![[Samuel Barbara] Lucien's Fall(Book4You)](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/444268/thumbs/152x264/samuel-barbara-luciens-fallbook4you.jpg)
Beauchamp. She had contrived to meet him and had rattled at length about her beautiful, intelligent stepdaughter, showing him the miniature Madeline had sent from Milan. By the time Madeline had actually returned from her extended tour of the Continent, the marquess was like a ripe peach, ready to be plucked.
Her joy had known no bounds when the marquess took one look at Madeline—the girl was quite astonishingly beautiful—and fell irretrievably in love.
Perfect.
Except for the presence of Lord Harrow. Briefly, she considered sending him away. But that wouldn’t do—it might even rouse his anger and cause him to seduce Madeline for sheer spite.
In the garden, the pair stood a few feet apart, a wide tension radiating from them.
Neither saw what to Juliette was plain; an arc of sexual tension sizzled between them at every meeting. Madeline was skeptical; Lucien amusedly and lazily in pursuit. But there was potential for great disaster there. Juliette could feel it in her bones.
There was, really, only one possible option: she would seduce him herself. It might mean losing Jonathan. The thought was almost insanely painful— but he’d soon tire of her anyway. It was better this way. She’d chase away a lover who’d grown too tiresomely passionate with his avowals of love, and reel in a new one who knew the rules and would not break them.
And Madeline would be appalled, forever protected from the advances of Lord Esher.
Perfect.
Chapter Six
Among thy fancies, tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kisse?
—Robert Herrick
Madeline dithered over her gowns before supper. It was the time of her monthly, and she felt thick and moody. Her hair on her neck was hot and heavy. Her bodice was constricting. Beyond the window, as if to reflect her mood, the sky was thick and dark and gray. From far off came the sound of thunder.
"Must you pull it so tight!" she snapped to the maid tugging her corsets closed. "I can scarce breathe."
"Aye," the maid returned calmly. "Yer mum sent up this new brocade and bid me tell you wear it."
Madeline eyed the gown, a watered silk the same passionate dark pink as the rose Lucien had plucked in the garden yesterday morning. It would suit her coloring, setting off her dark hair and the olive notes of her skin—her papa had often teased her about being a changeling child, switched by fairies for a Spanish baby.
But the bodice of the gown was so low it barely covered her nipples. The fashion was low cut, but this was ridiculous. When Madeline put it on, she felt miserably self-conscious and found her hand straying to be certain she had not inadvertently exposed more of her breast than she wished.
"I hate this dress."
"It’ll suit ye well, my lady. You’ll see." The girl smoothed a hand over Madeline’s cheek. "I’ll bring ye a bit of my special medicine in a little, all right?"
Madeline nodded gratefully.
Juliette sailed in, smelling of the cloves and pine nuts in her Imperial Water. She wore a Caraco gown in shades of plum. "How do you like the dress, my sweet? I think it will drive the marquess to distraction."
"I don’t think he’s the sort of man who allows himself to be inflamed by improper displays of women’s bodies." The corset pinched as the maid laced the dress. Madeline yelped. "Leave me be. I’ll have my mother’s help now."
The girl looked a little wounded, but Juliette shook her head as if to say, "Pay her no heed," and mollified, the girl left.
Juliette picked up the laces. "All men are inspired and motivated by lust, my dear," she said. "Never forget it."
"Not Charles," Madeline returned stubbornly. She tugged the bodice fretfully.
"And I’m not wearing this. It’s cut too deep."
"Charles, too. Turn around." She frowned when Madeline did as she asked. "I see what you mean. Where is that gold lace fichu?"
"I gave it away. It itched." She took another from her drawer, letting loose a scent of lavender as it unfurled. It was
Her joy had known no bounds when the marquess took one look at Madeline—the girl was quite astonishingly beautiful—and fell irretrievably in love.
Perfect.
Except for the presence of Lord Harrow. Briefly, she considered sending him away. But that wouldn’t do—it might even rouse his anger and cause him to seduce Madeline for sheer spite.
In the garden, the pair stood a few feet apart, a wide tension radiating from them.
Neither saw what to Juliette was plain; an arc of sexual tension sizzled between them at every meeting. Madeline was skeptical; Lucien amusedly and lazily in pursuit. But there was potential for great disaster there. Juliette could feel it in her bones.
There was, really, only one possible option: she would seduce him herself. It might mean losing Jonathan. The thought was almost insanely painful— but he’d soon tire of her anyway. It was better this way. She’d chase away a lover who’d grown too tiresomely passionate with his avowals of love, and reel in a new one who knew the rules and would not break them.
And Madeline would be appalled, forever protected from the advances of Lord Esher.
Perfect.
Chapter Six
Among thy fancies, tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kisse?
—Robert Herrick
Madeline dithered over her gowns before supper. It was the time of her monthly, and she felt thick and moody. Her hair on her neck was hot and heavy. Her bodice was constricting. Beyond the window, as if to reflect her mood, the sky was thick and dark and gray. From far off came the sound of thunder.
"Must you pull it so tight!" she snapped to the maid tugging her corsets closed. "I can scarce breathe."
"Aye," the maid returned calmly. "Yer mum sent up this new brocade and bid me tell you wear it."
Madeline eyed the gown, a watered silk the same passionate dark pink as the rose Lucien had plucked in the garden yesterday morning. It would suit her coloring, setting off her dark hair and the olive notes of her skin—her papa had often teased her about being a changeling child, switched by fairies for a Spanish baby.
But the bodice of the gown was so low it barely covered her nipples. The fashion was low cut, but this was ridiculous. When Madeline put it on, she felt miserably self-conscious and found her hand straying to be certain she had not inadvertently exposed more of her breast than she wished.
"I hate this dress."
"It’ll suit ye well, my lady. You’ll see." The girl smoothed a hand over Madeline’s cheek. "I’ll bring ye a bit of my special medicine in a little, all right?"
Madeline nodded gratefully.
Juliette sailed in, smelling of the cloves and pine nuts in her Imperial Water. She wore a Caraco gown in shades of plum. "How do you like the dress, my sweet? I think it will drive the marquess to distraction."
"I don’t think he’s the sort of man who allows himself to be inflamed by improper displays of women’s bodies." The corset pinched as the maid laced the dress. Madeline yelped. "Leave me be. I’ll have my mother’s help now."
The girl looked a little wounded, but Juliette shook her head as if to say, "Pay her no heed," and mollified, the girl left.
Juliette picked up the laces. "All men are inspired and motivated by lust, my dear," she said. "Never forget it."
"Not Charles," Madeline returned stubbornly. She tugged the bodice fretfully.
"And I’m not wearing this. It’s cut too deep."
"Charles, too. Turn around." She frowned when Madeline did as she asked. "I see what you mean. Where is that gold lace fichu?"
"I gave it away. It itched." She took another from her drawer, letting loose a scent of lavender as it unfurled. It was
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