Lord of Fire by Gaelen Foley Page A

his shirt off over his head. Undressing in the pearl-gray half-light, he crawled onto his bed, too tired to bother with the covers. He was determined to get at least a couple hours’ sleep before the day began, but the moment he closed his eyes, Claude Bardou’s ugly face was there, or sometimes Patrick Kelley’s laughing one. He drove both torturous images away by losing himself in thoughts of young, delicious Alice Montague. Her shy, skeptical smile, so reluctantly given and therefore so much more precious, charmed him even now. There was a wholeness, a simplicity in her that eased him. He began to relax at last as he savored the memory of touching her, the silken tenderness of her thighs under his hands, the delectable softness of her breasts. The wonder in her response as he had tasted her warm, virginal mouth. So innocent, he thought. It pleased him deeply to know that he had touched her where no one ever had, that he had been the first to kiss her.
    As he lay in bed, a diabolical inspiration took shape in his mind, emerging more clearly by the second. His eyes widened as he stared up at the ceiling; then he sat up abruptly, his heart pounding at the notion.
    No. It was wrong. A bad, outrageous scheme—but hardly his first. Could a starving man walk away from a feast?
    He would never get another chance with Alice Montague. This much he knew, as surely as he knew that a woman like her could change everything for him. If he ever saw her in Town, she would cut him dead like any proper young miss. For God’s sake, she knew him only as “Draco,” the leader of a pagan cult. Even if he tried calling on her, respectable-fashion, Caro, her jealous chaperon, would never let him near the girl. Not after tonight. Worse, he realized, in
London
Alice would eventually cross paths with Damien and he would look even worse by comparison. He did not think he could bear it.
    Rather dazed by the force with which his outrageous notion had struck him, he sank back down onto the mattress and folded his arms behind his head, searching the darkness for answers. Dared he try it?
    She would be angry. She wouldn’t like it, but it was her own fault, his wicked side reasoned. She was the one who had willfully trespassed where she didn’t belong. She had barged into his house, into his life, and now she was not getting out of it until he was satisfied. He knew she was planning on leaving first thing in the morning, but there was no way he was letting her go. Maybe the mysterious thread of connection he felt toward her was nothing, but maybe it was the answer to everything.
    Turning his face pensively on his pillow, he gazed through his bedroom window at the distant glimmer of dawn along the horizon. He fancied the flame-gold sunrise the very color of her hair.
     
    CHAPTER
FOUR
    Alice slept like a woman drugged—long, deep, and dreamlessly. Even when she awoke a dozen hours later, she lay peacefully in the bed that smelled of lavender, letting awareness drift back to her by degrees, the gentle morning light filtering through her lashes. When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell upon an unfamiliar room. It startled her up onto her elbows. For a second, she forgot where she was—then it all came back to her. With a groan, she lay back down and buried her face in her pillow.
    Lucien. He was the first thing on her mind, but she shoved the thought of the silver-eyed devil away with a vengeance. She did not wish to think of him, or last night, or the depravity of the Grotto ever again. Today she would flee home to
Glenwood
Park
and forget such things existed, but Lord, she was not looking forward to this day, she thought. The prospect of spending the next fifteen hours in the close confines of the carriage with her malicious sister-in-law made her shudder.
    Hearing a loud clattering outside her chamber window, she sat up, slid down from the high bed, and went to investigate. Peeking through the curtains, she saw a few of the guests’ carriages