she’d only just come upon her. "Let me help you."

  "Thank you, my dear," Juliette said smoothly. "I fear I rather got carried away." Her voice fairly purred with lush satisfaction. "Lord Esher is a talented fellow."

  A pounding beat in Madeline’s throat, and she yanked the laces tight. She thought of Jonathan, in the trees. She wished she could slap a hand over Juliette’s mouth, but the damage had been done.

  Juliette, oblivious, chattered archly. After a moment, Madeline thought Juliette sounded brittle, almost to the point of breaking, and when she looked at her, she saw there were tears making sticky trails through the powder on her face, like a river cutting new tributaries.

  "Mama!" she cried. "Did he hurt you?

  "Ah, child, you’ve not called me that for many years," Juliette said, and started to cough. "No," she said, waving away Madeline’s concern. "He didn’t hurt me."

  Madeline heard the hesitation in her voice, and thought of the argumentative sounds she’d heard from the bushes.

  Jonathan. Madeline glanced over her shoulder, but the place where he’d hidden was empty. "Juliette, what about Jonathan? He loves you."

  With the weariest expression Madeline had ever seen, Juliette looked at her. "He’ll love another." Leaning on Madeline, she said, "Take me to my room. I am most unwell."

  Lucien had shed his shirt and stood in his breeches and boots when the door to his chamber slammed open. Madeline stood there, furious, if he were to judge by the high spots of color on her cheeks.