Page 55 of The Defiant One
But he did not call her back.
He just let her walk out of the room.
Celsie, deflated, shut the door behind her and wandered off to another bedroom. Hours later, she was still tossing, turning, and staring up at the ceiling. And as she lay there in a strange bed, in a strange room, in a strange house, she began to wonder if marriage to the brilliant, temperamental man who slept just down the hall was going to be the biggest disaster of her life.
Desperately wishing that Freckles was there to keep her company, she stared miserably out the window across the square to the lights of another town house.
Dogs were better than men, after all.
Chapter 17
At about the time that Celsie left her brooding companion and unhappily sought out another place to sleep, Lucien returned to Blackheath Castle.
It was late and he was travel-weary. Still, he was not surprised, upon entering the Great Hall, to hear that his brothers had arrived and were waiting up for him in the library. Handing his coat and hat to a footman, he went to join them.
There was Charles, sitting beside the hearth, the firelight gilding his fair hair as he stared glumly into the flames. He was in civilian clothes. Gareth sat a few feet away, his face troubled. Both glanced up as Lucien entered the room, their expressions changing immediately to ones of relief.
"By God, where the hell have you been?" Charles demanded with uncharacteristic anger.
Lucien raised his brows. "Dear me. And here I thought I left the nursery years ago." Smiling, he extended his hand to his brother in greeting. "Really, Charles, I know that fatherhood is a role you're quite enjoying, but if you think that I, of all people, am going to fall under your parental blanket, you are sadly mistaken."
Charles flushed. "We were worried about you. And, Andrew."
"Yes, where is Andrew?" Gareth asked, coming forward to greet his brother.
"In London, from all accounts," replied the duke, accepting a glass of brandy from Charles. "Which is precisely where I have been, obtaining a special license so that he can marry without delay. The bishop owed me a favor or two."
"So it's true, then," Charles muttered. "Nerissa said you'd been interfering in Andrew's life just as you did in ours."
"It was necessary to interfere."
Charles merely leaned against the door molding and regarded Lucien with flat dismay. "I suppose that Andrew is completely unaware of your generosity."
"Oh, I think he is very much aware. Perhaps he will even thank me one of these days, which is more than the two of you have ever done."
Charles raked a hand through his hair. He looked tired. Confused. Frustrated. He turned on his brother. "Damn it, Luce, I just don't understand this. None of us do . . . What on earth has possessed you?"
"The devil, probably," returned Lucien, downing his drink.
Charles tightened his mouth and turned his pale blue eyes on Lucien, giving him a direct stare that demanded honesty, that demanded an answer, that demanded an end to all pretenses of carefree insouciance. Nothing could have more seriously weakened Lucien's resolve to guard the truth from his brothers. Nothing could have undone him faster. He turned his back on them so he wouldn't have to face them.
"Lucien?" Gareth prompted. Charles didn't say a word; he just stood there, waiting, every inch the cool army officer, even out of uniform.
Lucien moved to stand before the fire. He thrust his hands under his coattails and, hands on his hips, gazed silently into the crackling flames. "Charles," he said at length. "From the time you entered this world, you have been groomed to become the duke should I die without issue."
From behind him, he sensed the sudden tension, but neither brother spoke for a moment. Finally, Charles said, "Are you trying to tell us something?"
"Of course I am trying to tell you something. I just don't know how."
"Are you dying?" Charles asked baldly.
Lucien hesitated. "No. Nothing like that." He turned, walked to the window — anything to avoid meeting Charles's direct blue stare, and Gareth's concerned one — and gazed out over the downs, sleeping under their blanket of starlight. He didn't want to tell them the truth. He vowed that he would not.
"Do you remember the day we buried our parents?" he asked, still gazing out the window.
"Yes," said Charles, Gareth echoing him.
"Well, on that day I made a silent vow to them that I would take care of you. All of you." He turned and faced them. "What I am doing for Andrew is part of that promise."
