A young woman clutched his arm. She nodded toward the flowers. “Are those for me, my lord?” she asked, giggling.
She was remarkably pretty, with rich brown curls and a generous bosom.
Lucian could not have been less interested.
He sidestepped, extracting his arm. “They’re for my betrothed.”
Another woman, this one a blonde with full, kissable lips, seized his other arm. “I didn’t think you were the marrying type.”
Lucian attempted to tug his arm free, but the blonde was more tenacious than the brunette. Frowning, he placed his hand over hers and peeled her fingers from his arm. “Yes, well, perhaps a leopard can change its spots after all. I certainly intend to. Excuse me.”
He strode briskly down the pavement. He could hear the two women hurrying after him, undeterred.
They attacked at the same time, seizing both of his arms.
“Marriage,” the brunette mused. “To one woman. Forever. That sounds… dull.”
The blonde squeezed his arm. “You should have some fun before you settle down.”
Bloody hell. What was going on? Lucian was used to having women express interest in him. Widows and the unhappily married, for the most part. But not in the middle of a public street.
Maybe it was the fact that he now had a title and money. Now that he’d had a chance to listen to their accents, he perceived that these two were notladiesin the strictest sense of the word. No doubt they were hoping for compensation.
Or maybe it was that bloodyRake Reviewcolumn. He couldn’t so much as cross the street without some woman giggling behind her fan.
Whatever the reason, he was determined to put a stop to it. “I’m not interested,” he said, not bothering to be polite. “At all. And I will thank you to unhand me.”
His request was summarily ignored. The more he tried to shrug the pair of ladybirds off, the more they clung to him. They seemed to delight in their little game, giggling each time they grabbed his arm anew. He felt lips brush his cheek, and one of them had the audacity to pinch his bottom.
As unwelcome as their advances were, he wasn’t about to strike a woman, so all he could do was walk as quickly as he could.
At last, he reached Swanscombe House. He hurried up the steps.
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” the blonde said, pouting.
“At least promise you’ll come and see us!” the brunette called. “We’re over at the Domus Emporium.”
Lucian recognized the name. It was one of London’s most expensive bordellos. He’d been there a time or two during his misspent youth, although it wasn’t the sort of place he’d been able to afford with any regularity.
“It’s now being run by the Duke of Malum’s younger brother,” the blonde added brightly. “You should see what he’s done with the place!”
Lucian had absolutely no intention of taking them up on this offer. His shoulders sagged with relief when the door to Swanscombe House swung open. The butler quelled the two women with a sharp look, and at last, Lucian was rid of them.
Lucian paused in the foyer to straighten his coat. “These are for Lady Rosalie, of course. I believe she is expecting me.” This was not to say that Rosalie would be pleased to see him. But he had arranged the visit with her mother, so she would probably be forced to receive him.
The butler—Stephens, that was his name—did not answer but stood gaping at him.
Lucian heard voices from an open parlor door.
Rosalie.
She sounded annoyed. Someone had obviously advised her of his presence.
Stephens made no move to lead him into the house. After a beat of silence, Lucian said, “I’ll just show myself in, shall I?”
The butler shook himself from his stupor. “My lord,” Stephens hissed, his expression urgent. “Before you do, there is something you should?—”
Just then, Rosalie came storming out of the parlor. She looked fresh and lovely in a simple white morning dress, in spite of the scowl twisting her lips.
