His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 45

The entry hall of Rochester Hall was full of people. Lady Rochester had apparently been in the midst of welcoming the Cavendishes, who had arrived at the same time as Lawrence and Avery.

"Get out of the bloody way! Wounded man coming through!" Avery bellowed as he and Lawrence carried their brother through the crowd towards the stairs leading to Lucien's bedchamber.

Lady Rochester started to follow them but Lucien shook his head. "I'm fine, Mother. Please, stay with the guests. Horatia will see to me and send you up when I'm settled." His tone, while breathless, brooked no argument.

"I'll be up to see you soon, my dear," she promised him.

Horatia tried to follow after Avery and Lawrence, but Lady Rochester grabbed her arm, demanding answers. In a breathless rush she explained the events in an attempt to calm the crowd at large. Strangely, the act soothed her for the moment as well.

"He looks well," Sir John Cavendish said. "Don't fret. If he's walking and talking he'll be fine. I suffered worse during the war."

Sir John Cavendish and his wife Marie were old family friends of the Sheridans and Russells. Until Sir John had moved his family to Brighton four years ago, the three families had often spent the holidays together.

His calm words drew a trembling nod from Horatia. He was right. Sir John was always right. She'd never met a more level-headed man.

"Sir John, how lovely to see you again." Horatia greeted him with real warmth and embraced the lovely and Rubenesque Marie. The Cavendishes had two children, Gregory and Lucinda with them. Lucinda was Horatia's age with blond hair and blue eyes. She was a more feminine version of her impossibly attractive brother Gregory, who had been schoolmates with Avery at Eton and Cambridge, being only year apart in age.

"Excuse me, I must go and see how Lucien is." Horatia managed to slip away from everyone and dash up the stairs.

Lucien's door was open and he was lying in his bed stripped of his wet clothes. His eyes were closed and his chest bare with the blankets pulled up only to his waist. His muscles were smooth and sculpted and for a second her mind blanked before reality crashed in. Three pairs of eyes studied her and Horatia felt her face heat up.

"I..." she stammered.

Lucien stirred. "Horatia?" His voice was hoarse.

"Yes?"

Horatia shuddered at the sudden sense of dread she felt overtake her. Unable to control herself, she threw her arms about his chest and buried her face in the crook of his neck, trembling. She wondered how she could hurt so much over losing him when he'd never belonged to her. It seemed that loving someone that was never hers made her fear losing him all the greater. Losing Lucien to death would have been worse that losing him to another woman.

His arms settled around her body, pulling her closer, keeping her against him when he should have been pushing her away. When she'd mastered herself again, she bravely raised her head, her nose brushing his cheek. His arms around her chest tightened, and his breath hitched.

"You should thank God I'm weak as a newborn kitten, my dear. Otherwise I'd be thanking you properly for saving my life, and that blasted door would be bolted shut," Lucien murmured as he placed a soft, lingering kiss on her jaw.

Horatia's blood heated at the images his words created. An all too familiar ache started within her. She tore herself away when his hands moved to her breasts.

"No," was all she said. She cleared her throat and wiped the remains of tears from her eyes, then smoothed her skirts and left for the open door. She paused in the hallway and turned back to him.

"I wish you a speedy recovery, my lord." She dipped into a curtsy, something she'd never done to him before and left. The absence of his arms around her already made her hurt with longing, but she dared not linger.