Immortal Rogues - My Lord Eternity Part 15

This black air is choking me."

She placed her hands upon her hips as she regarded him with a stern expression. "No more archery. I am still sore."

Lucien considered a moment before offering her a faint smile. "Then, why do you not escort me to the farm you have purchased for your young women?"

She gave a blink of surprise at his sudden request. "It is not really a farm. Only a cottage with a small field."

"I would like to visit it." "It would hold little interest for you."

He arched his brows in a challenging motion. "I wager I would find it fascinating," he retorted, then, knowing how best to bend her to his will, he touched upon her stern sense of duty. "Besides, you surely need to occasionally visit and ensure that all is well?"

As expected, her thoughts swiftly turned to those women who depended upon her charity.

"It has been some time since I was last there," she admitted.

"Good." Not about to give her time for second thoughts, Lucien smoothly turned and headed toward the door. "I shall brave Meg's wrath and request a supper to be packed. We shall make a day of it."

Feeling surprisingly lighthearted, Jocelyn nibbled upon the delicate mushrooms in cream sauce and fresh peas.

It had been a lovely day.

After renting a carriage, Lucien had happily driven them the short distance to the cottage Jocelyn had requested her father's man of business purchase for her nearly a year ago. The investment had put an end to her small savings and often consumed a fair amount of her allowance, but it had been worth every quid. There were few things more satisfying than visiting the six young maidens who currently lived at the cottage. Not only because they were clearly happier in their new surroundings, but because Jocelyn had also provided the women employment with the local weavers. They were learning skills that would allow them to be independent once they had become strong enough to leave the cottage. They would never again be forced to sell their own bodies to provide food for their tables.

Or that, at least, was her hope.

Covertly glancing from beneath her lashes, Jocelyn regarded the elegant bronze features of Lucien as he sat beside her on the cover he had spread upon the ground in the pretty meadow.

She could not deny that she harbored a reluctance to allow this gentleman to accompany her to the farm. Although Lucien had proven to be generous and kind beyond a fault, she was all too aware that few shared her compa.s.sion for fallen women. Most believed that they willingly enjoyed selling their bodies for profit, or even that once having become prost.i.tutes, they were beyond redemption. Gentlemen especially preferred not to consider the notion that only desperation and hunger would lead a woman to such a profession.

She had known that she would be absurdly disappointed if Lucien had treated the women with anything less than respect.

Now she could only smile at her fears.

Lucien had not only revealed a kind consideration for the nervous maidens, he had swiftly charmed them into giddy, rather wide-eyed admirers as he allowed them to show him about the cottage and surrounding gardens. Not one was immune to his potent appeal. Not even Sally, who was as a rule terrified of most men.

Of course, no one could blame the susceptible women. Not even Jocelyn's staunch resolve was enough to battle the persuasive Lucien.

As if sensing her lingering regard, Lucien set aside his empty plate and regarded her with a lazy smile. In the gathering dusk his features took on a shadowed, mysterious beauty.

"More chicken?" he murmured.

She grimaced as she set her plate upon the cover. After three days of barely nibbling at the trays of food Meg had sent to her, she had been suddenly consumed with hunger. For the past half hour she had gorged upon the delicacies that Lucien had removed from the basket.

"Good heavens, no," she groaned. "I am stuffed."

Leaning forward, he refilled her empty gla.s.s. "At least have more champagne." She lifted her brows, her expression teasing. "You are not perhaps attempting to get me foxed?"

The golden eyes abruptly shimmered with that irrepressible humor. "I will admit that it would be quite interesting. I have never seen you cast to the wind."

"Interesting for you, perhaps. I will be the one nursing a thick head tomorrow morning. Not at all a pleasant prospect."

His chuckle echoed through the peaceful meadow. "True enough. Still, I do not believe that you will be overly bosky from two gla.s.ses of champagne."

Jocelyn was not nearly so confident. Already there was a giddy glow flowing through her blood, and a decidedly unfamiliar excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach.

Of course, she did not believe for a moment that the tingling sensations came from the expensive bottle of champagne. Only this gentleman had ever been capable of creating such a dizzying flood of emotion.

At this moment, however, she readily ignored the whispers of warning in the back of her mind. She did not desire to be the sensible, utterly dependable maiden who never accepted risk in her life.

With a small smile she picked up the full gla.s.s. "Then I shall be daring."

As if sensing her uncharacteristic mood of carefree joy, Lucien shifted closer to her seated form, his warm scent cloaking about her.

"I desire to propose a toast," he murmured as he held out his gla.s.s to touch her own.

Jocelyn regarded him in puzzlement. "A toast? To what?"

"To you, my dove. And all your amazing qualities."

She fought back a sudden rush of embarra.s.sment at his soft words. "Absurd."

"No." He captured her gaze with ease. "You are without a doubt the most remarkable woman I have ever encountered."

Unaccustomed to such blatant flattery, Jocelyn shifted uneasily. "Hardly remarkable."

"Do not contradict me," he commanded in arrogant tones. "Not only do you risk your own well-being each evening when you go onto the streets, you have been the savior to women who had no hope. They have a future because of you."

"I pray you are right," she retorted, her thoughts turning back to the women they had just left behind. They had endured so much. Far more than any maiden should have to bear. Only time would determine if they could overcome the pain in their lives. "They deserve a measure of happiness."

That tender expression that always stole her breath softened the elegant features.

"Happiness that you have given to them. I do not know any other woman who could have accomplished so much." He reached out to remove the forgotten gla.s.s of champagne from her hand and placed it upon the gra.s.s with his own. "Not only have you taken them from the streets, you have offered them a home and allowed them to learn skills that will keep them provided for the future."

She ducked her head as she felt a childish blush steal into her cheeks. This gentleman managed to make her feel like a gullible schoolgirl.

"Lucien, please. I do only what I can."

"And modest as well," he murmured softly. "A most potent combination."

"You are being a fool," she chided in fl.u.s.tered tones.

There was a moment's pause before Jocelyn felt a warm hand cup her chin and gently press her countenance upward.

"Look at me, Jocelyn," he commanded.

Slowly she lifted her heavy lashes to meet the eyes that glowed with a pure golden light in the falling dusk.

"What?" "Be proud of what you have accomplished," he said firmly. "Be proud of who you have become. It is far more worthy than being the neglected wife of some mindless dandy."

She paused as she pondered his words.

It was true that the road she traveled had not been the one she had expected to. Certainly she could never have dreamed as a child she would one day live in the dark streets of St. Giles with only an elderly servant as company.

Still, she could not deny that she found it difficult to think of herself in an elegant town house with nothing to occupy her mind beyond the cut of her dress and the latest gossip.

Could she ever have been satisfied with such an existence?

Could she have found joy in tending to a husband who preferred his life at his club and his mistresses while she chatted over tea and flitted about dance floors?

Her life might not have been of her choosing, but Jocelyn knew in her heart that it provided a sense of accomplishment that she never could have found in the more fashionable world.

"Yes," she at last breathed softly.

A sudden expression of satisfaction rippled over Lucien's countenance before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her own.

Caught off guard, Jocelyn did not even make a pretense of resisting the sweet caress. She did not desire to resist, she fuzzily acknowledged.

Tantalizing warmth shimmered through her blood, a burst of excitement exploding within her stomach. Her lips parted in silent invitation, and with a fractured groan Lucien gathered her in his arms.

"You taste of champagne," he murmured against her mouth.

Her hands rose to clutch his shoulders. She struggled to think through the fog of pleasure that clouded her mind.

"Lucien."

"Yes, Jocelyn?"

"It... it is growing late."

He gave a soft laugh, his warm breath sweetly brushing over her sensitive lips.

"Yes, it is. I have waited too long to hold you in my arms."

She felt lost in the golden heat of his eyes, longing for nothing more than to remain pressed against the strength of his hard form. This was where she truly belonged, she inanely acknowledged. The only place she desired to be.

Alone with this man who had filled her empty heart with joy.

Nearly overwhelmed by the stark realization, she struggled to break the spell of enchantment.

"You have won no bets," she reminded him in breathless tones.

His brows rose in a teasing fashion. "Ah, you have forgotten. Earlier I wagered that I would discover your small farm fascinating, and I a.s.sure you that I did so."

She gave a choked laugh at his absurdity. "That was no genuine wager."

"Of course it was," he argued, his hands stroking the curve of her back. "And now I demand my forfeit."

Jocelyn shivered in delicious antic.i.p.ation. "I do not believe that you play fair, sir."

"Why, Miss Kingly, surely you do not accuse me of cheating?"

It was decidedly difficult to keep her mind upon the playful conversation when those hands continued to trail up and down her spine and the temptation of his lips were only a breath away.

"You are certainly swift to take advantage of the situation," she accused him.

"I must need be swift with you, my dove. You are far too elusive for my liking."

She searched the dark countenance, wondering why she did not feel the panic or even reluctance that had plagued her since the scandal. Surely she had not forgotten just how dangerous desire could be to a young maiden?

But even as she sought the lingering sense of distrust for such pa.s.sions, she discovered that she felt nothing but a growing need to give herself utterly to this man.

"Not so elusive," she murmured.

She heard his breath catch in his throat, then, with a low moan, he was pressing her close and kissing her with a barely concealed hunger.

Jocelyn clutched at his shoulders, reveling in the demands of his lips. This was what she ached for. This restless, yearning desire. This consuming pa.s.sion that must surely be fulfilled.

She leaned closer, sighing softly when the seeking lips left her mouth to trail a scorching path down her jaw and then the curve of her neck. She took no note of the gathering darkness or of the soft call of distant birds that echoed through the air.

There was nothing beyond the magic of Lucien's touch.

After what may have been mere moments or hours, Lucien reluctantly pulled back to regard her with a darkened gaze.

"Ah, my dove, you have firmly captured me in your spell," he said in husky tones.

She gave a dazed shake of her head. "I have no spells."

"Tell that to my heart."

Her eyes widened at his soft words. His heart? Could he possibly mean . . . did he imply that he was in love with her? Could his emotions have become as deeply entwined as her own?

"Lucien, I-"

Without warning he suddenly pressed his fingers to her lips, halting the impulsive confession that she had been about to utter.

"No, say nothing," he said, an oddly regretful expression upon his handsome countenance.

Almost as if he knew what she was about to say and was determined to prevent the words. "The time will come when we may freely speak of such things. But not yet."

She frowned at his unusual reserve. Lucien was not a man who deliberately hid his emotions.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Why?" she demanded, an unwelcome disquiet worming its way into her heart.

Something that might have been pain rippled over his finely chiseled features.

"Because I could not bear to lose you."