The clock struck nine and Lady Bridgerton thanked her guests for attending the dinner and that she and Lord Bridgerton would see them all shortly at the Smythe-Smith musicale set to begin in an hour. Lucas swore he saw a shudder of revulsion pass through the Bridgerton siblings.

"I have an idea," Benedict said to Lucas and Dorset. "Why don't we make our escape? Drinks at Mondrich's?"

Lucas already drank several glasses of wine at dinner and a glass of port with the other gentlemen before joining the ladies in the drawing room. The room had yet to move on its own, but Lucas knew that another drink might tip him over into full inebriation.

"I'd better not," Lucas said.

"What else do you have planned?" Dorset asked.

"I intended to review your treatise this evening."

Benedict pulled a pained face. "Then you must come with us. I cannot imagine a worse punishment to end such a lovely evening."

"Yes, you can read my pitiful paper another time," Dorset added. “If there is ever a man that needs an evening away from work, it is you.”

Lucas watched Edwina and Lord Lumley as they said their farewells at the door. Lord Lumley took her hand in his and kissed the back of it, lingering longer than proper.

Lucas was overcome with a sudden desire to plant the young viscount a facer.

He had not spoken one word to Edwina all night and could not figure out why he was even invited to the dinner. It was on the assumption that Edwina wished to speak to him about becoming a surgeon, but she barely glanced in his direction. Instead, she fixed her attention on Lumley and no one else.

He thought about the parcel tucked away in the pocket of his jacket and wondered if he should even bother presenting it to her. It seemed that her interest laid elsewhere.

Which was exactly what he wanted, right? For Edwina to lose interest in studying medicine, perhaps even with him.

Lucas turned his back to the couple, addressing Benedict and Dorset with a shrug. "Why not?"

***

“How did you know that Kate is with child?” Benedict asked as they seated themselves at a table. He held up three fingers, ordering brandy for the table. Lucas was about to decline, but after the several wines at dinner and the port afterwards, it was inconceivable and irresponsible for further work this evening.

“Simple observation and deduction.”

Dorset grinned and turned to Benedict. “Don’t ever ask him to turn his gimlet eye on you. He’ll uncover secrets you yourself didn’t know you possessed. Such as with Lady Bridgerton this evening.”

Lucas looked at Dorset with scorn. “I’m not some sort of parlor trick.”

Dorset only waggled his eyebrows and smiled. “I’ve never said so. This skill of yours is what makes you a fine physician and surgeon, one of the best of our age.”

Lucas sniffed, mollified.

“I’m game,” Benedict said, his arms open as if welcoming Lucas’s onslaught. “Tell me what I don’t know.”

Lucas sighed and sat back, taking the other man in. His eyes scoured over Benedict and he fidgeted slightly under Lucas’s gaze. “You are forlorn, perhaps even slightly depressed. There is a hollowness about you that is not caused by any physical ailment but from the lack of direction. You’ve given up on your art–what you once considered your true calling. Now, without it, you feel as if you are a rudderless boat in a storm cast adrift.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes. “And you are envious of the love your brother has found with his viscountess.”

Silence fell. Benedict’s face paled with shock. He took a large swallow of his brandy.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Dorset began. “Secrets you didn’t even know you possessed.”

“How could you possibly know all that? If I kept a diary, I’d suspect you of peeking in it.”

“Once again, simple observation and deduction. The depression radiates off you…you’ve been throwing yourself at any kind of activity to distract yourself from it, namely drink and women. The slight paleness of your skin compared to your brothers indicates that you spend most of your waking hours at night while they both venture out during the day. The redness of your eyes means you’ve been sleeping less and drinking more. Your clothes are of fine quality and you dress to impress, but there is a slight devil-may-care attitude in how your cravat is tied. Jaunty, as if warding off proper ladies, but encouraging the attentions of more free loving women. And your hands are unblemished.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The Benedict of old, the one I remembered from Cambridge, was always smudged with charcoal and paint. Even if you washed your hands diligently, there would still be traces of paint under your fingernails. By the looks of it, you haven’t touched your paintbrush in months.”

Benedict exhaled slowly. “This is uncanny. You are right, of course. I haven’t painted since I left the Academy last year.”

Lucas nodded as if he knew this all along.

“What about Anthony's and Kate's love?”

Lucas hesitated. “That was a gamble. Even though you no longer pursue art, it doesn’t mean you do not possess an artistic soul.”

“And all artists believe in love.”

“Quite right.”

“And me being jealous of Anthony?”

“It is not uncommon for second sons to feel jealous or envious of their older brothers. Anthony is your father’s heir, the viscount. He was treated with a certain degree of preference by your parents–particularly your father.” Lucas knew this from personal experience. “And though you do not envy Anthony in his role in life and within your family, you do with the love he has found.”

“Because of my artistic soul?” Benedict mocked.

“Precisely. Love matters to you more than anything else.”

Baffled, Benedict sank into his seat, looking at Lucas as if seeing him for the first time. “Extraordinary.”

"However, love does not exist," Lucas said. "Not in the sense of poets or artists. In the simplest terms, I believe it is a chemical response in our brains to keep our species procreating for generations. It is nothing more than biology."

"My brother made a similar declaration last season about love before he met his wife. What was it again? Ah yes, he sought a wife that was tolerable, dutiful, suitable hips for childbearing, and had at least half a brain ."

"The viscount is not wrong," Lucas said, taking another sip of brandy. "But, I would not put it so strictly."

"Yes, he's not a scientific man, my brother."

"Lust is certainly in the equation, but, once again, it is another basic animal function. We lust so we can procreate to continue one's genetic line. Love, or the perception of love, is present only to protect our progeny and the mate of our choice."

"I am going to need you to stop talking," Benedict said. "Because, how would you explain art? The purpose of it and the emotions that it evokes?"

"All a delusion, a societal construct."

Both Benedict and Dorset looked at him with wide-eyed surprise.

"Good God, man," Dorset said, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you are seeking a wife this Season? Much luck to you, I believe you will need it."

"How did you know I am seeking a wife?"

"I saw you at Lady Danbury's ball before you swept Miss Sharma onto the ballroom floor. To be honest, I was flummoxed to see you attend any ton gathering, much less a ball. I can only assume you did so with a purpose and the only one that makes an iota of sense is that you are in search of a wife now that you are Greymoor."

Lucas smiled, impressed. "My point is proven–the power of observation and deduction."

"Are you interested in Edwina?" Benedict said, his voice casual though his eyes sharp. Lucas was certain Benedict was thinking about how he caught Lucas and Edwina alone in the garden.

"Does she intend to find a husband this Season?" Lucas deflected.

"Edwina is not for the likes of you, Greymoor."

"Why ever not? I am a titled gentleman of the ton ," Lucas said, though with a grimace. "And, truth to tell, wealthier now than I was before. I believe that by Society's standards, I am considered quite the catch."

Benedict shook his head. "Edwina is much like a sister and it would devastate me if she were to marry you."

Lucas raised his eyebrow in question. Benedict sighed in a way that made Lucas believe that the man thought he was dense. "Edwina wishes to marry for love. And, based off all the nonsense that you just spouted, you do not believe in the emotion yourself–you automaton."

Lucas winced, but did not argue the point. Benedict was right, Lucas could not love Edwina, not in the fairy tale manner most young ladies dreamed of. He was no Prince Charming. He was tainted. If anything, he was the dragon that absconded with the princess and had his wicked ways with her in the dungeon.

"Pity," Lucas murmured.

"She is meant for Lumley in any case," Benedict said. "He is bound to propose before the end of the Season."

"And she will have him?"

Lucas remembered how earlier in the evening Edwina and Lumley sat close together, their heads tilted towards one another in deep conversation, her blush at whatever Lumley whispered in her ear. The way his hands lingered whenever he touched Edwina. How his lips pressed against the back of her naked hand when he departed, his skin against hers.

Lucas's grip tightened around his glass of brandy.

Benedict watched Lucas closely. "I believe so. He was Edwina's most ardent suitor last Season before Anthony snatched her from under his nose. I doubt Lumley will let another instance like that occur again. He loves her. It is obvious. He's written pages upon pages of new poems based on her beauty alone."

Of course, Lumley was a poet. Lucas could not be more different from the man.

"Does she love him?"

Benedict shrugged. "I cannot say what lies secret in her heart, but Edwina is fond of Lumley, a fondness that if not stemmed in love at present will evolve into love in the future."

Lucas took a deep swallow of his brandy. The liquid burned his throat until it settled sourly in his stomach.

***

It was near one in the morning when Lucas departed from Mondrich's somewhat unsteady on his feet. He climbed into a hack and fell hard against the wooden seat. He hadn't drank this much since he was seventeen when he stayed up all night drinking glass after glass of whiskey under his father's piercing gaze. He drank himself sick that night, but no less sick than Stephen who was the first to declare defeat when he rushed for the chamberpot. Lucas followed seconds later, hurling up what felt like everything he ate since he was a babe. He swore up and down the next day to never touch a drop of liquor again.

His head swam slightly, but it was far removed from the excruciating intoxication of his youth. His head did not throb, his tongue did not feel swollen in his mouth. If anything, he felt lighter, as if a whole weight was lifted off his shoulder.

It was the dangerous side of inebriation–the distorted impression of being able to conquer anything set out before him.

Edwina .

"Grosvenor Square," he called out to the driver. "Greymoor House."

The cab lurched forward, throwing Lucas farther back into his seat. He reached into his coat and took out the parcel he meant to hand to Edwina earlier in the evening. He fingered the twine that bound the package together idly.

A gift to start Edwina on her studies.

The hack turned the corner and Lucas glanced out the window and saw the brick front of Bridgerton House.

“Stop!”

He scrambled from the cab and handed the driver his fare before turning to face the silent house before him. It was likely that Edwina was not at home. Ton events ran late into the evening and well into the small hours of the morning and the musicale may still be underway.

To call at this hour was unseemly. At least through the front door.

Lucas glanced up and down the quiet street before slipping into the shadows down the side of the house. From his one previous visit, he recalled that Edwina's room overlooked a small garden. He’ll just slip into her room and leave the parcel where she’ll easily find it when she returned home.

Yes, this didn’t sound mad at all, he told himself.

He found the garden easily and looked up at the row of windows that lined the second story of the house. Trellises covered in purple wisteria clung to the brick wall of the house, making it all too easy of a climb up to Edwina's window, or so Lucas hoped.

The wine and brandy from earlier in the evening sloshed around in his stomach as he placed his entire weight on the trellis. At thirteen stones, it would be a miracle if the wooden trellis could support his weight.

It held. He took it as a clear sign that his plan was sound.

Lucas scrambled the rest of the way up until he reached what he believed to be Edwina's window. He peered into the dark room, but only saw his own reflection.

Slipping his fingertips under the wooden base, he pushed the window pane upwards as quietly as possible. It wouldn't do to alert any footmen still awake. It'll be damned difficult explaining exactly what he was doing, he couldn't even explain this fleeting moment of insanity to himself. His rational mind demanded that he stop, return his feet onto solid ground, walk down the street back to his own home, up to bed, and sleep off the ill effects of all the alcohol he consumed this evening.

Instead, he swung one leg over the window ledge and climbed into Edwina's room.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness. The bed was turned down for the evening but laid empty. Edwina wasn’t here.

A hollow of disappointment filled him as he reached into his pocket and placed the parcel on the escritoire situated in the corner of the room.

As he turned to leave, Lucas heard the sound of splashing water and a whisper.

"Lucas."

***

Edwina submerged her head completely in the hot water until she could not bear it anymore and resurfaced. Her head throbbed painfully. The Smythe-Smith musicale, thankfully a once a Season event, ended prematurely when one of the young ladies snapped a violin string during a vigorous performance of a Mozart sonata. It didn't matter which sonata it was as they all sounded the same–discordant nightmares.

Edwina smiled encouragingly the entire while with Lord Lumley sitting by her side. He was a good man. While most gentlemen avoided the musicale like a veritable plague, Lord Lumley with his presence alone reassured the attendees that the Smythe-Smith girls were worth noticing. His influence as a man who appreciated the finest of art held sway over many of the young dandies of the ton , who attended only because Lord Lumley did.

She ought to marry Lord Lumley for this kindness alone.

Upon returning home, Edwina called for a bath despite the late hour and dismissed Sarah, her lady's maid. She needed a good long soak and didn't wish to keep Sarah up any longer than needed. Her mind was fraught with the wasted evening. Her original plan to corner Lucas and convince him to become her teacher had failed.

It was damned annoying being a lady and him a gentleman. It was impossible for them to meet under the sharp eyes of Society without garnering gossip. If she was born a man, none of this would matter. She could easily study at Cambridge or Oxford, become a surgeon, a peer and equal in Lucas's eyes.

Edwina growled and sunk deeper into her bath. She let the warm, lavender scented water soothe her nerves.

Lucas . He did look divine tonight. She felt his hot stare on her throughout the evening, roaming over her face, her body.

He wanted her as much as she wanted him. The two kisses they shared, the first sweet and reverent, the second so intense that it left her panting for more. Much more.

Her fingers reached up and touched her lips, grazing them as if she could still taste his kiss.

Her hand moved downwards towards her breast. She remembered how it felt as his large hand pressed against her there, caressing her, the thrill of being touched so intimately. Her nipples hardened at the memory.

What would it feel like for him to touch her? To touch her there?

Her right hand dipped below the surface of the water coming to rest above her sex. Though she never laid with a man, she wasn’t ignorant of these matters…she knew how to pleasure herself. Novels, self exploration, and a healthy imagination taught her how to reach a mind shattering release.

It wasn’t until recently that the man of her fantasies had a name and face.

“Lucas,” she murmured, her fingers pressing down against her sex, already slick and wet from the memory of Lucas’s kiss. She shifted her legs, opening wide, not caring if she sloshed water over the edge.

Clenching her eyes shut, she let her fantasy take over. Lucas bare-chested, his hands reaching for her, his kiss on her mouth, hard, his tongue brushing against her lips, forcing her mouth open, and...

Edwina felt him, his presence, and her eyes flew open. She peered over the side of the tub and into the darkness toward her bedroom.

Lucas stood at the entry of her dressing room, tense, his face flushed, and his eyes burning with desire.

It was as if she conjured him out of thin air.