And rather than be jealous, Liliah’s heart pinched with fear as she listened to her beautiful sister. Because when the Duke of Chatterwood controlled your future, obedience was the one thing that might destroy you.
Chapter Sixteen
The Brighamns’ estate was one of the oldest in Mayfair, and as such, it was a stone monster in size while lacking some of the more modern comforts. Lucas ascended the marble steps as his carriage pulled away, cursing Heathcliff for refusing to attend the rout with him.
Lucas had inquired as to why he declined.
“Do you need assistance in seduction?” Heathcliff had replied, his tone thick with insinuation.
Lucas had left him in the study as he growled out an inarticulate response to his friend’s idiocy.
Yet now, as he faced the stone palace, he reluctantly admitted he missed his companion.
Damn the man.
The hall was bustling with the lords and ladies of the ton as each filtered into the grand ballroom in the middle of the residence. The crystal chandelier sprayed fragments of candlelight across the foyer, making the room sparkle with a soft glow. A lady with a heavily feathered hat brushed against Lucas, nearly making him sneeze.
He stepped away, almost bumping into another lady. Her catlike expression reminded him of a drawing he’d seen of the mountain lions of the Americas—fierce, calculating, and predatory. He’d seen the expression many times before.
And each time it made his stomach revolt. Unless she wished to work for him, he had no use for her . . . services.
Because every time he saw the predatory gaze, he thought of Catherine.
Blood cold, he strode ahead, his mind churning with memories he’d rather forget.
Memories he wished could remain buried with his dead wife.
May the bitch rot in hell.
He searched for a distraction. Damn it all, this was why he refused to attend parties.
It was better when he could control the environment, the people, the situation.
Then nothing could remind him of his past.
Rather, he could live as if it never happened.
Rather, pretend that it all had happened to someone else.
Which was partly true, because the day everything went to hell, the man he once was, died.
May that poor bastard rest in peace.
Lucas walked across the threshold of the hall into the ballroom. The estate had been updated with gas lights, which was likely the only update the old place had recently experienced. It wasn’t that the Brighamns were poor in pocket, but it was well-known that they happened to spend the majority of their time in Ireland, not London.
Lucas studied the room, his gaze coolly searching for Lady Liliah. It was some sort of temporary madness for him to have had such a powerful response to her last time—one he was certain he wouldn’t experience again. It was dangerous to give a woman control of your emotions.
Control of anything.
He’d be wise to remember that.
Scanning the crowd, his gaze narrowed as he saw the Duke of Chatterwood, Liliah’s father. There was another ghost from his past. Except for a few occasions at parliament, he hadn’t seen the bastard for years. Not only was he one of the most arrogant men he’d ever met—and he had met quite a few—he was also a constant thorn in the Tories’ side, a true Whig to the core. The man was a pestilence wherever he went.
A tall, wiry man, it was odd how such a severe person could be the father of the vivacious Lady Liliah. As if thinking her name conjured her, the Duke of Chatterwood stepped to the side, revealing his daughter in a beautiful yellow gown that was the perfect mix of innocence and seduction.
Lucas’s blood pounded with desire as he studied her perfect form hidden artfully within the folds and tucks of her gown. Yet as he studied her, he noticed how her expression held no joy, none of the exuberant nature he’d come to expect in the short time of their acquaintance.
Moving closer, he circled their position, keeping the pair in view as he evaluated the situation. The duke was speaking with another gentleman of his own age, yet every few seconds, he would subtly reach over and grasp his daughter’s wrist.
