Lucien wasn’t about to walk all the way to Stredwick Lodge for a fresh change of clothes before meeting the infamous Daniel Prescott. The man was a veritable legend, according to Meg. So he donned his coat, straightened his sleeves, jerked at the hem of his waistcoat, then went directly to introduce himself to this paragon who’d first captured Meg’s fancy.
“How good of you to come down to meet our guest,” Sylvia said when he stepped into the parlor. “Lucien, this is Mr. Prescott, an old family friend of Brandon and Meg’s. And Daniel, this is the Duke of Merleton, who is staying at Stredwick Lodge for a time.”
That was his introduction? Lucien thought he deserved more than being essentially labeled a tenant. A squatter. Considering his activities a few minutes ago, he should be addressed as an intimate family friend at the very least.
Nevertheless, he inclined his head to the younger man. Prescott sketched a bow in return, offering a prolonged view of the top of his head, his hair the color of camel dung, seemingly tousled with pomade to resemble a bird’s nest.
At a glance, he knew this man was the dramatic type who likely spent hours every day waxing poetic and filling the room with pretty words without ever really having anything to say.
And Meg had lost her heart to him?
“By the by, Lucien,” Sylvia said, sidling up to him, “did you happen to see my niece, after all? She wasn’t in the kitchens. One of the scullery maids was sure she’d gone to the attic.”
Ah, the attic. The mere mention of it made his pulse quicken. “I believe she is in her rooms, freshening up for her unexpected guest.”
Sylvia stared at him for a moment as if bemused by his crisp articulation of the last five syllables. Briefly, he wondered if he should repeat himself. Perhaps add the word unwelcome to the mix?
But then she smiled. “Yes, of course. I’ll just run and see if she requires my assistance. Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to become better acquainted.”
Lucien moved deeper into the room but remained standing near the settee, which had a closer proximity to the door.
Prescott also remained on his feet, the nest listing with curiosity. “Lady Hullworth didn’t mention how you know the family.”
“I went to school with her son. And I’ve known Hullworth for a number of years as well.”
“Then, you are not acquainted with Miss Stredwick.”
“I am, actually,” he said simply. Quite well, in fact.
“Strange, I never heard her mention you. Must be a recent acquaintance, then.”
Lucien offered a patient smile. “She mentioned you, however.”
Prescott’s eyes brightened. “Did she?”
“Weren’t you the man who jilted her?” He watched with a degree of satisfaction as those eyes dimmed.
“I suppose you could say that. But her brother and I were of the same opinion—that she was simply too young to know her own mind. We thought it best that she should have a Season or two to understand more of the world.”
“And what were her thoughts on the matter?”
Prescott blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong”—which, of course, he wasn’t—“but wasn’t it her future the two of you were deciding?”
“I suppose it might be misconstrued in such a way. But we had her best interests in mind. And she hadn’t yet lived. Not really. Nearly her entire life had been spent beneath this roof, and before that in a small parish up north at her father’s estate, which was near my own. You might say we’ve always been part of the same family.”
Lucien pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Hmm . . . I don’t believe that one who lives on a neighboring estate is the correct definition for family. One must be related either by blood or marriage. And I believe you married someone else, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes. However, my intention had always been to wait for her.”
Lucien knew a good deal about waiting and craving.
Yet, as far as he was concerned, running off to marry the first woman to come along was neither of those things. If Meg had meant anything to this man, he would have been too consumed with desire for her to want anyone else.
“Intentions, I find, are a man’s greatest weakness if he cannot rise to the challenge of fulfilling them,” Lucien said.
Prescott didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He opened his mouth, then closed it several times. But then his eyes cleared, brightening again as he looked toward the archway and smiled broadly.
Lucien didn’t need to follow the gaze to know that it was Meg. He felt his skin react, covering in gooseflesh, tightening over his skeleton.
He turned to greet her . . . only to have her sweep right by him as she bustled into the room with a happy “Daniel!” on her lips.
Lucien bristled. As he raked a hand through his hair, he caught a faint fragrance—a combination of salt and the earthy sweetness of musk—and knew at once what it was. Her scent. It lingered on his hand, on his skin. Utterly intoxicating. And it filled him with a surge of primitive pleasure to recall that it hadn’t been Daniel on her lips a few moments ago.
No, indeed. It had been Lucien.
Even if their brief encounter had been due to the heat of the moment, it was clear that there was still something palpable between them. Something that required further study. Without any unwanted interference.
“I’m so glad to see you again,” she said, coming forward to take both of his hands in hers for a moment as she smiled. When Lucien growled, she cast an arched look over her shoulder and then back to Daniel. “You were introduced to Merleton, were you not?”
“Indeed,” Prescott said sitting in one of the armchairs. “We’ve been having a nice chat between gentlemen.”
“Have you?” she asked and lowered to the settee cushion. She looked to Lucien and wordlessly indicated that he should sit as well, her pointed gaze directing him to the chair at the far end of the grouping.
Seeing this for the challenge it was, he took the other cushion of the settee, then rested his arm along the curved, filigreed back. Her spine stiffened, and she primly rested her folded hands on her lap, as if pretending that those very hands hadn’t just been fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers.
He smiled and nodded in response to her query. “In fact, we were just coming to the subject of Mr. Prescott’s marriage to another woman.”
“Well, it wasn’t precisely on that topic,” Prescott hemmed, sitting opposite Meg.
“No? Then, what were we discussing? Ah, yes, I remember. You intended to wait for Miss Stredwick but were unable, due to reasons beyond your control.”
Meg shot him a warning look. “I’m sure Mr. Prescott can speak for himself.”
Lucien lifted his shoulders in a shrug of innocence.
“Merleton is more correct than he likely realizes,” Prescott said. “There were circumstances beyond my control. Or so I believed. But oh, how I wish I’d listened to you, my darling Meg—forgive me, Miss Stredwick. You were always so certain that we were meant to be, you and I.” He flicked a petulant sneer to Lucien before he continued. “But in my efforts to ensure that you had all the experiences that you deserved before marrying, I found myself in a position to help another young woman out of the jaws of destitution. It was a chance meeting, or so I thought. And you know enough of my regrets for past selfishness—and my subsequent wishes to make amends for the errors of my ways—to understand that I could not have lived with myself if I’d knowingly allowed her to suffer such agony when I had the power to help.”
“Such a paragon,” Lucien muttered under his breath.
Though, Meg must have heard him, because her shoulders bunched, hackles rising, and she expelled a taut sigh. “Let’s not talk about it. Besides, all that truly matters is that you are happy.”
Prescott suddenly stood, then took the chair closest to her, sitting forward with his forearms braced on his knees. “That is why I came here to talk to you. I am ashamed to admit that I was duped by Dolores. I thought she loved me. I truly did. Otherwise, I never would have . . .” He gazed at her beseechingly. “I’d have waited for you. But I recently discovered that she was already married. Her husband came and together, they left . . . along with every farthing I put in a separate account for her.”
“Daniel, I’m so sorry.” She leaned forward to take his hand in comfort.
Lucien stared, incredulous. After all this man had put her through—breaking her heart, leaving her to turn to a life of subterfuge and seduction, causing her to doubt her own beliefs—and she was still compelled to soothe him? The man was nothing more than an infantile idiot!
“Didn’t you know anything about your wife before you married her?”
Meg shot a glare over her shoulder. “Not everyone needs to compile research, Merleton. Some are led by their hearts.”
“Instead of their minds, apparently,” he muttered.
Then, too agitated to listen to any more of this sitting down, he stood and skulked to the window.
“But if Dolores was already married, then your union could not be legally binding,” she said, and Lucien’s shoulders stiffened.
“You are quite right,” Prescott said. “My solicitor is doing all he can. Then, I will be free to move on . . . hopefully to a happier and brighter future. This was all just a bit of bad luck.”
Lucien gritted his teeth. The man believed in fate, chance and luck. No wonder Meg had been drawn to him. It was as though she’d molded him out of clay to be her ideal husband.
But Lucien would never be that man. He needed proof, certainty and trust. Things only attained after careful consideration, investigation and research. He’d already put aside his doubts and leapt into the unknown once, and he’d been burned because of it. He’d be a fool if he did that again.
So then, why was he so tempted to be that fool?
* * *
Just a bit of bad luck . . .
Meg’s intention, in coming in here all smiles and warmth, was to dust off her inner Lady Avalon and show a certain duke that he wasn’t the only man in her life. No, indeed. She had Daniel. And she had hoped to paint a portrait of enviable options.
Unfortunately, Daniel was making it all rather difficult by droning on and on about his wife.
“And now you’ve been to Upper Canada,” she said cheerfully, trying to alter the topic. “You know, I’ve never crossed the Atlantic, but I’ve always imagined it would be quite thrilling.”
Daniel released her hands to pull on his neckcloth, his expression turning a bit green. “Not for me. Seasick the whole way. Both times.”
She repressed a desire to roll her eyes. “What a shame.”
“On the bright side, I’m here to stay.”
He held her gaze in a way that used to make her heart flutter. Now it did nothing more than make her aware of the utilitarian qualities of the blood-pumping organ beneath her breast. It tha-thumped as expected. And she was still alive. Thank you, unfluttering heart.
But she wanted more.
“Once everything is settled,” Daniel continued, “I’ll be ready to begin a new life.”
She heard a growl from Lucien’s quarter, and her heart responded instantly, pattering away like a herd of eager puppies all begging to have their bellies rubbed. It meant nothing, of course. But then a brief vision of herself, panting and rolling onto her back for him, flashed in her mind, and her pulse thudded hard and fast, calling her a liar. Down, girl!
It was best not to entertain those thoughts.
Thankfully, Aunt Sylvia arrived just then with a maid in tow. They both carried a tray, one with tea and the other with lemonade. And Meg took one glance at the latter beverage and blushed. Would she ever see lemonade without being reminded of those sweltering few moments with Lucien?
He seemed to share her thoughts because, when Sylvia asked which one he would prefer, he looked directly at Meg and said, “I have a partiality for lemonade. There never seems to be enough to quench my thirst.”
Meg swallowed, feeling rather parched herself.
But no! It was best to put that out of her mind. The episode in the attic had been a moment of insanity. She hadn’t even been thinking of the consequences. And if she knew Lucien as well as she thought she did, then he wouldn’t think twice about her when it was time to leave after he finally realized she didn’t have the book, after all.
Fortunately for her, this time Daniel came to her wayward mind’s rescue when he began relaying his sad tale once more for Aunt Sylvia’s sake.
And Meg did feel sorry for him. She could see the pain in his eyes, and the humiliation. The Daniel she knew wouldn’t have rushed into marriage unless he’d been head over heels in love. And she understood, firsthand, how much agony he must have suffered by Dolores’s betrayal.
Not because of the heartache that he’d put her through but from the despair she’d experienced after losing Lucien.
She knew that she had truly loved Lucien, but not Daniel.
She’d been fond of him, of course, but more as a friend. Nothing compared to the overwhelming and all eclipsing love she’d felt for Lucien. Those feelings, unfortunately, had left an indelible mark upon her soul. They still lingered inside her, whether she wanted them to or not.
But Daniel’s sudden hindsight revelation brought her to an epiphany of her own.
She wanted a love that could stand the test of time. To be the one woman whom a man would wait for, no matter who came along to tempt him. She wanted him to look at her with the same soul-deep certainty that she felt and to know that they were meant to be together. Not because he was heartbroken and she seemed like a convenient option, but because she was inconvenient and confounding and no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he couldn’t stop himself from loving her.
Yes! That was precisely what she wanted.
When she looked at Lucien, she noticed that he was already gazing back at her, his expression unreadable. Then, setting down his empty glass on a pie-crust table, he stepped forward and adjusted his spectacles as if he were about to say something.
Before he could speak, however, the sound of a carriage’s approach drew their attention to the open window.
“Do you think it could be Brandon, Ellie and little Johnathon?” Aunt Sylvia asked, rising from her chair.
Lucien parted the curtains to allow Meg a glimpse as she came up beside him. “I believe that is my cousin’s carriage.”
Peering out the window, she felt a twinge of alarm rising inside her as the landau approached. His cousin and half sister were here? She’d been so distracted of late that their potential arrival had slipped her mind. And now she was left to wonder if they would mention meeting her on holiday.
Oh, but they would. There was no way around it. Then her secret would come out, and her entire family would soon know the truth. All of it.
No sooner had the thought formed before she felt the light, reassuring clasp of Lucien’s hand. Wordlessly, she looked up at him, and he nodded, promising in his unspoken communication to take care of everything.
She squeezed his hand in return and regretted the moment she had to let go.
* * *
Lord Holladay smiled the instant he clapped eyes on Meg. Ignoring Lucien’s summons, he handed his hat and gloves to Mr. Tidwell and strode across the foyer to bow to her. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. And I must say that mine are aching. Cousin Medusa over there has been trying to turn me to stone since we left Somerset.”
Morgan, who was engaged in a hushed conversation with her maid, did not hear the teasing remark or likely would have sent a jab in return.
“It is good to see you again, Lord Holladay,” Meg said with genuine warmth.
“That’s Pell to you. We’re old friends, after all. Though it’s been an age, to be sure. Haven’t seen you since—”
“London,” Lucien interjected, setting a hand on his shoulder. “We haven’t met Miss Stredwick since we were all in London, years ago.”
The viscount tilted his head at first, but after following his cousin’s pointed glance up to where Sylvia stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes widened in swift understanding.
Seeing that her aunt had been delayed by Daniel, Meg wondered what they were talking about. And yet, at present, she didn’t want to think about it.
“Ah, yes,” Pell offered. “I remember it well. You were there and so was I, along with a monkey in a feathered turban and—No?” he asked when Meg shook her head on a reluctant laugh. He hadn’t changed a bit. “Oh, wait. That might have been another year. Hmm. Perhaps my cousin would be so good as to refresh my memory?”
Lucien offered a succinct nod. “Later. For now, I must have a private word with my sister.”
Before he could step away, Meg reached out and touched his sleeve. “Thank you, for everything.”
“Everything?”
She took one look at the dark brow arching over the rim of his spectacles, at the heat simmering in his gaze, and suddenly her thoughts were transported back to the attic. Her cheeks heated. And she was just about to clarify before he interjected with “My pleasure.”
Then he had the audacity to walk away before she could take it back. How dare he!
“I see you and my cousin are still getting along as usual.”
She heaved out a frustrated sigh. “Yes. We are a pair of feral cats tied in a bag. At least, until he realizes that I don’t have the book and decides to leave.”
“Well, between you and me, I’d prefer it if he stayed a bit longer. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in eons. Do you know that he hasn’t been home for more than a day or two in the past two years? He’s always off, chasing one rumor after another, searching for the book. Searching for you.”
Meg glanced to where Lucien was talking with his sister and felt her heart pinch. All those days spent away from a home that he loved so much must have been unbearable at times.
She thought again about all the letters she’d sent. “Who sees to Caliburn Keep when he’s away?”
“Morgan enjoys her position as reigning queen of the castle. However, his steward sees to minutiae of maintaining the accounts, upkeep, correspondence . . . all those trivial matters,” he said with a shrug. Then he leaned in and, with his teasing voice, asked, “Do I detect a note of concern on his behalf?”
She forced out a papery laugh. “That would be quite silly, wouldn’t it?”
“Wouldn’t it, indeed?” Pell’s astute gaze glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.
Meg made no comment.