Lord Lucifer Read online

  Diana blew out a breath. “Parents often get exasperated with their children. I cannot think she was serious.”

  Lucas didn’t answer. That was always the explanation that people gave, especially his nanny. But to him, his mother’s pronouncements had always held a degree of truth. She would probably never truly drop him in a well, but part of her wanted to. She would never do any of the thousands of threats she used, but on some unspoken level, his mother hated him. He felt it, he knew it, and perhaps right now, he didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face when she realized he was alive.

  “Oh dear,” Diana said as she squeezed his arm where her fingers rested. “She did mean it, didn’t she?”

  Lucas jolted. How quickly she guessed the truth when no one else had wanted to even acknowledge the possibility. And then she guessed even more.

  “Was it just you or your brother as well?”

  He looked away, feeling too raw to see the pity in her expression. “Just me. I don’t know why.”

  Diana released a mew of sympathy. “I don’t suppose it matters. Such a thing from one’s mother…” She shook her head. “That’s the very definition of irrational. To try and look for a reason is just a waste of time. What you felt was real. It is real, and I’m sorry if I ever suggested otherwise.”

  He stared at her a moment, shock riveting his feet to the ground, and his breath held tight in his chest. She hadn’t said anything beyond what he’d said a million times to himself. He wasn’t crazy. His mother did hate him, and the reasons why didn’t matter. The truth was that it hurt, and no amount of denial changed that. He knew because he’d tried.

  But no one else had ever said such a thing. Never. And her words spoken so simply unraveled his control. His defenses crumbled, and pain spilled out. Not in sound or action, but it poured out of him, nonetheless. He felt crippled by it, and yet he couldn’t let it show. He was supposed to be protecting her.

  “Diana,” he rasped.

  She turned to him and stifled a curse. Without warning, she pulled off his mask. He flinched and tried to stop her, but she insisted, and he would not tussle with her now.

  “We are in shadow. No one will see,” she said. “No one but me, and I already know who you are.”

  She did. And to a depth he thought no one could possibly reach.

  “I want to see your face,” she said softly.

  “And now that you do,” he said, the words forced out through a throat tight with emotion. “What do you gain?”

  She smiled, though the expression was wistful. “What I’ve always seen.” She touched his cheek. “Such passion. Such a pure force of feeling.”

  The heat of her palm seared him. The sight of her gaze on his face cut him to the quick. She knew him too well, and he felt too vulnerable this way. And yet, he couldn’t force himself to move away. The feel of her hand was like a brand, and he leaned into it rather than away. He wanted her carved into his very bones, and yet the pain of it weakened him. He had no idea how he managed to stand strong against her caress when every part of him crumbled.

  “There it is,” she murmured. “That burn in your eyes. When everyone else seems to be looking for themselves even as they glance at me, you always saw me.”

  “You speak in poetry,” he said. “I am a simple soldier now, and a damaged one at that.” He held up his crippled hand, less deformed in appearance now because he wore stiff leather gloves.

  She grabbed his hand, enfolding it with both of hers. That meant her touch left his face, and he was bereft by the loss. Then she turned, still holding his hand, as they resumed their stroll.

  “Your hand does not seem to limit you. Have you found it a problem?”

  How to answer that? It certainly hindered his use of a pistol and a sword, but his other hand compensated well enough. Even deformed by the scar tissue, he could make a fist, and though he could not open his hand completely, he could grasp things and pluck at his guitar, which is what he did to improve his dexterity.

  “It is getting better with time,” he finally said. “I exercise it regularly, and it has become more limber.”

  “How did it happen?”

  He shrugged. Everyone asked him that. “The honest truth is that I don’t know. It was Waterloo. Everyone believes that there is an order to a battle, and there is. But not always, and not for everyone. We were in chaos, and I was grabbing men, trying to get them to hold, to fight, to work with one another. Two men fight better together than apart. Five men can block a horse and its rider with ease. If a company can hold their position, then the battle can be won. But it takes many men working together.”

  “And a leader who can make it happen when bullets are flying everywhere.” She turned to him. “You impress me.”

  So many emotions continued to tumble around inside him. He did not like thinking about that day, much less being praised for it. In the end, he said what he always did. “I survived. So many did not.”

  “And I am grateful that you did.”

  He let those words sink in. After her earlier animosity, he had not thought she would say such a thing. After all, he’d been expressly forbidden to cross paths with her at home, for all that he managed the footmen who protected her.

  “Why did you block me from coming abovestairs? Surely you understand that I can protect you better with full access to the entire home.”

  She slanted him a wry look. “Do not pretend that you have been limited in any way. I know you come upstairs to check the windows and even the roof.”

  He had, but he’d had to be scrupulously careful that they not cross paths. “I would never harm you.”

  She was silent for a long time, then she sighed. “It took me a long time to accept my marriage. Longer still to find my way. I had to fight with the housekeeper about the smallest things.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know it at the time, but Oscar had dallied with her, and she imagined that she would become his wife.”

  “The devil you say!”

  “I don’t blame her for thinking it. Oscar often says what is convenient for him. Her fault was in not seeing him clearly enough to know the lie.”

  His estimation of her husband was dropping by the second. Up until now, the staff had been universally supportive of the master, for all that he was bedridden. “Now you impress me,” he said. “You married into a disaster.”

  Diana nodded. “It took me a year to realize that I would rather be respected than loved. From there, it became easy.”

  “Nothing about that sounds easy,” he said. He knew. He’d had to earn the respect of his men, and that had been the hardest battle of all. “Now, you have both—respect and love.”

  She snorted. “You have been listening to the flattery.”

  “I don’t think so. Especially since they believe you despise me.”

  She blew out a breath. “I don’t despise you,” she said tartly. “I don’t know you. This is the first we have talked in years.”

  He acknowledged the point. “Will you allow me abovestairs now? May I check the windows and the roof without sneaking around behind you?”

  “You may. Provided there is no familiarity in your attitude toward me.”

  “Familiarity?” he teased. “You are the one who pulled off my mask.”

  “Here at Vauxhall, you are Lord Lucifer. There, you are simply Mr. Lucifer, my servant. I would not link arms with him nor stroll anywhere at his direction. No more than I would with the bootblack.” She glanced at him. “Surely you understand that.”

  “I understand that a bodyguard is not a bootblack. If I direct you to stroll to Haymarket, you will do it immediately and not question it.”

  She stiffened at that, and he could tell she wanted to argue. She’d fought hard for the right to direct her own life—in a small way—and she was loath to give that up. “Lucas—” she began, but he cut her off.

  “I am there to protect you, and you will listen if I have to carry you out over my shoulder.”

  “
You exaggerate the danger,” she huffed.

  “You are naïve.” He didn’t say that to hurt her. His statement was pure fact, but she was too innocent to realize that.

  “You overstep,” she snapped. “As did my brother to hire you in the first place.”

  He snorted. “Your brother did not hire me. I came of my own free will, and I will see the job done no matter if I offend your sensibilities or not.”

  Her body stiffened against him. “For how long, Lucas? How long will you hide beneath your mask and your silly moniker? How long do you intend to play dead and skirt the responsibilities of your title?” She narrowed her eyes. “How long shall I have you underfoot when you should be standing in the House of Lords?”

  “Until such time as I deem it safe,” he said flatly.

  “And when will that be? A month? A year?”

  “I will not leave you until it is safe,” he said firmly.

  She shook her head. “You are using me to avoid your own family.”

  He laughed at that. The sound burst from him in a harsh bark of levity. “I assure you,” he said, “I do not need any excuse to avoid my family. I have been doing it quite well long before I was needed in your household.”

  “I can attest to that,” said a voice to the side.

  Lucas jerked around at the words, damning himself for being so distracted by her that he paid too little attention to his environment. With his damaged hand, he pressed Diana behind him while his good hand tightened into a fist. His heart beat hard as he searched the shadows for an enemy. There was but one person, and he did not appear threatening at all. At least not to Diana.

  “Nathan,” Lucas said.

  His brother.

  Chapter Nine

  Lucas’s only brother, Nathan, stepped out of the shelter of a large tree. He was dressed roughly in worn boots and muddy clothes. If it weren’t for his dark green cloak, Lucas might have mistaken him for one of his tenants.

  “What are you dressed as?” That wasn’t even remotely important, but somehow the words blathered out anyway.

  Nathan spread his hands. “A farmer. What else?”

  “That’s not a costume. You are a farmer.”

  “Not in London, I’m not.” His expression tightened. “Apparently, in London, I’ve been playing at being a titled lord.”

  Lucas swallowed. There was only one courtesy title for his family, and it went to the eldest son. Lucas knew that Nathan had waited a year after Waterloo to take the title. On the anniversary of that battle, crepe was wrapped around their door knocker, his mother showed herself in public dressed in black, and his brother took the courtesy title of Lord Chellem. In such a way, his family declared him dead before society, if not in the courts just yet, and the ton accepted it as fact. In truth, he’d just returned to England after months of a devastating fever, not to mention a broken leg and mangled hand. The news that his family had declared him dead had crippled him more than his mangled hand.

  But none of those thoughts came out. Instead, he studied his brother and saw that the lanky youth he remembered had filled out into a man. His shoulders were broad and thick with muscle. His hands were far from the dainty kind fops prized. His brother was large and strong in all the best possible ways.

  “You look good,” Lucas said. And he meant it.

  “So do you. Especially since I thought you were dead.” And when Lucas had no response to that, Nathan spoke with his usual blunt honesty. “I couldn’t understand it when Aaron insisted I come to this masquerade. And then Jackson challenged me to find Lord Lucifer. He bet me money that I would account it well worth my while.” His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his pocket. “Damn it all. Now I owe him a monkey.”

  Five hundred pounds? “What made you do that? You were never a betting man.”

  Nathan glowered at him. “I thought it an easy win. There’s nothing here that could possibly be worth my time.”

  The words sat heavy in the air. “There still isn’t, Nathan. Go home. Pretend—”

  “What? That my only brother is dead? Is that what you were going to suggest?” Fury burned under his words, and Lucas held up his hands as much to defend himself from the lash of it as to quiet his brother.

  “Hush! Don’t draw attention.”

  “Don’t draw attention?” his brother sputtered. “You’re alive!”

  Thankfully, Diana interrupted, hooking both brothers by the elbow as she drew them down the dark path. “Let us have this discussion more privately, shall we?”

  Fortunately, a glance around told Lucas that they were somewhat alone. He had walked Diana to the very end of the main pathway. It was a few steps more to the path where lanterns were spaced infrequently, and there were dozens of tiny breaks in the shrubbery for all kinds of illicit behavior.

  He doubted though that the greenery had ever been host to a discussion such as he was about to have with his only brother. A man who even now refused to lower his voice. “How long have you been back?”

  “I arrived in London a year after Waterloo.” He blew out a breath, struggling to express why he’d made the choices he had. “I did come to the house. I saw the crepe on the door and…” He shrugged, ashamed to admit his actions. “I followed you on a walk about Hyde Park.”

  “What?” The word was barked out.

  “I heard Mama tell everyone to call you Lord Chellem. She was so proud of you.”

  “Proud that my brother was dead? Are you daft?”

  He had been, perhaps. Feverish from the crossing and ashamed of his hand and his limp. He hadn’t worked that out yet, and he’d kept looking at his brother. “You looked splendid, you know. Every inch the future earl.”

  His brother turned around to face him. “That’s it then. You think I wanted the title, and you thought you’d let me—what? Play at it for a time?”

  “No!” He blew out a breath. How did he explain? “At first, I was so sick from the crossing that I ended up at a…” He didn’t want to confess that he’d gone inside a gambling den simply to escape the rain. And when he’d collapsed with fever, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had given him a room and cared for him. And when he’d recovered, she’d offered him a job as her door guard.

  Being no fool, Diana already knew what he did. “He works at the Lyon’s Den managing the men who watch the tables and hold the doors.”

  His brother recoiled. “You work at a gambling den?”

  “And as my bodyguard,” she huffed. “Even though I don’t need it.”

  His brother frowned at her. “You need protection? From whom?”

  Lucas waved that all aside. None of that was important right now. Looking at his brother, he realized the magnitude of what he had lost when he’d refused to reconnect with Nathan. He’d hurt the man, and he could see the burn of that pain in his brother’s eyes. “Nathan, I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  It was a poor response, but an honest one. Unfortunately, the damage remained. Nathan looked at him with heavy regard. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and his gaze darted around in confusion. “Why would you hide from us?”

  “Not you,” he said. “Never you. I just…” He raised his damaged hand and pulled off his glove. Even in the shadows, his brother would see the thick scars on his palm, the mangled way his fingers twisted. “I had a limp, too, but I’ve worked that out,” he said. “It’s better, but I’ll never win a footrace.”

  “Does it hurt?” Nathan asked. He gestured to the hand and also to Lucas’s face, where a scar cut down by his ear. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not often. And I forget about the face scar except when I shave.”

  Nathan nodded. Once. Twice. Then he blew out a breath and stared hard at his brother. “And what does that have to do with anything?” He asked it with confusion, not anger. And if that didn’t show Lucas how wrong he was, nothing else would. His brother honestly didn’t understand how his parents would view his disabilities.

  “Nathan,” he murmured,
using that same tone of exasperation he’d used when they were children.

  “Lucas,” his brother echoed, in exactly the same way.

  And then it was done. They were kids again, facing off after one of them had made a mistake. “I’m so sorry,” Lucas said.

  Nathan took the step forward and embraced him. His arms were thicker than when they were children, his grip a thousand times more welcome. And after the emotional moment he’d had with Diana, this felt like another tidal wave of feeling. He hugged his brother, using the time to let the tears slip free because he could hide them in his brother’s rough cloak. And when Nathan shuddered in his arms, Lucas felt his own breath release.

  He was welcome. His brother didn’t wish him dead.

  “Damn you,” Nathan said against his ear. “Father’s going to—”

  “No!” He jerked back, out of his brother’s arms, feeling his chest tighten. “No,” he said more calmly.

  “But they deserve—”

  “Let me tell them in my own way. Give me that, at least.”

  Nathan didn’t look like he would agree, so Lucas took a stab at explaining.

  “Imagine it, Nathan. The moment Mama sees me alive and comprehends the truth.”

  “She’d be so—”

  “Happy? Truly? Certainly, she’ll make a show of it, but remember how happy she was when you took my title. Can you remember one time when she ever looked on me with such joy?”

  He waited, his breath held as Nathan finally let his head drop. “Very well,” he said, “but Papa—”

  “He’s not a man for change—for good or ill. You know that. He won’t like it simply because—”

  “It’s not what he is accustomed to.” Nathan nodded. “But you must tell them. You must take your place.”

  Lucas let the thought hang. Did he really need to take his title? Truly? He had some money and work that he was good at. It wasn’t the life of leisure most titled peers enjoyed, but he’d never lived that. Not even when he was in school and his friends were future aristocrats. In many ways, the life of a soldier had suited him better, as did the management of men who watched over a gaming hell and the workers within. He had grown so used to not having any of the responsibilities of his title that he wondered if it was something he truly needed.