His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 28

The drawing room was filled with candlelight, firelight and two people who should not have been in the same room. Horatia, not willing to concede defeat, had curled up in her window seat again, her silver gown tucked up around her slippers, knees nestled under her chin. She clutched her novel, Lady Eustace and the Merry Marquess, trying to focus on its pages and not the real life marquess sitting by the fire. In the short span of time between Jonathan's battle of wills with Audrey, and Jonathan's hasty departure soon after, Horatia and Lucien found themselves in a battle of their own. Though Lucien's gaze was on the fireplace's vermillion flames, she could sense his attention on her-as though his thoughts had become physical and caressed her skin, making her burn with awareness she wanted to ignore but couldn't.

"How do you find your novel? Amusing? Trite? Impossibly lurid?" The cold silence of the room succumbed to the surprising warmth in his voice.

She shouldn't have answered, but couldn't help it. "It may not be a literary masterpiece, but..."

"But?" Lucien turned in his chair, propping an elbow on the armrest and resting his chin in his palm, looking genuinely interested in what she had to say.

"Well, it is just that Lady Eustace is a most irritating heroine." Horatia idly flipped through the pages she'd already read before chancing a look back in his direction.

"I agree. Eustace is an inferior example of a female character. She lacks all the great qualities that would attract a man."

"And what, pray tell, would those qualities be?" Horatia closed the volume and eyed him curiously.

"Cunning, cleverness, intelligence," Lucien said.

"You don't prefer women to be sweet, demure and obedient?"

"Such a woman would be a dreadful bore. Perhaps a woman could be sweet, but if she was demure and obedient as well that would deprive a man of all the joys of a complex woman, and a woman ought to be complex. Simple things and simple people are quite overrated. Now let us return to this book. Surely the plot entices you to keep reading, despite Lady Eustace's disappointing lack of complexity?"

"Admittedly, it does. Eustace keeps finding herself in the most absurd predicaments. For example, on page fourteen, she gets locked in a tower. A tower! What woman is insipid enough to trust herself to a man's whims like that at the start of the story?"

"It is foolish to get locked in a tower, but as to trusting in a man...given certain circumstances, it can be most thrilling. Wouldn't you agree?"

His eyes were like honey, but his words had reminded her of the sting that often followed such sweetness.

"Thrilling, yes, but not ultimately satisfying, given that trust seems to end in betrayal." She returned to the book, trying to focus on Lady Eustace's mad flight from the marquess's castle in the dead of night. What rubbish! Yet the Merry Marquess's character also kept her attention, probably more than it should, rather like the very real marquess who sat only feet from her.

"Not ultimately satisfying? I seem to recall your screams of pleasure as my fingers-"

"Stop!" she hissed, slamming her book shut. "Or do you forget how that ended?"

He grinned devilishly. "You'll have to make me."

"Oh? Now who's the child?"

Lucien shut his eyes and licked his lips. "I can still taste you. Even though it's been hours, I can't help but wonder if my memory is doing you justice. Would you shiver beneath me? Moan my name in helpless pleasu-"

"You didn't answer my question."

"What question?" she asked in a pleasure-filled daze. She felt his body fill with silent laughter and for some reason that angered her, bringing a wave of clarity with it. Horatia leaned back and balled her fist, striking in the general region of Lucien's stomach. In a whoosh of air he doubled over and they both fell from the window seat. Horatia heard her gown rip as she fell off to Lucien's side. He lay on his back, one hand clutching the wounded area.

"Good God!" he howled. "I'm fairly certain you just obliterated my insides. Did your brother teach you to punch like that? Perhaps Charles was in more trouble than I thought; I should have taken up Godric's wager."

"It serves you right for being such an insufferable tease. You're lucky I admire your face so much or I'd claw your eyes out." Her own eyes narrowed as she scrambled to her knees, glaring at him.

"Getting to be quite the harpy in your old age, aren't you?" Lucien laughed.

"Harpy? Old?" Horatia's voice was embarrassingly shrill and she clenched her fists, ready to punch him again.

"You've had what? Three seasons? You're practically ancient, my dear. You even have the cats to play the part." Lucien looked to the drawing room door where Muff sat idly licking a white-tipped paw. The cat paused when he caught the two humans fixed on him.

"Mrreow?"

Unable to help herself, Horatia laughed. This clearly annoyed Muff and he walked off, his black bottlebrush tail waving like a feather plume. Horatia regained control of herself and got up to retrieve poor Lady Eustace from her spot on the floor. Several pages were bent, like broken wings. Horatia's throat tightened. She'd worked so hard to keep her books in good condition, especially the ones Lucien had given her. Why did the man always have to tie her in such knots?