His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 3

That Horatia was still unmarried at the age of twenty surprised him. How was it no other man had wanted to bed a creature with doe-brown eyes and such curves that were made for holding? Or spend an entire day planning jokes just to win one rich laugh from her soft lips? Knowing Cedric, however, there were probably several young bucks in the ton running scared at the thought of approaching him for permission to court his sister.

Lucien had tried to slake his thirst for Horatia between the thighs of other women, but it was no use. Only the previous night he'd attempted to bed a woman and found he wasn't aroused enough to perform. If word of that got out, he'd become a laughing stock. The irony of his rakehell reputation being damaged by an innocent woman was not lost on him. At this moment he dreaded his friend's arrival, considering the dream he'd had the previous night.

Horatia had been stripped of every scrap of clothing, all laid out before him, ankles and wrists bound to his bedposts by red silk. Perspiration slicked her skin as he moved up her body to nuzzle her perfect nipples. She arched into him, rubbing her sex against him, searing him with the wicked heat of her arousal. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, and cupped her luscious bottom, raising it for the best angle of a powerful thrust. The dream had dissipated into mist, leaving him with an erection hard enough to pound a hole in the wall.

It would be a miracle if he could school his features and hide his guilt from Cedric after dreaming of doing such things with the man's sister.

Lucien glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was now nearly noon. Cedric should have been here by now.

There was a serpentine crawling sensation beneath his skin that unsettled him. He'd had this feeling before, just before a storm was about to break. Worry knotted inside him, twisting his stomach until he could scarcely breathe. Dark clouds were on the horizon.

Charles frowned and leaned forward in his chair, concern weighing down the corners of his mouth. "Are you feeling all right?"

One deep breath. Two. The iron dread in his chest eased. "I've been better, I suppose. I just..." Lucien hesitated.

Charles reached for the decanter of brandy and poured Lucien another glass. "What is it?"

Lucien opened his mouth, but the door to the room crashed open, Cedric framed the doorway like an avenging angel, or a demon. He strode inside holding a note in one hand, knuckles white as he gripped his silver lion-headed cane in the other.

"What's the matter, Cedric?"

Cedric's rage was all too apparent. "That bastard!"

There was a moment of silence as Lucien shared a worried glance with Charles.

Charles stood and walked over to the cigar box on the side table against the far wall. "You'll have to be a bit more specific; there are a lot of bastards about." He ran the cigar underneath his nose. "Some are even in this room."

Lucien rose and paced towards the window overlooking the street front. He spied a comical scene of an overdressed dandy prancing about with a quizzing glass, examining various ladies' dresses as they passed by him. The man seemed to feel Lucien's gaze and raised his head. A cold chill swept through Lucien. Something about the man and his flat, cold eyes fired Lucien's nerves to life, leaving him unsettled. Had he seen the man before? A sense of foreboding raked his spine. The man turned away and disappeared through a door a few houses down opposite Cedric's townhouse.

Lucien forced his attention back to his friends. "So who is this bastard?"

Cedric threw himself into a red and gold brocaded chair and rapped the tip of his cane on his right boot. "Who do you think?"

Lucien's heart froze. "Waverly."

Cedric nodded.

"That isn't news to us. Someone tried to run Lucien over on Bond Street. Horatia happened to be nearby. Fortunately Lucien got her out of harm's way." Charles explained the morning's incident to Cedric, who spoke not a word as he listened. They all knew what Waverly was capable of. What was perhaps more worrisome was the man's complete lack of honor. He had no qualms about attacking his enemies from behind or, it would seem, their loved ones.

Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall facing Cedric. Beneath the man's fury, lines of worry stretched thin near his eyes.

"Is my sister all right?" he asked.

Lucien nodded. "She's as well as could be expected. I was able to get her out of the way, but she is terribly upset." Thankfully, only the gown had perished by Waverly's villainy. He tamped down on the urge to find the fiend and throttle him with his bare hands. Lucien knew that Horatia wouldn't appreciate him murdering a man on her behalf. His passions tended to rule him more than they ought to.