Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Lucian drew his fist back and let it fly toward Lysander’s soft, pale jaw.
He connected with naught but empty air. Strictly speaking, the image of Lysander existed only in his mind’s eye.
But imagining his bastard cousin was the one standing across from him lent a little spring to his step—something he desperately needed as he struggled to keep up with Vander, who had always been the best boxer in their set.
Vander had invited Lucian to join him and David at the boxing-slash-fencing parlor attached to the new offices of Beauclerk, Beauclerk, and Beauclerk Marine Casualty. Lucian had assumed he had misheard. What sort of insurance company ran a boxing gym on the side? As well as a coffee house?
But it was apparently a stroke of genius. Sea captains flocked to both establishments, which were conveniently located near the London docks, when they were ashore. The Beauclerks were always the first to know the latest news in the shipping industry, and business was booming.
Lucian managed to block a jab, only to take a cross to his temple. He could not help but notice that Vander had only struck him with a tenth of his usual power.
Lucian straightened. “Come on. You can swing harder than that.”
Vander snorted. “And be the reason your handsome face is marred by a black eye on your wedding day? My mother would never let me hear the end of it.”
From the edge of the room, David called, “You’ve gone a full three rounds, anyway. Come on. Let’s clean ourselves up and go next door for a coffee.”
Fifteen minutes later, they settled around a plain wooden table with their steaming mugs.
“So,” David said, “how goes your quest to woo your lovely bride?”
“Not as well as I would like,” Lucian admitted. Five days had passed since his ill-fated attempt to bring her flowers. He had been stopping by Swanscombe House twice a day in an attempt to explain, but Rosalie was not at home—at least, not to him.
“She called on Letty yesterday,” Vander said.
That caught Lucian’s attention. “Did she?”
“She called on Emily the day before,” David noted.
Lucian leaned back against the wooden booth. “That cannot be a coincidence.”
Vander and David exchanged a look. “I do not believe so, no,” Vander said.
“Emily says she asked about you,” David said. “She tried to be somewhat coy about it, but Emily formed the impression that she was fishing for information.”
“And what did Emily say?” Lucian asked, dreading the answer. He could not picture the face of David’s bride, but that didn’t mean she didn’t carry a grudge toward him. It seemed half the women in London did, after all.
“That she had never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance,” David said smoothly. “But that she knew I held you in high esteem.”
Lucian suppressed a snort. If he knew Rosalie, and he thought he did, she would give that about as much weight as the word of a traveling horse trader at the village fair.
“She asked Letty the same thing,” Vander said. “And Letty gave much the same answer. She was also curious about your grandfather and the days when you used to borrow my phaeton on Tuesdays.”
“Ah.” That didn’t come as a surprise. He knew as much following her call on Vander’s mother.
It was a good thing. The faster Rosalie discovered the truth, the sooner she would realize that their marriage was inevitable.
Vander took a sip of his coffee. “Why would she ask about your grandfather?”
“Lysander told her I used to mistreat him,” Lucian explained.
“That I drove him around at reckless speeds and took him out carousing in an attempt to hasten his death. I allegedly wanted immediate access to whatever inheritance I was to receive.” Which, of course, had turned out to be absolutely nothing.
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from him,” Vander said, voice dripping with disdain.
“What a cowardly little prick,” David muttered, reaching for his mug.
“I take it she is trying to ascertain what kind of man you are?” Vander said. “And whether you will mistreat her once you are married?”
“Not so much,” Lucian said. “She’s looking for proof of something dastardly enough that her father will agree to let her break the marriage contract, in spite of the fortune they stand to lose if they don’t go through with it.”
Vander frowned. “Why does she dislike you so much? I can understand being skeptical of marrying a noted rakehell. But her hatred toward you seems… personal.”
Lucian sipped from his mug, keeping his expression bland. “It does, doesn’t it?”
David leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Care to explain why?”
He didn’t, particularly. He could have honestly answered, Because Fortune is a bitch. Because my cunt of a cousin made sure of it.
Both happened to be true. But the words Lucian selected were, “Because I am an idiot.”
That was true as well.
He downed the last of his coffee, then stood. “Speaking of which, I have wooing to do.”
Lucian tried to pay for his coffee, but Vander wouldn’t let him. He finally gave up and wished his friends a good day.
Outside, a glossy black carriage with red velvet upholstery and a gilded crest on the door was waiting at the curb.
Lucian almost walked by it before recalling that it belonged to him.
What a mad turn of events the last week had been!
He’d gone from walking everywhere because he could seldom scrape together enough coin for a hackney carriage to being a lord.
It was an unimaginable change of fortune. Indeed, Lucian had never conceived the possibility of it.
Which was why he had burned his bridges with Rosalie so thoroughly.
In retrospect, that had been a mistake. But ultimately, it did not matter if she hated him. She would be marrying him, regardless. Marrying Rosalie was the last puzzle piece he needed to slot into place in order to bring his plan to fruition. He would therefore stop at nothing to have her.
The carriage drew up to Deverell House and Lucian climbed down. Two giggling young ladies, one with brown hair and one with red, rushed up to meet him.
The brunette hooked her arm through his. “Good morning, my lord.”
Lucian managed to give her the slip, but the redhead seized him by the other arm. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day, you know.”
The brunette batted her eyes at him. “Will you be our Valentine?”
Lucian’s face remained stony. This wasn’t the first time he’d found a pack of young ladies lying in wait outside his house. It seemed that there was a certain fascination with the gentlemen featured in that blasted Rake Review column, and he had become all the mode.
At least his most recent admirers seemed to be of a more respectable class than the harlots who had accosted him on the way to Rosalie’s house, and they were not brazen enough to kiss him in broad daylight. But Lucian had no interest in them, and his stores of patience were growing thin.
“Ladies,” he said darkly, “I will thank you to unhand me. As I believe you are aware, I am betrothed to another.”
This only inspired another fit of giggling. The brunette brushed his upper arm, which she had seized again. “I heard that your Lady Rosalie is none too keen to be your bride.”
The redhead tilted her head toward his ear. Her overly sweet perfume made him wrinkle his nose. “She doesn’t appreciate you,” she purred in a voice she doubtlessly intended to sound seductive rather than insipid.
Lucian was struggling to disentangle himself without hurting the annoying chits. “The key point is that I appreciate her. I have eyes for no other woman. There is no hope for you, so you may as well go home.”
The two girls exchanged a starry-eyed glance. “He’s devoted to her!” the brunette exclaimed.
“It’s so romantic!” the redhead agreed.
Lucian was tempted to roll his eyes but instead opted to seize the opportunity presented by their momentary distraction. He twirled the redhead into a spin, as if they were dancing, and sent her careening neatly into her companion. They both gave a startled cry and let go.
Lucian rushed up his front steps. Collins was waiting with his hand on the doorknob, ready to slam it shut behind his master.
But then, Lucian recalled something one of the ladies had said. He turned just shy of the entrance and addressed the brunette. “You said that you had heard Lady Rosalie was not keen to marry me. Wherever did you get such a notion?”
Sadly, the rumor was correct. But Rosalie had done an admirable job of feigning delight during their betrothal ball.
So, why did these girls believe otherwise?
The brunette was smiling. “Oh, that! I heard it from your—ow!”
The redhead, who had stepped on her foot, fixed her companion with an accusatory glare. “We’re not supposed to mention that,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Remember?”
The brunette’s cheeks flushed red. “R-right!” she sputtered, her voice pitched high. “Just wishful thinking, I suppose!”
Lucian doubted it. He had a strong suspicion as to the source of that rumor, and the person who had set this pack of muslin-clad hounds after him.
Lysander.
No matter. He would have his revenge on his cousin. His plans were already in motion.
The only thing he needed was to secure Rosalie.
He gave the two chits a nod of farewell. “Ladies.”
Then, he stepped inside. Collins closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock.
Well, that was a relief. Lucian began tugging off his gloves. “I’ve been thinking, Collins. These young ladies lingering outside are becoming an annoyance. Perhaps we could station someone outside to shoo them away.”
Collins did not seem to be attending, which was unusual. He dropped his voice low. “You have a visitor, my lord.”
“Very good. I’ll see to him presently.” He handed his gloves to Collins and removed his hat. “Not a footman, I think. Even if they resemble a biblical plague, I can’t countenance a woman being manhandled. But perhaps a very stern governess type who can shame them into leaving.”
Collins nodded toward his grandfather’s study. “Your visitor is awaiting you in there.”
“Failing that,” Lucian continued, handing over his hat, “perhaps a sturdy country lass who can shoo them away without inflicting bodily harm.”
“My lord!” Collins hissed. “About your visitor!”
Lucian gave his butler a strange look. “Gad, Collins, who is it? Has the king himself come to call?”
Collins’s pale blue eyes were intense. “It’s Lady Rosalie!”