“Hush!” she whispered, the word aimed more at herself than him. Such thoughts were inappropriate to a married woman. But more importantly, they only brought pain in their wake. She had not indulged that night, and she could not do so now. Her marriage to Oscar wasn’t perfect, but they had grown to respect each other. She would not cuckold him. She had too much honor for that.
She pulled away, or she tried. Lucas would not release her, but he allowed her to rest her fingers lightly on his arm as he escorted her back to the box. They maintained a polite distance, which he did not fight. And for that, she was grateful.
Until the moment she saw who else had come to join their party. Geoffrey, her horrible stepson, lounged at the entrance of their box as he sipped on a glass of wine. He wore no costume, but his evening attire was new and of the finest cut. And he grinned as he watched her approach, the expression making her feel like she’d been touched by a vile brush.
“Dearest, Mama,” he drawled.
She sighed. She had wanted one night of fun, one night’s escape from Oscar’s sickroom, and the ugly battle with Geoffrey. Clearly, that was not in the cards.
Chapter Seven
Diana felt a change in Lucas. He said nothing, but suddenly he seemed sharper and a great deal more menacing. Yet all he did was stand beside her as she confronted her stepson.
“Good evening, Geoffrey. I hope you are enjoying the party.” Then she turned as if to move past him, but the man straightened up, effectively blocking their entrance into the box.
“I would like a word, Mama.” As usual, he sneered the word Mama. Years ago, that had hurt. She’d had no choice in becoming his stepmother and saw no reason he should hold it against her. Now it merely bored her.
She sighed. “Very well, what is it?”
“A family matter,” he said as he glared at Lucas. “Call off your dog.”
Strangely enough, Lucas didn’t stiffen at the insult. In fact, it made him smile, and for a moment, Diana was struck by the differences between the two men. Geoffrey was all too aware of his dignity, spending and gambling exorbitant amounts of money just to maintain an image. Lucas, however, did not dress to his station and certainly didn’t rise to any taunt. Except to poke back in the mildest of ways.
“Shall I growl at him?” Lucas asked her. “Would that amuse you?”
“A little,” she had to admit, but then she shook her head. “Perhaps another time.”
“Do not toy with me,” Geoffrey snapped. And there was his prickly ego lashing out. “Family matters should be discussed in private.”
“Then you should not bring them up at a party,” she said. But sometimes, expedience was the better choice. And she definitely wanted to be done with this unpleasantness expediently. So, she turned to Lucas and gave him a curtsey. “I thank you, Lord Lucifer, for a delightful dance and your wonderful fare, which my stepson definitely seems to enjoy.” She gestured to Geoffrey’s now empty wine glass. “I will not detain you when so many other guests beg for your attention.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Lucas said, and now his voice was a low growl.
“But I am not alone. There are guests everywhere. And we shall sit here and converse like civilized people.” And with that, she did brush past Geoffrey, though he made sure one of his hands clutched her thigh as she went past. It was too low for Lucas to see and hidden by her skirts, but the skin-crawling violation was clear.
She ignored it, though it made her stomach clench in fear. The man had no shame. And she quickly sat down at the front edge of the box before her knees gave way to their trembling.
Meanwhile, Lucas studied her and then Geoffrey. Then he said, “I think I shall watch the dancing.” Then he moved a few feet away—far enough to give her the illusion of privacy—without leaving her alone. And then, contrary to his words, he stood with his back to the dancers as he stared hard at Geoffrey.
“Salope,” Geoffrey said under his breath. As if calling someone a bitch in French made it any more appropriate. Especially if he was referring to her and not Lucas. Either way, it made her angry.
“Is this who you wanted to be, Geoffrey? When you were a boy and thinking of your future. Did you want to be someone who terrifies women and wastes his life in meaningless games?”
The words had come out spontaneously. They were borne of frustration from looking at a man with all the advantages who still decided to waste his life. Her words must have hit him hard because his face purpled in rage.
“How dare you—”
“How dare I?” she scoffed. She was never this bold with him. It was too dangerous, and yet knowing Lucas watched from a few feet away made her reckless. “Forget your father and me,” she said with a slash of her hand. “You are destroying yourself. He would be very generous with you if only you would show him something. The tenants need a landlord who will help them.”
“You want me to go slop pigs alongside the unwashed, un—”
“So farming is not for you,” she interrupted. That was no surprise. “Surely there is something you care about. Something worthwhile that is not endless gambling to no point. Show your father anything, and he—”
“He is the one who made me who I am,” Geoffrey rasped. “Constant criticism. A blind eye to my pleas for help. He is to blame.”
She threw up her hands. “Blame anyone you like, Geoffrey. Only find some way to make a future for yourself. After all, you are the one who has to live it.”
It was a reasonable argument and the most generous offer she had given him so far. Before she had told him to make good on his commitments to the estate. Now she would happily pay him to pursue any kind of worthwhile endeavor.
But again, his pride prevented anything she said from getting through. His eyes narrowed, and he threw his wineglass such that it shattered against the table. “Last chance,” he growled. “Release my funds now or suffer the consequences.”
How many times had she heard that threat from him? And she answered as she always did. “What consequences, Geoffrey? You have already hurt your father as much as any son could. You have threatened me inside my own home such that I have had to surround myself with guards. What can you do to me that is worse than you have already done? This is not the way to change your circumstances.”
He leaned close enough that his breath was foul in her face. “I can tell one and all what a whore you are, and I can slip into your bedroom and be upon you before you scream. I can puncture my father’s lung with a knife between his ribs and blame the crime on you. I can poison your drink, turn your servants against you, and set the Watch to demand your arrest.” He lowered his voice. “I can send footpads to kill you tonight, and no one would be the wiser.”
His words were so clear that she could tell he meant everyone. He’d obviously spent a great deal of time thinking of how he could hurt her, but she had been dealing with him too long to crack under threats no matter how menacingly he spoke.
She might have said something back to him. She wanted to but feared her voice would crack. She couldn’t show any weakness. He was a bully who would pounce on any weakness. So, she held his gaze and said nothing more. She would give him nothing.