His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 7

"Touché, my sweet. Touché." He tried to reach for her again but Horatia bolted to the door.

"Damnable creature. I was going to apologize," Lucien muttered to himself as he hobbled over to a chair and collapsed.

The numbing affect of his brandy had worn off and guilt was wrapped around him like a death shroud. He'd been an absolute bastard. He should have known better than to drink when she was near. There had to be a way to make up for his lack of judgment.

He wracked his mind for some idea, some way to make amends. He'd apologize of course, but women were masters of holding guilt in trust and collecting interest on it. A trinket perhaps? A lovely bauble she could wear with a new gown... A gown! He'd buy her a new Christmas gown, one to replace the one that had been ruined.

Horatia never spoiled herself, other than to buy an expensive gown each December. The rest of the year she wore her usual silk garments, fashionable but rather understated. It was only during the holidays that she seemed unable to resist the allure of an enchanting dress. He wished he could have seen her gown this year before it had been ruined.

He would buy her something new, something with a precariously low but still socially acceptable neckline, made from bright red silk, his favorite color and fabric. Even now he could imagine how it would feel under the light pressure of his hands as he caressed her, explored her. His loins tightened with lust and the pain of his recent injury inflamed all over again. He was being duly punished for his rash actions.

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Horatia panted, her face flushed. She trembled with a mixture of longing and regret. Even when the man was a merciless rake she still wanted him. That was part of the allure she supposed, that threat of his passion manifesting itself in an explosive kiss, a demanding caress of covered places. Sleep would be impossible now.

Where was Ursula? Had she already retired? Her lady's maid never failed to stay up late to help her undress. But Horatia was too exhausted to worry about that. She wanted to sleep and didn't want to wake the house looking for her maid.

A light scratch at the door had her turning in relief.

"Oh Ursula, I hoped-"

Yet it wasn't her maid. Lucien leaned against the doorjamb. He looked less foxed than before, which surprisingly didn't comfort her at all.

She tilted her chin up. "What do you want, Lucien? Haven't you done enough damage for one night?"

"I'm sorry, Horatia. I was indeed a horse's arse." He smiled a little.

"Well then, since we are in agreement, you may leave. I have things to see to. Besides, if Cedric found you here-"

"Things? What could you possibly have to do after midnight? Off to a secret rendezvous with a lover, I suppose?"

The very idea was ridiculous. She would never look at another man when he was all she'd ever wanted. It made little rational sense to love a man who had no real interest in her, yet here she was. When she'd been younger, Lucien had been exceedingly kind to her. He'd been the one to rescue her from her parents' coach.

Unwanted memories whispered at the corners of her heart, slicing her soul deep. Her parents lying broken and lifeless around her like marionettes with their strings cut. Their eyes, open yet seeing nothing, heads at awkward, unnatural angles. The coach on its side, massive splinters of wood embedded in bodies. People screaming. Then a burst of light as the coach door crashed open above her and she glimpsed a halo of fiery hair and warm hazel eyes. "Come now, sweetheart, reach for me. There's a good girl. Take my hands, Horatia, and I'll keep you safe."

Safe. It was all she'd ever wanted, and for a short time, he'd kept his promise. But when she'd ruined his proposal to a woman, he began to keep his distance. It only became worse when she'd had her come out two years ago. He'd taken one look at her when she'd entered Almack's assembly rooms and strode away, leaving her feeling utterly alone in a ballroom of familiar faces. Where he'd been only distant before, he'd now become cold. Her heart was cursed. But she could dream about what might be, so long as he remained unmarried. It was pitiful that she had only her dreams to look forward to, and even worse to love and desire a man who would never truly see her.