His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 35

Rochester Hall, Kent, 1815

It was a perfect day in May with the heady scent of blooming flowers filling the gardens. Horatia was idly picking her way through the maze of tall hedges as she searched for Linus and Audrey. At fourteen, she was too old to enjoy hide and seek but she still humored the other children. She had counted to one hundred and was now having a devilishly hard time finding the others on the vast grounds of Lord Rochester's estate. Lord Rochester, she sighed aloud at the thought of his name. He was twenty-six years old, her brother's close friend and unbelievably handsome.

She also knew Lucien was a rake; she'd heard that whispered in the servants' hall among other places. At first she'd thought it odd that the Marquess had been likened to a gardening tool, but after listening to her brother talk to his friends, she'd learned a rake had another meaning with no botanical connection whatsoever. After a bit of pleading with one of the laundry maids at their townhouse in London, she'd learned what a rake in this particular context meant.

From that moment on she'd been hopelessly entranced by the marquess. At fourteen she knew she was too young for him, but her heart didn't seem to care about age. She'd nearly squealed with joy when Cedric had come home the day before and told her they'd be visiting Lucien at his estate for the weekend.

Unfortunately, when they arrived, Horatia learned that a beautiful young heiress named Melanie Burns was also visiting. It was with no small amount of indignation that Horatia had been ushered by an elderly maid to the nursery-of all places!-while Cedric, Lucien, Lady Rochester and Miss Burns took tea that morning. By the afternoon, Lysandra was practicing her embroidery and the other children, Linus, Audrey and herself had been sent outdoors to play in the gardens while the weather was still fair. Horatia heaved a sigh but it was cut short when a pair of large hands clamped down over her eyes.

"Guess who?" a rich voice asked in a soft playful chuckle. Horatia's heart stopped for a moment, then fluttered like a hummingbird.

"Lord Rochester?" She knew it was him. She could be blind for a thousand years and know that voice, and his scent of sandalwood and pine. Being near him reminded her of Christmas somehow, even in the spring.

"How on earth did you know it was me, you little hoyden?" Normally being called that would not have pleased her, but when he released her to tug her brown curls, watching them bounce as she gazed up at him, what he called her hardly seemed to matter. Her head tilted back. He was so gloriously tall, like Achilles from The Iliad. With deep red hair and warm hazel eyes, he was a god, or very close to it.

Horatia felt her body twist inside in ways she didn't understand. With anyone else this onslaught of physical sensations would have scared her senseless, but with Lucien it did not. Whenever she was with him she trusted him, adored him, and nothing could rip that trust away, not even the awakening of the woman in her.

"Are you enjoying the sun, little Horatia?" He reached down and ruffled a hand through her hair, the price she paid for refusing to wear one of those dreadful bonnets.

"Yes, the weather is lovely," she answered in what she hoped was a mature tone. She even dared to raise her chin defensively, but Lucien laughed as though he saw right through her.