Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Lucian couldn’t help but smile as he crossed the ballroom. That had gone perfectly to plan. He could still picture the fury sparking in Rosalie’s pale blue eyes.
She could be as mad as she wanted. He liked a hellcat in bed, after all. Her fury would be just the thing to make the wedding night invigorating.
Because there was definitely going to be a wedding night.
“Lucian.” His ruminations were interrupted as a familiar face appeared before him.
Lucian took the man in at a glance—artfully arranged dark hair, impeccably tailored black coat, boots so glossy you could check your teeth in them, snow-white cravat pierced with a stickpin bearing a purple stone the size of Lucian’s thumbnail, unlined copper skin, and a handsome face split into a roguish grin.
Lucian grinned in return. “Vander.”
His old school friend inclined his head. “Fancy a drink?”
Lucian squeezed his shoulder. “With you? Always.”
Lucian followed Vander as he cut a path through the throng of curious onlookers.
They had met fifteen years ago at Eton. “Vander” was short for Evander Beauclerk.
He was the only son of an obscenely wealthy cit.
What was it that Vander’s father did again?
Some sort of banking, perhaps? Vander didn’t much like to talk about his old man.
Lucian got the impression they were like chalk and cheese.
He took more after his mother, a beauty from India whom Lucian used to flirt with outrageously whenever he was invited to the Beauclerk manse.
Lucian had been one year behind Vander in school, but they had been part of the same crowd. Specifically, the crowd that hadn’t given a damn about their schoolwork.
Vander had been a good friend to him over the years.
Lucian wasn’t as plump in the pocket as most of their friends.
Vander had never given a damn. Once, when Lucian had found himself particularly down at heel, he’d tried to cry off from a night out with his friends.
Vander had insisted that he come out. Not only had he covered Lucian’s drinks, but Lucian had found a ten-pound note in his pocket the following morning.
And, of course, Vander had helped him with his grandfather.
Lucian felt his throat constrict at the memory.
Whoever said blood was thicker than water was dead wrong.
Lucian’s family, what he had left of it, anyway, could go fuck themselves.
That was the one good thing about his new title.
Now that his status had improved, he was going to give the cut direct to every one of those cunts who used to act like they were better than Vander because his father was in trade.
Although honestly, Vander had already beaten the shit out of most of them. Vander was a damn good boxer.
Oh, well. Lucian was going to cut those fuckers regardless. It was the principal of the matter.
At last, they reached one of the corridors flanking the ballroom. Vander steered him into a room that proved to be the library. It was blessedly deserted save for another old friend, David Daughtry, Viscount Trundley.
“David!” Lucian said, coming over to pump his hand.
“Lucian!” David replied warmly, then cringed. “Sorry. I should probably start calling you Valentine now.”
Lucian waved this off. “I call you David. Call me whatever the hell you want.”
Vander, who had busied himself at the sideboard, turned around, three snifters of brandy in his hands. He passed them around, then raised his own glass. “To the things that get better with age—wine and friendship.”
“Hear, hear,” Lucian said.
“I’ll drink to that,” David added.
“So,” Lucian said as they settled into some leather wing chairs arrayed before the fireplace, “what have I missed these past two years?”
“We’ve both married,” David said. “I stood for Parliament, and—”
“Wait, wait,” Lucian said, holding up a hand. He turned toward Vander. “You married?” At Vander’s nod, he snorted. “What poor woman did you dupe into marrying you?”
David wagged his eyebrows. “That would be my sister.”
Lucian gaped at him. “Letty?”
David nodded. “The very one.”
Lucian looked back and forth between the two men. “And yet, it seems you’re still on speaking terms.”
Vander grinned, not looking insulted. “I know it comes as a shock. But when you find the right woman, you no longer feel the desire to sow all those wild oats.” He sat back in his chair. “I’m even a father now, if you can countenance it.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Lucian raised his glass. “This calls for another toast. To baby, er…”
“Evangeline,” Vander supplied. “She’s two months old.”
“To Evangeline Beauclerk!” Lucian said, and they drank again.
Vander was smiling softly as they set their glasses down. “This is actually the first time I’ve attended a large gathering since she was born. Letty insisted that I come, as she knows we’re friends. She didn’t feel up to it, but she sends her love.”
Lucian inclined his head. “Please offer her my very best wishes.” He frowned. “Although… how did you know I would be here tonight?”
Vander grinned as he leaned back in his chair. “I have my ways.”
Lucian snorted. “You sound like the villain in a melodrama.”
Vander laughed. “Nothing so exciting. My office overlooks the harbor—yes, I have an office now. I work in my father’s insurance business.”
“He’s bloody good at it, too,” David noted. “If you thought he was rich before, you should see him now.”
Vander’s lip twitched. “Working in my father’s business is surprisingly tolerable.
And imagine my surprise when I glanced out the window yesterday afternoon, and who should I see strolling down the wharf but my old school friend, Lucian.
” He laughed. “And within twenty-four hours of arriving home, you managed to get yourself featured in the Rake Review.”
Lucian blinked. “The what?”
“The Rake Review.” David stared at him expectantly, as if by repeating Vander’s words he had actually explained something.
Lucian shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
A cat-who-got-the-cream grin spread over David’s face. “Where have you been that you haven’t heard of the Rake Review? Outer Mongolia? Timbuktu?”
“Most recently, the Kingdom of Croatia,” Lucian observed blandly. “It’s startlingly beautiful.” And cheap. Cheap had been an important consideration at the time.
“Hmm.” David took a sip of his drink. “Perhaps I’ll let Vander explain about the Rake Review, as he’s something of an expert on that particular publication.”
“Fuck you,” Vander said, but his tone was fond.
Lucian leaned back in his chair, sipping his brandy. Damn, but that was delicious. After spending two years scraping by, he intended to enjoy the finer things in life. French brandy. Cuban cheroots. Spanish horses.
And English roses. He had a particular one in mind.
Vander pushed his hair back from his face, leaving it artfully tousled. “The Rake Review is the most popular gossip sheet at the moment. It’s published on the first day of each month, and it features one of London’s most eligible bachelors.”
David snorted. “It features one of London’s most debauched wastrels, more like.”
Lucian took another sip of his drink. “I do remember that. A few issues came out before my departure. I can’t say I’m surprised I appeared in it.” Lucian grinned at Vander as something occurred to him. “I take it you were also featured?”
Vander made an elegant sweep of his hand. “You have the honor of addressing the inaugural Mr. May.”
“In a fantastic twist,” David said, “every single rake who has been featured has found himself caught in the parson’s mousetrap in short order.”
Lucian reached for the decanter, topping off his friends’ glasses before refilling his own. “A tradition I mean to continue. As you saw tonight, I’ve already secured myself a bride.”
Vander and David exchanged a quick glance. “We’ve been wondering about that,” David said.
Lucian snorted. “If Vander can transform himself into a respectable married man, then surely there is hope even for me.”
“Touche.” Vander propped a booted foot on his opposite knee. “But Lady Rosalie is… a curious choice.”
Lucian tapped the side of his glass. “She’s a beautiful woman, and the daughter of a duke. What man could resist?”
“She was also all but betrothed to Lysander,” David noted. “A betrothal that fell apart as soon as he lost his title.”
Vander gave him a shrewd look. “One cannot help but wonder if you are claiming not merely Lysander’s title but also his viscountess for the purpose of rubbing salt in his wound.”
Lucian smirked. He could certainly see why his friends had formed that impression.
If only they knew. His actual reasons for marrying her were ten times as shocking.
He flashed his friends a bland smile. “Would I do such a thing?”
David leaned forward. “Look, Lucian. We’re friends. You know that. I know you hate Lysander with the heat and intensity of the noon sun over the Sahara. And I understand why. Really, I do. But Lady Rosalie has been a loyal friend to Emily.”
“Letty, too,” Vander added.
David’s expression was pained. “Most people believe she’s too forthright by half, but from what I can tell, she’s one of the few decent people in the ton. And she deserves better than to be shackled to a man who’s only marrying her to spite his cousin.”
“Never fear,” Lucian said, setting his now-empty glass aside.
“I’m not marrying Lady Rosalie merely to spite Lysander.
Although I will admit, it is a very welcome addition.
” Vander started to speak, but Lucian raised a hand to stop him.
“There is nothing you can say to dissuade me. I mean to marry Lady Rosalie.” Whether she likes it or not, he added silently.
“But rest assured, I intend to make my bride deliriously happy.”
“In bed,” David noted dryly.
Lucian smirked. “In bed, and out of it. On that note, I find myself in need of a spectacular engagement ring so I can start worming my way into her good graces. Who would you say is the most reputable jeweler in town?”
“The person you want to talk to is my mother.” Vander leaned forward, pointing to the stickpin gracing his cravat. It was a rich purple stone the size of a tuppence coin, and even in the candlelight, Lucian could see that it was of exceptional radiance and clarity.
“She helped me have this made,” Vander continued, “as well as a matching ring for Letty. She has a better eye for gemstones than most jewelers. She might even pull some stones out of her personal collection. She’s always liked you.”
Lucian inclined his head. “I should like nothing better than to pay her a call.” It was true. His parents had died of a swift-moving fever while Lucian had been away at Cambridge. He’d been twenty at the time, so no longer a boy, but still, it had been a brutal blow.
Thank God he’d still had Grandfather. And when Vander’s mother had started fussing over him a bit, mending his shirts, sending him packages of tea and ginger biscuits at school, and reminding him to get his hair trimmed… he hadn’t minded.
“I will call on her tomorrow,” Lucian said.
“So,” David said, “Croatia. What were you getting up to there?”
The conversation moved on. It was good to see his friends after such a long absence.
But Lucian’s thoughts never strayed far from Rosalie. Tonight had merely been the beginning.
He had plans for Rosalie de Lacy.
And those plans would begin tomorrow.