My Lord Eternity
Page 20
"What of yourself?"
She lifted a slender shoulder. "I find pleasure in saving the women I do from the streets."
"And you are never lonely?"
"I... I have Meg."
Lucien gave a loud snort, considering a lifetime filled with no one but the sharp -tongued servant as companionship.
"She is no doubt a fine companion, but she cannot fulfill all your needs."
She turned to regard him with open suspicion. "Needs?"
Readily taking advantage of her proximity, Lucien wrapped his arms about her waist, bringing her close enough so he could hear the very beat of her heart.
"Enjoyment. Desire." He paused. "Love."
Her brow furrowed. "Such desires are dangerous."
He leaned his head down to rest his forehead against her own. Their breaths mingled as he allowed the sweet warmth of her to seep into his body.
"No," he denied in fierce tones. "Allowing life to slip past while you hide in fear is dangerous.
There is no more bitter regret than looking back and wondering what might have been had you dared to risk it all."
He felt her shiver even as she gave a soft, rueful chuckle. "You are very persistent, Lucien."
"Only because I know I am right."
"So confident?"
"I live in hope." Unable to resist temptation any longer, he shifted the small distance to gently cover her lips. It was an innocent caress, no more than the briefest of touches. But, as a sharp, hungry pleasure flared through Lucien, he pulled back in sudden awareness. He ached for this woman. Ached for her with a need that was becoming dangerously painful. He was playing with fire to remain so intimately close to her. Reluctantly dropping his arms, he took another step backward, his expression tight with suppressed desire. "Now, I am weary of this house. What shall we do today?"
He had the satisfaction of watching Jocelyn struggle to regain her own composure as she needlessly fussed to straighten the skirts of her peach gown.
"Well, we could go to the market for Meg, and then to the bazaar to search for clothing for the children..."
"No." He adamantly refused her brisk suggestions. The bright sunlight that slanted through the window demanded that he flee the confines of the smothering city. "I desire to leave London.
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 compassion for fallen women. Most believed that they willingly enjoyed selling their bodies for profit, or even that once having become prostitutes, 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 glass. "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 glasses 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 glass. "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 glass 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 embarrassment 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 glass of champagne from her hand and placed it upon the grass 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.
She lifted a slender shoulder. "I find pleasure in saving the women I do from the streets."
"And you are never lonely?"
"I... I have Meg."
Lucien gave a loud snort, considering a lifetime filled with no one but the sharp -tongued servant as companionship.
"She is no doubt a fine companion, but she cannot fulfill all your needs."
She turned to regard him with open suspicion. "Needs?"
Readily taking advantage of her proximity, Lucien wrapped his arms about her waist, bringing her close enough so he could hear the very beat of her heart.
"Enjoyment. Desire." He paused. "Love."
Her brow furrowed. "Such desires are dangerous."
He leaned his head down to rest his forehead against her own. Their breaths mingled as he allowed the sweet warmth of her to seep into his body.
"No," he denied in fierce tones. "Allowing life to slip past while you hide in fear is dangerous.
There is no more bitter regret than looking back and wondering what might have been had you dared to risk it all."
He felt her shiver even as she gave a soft, rueful chuckle. "You are very persistent, Lucien."
"Only because I know I am right."
"So confident?"
"I live in hope." Unable to resist temptation any longer, he shifted the small distance to gently cover her lips. It was an innocent caress, no more than the briefest of touches. But, as a sharp, hungry pleasure flared through Lucien, he pulled back in sudden awareness. He ached for this woman. Ached for her with a need that was becoming dangerously painful. He was playing with fire to remain so intimately close to her. Reluctantly dropping his arms, he took another step backward, his expression tight with suppressed desire. "Now, I am weary of this house. What shall we do today?"
He had the satisfaction of watching Jocelyn struggle to regain her own composure as she needlessly fussed to straighten the skirts of her peach gown.
"Well, we could go to the market for Meg, and then to the bazaar to search for clothing for the children..."
"No." He adamantly refused her brisk suggestions. The bright sunlight that slanted through the window demanded that he flee the confines of the smothering city. "I desire to leave London.
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 compassion for fallen women. Most believed that they willingly enjoyed selling their bodies for profit, or even that once having become prostitutes, 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 glass. "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 glasses 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 glass. "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 glass 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 embarrassment 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 glass of champagne from her hand and placed it upon the grass 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.
