His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 1

London, December 1820

She is going to be the death of me.

"Lucien! You're not even listening to me, are you? I'm in desperate need of a new valet and you've been woolgathering rather than offering suggestions. I daresay you have enough for a decent coat and a pair of mittens by now."

Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, looked to his friend Charles. They were walking down Bond Street, Lucien keeping careful watch over one particular lady without her knowledge and Charles simply enjoying the chance for an outing. The street was surprisingly crowded for so early in the day and during such foul wintry weather.

"Admit it," Charles prodded.

Lucien fought to focus on his friend. "Sorry?"

The Earl of Lonsdale fixed him with a stern glare which, given that his usual manner tended towards jovial, was a little alarming.

"Where is your head? You've been out of sorts all morning."

Lucien grunted. He had no intention of explaining himself. His thoughts were sinful ones, ones that would lead him straight to a fiery spot in Hell, assuming one wasn't already reserved for him. All because of one woman: Horatia Sheridan.

She was halfway up Bond Street on the opposite side of the road, a beacon of beauty standing out from the women around her. A footman dressed in the Sheridan livery trailed diligently behind her with a large box in his arms. A new dress, if Lucien had to hazard a guess. She should not be out traipsing about on snow-covered walkways, not with these carriages rumbling past, casting muddy slush all over. It frustrated him to think she was risking a chill for the sake of shopping. It frustrated him more that he was so concerned about it.

"I know you think I'm a half-wit on most days, but-"

"Only most?" Lucien couldn't resist the verbal jab.

Charles grinned. "As I was saying, it's a bit obvious our leisurely stroll is merely a ruse. I've noticed we've stopped several times, matching the pattern of a certain lady of our acquaintance across the street."

So Charles had been watchful after all. Lucien shouldn't have been surprised. He hadn't done his best to conceal his interest in Horatia Sheridan. It was too hard to fight the natural pull of his gaze whenever she was near. She was twenty years old, yet she carried herself with the natural grace of a mature and educated queen. Not many women could achieve such a feat. For as long as he'd known her, she'd been that way.

He'd been a young man in his twenties when he met her, and she'd been all of fourteen. She'd been like a little sister to him. Even then, she'd struck him as more mentally and emotionally mature than most women in their later years. There was something about her eyes, the way her doe-brown pools held a man rooted to the spot with intelligence-and in these last few months, attraction...

"You'd best stop staring," Charles intoned quietly. "People are starting to notice."

"She shouldn't be out in this weather. Her brother would have a fit." Lucien tugged his leather gloves tighter, hoping to erase the lingering effects of the chill wind that slid between his coat sleeves and gloves.

Charles burst out into a laugh, one loud enough to draw the attention of nearby onlookers. "Cedric loves her and little Audrey, but you and I both know that does not stop either of them from doing just as they please."