His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 12

Lucien entered his townhouse on Half Moon Street in a rage, his jaw clenched and aching. Today had been a disaster. He'd let himself lose control, get too close, and he'd enjoyed every minute of it.

If it hadn't been for those warm brown eyes of hers, pleading for his kisses...

The door to the servants' quarters opened and his valet, Felix, emerged with a stack of freshly pressed white shirts in his arms.

"Felix, I'm going out tonight. Ready my things."

The valet nodded and hurried to Lucien's room. Lucien's hands twitched, feeling the urge to break something. He stormed into the drawing room and grabbed the first thing within reach, an expensive oriental vase. He arced his arm and-

"I say, Lucien, you all right?"

He spied his brother, Lawrence, a few feet behind him in the open doorway. Except for the fact he was five years younger, he was a mirror image of Lucien. Anger still boiling deep inside him like a dormant volcano, Lucien now aimed the vase at his meddlesome brother.

Lawrence stepped back, hands raised in surrender. "If you break that, mother will be most upset. She spent a fortune getting that back from Shanghai for you. To hear her tell it, she hired an entire caravan of elephants like Hannibal for part of the journey."

With a snarl, he set the vase back down on the cherrywood side table and glowered at his smirking brother.

"I thought you were in France."

His brother gave a casual shrug. "I came back with Avery."

"Have you obtained lodgings?"

"Not as of yet."

"Then you must stay here," Lucien replied, but his heart wasn't in the gesture. He wasn't in the mood to entertain, not even his family. Was it so bad to want some peace and quiet to sort out the messy tangle of emotions that plagued him?

His brother flicked an invisible speck of dust off his coat sleeve. "I'm only here for a few days and I wouldn't dare to impose, especially since you seem to be having rather heated issues with your décor." Lawrence was well known for his sarcasm. Lucien had had words, and more than words with him over such remarks when they'd been younger.

"Just because we are no longer children doesn't mean I won't box your ears."

"You could try."

Lucien swung his fist good-naturedly at his brother, who danced back a step. They laughed, and Lucien found his anger deflated. God bless Lawrence.

"If you don't wish to stay the night, what brings you here?" Lucien asked. "I thought perhaps you'd go straight to mother." A terrible thought occurred to him. "She isn't here is she?"

Lucien half-expected the formidable Lady Rochester to explode out of a closet. His mother had on more than one occasion hidden herself to eavesdrop on her offspring, only to reveal her presence suddenly and scare the bloody hell out of her children. Linus, Lucien's youngest brother, refused to shut the closet doors in his bedchamber for that very reason.

She did so out of love of course. It was even a family joke. She'd been so besotted with their father that she'd insisted on naming every child with a name starting with L for love. Therefore they'd been named Lucien, Lawrence, Linus and Lysandra. Avery had been the only exception to their mother's naming scheme. He looked just like their father and so bore the same name as him. The other Russells favored their mother in looks.

"Mother's in Kent," Lawrence said. "She sent word to you that she wanted to spend Christmas at home. Did you not get the letter?" Lawrence seemed genuinely surprised, since Lucien was the best of the Russell brood when it came to correspondence.

"I've been a bit preoccupied of late." It was an understatement, a grand one at that. His study was littered with unopened letters, his mother's latest one no doubt among the clutter on his desk. Lucien stroked his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "Does mother expect me to come visit her?"

"Lord, no. Not that she wouldn't mind, but I think she's happiest when left alone to torment Linus and Lysandra." Lawrence chuckled. "They're both with her now, God help them."

"Felix!" Lucien called out.

The valet popped his head into Lucien's bedchamber. "My lord?"

"Change of plans. Set out my finest black breeches, black hessians and a black silk shirt. Also, do I still have a black domino mask?"

Felix's eyebrows rose. "Are we dressing you for a specific occasion, my lord? I was under the impression that abductions were not among your interests." The valet's eyes were cool, but Lucien caught the glimmer of amusement there.

Lucien sometimes forgot that what were considered secrets upstairs were sometimes common knowledge downstairs. No doubt he referred to Miss Emily Parr's adventure some months before.

"Abductions, when done properly, can turn out quite satisfactory. But fear not, Felix, tonight I'm off to the Garden. Madame Chanson requested all guests to wear masks."

"Ah. The Italians are back, no doubt. Well, you are in luck, my lord. I kept a nice half-face mask that you wore last year. It should look splendid with your chosen outfit this evening." Felix went to one of the dressers and dug through its contents until he found the mask. He set it down on a side table and slipped into the dressing room to fetch Lucien's evening clothes.

Lucien left his bedchamber for the small washroom where he had a tub. He pulled the bell cord to signal to the servants below that he wished to bathe. It would be a while before the bath was ready so he had a footman fetch some letters from his study to read.

Once ready he sunk low into the tub of hot water and let the tension ease out of him. Being around Horatia always wound him up into knots. He splashed his face and scrubbed at his skin, trying to remove the memory of her body against his. Soot still clung to his hair, and he washed it thoroughly as well, wanting nothing left to remind him of how close he'd come to losing his sanity.

The more time he spent around her the closer he came to acting on those base desires that would betray his principles, ruin her reputation and incite her brother's wrath. Yet the idea of coming to her and teaching her how to embrace her passions was too tempting. It was this that held the thrill for him.

He did not spend his days counting conquests like other men, but rather he prided himself on helping women conquer their own souls and bodies by accepting their needs and learning fulfillment in bed. Passion was a thing meant to be shared between a man and a woman, and he'd never liked the idea of a woman simply lying limp beneath him. Sex was a mutual exploration, a gift shared, not something stolen or taken by another. So while his reputation as a rake was forever assured, one would receive quite a different opinion about him from his women. To them he was a liberator, no matter how brief their time together.