Bad Boys Ahoy! Page 17

  "A party? With what we've been through these last weeks?"

  "I will need my cloak back," Julienne informed the startled butler. "And have the carriage brought around again."

  "No, Julienne."

  She turned wide-eyed to her aunt.

  Eugenia shook her head. "Our position is too precarious. Risking your reputation at a time like this could lead to our ruin. I'm ashamed of myself for allowing Hugh to run wild like this, and I'm ashamed that you've been the one to go haring after him every time." She sighed. "I haven't done a very good job of being the disciplinarian, I'm afraid. It's time I corrected that. I shall be the one to go after him."

  Julienne leaned over and kissed her aunt's cheek. "You've done a remarkable job. But you'll have to trust me. The places Hugh frequents would make you swoon, and we can't have that."

  "Oh, I don't know about that. I was married, and you're just a-"

  "Do you know what a dildo is?"

  Eugenia's eyes widened. "Good grief!"

  "Or the Kama Sutra?"

  Eugenia waved her hands in front of her face. "Of course, I've heard of such things, but for you to have been exposed… Good heavens."

  "See? You're already on the verge of a fit of vapors." Julienne grabbed her aunt's elbow and led her toward the stairs. "I shall see to Hugh."

  "You cannot go back to Remington's! If Fontaine were to hear of it-"

  "I don't believe Hugh went to Remington's," she said dryly. "He owes too much money there."

  "Too much… Oh, dear God, we're ruined!" Eugenia shook her head, resigned.

  "Now, now. Order some hot tea and settle in. Don't worry yourself. I will locate Hugh, and we'll sort this entire mess out." She prodded her aunt up the stairs.

  "I don't feel right about you going out alone at this hour, Julienne."

  "I know," she soothed. "I won't be gone long."

  "The last time you said that, you spent the night with Lucien Remington!"

  "Aunt Eugenia!" Julienne glanced around the foyer in dismay. "Keep your voice down!"

  Her aunt grumbled her way up the stairs, glancing down at the foyer indecisively every few steps.

  Julienne moved into the study to wait for the carriage, and poured herself two fingers of Hugh's expensive brandy. She lifted the tumbler and downed the contents, coughing and wincing as the potent liquor burned its way down her throat.

  Her body still hummed vibrantly from her earlier orgasm, but deep inside, her heart was cold. The things Lucien had said… that woman he was with…

  No. She couldn't think of that now, or she would go mad.

  She had to think about Hugh, who was in for a surprise. She was weary of his irresponsibility, and at the present moment, she was furious with every male on the planet.

  Her brother was about to discover that firsthand.

  It was nearly dawn, and Julienne was close to exhaustion by the time the carriage pulled up to the fourth house. She was relying on her coachman to find her brother based on his knowledge of Hugh's favorite haunts. This was her final stop. If this was not the correct party, she would return to Montrose Hall and wait for Hugh there.

  Her footman climbed the steps and made the necessary inquiries. Moments later, he opened the carriage door. "Lord Montrose arrived an hour past, my lady."

  "Good." She alighted from the carriage and wrapped her cloak tighter around her.

  As she walked up the short staircase, Julienne admired the grand Georgian design. It was large for a townhouse, and the beautifully maintained facade proudly boasted the wealth of its owner. The door was held open, and she swept right in, using the hood of her cloak to hide her face.

  She found her brother in a richly appointed billiards room, surrounded by a large and boisterous group of gentlemen and demimondaines. Julienne waited for him to notice her in the doorway, unwilling to risk stepping inside. Hugh laughed at a pretty brunette's witticism and then glanced her way. Despite her hood and cloak, he recognized her. His humor fled, turning into wide-eyed, mouth-agape horror. He left his companions without a word and hastened toward her with his long-legged stride. Gripping her elbow, he pulled her into the shadows.

  Hugh La Coeur was renowned for a great many things in addition to his propensity for hedonism. He was a beautiful male specimen, with golden hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes.

  He'd emerged victorious from two duels, and was considered to be an expert marksman and swordsman. If only he'd focus that level of intensity on making money, they could climb out of the financial mire they were in now.

  "Jules, what the devil are you doing here?" he cried.

  "What do you think, Hugh?" Her voice rose with anger. "You irresponsible, self-centered-"

  He clamped a tobacco-scented hand over her mouth and tugged her down the hall. Opening a closed door, he pushed her into a dimly lit parlor. "If Fontaine heard word of your presence in this house, it would be a disaster!"

  Julienne pulled her arm from his grip. "And then he might not be inclined to offer for me, and you would be ruined in debt. I can well collect your concern."

  Hugh had the decency to flush. "You would be ruined as well," he pointed out gruffly.

  "At this point, Hugh, I would find the loss of my reputation to be worth it if you would learn your lesson." She slashed her hand through the air. "Your rakehell days are over. I've come to like Lord Fontaine. It troubles me to think of his money being used to pay for your selfish indulgences. I will not allow him to support you forever. You must do your duty to the title. You need to maintain the estates, make the tenants happy, and find someone you can trust to make some investments for you."

  Hugh gaped. "Hell's teeth! I will not engage in trade!"

  "Swallow your pride," she snapped. "You have squandered centuries of Le Coeur heritage in less than a decade. Now you must find a way to rebuild it." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "And you will start doing so immediately. You no longer have the luxury of parties such as these. You should be home, sleeping, in preparation for the day's hard work on the morrow."

  "Damnation." His hands went to his hips. "I will not be dictated to!"

  "And you will not whore me out to pay for your lifestyle!"

  Hugh was shocked into silence. He was still young enough that his hard living had not yet etched its passing on his handsome face, but that wouldn't last long. If he continued on his present course of endless indulgences, he would age before his time. But Julienne would fight tooth and nail before she allowed that to happen.

  He lowered his head. "Ah hell, Jules. You are correct, as usual. I'm dreadfully sorry for having gotten us into this morass." He ran a hand through his hair and looked at her with suddenly weary eyes. "I'm not suited to being Montrose. I never have been. You have no idea how often I wish Father and Mother were still alive. I miss them, and I had so much yet to learn…"

  "I understand, Hugh, truly. But you are the only one who can do this," she said with a sigh. "We all have responsibilities in life. This is your burden to bear. I will assist you as best I can and help you find your footing, but you will have to do what is necessary to keep yourself there."

  He began to pace. "Have you discussed our situation with Fontaine?"

  "Not yet."

  "But Jules," Hugh cried, "you have to tell him."

  Julienne narrowed her eyes. "Exactly how much trouble are we in?"

  He flushed, and her gut clenched.

  "Cut to the heart of it," she ordered. "I don't have the stomach to listen to an accounting of every shilling."

  Hugh quit pacing and faced her squarely. "It's mostly gambling debts."

  "I'm aware of that. How much, Hugh?" She rubbed the space between her brows, fighting off a headache.

  "Well, I owe White's twenty thousand pounds and-"

  "Twenty thousand?" she screeched.

  "Hush, Jules!" He winced and shot a glance at the door. "Perhaps you should sit."

  "Good heavens," she muttered, her eyes widening. Julienne began to tap
her foot in a rapid staccato on the Aubusson rug. "Tell me that is your largest creditor."

  "Now, Julienne, I realize-"

  "Out with it. We don't have all night."

  "We should discuss this at home."

  "Oh, no. Right here will be sufficient." She arched a brow. "Who is your largest creditor, and how much do you owe them?"

  Hugh's shoulders slumped. "Remington's. I owe one hundred thousand pounds."

  Julienne swayed on her feet. "One hundred thousand?" she breathed as the blood drained from her face. "To Lucien Remington?"

  He reached out to steady her. "Don't faint, Jules," he pleaded. "I'm sorry about all of this, but that bastard Remington kept my accounts open. White's cut me off at twenty thousand, but-"

  "No more!" she snapped, pushing him away. "Don't blame Lucien Remington for your weakness. I will not have you disparaging him in any way. Do you understand? In any way. He has made something of himself, built an empire. You have done this to us. You alone are responsible."

  Hugh recoiled from her sharp tone, one she'd never used with him before. "He could ruin us!"

  "And who gave him that power?" she countered.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with an upraised hand. "I'm exhausted, and I don't wish to discuss your problems anymore this evening. Fetch your cloak. We're leaving."

  As the door to the parlor closed, the two intertwined figures on the settee separated, and one sat up.

  "Fascinating," Amanda murmured, as she straightened her bodice.

  Magnus, Duke of Glasser, brushed aside her dark hair to nuzzle her neck. "Not as fascinating as what I have right here," he murmured wickedly.

  "Glass, for heaven's sake. Don't you realize we've just met our future daughter-in-law?" She brushed his roving hands away.

  The duke heaved a long-suffering sigh and sat up beside her. "We didn't meet anyone. We eavesdropped. And it sounded like the chit has her claws in Fontaine. Why would she want Charles?"

  "Charles?" She rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Glass, pay attention. I'm talking about Lucien."

  "Lucien?" he queried, obviously confused. "She's an earl's daughter. And from the sound of it, she's well on her way to being a marchioness. What would she want with Lucien?"

  "What woman wouldn't want Lucien? He's the spitting image of you, handsome devil that you are." She smiled seductively. "And didn't you hear Lady Julienne defend him? There's something afoot there. She likes him."

  "Lots of women like Lucien," Magnus pointed out with a good dollop of fatherly pride. "Doesn't mean he wants to marry them. Who knows if he's even met the gel before?"

  Amanda attempted to restore some order to her hair. "Trust me, darling. A woman knows these things. Lady Julienne took a personal offense to Montrose's comments. I can assure you, they've met. You'll see I'm right."

  She squealed as she was tackled back onto the settee.

  "I've got something to show you," the duke growled. "Right here."

  "You look awful."

  Lucien scowled as he paced the empty hazard room of Remington's. "To hell with you, too, Marchant."

  His man-of-affairs laughed. "It's unusually early for you to be here."

  "You're here," Lucien retorted.

  "I'm always here at this time." Marchant sighed at Lucien's skeptical glance. "You truly have no idea what you pay me for, do you?"

  Lucien paused in his pacing and glared. "I'm certain I don't pay you to harass and insult me, so be on your way."

  "I have something to discuss with you, Lucien."

  "Not now. I'm not in the mood."

  "It is precisely your present mood that necessitates my speaking with you."

  "Bloody hell and damnation!" Lucien leaned against a hazard table and crossed his arms, his head throbbing viciously. "Out with it then. And make haste."

  "I gave you some bad advice the other day."

  Lucien arched a brow. "Not something you want to tell me, Harold. One of the things I pay you for is your advice. If it's not worth hearing, I may sack you."

  "The employee in me is quaking in his boots," Marchant said wryly. "But as your friend, I must continue regardless."

  Lucien closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. God help him.

  "I don't think you should allow Lady Julienne to marry any of the men on that list I compiled."

  Lucien's eyes flew open. "Why? What's wrong with them?"

  "'Tis not what's wrong with them, but what's wrong with you." Marchant's eyes were kind behind his spectacles. "You're lovesick."

  "I am not!"

  "You are. You're barely tolerable. The employees are avoiding you, the customers are steering clear of your company, you've been drinking yourself into a stupor every night, and instead of going home, you've been staying in your rooms upstairs."

  "I own the damn place!" Lucien growled. "I can spend the night here if I wish."

  "You are staying in the Sapphire Room because of her," Marchant argued.

  Lucien lowered his head. There was no point in denying it. His man-of-affairs was too bright. "You told me to stay away from her, Harold."

  "I thought she was merely a temporary amusement. Now it's obvious to me, and to everyone else, that she means far more to you than that."

  "My feelings don't signify. I'm not worthy of her."

  Marchant sighed. "Will you be able to live with yourself knowing she is married to someone else? A man you see regularly here within the walls of your own establishment? Will you be able to hold your tongue, and your fists, when he makes use of the courtesans while the woman you covet waits at home for him? How will you feel when Lord Fontaine comes in to celebrate the birth of their children?"

  "That's enough!" Lucien shouted, his chest tight with fury and misery. To think of Julienne belonging to another man was too much to bear. If he couldn't have her, he didn't want anyone else to have her either. But that wasn't the way it would be. And somehow, he would have to find the strength to live with that.

  "There are some mistakes we can live with, and others we can't. Only you can determine which kind of mistake this is." Marchant turned to walk away.

  "Harold."

  The man-of-affairs paused.

  "Thank you."

  "Lucien, darling. Punctual, as always."

  Lucien smiled affectionately at his mother as he was shown into her parlor. Shades of pink and mauve embellished with gilt and satin made the room an entirely feminine retreat. Leaning over her, he kissed both of her cheeks. "You look stunning, Mother."

  She waited until he took the seat opposite her before beginning tea. "You look like hell," she said bluntly. "Have you lost weight?" She handed Lucien a cup and saucer. "Pining for Lady Julienne La Coeur?"

  Startled, Lucien fumbled with his cup, cursing as he spilt the hot liquid. "Beg your pardon?" Setting the saucer down, he stuck his burnt fingers in his mouth.

  "I said you look like hell."

  "I heard that part," he muttered, wiping his hand on a linen napkin. "It was the rest of it I missed."

  "No, you didn't. I met your love last night."

  Lucien blinked, his head spinning. "What did you say?"

  Amanda dropped two lumps of sugar into her tea. "She's lovely and feisty."

  "Julienne was here?" He shot to his feet. "Last night?"

  "Sit down, Lucien. I shall get a neck cramp looking up at you."

  Frowning, he sat.

  His Julienne? Here? In the midst of London's demimonde? He flushed.

  "It bothers you that she was here?" his mother asked.

  "Why was she here?"

  Amanda smiled. "She was dragging her scapegrace brother home."

  Lucien stood again. "Montrose is back?" He swallowed hard. This was dreadful. Now Fontaine could pay his addresses.

  "Lucien, please! Sit down."

  Again he dropped dutifully into the seat. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely, fighting off a mild panic.

  "She was quite firm with him,
scolding him and ordering him to start accepting his responsibilities."

  Lucien couldn't hold back a smile. Fierce, passionate, no-nonsense Julienne.

  Amanda smiled over the rim of her cup. "And when Montrose made a nasty comment about you, she defended you. I wish you could have heard her. She was magnificent."

  The nausea he'd been fighting all morning suddenly worsened.

  Last night. After the things he'd done and said to her, Julienne had defended him anyway.

  His head dropped into his hands. Damnation. He would have felt better if she'd maligned him right along with her brother.

  This morning he'd been certain there was no more wretched person on earth than himself. He'd believed it wasn't possible to feel any worse.

  But he did. Much worse.

  How would he ever make amends to her? Fueled by brandy, jealousy had eaten him alive. Julienne had spoken with Fontaine at length. The sight of them together had crushed him further. They presented a dashing couple-two perfect, blond, beautiful aristocrats. The handsome marquess had staked an obvious claim to Julienne, and Lucien had wanted nothing more than to rip them apart.

  He'd determined to make her as jealous as he was, to force her to share in his misery. But when he'd succeeded, when she'd fled the room in obvious distress, he'd followed, unable to do otherwise. The smell of her, the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth-he'd been consumed by a singular madness. To give her up, to lose her, was nigh unbearable, and he'd wanted her to say she felt the same. He'd wanted her to fight for him, and when she had, when she'd turned the tables, he'd wanted her even more.

  "Lucien?" His mother's voice was filled with concern.

  He slid his hands through his hair and laced them at the back of his neck. He looked at his mother with a pained smile. "I've made a mess of things again."

  The parlor door opened.

  "Good morning!" the duke greeted as he entered.

  Lucien rose from his chair and extended his hand to the man with whom he bore a remarkable resemblance. "Good morning, Your Grace."

  "You look terrible, son."

  "So I've been told. Repeatedly."