Page 3 of The Tempting of a Devilish Lord

Lucinda held back the biting retort that burned on her tongue. Bernie was, she supposed, a little dry at times. He liked rocks, mostly. She couldn’t say it was an obsession she really understood. However, they had been writing to one another for so long, he had to be about the only man to understand her, surely? Everyone anticipated that one day, they would marry. It was just a sort of fate really.

Besides, it saved her ever having to worry about being courted by another. The thought of having to try to flirt and being charming with another man made her shudder. Frankly, she didn’t have it in her. Far better to stick with Bernie who never expected anything other than a simple letter occasionally.

“Mr. Sandwell is a decent man with an excellent living. He shall propose soon enough,” Mama said, glancing up. “It really does look like rain.”

“I hope he does not. Lucinda is far too pretty for him, and I know she does not enjoy his dull conversation.”

“That’s not true,” Lucinda said. “I find his conversation quite interesting at times.”

“Those times being never.” Mary-Anne folded her arms. “You need a man like the one we just saw. Dashing, heroic.”

“Grumpy,” Lucinda muttered.

“Someone who will help you finally do all the things you’ve always wanted to do,” Mary-Anne continued.

“What things?” Mama asked.

“There are no things, Mama,” Lucinda assured her, looping her arm through her mother’s. “I am quite content as I am.”

The lie almost stuck in her throat. Yes, there were things she longed to do with her life, but it would take more than a scowling man to make her do them. She had been the reserved, sensible sister for too long. How did one change oneself entirely after being set on such a path? She did not think it possible. So she would probably marry Bernie—if he ever asked—and continue to try to tame her wild little sister. No stranger on horseback was going to change her fate. Of that she was certain.

Chapter Two

Nestled by the lake, some two miles from town, Eastwick Hall, and the entailed estate of the Marquis of Kirbeck, had occupied this spot since the late fourteenth century. In various incarnations of course.

Alex had been put under pressure by various family members and even his late-wife to add his mark to the house once he’d inherited his title, but he couldn’t think of anything more dull than instructing architects and wasting a fortune on improvements to the seldom used house.

He directed his mount down the long path that led toward the front view of the house. Given its location, the house had been known to flood on occasion and he often wondered why his ancestors chose this spot. Admittedly, he and his brothers had enjoyed the proximity of the lake, often taking boats out and disappearing for hours while they explored the few small islands dotted about the lake or searched for some sign of a sea monster that Leo was convinced lived in the lake.

Or should that be lake monster?

The front of the house came into view past the trees. The newest addition, a top layer of rooms that were added in the same style as the bottom by his father, could be seen and the curtains were drawn, and the shutters thrown open. At least the housekeeper had received his message of his impending stay. The large windows surrounded by redbrick stood out against the pale stone of the rest of the building.

Alex always preferred the rear portion of the house that had been built in the seventeenth century and retained its castellations. Why anyone wished him to add something to the house, he did not know. He had no taste for fashionable houses and would rather raze all the modern stuff to the ground. Give him a rugged castle with winding staircases and hidden tunnels any day.

He narrowed his gaze toward the stables when he neared. He spied the rear of a carriage tucked into the courtyard and scowled. He kept his own carriage here and the ride from London was preferable on horseback than stuffed into a vehicle, so he had opted to go on horseback. But that was not his barouche.

And he knew damn well whose it was. But why the devil was he here?

The housekeeper and servants spilled out of the house, lining up to greet him. Alex dismounted and handed over the reins to the waiting stable hand. Mr. Quigley, the butler, and Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper, greeted him.

“Welcome home, my lord.” Mrs. Jones smiled warmly as he moved inside and tore off his gloves.

The wood paneled hallway smelled a little musty so the house couldn’t have been open for long. Which meant his brother hadn’t arrived much before him. “Thank you for getting the house ready with such haste, Mrs. Jones.”

“Have you any plans of which we should be aware, my lord?” asked Mr. Quigley, the butler. The married couple matched each other perfectly, with pale white hair, stocky builds and astute blue eyes that were hardly faded by time.

“None at all, Quigley.” Alex resisted adding sadly.

“Really, my lord?” A white, bushy brow arched.

“Really, Quigley,” Alex drawled.

If he was to avoid the temptation of women, as he had so diligently promised his mother, it would not do to be hosting any hunting parties or week-long soirees whilst he was in residence. Alex glanced about the hallway. “Now where is my brother?”

Mrs. Jones exchanged a look with her husband. “They are likely in the gardens, my lord.”

“They?” Alex repeated.

---