strange
reason, she appeared to be plotting an illicit liaison between her daughter and
the man she once thought so dangerous to her innocence that she had her married
off to an old earl.
Chapter
Ten
An Unlucky Hand
Lucian lifted his gaze from his cards and peered at the
new arrivals for a moment. Then he dropped his gaze to the cards and concluded
he had little chance of winning with such a poor hand. And therefore it was
definitely not worth sitting around and waiting for the Earl of Banridge to
spot him.
What was the man doing in
the Eights anyway? No one but poor travellers stopped at the dilapidated inn,
which was exactly why he chose it as his hide out. On the rare occasion he took
a break from his duties, he headed to The Eight Bells.
He lowered his head as
Banridge headed to the bar. Throwing in his hand, he made to leave while the
earl had his back turned, but his movement must have drawn Banridge’s
attention.
“Rushbourne?”
Lucian rotated slowly, and
tried to keep his unmarred side towards him. “Banridge,” he said, dropping his
head in acknowledgment.
However, the earl did not
let him on his way and stepped back from the bar to stand in front of him. “Good
Lord it is you. Why, I haven’t seen you in, well, over a year, surely? I knew
you had a seat in the country nearby but did not think you would be at home or
else I would have called upon you. Someone said you were in France or
something, recovering from...” He paused and smiled. “Well, it is good to see
you.”
“And you, Banridge.”
“Shall you be coming to
London next summer?”
“I doubt it.”
He hardly wanted to come and
be centre of attention, and for all the wrong reasons. Once he might have
relished it—his escapades were often talked of—but this was different. Now they
would be speaking of his scars and how grotesque he was.
“Too much on your hands,
eh?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I shall be sure to
tell my sister where you are. Kitty was terribly fond of you. She married
recently, you know?”
His sister, Lady Catherine,
had been terribly fond of him indeed. Fond enough to let him share her bed on
frequent occasions after her first husband passed. Banridge clearly had no idea
or else he would be calling him out, but that did not surprise Lucian. He was
not the brightest of men.
“I had not heard. Please
pass on my congratulations. Forgive me, I must hurry, I’m late for an
appointment.”
The well-dressed man nodded genially.
“Absolutely, Good to see you, Rushbourne.”
“Likewise.”
Lucian noted how Bainridge’s
gaze fell upon his scar briefly as he turned, and the look of astonishment that
came across his face made Lucian curl a fist. He strode briskly out of the inn
and squinted in the bright daylight. Being early afternoon, the sun had split
the thick clouds and cast the hills in golden sunlight. For the end of summer,
it was still surprisingly warm but no doubt rain would be upon them soon, as it
often was in England.
He retrieved his cabriolet
from the side of the inn and set off at as fast a pace as possible.
Apprehension drummed through him, making him drive more recklessly than
usual—and that was saying a lot. There had been times after the fire when he
had longed to meet a quick ending. For the vehicle to tip and spill him from
it, breaking his neck or cracking his skull. Then the pain would be gone and he
would not have to deal with the shame of his appearance. The pain had since
vanished, with the exception of the occasional morning of agony, but the shame
had not.
By the time he reached
Balmead, the horses had worked up quite the sweat as had he. His butler,
Fairfax greeted him with his usual warmth, which was the equivalent to none.
But that mattered little to Lucian. He had served his father well and continued
to serve him with quiet efficiency. He had enough people worrying for him with
his housekeeper taking on the role of his mother as best as she could.
“A letter
reason, she appeared to be plotting an illicit liaison between her daughter and
the man she once thought so dangerous to her innocence that she had her married
off to an old earl.
Chapter
Ten
An Unlucky Hand
Lucian lifted his gaze from his cards and peered at the
new arrivals for a moment. Then he dropped his gaze to the cards and concluded
he had little chance of winning with such a poor hand. And therefore it was
definitely not worth sitting around and waiting for the Earl of Banridge to
spot him.
What was the man doing in
the Eights anyway? No one but poor travellers stopped at the dilapidated inn,
which was exactly why he chose it as his hide out. On the rare occasion he took
a break from his duties, he headed to The Eight Bells.
He lowered his head as
Banridge headed to the bar. Throwing in his hand, he made to leave while the
earl had his back turned, but his movement must have drawn Banridge’s
attention.
“Rushbourne?”
Lucian rotated slowly, and
tried to keep his unmarred side towards him. “Banridge,” he said, dropping his
head in acknowledgment.
However, the earl did not
let him on his way and stepped back from the bar to stand in front of him. “Good
Lord it is you. Why, I haven’t seen you in, well, over a year, surely? I knew
you had a seat in the country nearby but did not think you would be at home or
else I would have called upon you. Someone said you were in France or
something, recovering from...” He paused and smiled. “Well, it is good to see
you.”
“And you, Banridge.”
“Shall you be coming to
London next summer?”
“I doubt it.”
He hardly wanted to come and
be centre of attention, and for all the wrong reasons. Once he might have
relished it—his escapades were often talked of—but this was different. Now they
would be speaking of his scars and how grotesque he was.
“Too much on your hands,
eh?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I shall be sure to
tell my sister where you are. Kitty was terribly fond of you. She married
recently, you know?”
His sister, Lady Catherine,
had been terribly fond of him indeed. Fond enough to let him share her bed on
frequent occasions after her first husband passed. Banridge clearly had no idea
or else he would be calling him out, but that did not surprise Lucian. He was
not the brightest of men.
“I had not heard. Please
pass on my congratulations. Forgive me, I must hurry, I’m late for an
appointment.”
The well-dressed man nodded genially.
“Absolutely, Good to see you, Rushbourne.”
“Likewise.”
Lucian noted how Bainridge’s
gaze fell upon his scar briefly as he turned, and the look of astonishment that
came across his face made Lucian curl a fist. He strode briskly out of the inn
and squinted in the bright daylight. Being early afternoon, the sun had split
the thick clouds and cast the hills in golden sunlight. For the end of summer,
it was still surprisingly warm but no doubt rain would be upon them soon, as it
often was in England.
He retrieved his cabriolet
from the side of the inn and set off at as fast a pace as possible.
Apprehension drummed through him, making him drive more recklessly than
usual—and that was saying a lot. There had been times after the fire when he
had longed to meet a quick ending. For the vehicle to tip and spill him from
it, breaking his neck or cracking his skull. Then the pain would be gone and he
would not have to deal with the shame of his appearance. The pain had since
vanished, with the exception of the occasional morning of agony, but the shame
had not.
By the time he reached
Balmead, the horses had worked up quite the sweat as had he. His butler,
Fairfax greeted him with his usual warmth, which was the equivalent to none.
But that mattered little to Lucian. He had served his father well and continued
to serve him with quiet efficiency. He had enough people worrying for him with
his housekeeper taking on the role of his mother as best as she could.
“A letter
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