The most beautiful opera dancers and actresses left him unmoved.Coquettish young matrons and merry widows did nothing for him.He hadn’t even bothered visiting his favorite brothel.
Susannah Forrest had been a last resort.It was said that she could bring a dead man to attention—and Thorne was far from dead.
Death would have been a sweet release from the torment he was in.
Mrs.Forrest was currently under the protection of Lord Offaley but Thorne knew, without vanity, that she would never turn down the chance to trade in a mere lord for a duke.
So he’d sent her an invitation to dine at The Grand, ordered a dozen oysters and a bottle of French champagne, and grimly prepared to make love to a famed courtesan whether he wanted to or not.
Instead, he’d been accosted by the woman who was the cause of all his problems, he’d no doubt mortally offended Mrs.Forrest, and he’d made an utter arse of himself in front of half of fashionable London.
A red haze filmed his vision.He could barely see where he was going, but some unerring instinct drew him after Lucy.
As if she’d put a leash round his neck.
He lunged after her like a coursing hound, maddened into ferocity and angry at the entire world as he raced through the lobby and out to the street.When he caught sight of her rounding the corner at the rear of the hotel, he bellowed, “Lively!Stop running, damn you!”
Half a city block between them, he still saw the way she stiffened.For a moment, he was certain she would bolt—but no.Not his Lucy.
Nothis Lucy.Damn it all to hell!She would ruin him.
She whirled to face him, her face white in the flickering glare of the new gas lamps that had begun to crop up all over London.A strong breeze whipped tendrils of dark hair from her intricate coiffure to lash about her cheeks.
“Go back to your lovely companion,” she spat, “and leave me alone.”
When she would have spun away, Thorne reached out and grabbed her by the arm.
And she turned into a wild cat, thrashing against his hold with such desperation, he was terrified for a moment that she would break her own wrist.
Letting go, he took a step back with his hands held up as though to gentle a frenzied animal.Lucy stared right through him for a moment, the whites of her eyes showing, before she blinked and seemed to come back to herself.
“Don’t grab at me like that,” she rasped, winding her arms around her own chest as if to keep herself from flying apart.“I don’t— I don’t like it since Chicheley…”
She broke off, leaving Thorne to fill in the unspoken words.
Since Chicheley assaulted me and attempted to force himself on me.
He hadn’t realized that incident had affected her so deeply.Thorne’s stomach roiled, and all the anger in him coalesced to focus on a single point—himself.
Who’s the monster now?The taunting voice in his head sounded very like the grim baritone rumble of his uncle’s voice.Or perhaps that was the thunder that rolled ominously overhead.
But this moment wasn’t about Thorne, and Lucy hadn’t fled his presence the moment she was free.Perhaps she would allow him to… Damnation, he didn’t know.Comfort her?He wouldn’t have the first idea how.
He had to make the attempt anyway.
“I won’t touch you,” he promised through the thickness in his throat.“Not if you don’t wish it.Lucy, I’m sorry.So sorry about what happened that night.”
He was talking about Chicheley and those no doubt terrifying moments when she’d found herself at the mercy of a man too drunk and entitled to have any.
Thorne should never have let her leave his side.Should never have gambled with her safety like that.It was unforgivable.
Add it to the long list of Thorne’s unforgivable sins.
But Lucy went pinched about the lips and her eyes snapped blue fire.“Oh, I know you have regrets.You’ve made that more than clear, Thornecliff.”
No longer Gabriel, he noted with a foolish pang.He’d been ignoring her for more than a week; of course she was angry.
She’d only said his name that one time.He shouldn’t miss hearing the sound of it in her voice this badly.
