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If anyone was worthy of a man’s lust, it was that woman—and yet Harrow had looked at her as one might a sister. Lucas shook his head, dismissing the inane fancy. No man in his right mind would keep a woman like that around and not avail himself of her charms at every possible opportunity. If Harrow looked at her with anything less than raging desire, it was probably because his appetite was already well sated.
A hand suddenly passed before his face, startling him. “Bloody—!” Lucas hissed, turning to face Westing, who wore a grim, disapproving look.
“You’re a damned fool, you do know that?”
“Are you my father now?” Lucas shot back, annoyed.
“Worse. I’m your friend. I know you better than your father, and I know that look,” said Westing, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t do it. I’m telling you, it’s a mistake. Harrow will—”
“Not know a damned thing until it’s too late,” Lucas finished for him. “I want her.” It was a flat statement that brooked no argument. Even so, he knew Westing wouldn’t give up yet. He braced himself for an earful.
“George’s balls, man! Are you serious? There are a thousand females out there just itching to sink their claws into you, yet you decide to pursue the one that is unattainable.”
Lucas felt a grin spread across his lips. “You ought to know by now not to tell me something like that, Westie. No woman is unattainable.”
“Fine. The one that will get you killed, then.”
“I’m not going to be killed,” Lucas replied with an irritated sigh. “He’s not as in love with her as you seem to think—I can tell.” He intercepted a passing tray of champagne and relieved it of a glass.
“It matters not whether he loves her, she belongs to him,” reasoned Westing, helping himself to a glass as well.
“I saw no wedding ring on the lady’s finger.”
Westing snorted into his champagne. “Remind me again why you were sent abroad? Since when did a wedding ring ever keep you from pursuing a woman?”
Lucas ignored him in favor of moving back toward the stairs.
Doggedly, Westing followed. “My point is that it does not matter whether or not she’s married, she is his. And what’s more, he keeps her in complete luxury. If you think she’s going to give that up for anything, you’re out of your mind. He’s a bloody marquess, and a wealthy one at that. You cannot buy the favor of a woman who wants for nothing.”
“Oh, she wants for something,” Lucas replied. “Every woman wants for something. If not money, then something else. I need only find the proper key, and the door will open.”
Westing let out an incredulous bark of laughter. “You really are mad.” He skipped down a few steps, getting ahead of him and bringing them to a halt before swinging around to face him again. “The only man capable of prying that woman away from her gold mine is the bloody Prince himself.”
Now it was Lucas’s turn to laugh. “Care to lay a wager on that? I can promise you that if such a thing ever happens, there will be a very long line of gentlemen sneaking into the lady’s chambers. For all that he is a prince, a great lover His Royal Highness most certainly is not, despite his boasts to the contrary.”
Westing’s eyes went round. “Have a care, Blackthorn,” he whispered, glancing nervously at the surrounding crush. “The state of things being as they are, what with Perceval’s death, people are scrambling for position and putting heel marks on each other’s backs at every turn, if not outright planting knives in them.”
“I’d first have to become an actual presence at court in order for that to happen,” Lucas whispered, winking. And that was unlikely, given the last thing the Crown wanted was an open association between them.
“I understood you were planning to assume your father’s seat this year, which will require you to present yourself at the palace,” said Westing. “Your father—”
“Is going to have to wait a bit longer before turning me into a replica of himself.” Pushing past, Lucas left Westing behind and headed to the other side of the room. There she was, his Helen of Troy, hovering at her patron’s side. Harrow was speaking with an exceedingly pleased-looking Liverpool. It was no wonder the normally taciturn man was smiling. Lord Perceval’s recent assassination had resulted in his appointment to the position of Prime Minister.
Doubtless, Lady Diana would welcome a rescue. But upon moving closer, Lucas was surprised to see she appeared anything but bored. As unobtrusively as possible, he maneuvered to a position behind a pillar just close enough to overhear the conversation. The words “impending elections” and “gathering support” caught his attention.
“Do you really think he’ll still try to sway the vote?” he heard Liverpool ask.
To Lucas’s surprise, it was Lady Diana who answered. “His recent dismissal from his post as Lord Lieutenant all but assures his continued dissent.”
Liverpool grunted. “I had hoped he would heed the warning and stand down. Instead, he has been more outspoken than ever and has earned the Prince’s displeasure. I fail to see why he’s so determined to stir the pot.”
The lady replied, “With all due respect, my lord, his malcontent began years ago. In truth, his recent dismissal was but the latest in a long line of thwarted ambitions.”
“Oh, indeed?”
“Yes,” she answered. “It began many years ago when the title he’d long anticipated inheriting was instead granted to a cousin whose claim, it turned out, superseded his own. He contested that claim to no avail. Then he was further injured when Paget was appointed Lord Commissioner of the Treasury over him. There have been other perceived slights of less importance to him, but those two he believes grave injustices. If he is unsupportive of the current ministry, it’s because he feels there is little to gain by it. At the same time, there are others promising rich rewards to any who advocate change. Unfortunately, a good many share my uncle’s view. I would not discount his ability to influence others.”
When Liverpool spoke, his tone smacked of indulgence. “And have you any speculation as to how he will contrive to do so when his standing at court is so greatly diminished?”
