Free His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) by Victoria Chatham Page B

rich. That would satisfy her grandfather.
    But, if she could contrive to seduce and marry Lucius, would that satisfy her?
     
    CHAPTER 7
     
    Lucius closed the library door and went to the table that served as his desk. The discarded edition of Plato that Emmaline clutched to her breast the first time he saw her lay on its scarred surface.
    Picking it up, he carried it with him as he went to s tand in front of the fireplace. A small fire had been lit for, in spite of it being early May, the room was a little chilled. He warmed his free hand over the bright flames.
    Dammit . Why couldn’t he get her out of his head?
    Smart and obviously capable, she appeared to share his love of horses and shown herself to be a skilled horsewoman. Her unruly tongue frequently ran away with her. How many times might she have come close to actually biting it? Hardly the kind of wife suitable for a gentleman.
    Wife? He pulled back the hand he held over the flames and curled it into a fist.
    No, no, no. He shook his head. Marriage was not in his plans. One close call was enough. As yet only two and thirty, his publicly declared intention not to be leg-shackled until his fortieth birthday had been entered in the betting book at Brook’s.
    That he was powerfully attracted to her he could not deny, for why else would he have these unusually strong sexual urges? His circle of paramours, he knew, considered him a skilled and generous lover, but not one of those ladies stirred in him the reactions as did one thought of Emmaline Devereux.
    Sounds in the hallway interrupted his thoughts and irritation rippled through him as he recognized his elder sister’s strident voice. Lucius took a seat, rested his elbows on the table and awaited his sister’s entrance.
    W earing a colourful, if not fashionable, crimson pelisse over a mustard yellow morning gown trimmed at the neck with a fichu of lace, Lady Caroline Chulmleigh surged in as though on the crest of a wave.
    A much beribboned , wide brimmed straw hat sat on top of her carefully coiffed curls, the white egret feathers trimming it swaying in syncopation with her sprightly step.
    “Good Lord, Caro, what are you wearing?” Lucius looked her up and down in dismay.
    “Good afternoon to you, too, brother,” Lady Caroline nodded h er head in greeting, making the feathers sway even more. “It is so good to see you.”
    “That’s as maybe,” replied Lucius, unruffled, “but were I Chulmleigh I would beat you before I allowed you to leave my house wearing a hat like that.”
    Lady Caroline smoothed the brim with her gloved hand and reviewed herself in an ormolu framed mirror on the wall behind her.
    “My milliner assured me it was the latest style,” she said, turning her head to better review her image.
    “And assured herself of your blunt in her pocket into the bargain,” retorted Lucius as he watched her.
    “How horrid of you to say so. ” Lady Caroline swept to a chair on which she proceeded to arrange herself.
    “Horrid maybe, but truthful.” Lucius watched her spread her skirts so as not to crease them. “To what do I owe this honour, Caro? You never visit me unless you want something, so ‘fess up.”
    He watched Caroline purse her lips as if thinking before speaking.
    “Does your milliner’s bill bring you a little too close to Queer Street?” prompted Lucius.
    “Of course n ot!” Caroline looked shocked. “And say what you like about Chulmleigh, he is never tight fisted. No, no, it is quite another matter, a matter of some delicacy in fact.”
    Colour stained her cheeks, contrasting poorly with the colour of her pelisse. An expression of extreme discomfort played across her homely features.
    His patience fraying, Lucius waited for his sister to enlarge on the problem clearly upsetting her.
    “As your older sister,” she began, “I in some way feel in loco parentis as it were.”
    “To whom?”
    “Well, to you, of course.”
    Lucius straightened in his chair, an expression