The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) by Elisa Braden Page A

inside Lucien in that
moment was as unexpected as it was uncontrollable. Like a black,
sulfurous cloud, it filled him and spilled out in a volcanic
explosion. In one swift move, he stood and threw his glass against
the far wall, the splintering crash barely registering before he
roared, “It is not enough!”
    James jerked when he heard the glass break
apart, then slowly turned to face Lucien, a look of wariness and
alarm on his face.
    “ Enough will be when he remembers her
as she was at seven years, all ribbons and gap-toothed smiles, and
misses her as he would a severed limb. Enough will be when he
reaches for a pen to write her and realizes she will never read his
words. Enough will be when he understands that she is mine ,
by God, and I have taken her from him.”
    “You are still grieving. Think about this.”
James’s voice grew rough with concern. He reached out to place a
hand on Lucien’s shoulder, but Lucien shrugged him off and stalked
across the room to stand with his back turned, his hands on his
hips, breathing harshly.
    He despised what was inside him, a monster of
hatred and pain and fury. But he could do nothing other than try to
appease it. “It’s what I have to do, James,” he rasped.
    After a moment, he felt James’s hand at his
back, his friend’s solid presence helping him regain his composure.
“I know.”
    “If there was another way …”
    “I know,” James repeated. “It is better than
leaving her to the ton’s tender mercies.”
    Lucien nodded.
    “What do you plan to tell her?”
    It was a good question. “Nothing.”
    A single, shaggy eyebrow lifted. “And you
think that will work?”
    Lucien mimicked the gesture and added a small
smile. “She fancies me.” The look that emerged on the Earl of
Tannenbrook’s face sent an unexpected burst of laughter through
him. “That hard to believe, eh?”
    “No. But you’re mad if you think you can tup
a lass into forgetfulness. Might work for a night, but not
forever.”
    Lucien crossed the room and sank into the
chair James had vacated. “Not forever. Until we leave London?” He
shrugged. “Eminently achievable.”
    James grunted and propped his hands on his
hips. “You don’t think you’re overestimating your charms just a wee
bit?”
    Chuckling, he replied, “It’s clear you do.
But, then, your judgment is flawed. You are not a woman.”
    His friend snorted and shook his head. “Thank
God for that. I’d be an ugly one, no doubt.”
    Hours later, after James had left and quiet
had settled over the house that once belonged to his brother,
Lucien stood at the rear window of the library, contemplating the
garden his sister had loved. Modeled after the gardens at their
country estate, Thornbridge, but on a smaller scale, the shapes
were less orderly, more curved and natural than current fashion
would dictate. Still, they were lovely with winding paths, lush
plantings, and a small fountain with a stone bench at the
center.
    Three days. In only three days, he could
claim victory. Then Blackmore’s true punishment could begin. While
grim satisfaction seized Lucien, knowing his goal was within sight,
it did not blind him to the longer-term implications of his plan.
For days now, James had been trying to help him see past the moment
of triumph and point out there was a marriage after the wedding, a
woman who would be a permanent part of his life, the mother of his
children.
    He knew it well. Could not stop thinking
about it, in fact. Twinges of guilt mixed with no small measure of
lust filled him each time he contemplated having Victoria all to
himself for the remainder of his days. By God, when the duke had
thought to deny him, Lucien had very nearly lost his head and
attacked the man full on. Fortunately, Victoria had interrupted at
just the right time. Her knack for falling rather neatly into his
hands was one of her more endearing qualities.
    At the thought, his mind veered immediately
to Victoria as she had been on Lady