Page 37 of Sinfully Daring

“Excellent, in that case, I’ll stay,” the lady replied with a dazzling smile, moving to take Rosamund’s arm. “How are you, my dear, having fun? Introduce me to the children, would you, please?”

Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu, closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief. The garden party was a magnificent success, his wife was thrilled, and that made him happy. He still could not wait for it to be over. There were things that needed his attention, not least his two sons, who were definitely up to something. Pip was in trouble if he had to guess, and Thomas was trying his best to help. They no doubt thought they were being discreet, but he was too adept at keeping secrets not to know when his children were trying desperately to keep things from him.

It would be easy enough for a man with his resources to discover what, exactly, his eldest son was hiding. The temptation to do so was tantalising, but Pip was no longer a boy but a man, and Lucian knew he must make his own mistakes and find his own way out of them. He hoped his sons knew they could rely upon him to help them, no matter what the circumstances, but he also knew they revered him enough not to want to appear foolish in his eyes. They also feared his displeasure, which was strange, for he had never thought himself an overbearing parent. He had never shouted, and certainly never raised a hand to them. Matilda told him his quiet, stern voice and obvious disappointment when he reprimanded them was punishment enough, and he supposed that must be it. Boys born to so much wealth and privilege needed a steady hand, though, if they were not to become spoiled and take their advantages for granted. And then there was Cat. He groaned inwardly even as a smile touched his lips. His daughter was the light of his life, and the reason for every white strand that appeared among his pale silver-blond hair. Matilda teased him mercilessly when he peered at the scattering of white at his temples with annoyance, asking him if he thought he could glare them into disappearing.

Lucian sighed, knowing he must return to the melee outside, but not relishing the thought. Perhaps he could persuade Matilda to slip away for an hour, he mused, the idea pleasing him. She would scold him, naturally, but she enjoyed it when he was wicked, despite her protestations. Making his way unerringly through the vast maze that was Dern Palace, he traversed the long gallery and stopped in his tracks as he saw a tall, dark figure staring up at his portrait. Damnation. How the bloody hell had he got in?

“You ought not be here,” he remarked.

The man turned, unhurried and unsurprised, and Lucian found himself face to face with the Marquess of Kilbane.

“I was just wondering how you managed it?” Kilbane asked, his wicked mouth quirking into a grin. “Most men lose their looks as they age, but you seem to get more beautiful with each passing year. Do you think Lawrence did you justice? Have you had another portrait done more recently?”

“Last year,” Lucian replied, wishing Matilda had heeded his advice and not invited the devil. “It’s in the great hall by the entrance.”

Kilbane nodded. “I would like to see it. Perhaps your beautiful wife would give me a tour if I asked her nicely. She knows how much I adore family portraits, you see.”

Lucian kept his expression cool and utterly impassive, something that was second nature and had given him the reputation for being ice cold. Matilda had told him about her run-in with Kilbane, but he had suspected she had been kind as she always was and had protected the young man from his wrath by not giving him the entire story. She was too damned maternal, that was the trouble. No doubt she believed even this hell-born babe could be saved if someone loved him enough. Lucian knew better. The man was an amoral libertine and beyond salvation.

“Yes, she told me,” he drawled, unmoved.

“I invited her to fuck, but she declined. A pity, that,” he added with a dejected sigh, his violet eyes gleaming. “Not that I was being entirely selfish. I said you could come too.”

A wicked smile touched his lips and Lucian fought to keep his hands still when he wanted to wring the bastard’s elegant neck.

“How generous of you.”

“Oh, I am generous,” Kilbane replied with apparent gravity. “In bed sport, at least. Otherwise, I’m selfish to the marrow.”

Lucian sighed, giving every appearance of being bored to death. “You astonish me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have one or two other guests to attend to. The great hall is that way, if you wish to view the portrait.”

About to turn away in relief, Lucian froze as a soft voice piped up.

“I could take you to the portrait, Lord Kilbane, if you would like me to?”

“Catherine,” Lucian said, his voice hard, betraying his concern. “Come here.”

He held out his hand to her, his heart thudding unpleasantly. Had she heard that dreadful exchange?

His daughter ignored him, staring at Kilbane with a look of such obvious fascination his blood ran cold.

“Why, child, you are kind to offer,” Kilbane replied, his eyes flicking from her to Lucian. “But I think your darling Papa might run me through if I accepted. There are rather a lot of deadly implements at his disposal, too,” he added, gesturing to a display of glittering swords on the wall beside Lucian.

Cat, the wretch, grinned at him. “Papa is deadly with a sword. Everyone says so. Are you, my lord?”

“Oh, I’m far too indolent to exert myself—for the most part,” he added, sending Lucian an amused smirk. His gaze travelled back to Cat, and he smiled. “My, but you’ll cause a stir in a few years, my lady. You have your father’s looks.”

“Yes,” Cat said with a laugh. “I know.”

Kilbane snorted at her matter-of-fact acceptance that she would be a great beauty. “Oh, yes, quite a stir. Perhaps I’ll marry you myself.”

Catherine’s eyes grew wide, and she grinned at him. “All right, then.”

“Cat!” Lucian snatched his daughter’s hand, and her eyes flew to his, startled by the fact he’d raised his voice, which he never did. “Go to your room. Now.”

“B-But Papa—”

“Now!”