Wicked And Wild: Spencers in Love Book Two

Wicked

And

Wild

By

The
Bawdy Book Writer

Chapter 1

Lucien Guillaume Henry Adrien
Haviland, the Eighth Duke of Clerendon looked around the informal dining room
of Clerendon House. Despite it being one of the grandest homes in London, the
dining room was, for a lack of better words, shabby. The room was rarely in use
as Lucien took most of his meals at Spencer Place, the home of his extended
family, Limmer’s or Grillon’s.

            Between appointments, Lucien stopped in for a
late lunch. As his mother had already dined and was resting in her rooms, he
sat alone. His brow furrowed in confusion as he pondered the wallpaper peeling
in the corner. The upholstery and curtains were faded and the furniture needed
to be restained.
Or replaced
, he thought as he heard a creaking sound as
he shifted in his seat. Lucien wiped his mouth with a faded napkin and rose. He
didn't care if his mother was "resting", he had questions.

            After tapping on the door, Lucien entered his
mother's personal sitting room. She lounged on a chaise, a book in one hand and
a cup of tea in the other. Madeline glanced up from her reading at Lucien
expectantly.

            "Mother." Lucien nodded as he took the
seat opposite her.

            "Lucien?" She responded, her eyebrow
raised.

            "Have you been concerned about our
finances?" He reclined, crossing his booted ankles as he flipped through
the pages of an atlas.

            "No. Should I?" Madeline was only
pretending interest as she turned a page.

            "I can assure you, you shouldn't."

            "Bon! Is there anything else or did you merely
wish to update me?" She took a sip of tea and continued to read.

            "I couldn't help but notice that the
informal dining room is in need of updating." Lucien waited.

            "Ah." Madeline closed her book, her
finger acting as bookmark. "Quite a few rooms have needed updating for
some years now. As I assumed that there would be a new duchess soon, I kept
putting off any refurbishing. I imagined that your future wife would want to
make such decisions so I did not see the point in spending the time or money."
She opened the book and began reading.

            Lucien sighed and rose.

            "Bravo, mother. One of your far more subtle
hints, if I do say so." He said as he retreated.

Chapter 2

            An hour later, things had not improved for
Lucien. By the time he stormed down the steps, away from the War Office, he was
in a foul mood. A few months prior, he had investigated and exposed Anthony
DeMonteford, Lord Whitrose, as being the mastermind of an unscrupulous scheme
that was set to ruin scores of innocent investors. He'd also discovered that
Whitrose was involved in several other illegal ventures. While all of
Whitrose's operations were brought to an end and many of his accomplices had
been brought to justice, the man himself had vanished.

            Lucien had used every tool at his disposal,
followed every lead and had come up empty. Whitrose had proven to be far more
of a villain than Lucien had originally suspected and deserved to hang for his
crimes. Knowing that he was somewhere, free and possibly starting over with a
new identity or rebuilding in the depths of the underworld offended Lucien
deeply.

            While he was known within the ton as being a
vane, lighthearted charmer with loose morals, Lucien was tenacious when he was
after a criminal and didn't accept failure. During the war, he had cultivated
and perfected his rake persona as a tool to ferret out French spies and
sympathizers among the elite of English society. Lucien had expected Whitrose
to be a simple case given his past successes and resources. Instead, he was
proving to be the greatest failure of his career. It was to be his final investigation,
after that, he was going to focus his attentions on the dukedom and his vast
holdings. Since he had inherited, Lucien had invested well. His estates, horse
stud and bank accounts had grown and were threatening to become unwieldy. If he
was honest, it was also past time for him to start looking for a wife. At the
thought, Lucien's mood became even darker.

            As usual, the thought of looking for a wife made
him want to flee. Society women were fine as lovers and mistresses but the idea
of forever with the kind of women that sought him out made Lucien's stomach
turn. Every time he tried to imagine one of the cloying, shallow ladies he met
in the ton's ballrooms at Winthorpe, it felt sacrilegious. Winthorpe, a vast
country estate and ducal seat of The Dukes of Clerendon, meant family and
horses to Lucien. It was summers with Gilles, Alastair and Mirabelle. It was
the years of work he'd spent converting part of the estate to one of the premiere
horse studs in England. It was the place where he shed the excesses and
pretense of society and became his true self.

            Lucien suddenly felt like he was suffocating in
his carriage, in the city. He longed to be on one of his horses, flying around
the track or through the fields of Winthorpe. If it weren't for Whitrose,
Lucien would be focused on preparations for the move to the country. He'd be
looking at stallions and mares at Tattersall's and corresponding with other
studs. Known for larger, more powerful Thoroughbreds like Hugin and Munin,
Lucien's reputation among the breeding community was excellent and his horses
in great demand. Unfortunately, he had a habit of becoming attached to his
horses. After he used Gilles' Lucifer as a sire, he was unable to part with
Hugin and Munin. Lucien decided he'd keep them for his and Alastair's use
despite being offered a king's ransom. The dam, Bellona was priceless.
Literally. With the exception of Lucifer, he had no plans to breed her in the
future. Despite her preference for faster, more powerful stallions, Lucien kept
her for Mirabelle. In the event that she grew out of her hoydenish ways.

            Thoughts of Winthorpe and his horses only made
Lucien more irritated with his inability to clear up the Whitrose business and
escape what had become an exceptionally tedious Season.

            Deciding that there was only one way to salvage
his day, Lucien ordered his driver to take him to Spencer Place. It was the one
place that made sense anymore.

Chapter 3

            Breathing a sigh of relief, Lucien stepped into
the front hall of Spencer Place and patted Bennings, the battle worn butler on
the back. Because his mother and Celine Spencer had been best friends growing
up and married gentlemen that were best friends, Spencer Place had been as much
a home to him as Clerendon House. The family in residence was as much his as
his mother was. Celine, the mother of the current Earl of Cambroke, was like a
second mother and insisted that both families dine there for breakfast every
morning. It had been a standing commitment that the family honored whenever in
Town. The Earl, Gilles Spencer, was like an older brother to Lucien. He had
recently married Elise who was expecting their first child. Elise had lived in
isolation due to her blindness until Gilles found her inhabiting a recently
inherited estate. The marriage had been a minor scandal that had recently been
resolved.

            Alastair, Gilles' younger brother lived a few
blocks away at Burton Place but usually remained after breakfast until his
commitments required him to be elsewhere. Lucien also preferred to spend his
free time in the study or library of Spencer Place with Gilles and Alastair.
While Gilles had been a much sought after eligible bachelor before his
marriage, Alastair was less favored by society. His considerable fortune, good
looks and connections ensured he was always welcomed within the ton and a
candidate for marriage but his precise and aloof demeanor and astuteness kept
people at arm's length. Many called him "Automaton" and said he was
awkward and impolite. The family knew that he wasn't concerned with public
opinion but they were always quick to defend him or humiliate people who spoke
ill of him in their presence. They knew that Alastair was caring and protective
of those close to him. His "awkwardness" was the result of genius and
his “impolite” behavior a lack of patience for those displaying little intelligence
and rationality.  Lucien, Alastair and Gilles had been inseparable as children.
The only "outsider" that had ever been included in their adventures
had been Mirabelle, Gilles' and Alastair's younger sister.

             Mirabelle had been one of Lucien's closest
confidants and favorite partner in mischief when they were young. Mirabelle always
transformed into a tomboy when in the country, she could climb a tree and ride
a horse as well as any lad. Until the boys had filled her bed with dozens of
fish, she'd often out fished them while at Winthorpe. Mirabelle was quick
witted and outspoken. She spoke four languages and would have excelled at
university if she'd been allowed to attend. As a child, she had a penchant for
mischief that she hadn't quite outgrown. For some reason, things between Lucien
and Mirabelle had been strained after Gilles married Elise. Matters came to a
baffling head and some sort of truce had been reached a few weeks prior at a
ball Lucien and his mother had given in honor of Gilles' and Elise's marriage.
Though Lucien had no idea how or what the terms were. One day, Mirabelle was
avoiding him and guarded, the next their friendship was as solid as it had ever
been. All he knew was that it had been a relief. Not being able to talk and
laugh with Mirabelle had been a hardship for Lucien.

            "Where is everyone, Bennings?" Lucien
asked as he tugged off his gloves and handed them to the butler. Bennings was a
fixture at Spencer Place and had lovingly endured Lucien and the Spencer
children's often wild and destructive antics.

            "I'm afraid you've just missed his lordship
and Sir Alastair. Lady Elise and Mrs. Spencer are having a fitting upstairs.
Miss Mirabelle is about to have tea in the parlor if you'd like to join
her."

            "Certainly." Lucien said as he walked
towards the parlor. Mirabelle must have overheard them, her head popped into
the hall for a brief moment.

            "Is that you, Lucien? Could you come in
here, please?"
She sounds agitated
. Lucien thought as he made his
way to the parlor.

            Lucien froze when he turned into the room. Mirabelle
stood in front of a sideboard, cursing at a mirror. Dressed in a flattering
burgundy silk day dress, she was her usual well turned out self, with the
exception of her mahogany tresses. Something dreadful had happened to
Mirabelle's hair. One hand was attempting to hold the collapsing arrangement
atop her head while the other picked out the escaping pins.

            "Hang it all!" She sighed as she let
the whole mess fall. Mirabelle turned to Lucien and his heart stopped.

            Lucien liked a great many things about women and
liked doing a great many things to women. While his tastes were varied, his
only true fetish was women's hair. Nothing aroused him more than seeing a
woman's hair loose and wild. And at that moment, Mirabelle looked like she'd
been thoroughly tumbled. Lucien had never desired a woman more in his life. He
couldn't move and his chest felt tight.

            "Lucien?" Mirabelle's lips pursed and
her brow rose. "Could you help me, please?"

            As he stepped forward, his feet felt like they
were tied to stones. He tried to speak and his voice failed. He cleared his
throat and tried again.

            "What happened?" He stood before her
and her scent washed over him. Jasmine and lavender. He'd smelled it countless
times, now it made his body tighten. She looked up and her familiar deep green
eyes overwhelmed him. What was happening to him?

            "Gilles!" Mirabelle hissed. "He
put me in a headlock and did this!" She pointed at her head unnecessarily.

            "Why?" Lucien knew his voice sounded
strangled. When she lifted her arm, her gown stretched and one of her breasts
swelled in her bodice. Mirabelle chewed her lip and shrugged. He'd seen her
worry her bottom lip at least a thousand times, this time he was transfixed by
how full and pink it was. He dragged his gaze back to the emerald depths of her
eyes.

            "I might have tossed a pillow at his
head." She mumbled as she kicked a small pillow away from her.

            "I see." Lucien couldn't stop the grin
that spread across his face. He'd witnessed and taken part in similar exchanges
more times than he could count. Mirabelle scowled at him. "How can I help?
As I'm sure you can imagine, my expertise is not in fixing women's hair. I
generally prefer to cause this." He gestured towards the riot on
Mirabelle's head.

            "So I've heard." She answered wryly.
"Can you pull the rest of the pins out so I can fix it? I think I have
most of them." Mirabelle turned her back to Lucien. He could only stare
and blink. Already aroused and thinking forbidden thoughts, touching
Mirabelle's hair was like asking a child to hold a sweet and not eat it. She
looked over her shoulder at him expectantly. "Lucien?"

            He'd never been given a more tempting
invitation. He nodded and took a deep breath. Again, the smell of her filled
his senses, seducing him further. Lucien filled his hands with her hair and
began sifting through her tresses. They felt like silk, warm and saturated with
her scent. He closed his eyes and inhaled. His trousers tightened and lust
coiled within him. Lucien lifted the mass and stopped himself just as he was
about to bury his face in it. He spread his fingers and pulled, letting the
strands slide between them. Mirabelle moaned softly in delight and Lucien bit
back a groan as his erection became painfully hard. He shut his eyes and tried
to breathe as he let her hair fall. When he opened them, Mirabelle was facing
him and staring in concern.

            "Are you alright?" Lucien nodded and
swallowed. With her hair loose and flowing about her shoulders, she was a
siren. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming. Mirabelle looked down and then
dropped to her knees to pick up the pins that had fallen.

            Dear God, her décolletage gaped, affording him a
view of spectacular cleavage and her face was almost level with his... As
Lucien thought the word, Mirabelle looked up at him. Her eyes scanned his front
before they met his.
She couldn't have missed it
, he thought. Mirabelle
did the cruelest thing Lucien could have imagined. She licked her lips. It was
most likely an unconscious movement as she looked like she was about to say
something but it hit him like a blow. Afraid that he'd embarrass himself or
poke her in the face, Lucien dropped to the floor in front of Mirabelle.

            "Let me help!" He begged hoarsely. She
looked up at him and Lucien could feel her breath against his lips.

            There, in the late afternoon on an unremarkable
Wednesday, in the parlor of Spencer Place, Lucien did something he never would
have considered until he walked into said parlor that afternoon. He put a
finger under Mirabelle's chin and pulled her lips closer and brushed his
against them. Heat exploded within Lucien as her gasp filled the room. His
tongue swept in and found hers as he angled his head. He brought his other hand
up and cradled her cheek as he explored her mouth. She tasted sweet, with a
hint of mint and when Mirabelle gently pressed her hand to his jaw, Lucien's
head spun. He'd just decided that he could stay in that spot, enjoying
Mirabelle's lips all day when he heard a door open at the end of the hall.
Bennings. Damn it.

            Mirabelle jumped to her feet and dashed to the
mirror. Lucien walked drunkenly to the couch and sat. She'd pulled her hair
into a simple bun and was pinning it when Bennings entered with the tea tray.
Lucien leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees to hide the front of
his trousers and tried to act casually as the tray was set on the table before
him.

            "What do you think, Bennings?"
Mirabelle turned her head from side to side as she took the seat across from
Lucien.

            "Very good, Miss Mirabelle. In fact, it
suits you more than the arrangement his lordship... disturbed." Bennings
smiled as he filled their cups. "Can I get you anything else? Your
Grace?" He looked at the two of them as he stood. Both shook their head.

            "Thank you Bennings!" Mirabelle was
completely relaxed. Lucien was completely disoriented.

            "Very well." Bennings bowed as he
withdrew.

            Lucien watched Mirabelle add sugar and milk to
their cups. She stirred his and handed it to him. When their eyes met, her
smile was warm and flirtatious. Lucien could only stare as a new reality
crashed into him. He was in love with Mirabelle Spencer. He blinked as he
lifted his tea to his lips. It was perfect. She knew how he took his tea, that
he didn't care for cucumbers and that he liked a lot of pepper with his
potatoes. She'd been in love with him since she was a girl. Deep down, Lucien
had always known but he'd kept the fact packed neatly away. He never took it
out and examined it. Now, he knew why. He'd never acknowledged her love because
he would have had to admit that he had been in love with Mirabelle for almost
as long. Which would have required him to do something about it.

            For her part, Mirabelle was utterly composed.
She calmly sipped her tea as if it was normal for men to kiss her in the parlor
in the middle of the afternoon. At the thought, Lucien's brow furrowed.

            "Mirabelle?" She looked at him, her
brows raised.

            "Would you like a biscuit?" She asked
as she held up the plate.

            "What?" Lucien looked at the plate as
if it was the first he'd encountered. He shook his head. "Why haven't you
married? I know you've received proposals." He asked softly.

            "Twelve." She said crisply.

            "Twelve?" Lucien repeated. What was
wrong with his brain?

            "I've had twelve proposals." Mirabelle
clarified.

            Lucien felt his eyes grow round and his gut
clenched as he realized that he could have lost her twelve times.

            "And none of them were acceptable?" He
asked cautiously.

            "Most of them were. I was an absolute fool
to refuse a few of them." She said nonchalantly as she set her cup down.

            "Why didn't you accept any of them?"
Lucien's heart began to pound.

            "I was waiting for someone else."
Mirabelle replied as stared into his eyes. He nodded.

            "You've waited a long time." He
whispered.

            "I agree. It has been quite frustrating at
times." She looked at him pointedly.

            Lucien shut his eyes and his shoulders sagged.
How could he have been so stupid? All the turmoil between them after Gilles'
marriage... Mirabelle was mad at him for not acknowledging her feelings and
declaring his, one way or the other. The waiting had got to her.

            "Mirabelle..." He didn't know what to
say.

            "Why haven't you married yet, Lucien?"
She asked abruptly.

            As if his teacup could help him, Lucien stared
into it for several moments. He looked up at her, she stared at him
expectantly.

            "I just wasn't ready. I don't think I would
have been a good husband or picked the right woman if I hadn't waited."
That was the truth.

            "Are you ready now?" Mirabelle
whispered. Finally, she trembled.

            "I think so." Lucien nodded. He should
have felt nervous or hesitant but he didn't. He felt relieved. Gilles' words on
his wedding day came back to him. Marrying the right woman would feel like a
blessing and a relief. Lucien looked at Mirabelle and he felt joy bubbling
within him. "Yes. I'm ready."

            Mirabelle shut her eyes and exhaled.

            "Good. Because I'm quite done with being
taken for granted." She looked at him sternly.