Page 17 of To Break the Rules

“If you hadn’t made such a hash of things with that bloody Dowding chit, we might not be in such a damned fix,” the earl said, his voice harsh and angry not waiting for his son who hurried to keep up with him. “But no, you’re as bloody useless as your brother. You’re both happy enough to spend my blunt, but neither of can stir yourselves if it means getting off your arses.”

“B-But Father,” Edgar protested. “I-I thought it was all arranged. How w-was I to know the little slut had taken that b-bastard Hunt as a lover?”

The earl turned, confronting his son and grasping him by his cravat. “You should have made certain of her, you fool. If you’d ruined her as you were supposed to, there would have been no question.”

“But Montagu—”

“But nothing, you snivelling little rat. Damn, but you make me sick. Who the hell am I to get to marry you now? Heiresses don’t grow on trees. I suppose it will have to be Miss Stone, though she reeks of the shop, and you’ll not have such an easy time with her.”

Their voices grew muffled as they entered the room and Silas let out a breath, hoping he could make his escape, but just when he went to move there was a shout of alarm, and a moment later the earl ran back out.

“Who’s there?” the man demanded, the strange tenor of his voice making Silas’s skin prickle with alarm, yet there was no possible way he could know Silas was there, hidden as he was. “Where are you? Come out, damn it. Come out and face me!”

There was terror in the man’s voice and Silas heard Edgar demanding to know what was happening.

“Father, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Silas dared another glimpse around the column, too intrigued not to risk looking. The earl was ashen, a piece of paper crumpled in his hand. Edgar took it from him, smoothing it out and staring at it. To his consternation, Silas could not see what they were looking at.

“What is it?” Edgar asked, sounding bewildered. “What does it mean?”

“A warning,” the earl said, his voice low and breathless. “It’s her. It must be. Someone knows. Someone knows what I did.”

The earl and his son went back into the study, the door shutting behind them this time.

Silas moved at once, getting as far away from them as he could until he was back amongst the revellers once more. What the bloody hell was going on?

There was no doubt in his mind that Lucia was responsible for whatever had been on that paper. It was feasible that someone else had been in that room before her, of course it was, but he didn’t believe it. He’d suspected she had secrets, and something told him they were dangerous ones. Well, from what he knew of the Earl of Ulceby, he’d been right. That was not a man you antagonised if you knew what was good for you. He was a nasty bastard whichever way you looked at it.

Fear slid down in his spine like ice water beneath his skin. Whatever she was playing at, it was a perilous game indeed.

Oh, Lucia, what the devil have you done?

***

6th July 1814. The Earl of Ulceby’s ball, Hyde Park, London.

Lucia allowed the tension in her neck to ease. She’d done it. Not only had she completed her dare, but she’d taken the first step towards having her revenge. A smile curved over her mouth. She felt alive, more alive than she had in years. Destiny was calling her, and while she knew she was a long way from victory, she was taking the future into her own hands.

“My, don’t you look pleased with yourself?”

She started, the tension that had so recently left her returning with a snap that made every sense spring to attention.

Lord Cavendish was beside her, staring down at her with such warmth in his gaze it made her breath catch.

“Do I?” she replied, striving for nonchalance even as her heart picked up speed.

“You do,” he said, lowering his voice to an intimate level that made awareness of his interest and his proximity flare between them. “You look like a woman with secrets. Dangerous ones.”

Lucia swallowed, the uneasy sensation that this man knew something making her chest tighten. Of course it was impossible, but still….

“Well,” she said, tossing her head in an imperious style, “I suppose there are a lot of wives I could distress if they discovered how much their husbands had offered to bed me.”

She held his gaze, daring him to insult her, to imply once again that she was biding her time to increase the bidding.

Instead his expression softened. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to suffer that. Sorry, too, that I listened to gossip like everyone else.”

Lucia stared at him, wrong-footed and once again uncertain of how to deal with him. He never did what she expected him to.