Despite the unshakable attraction between them, Maeve and Lucian are uninterested in love and marriage; especially since they hate one another and couldn't think of a worse match.
• • •
London, 1815
Maeve Langston's aversion to the opposite sex has...
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Only Delawney could make Lucian attend one of those shallow and noisy balls. Now that he had been to hell and back, it seemed above his strength to tolerate those idiots. He hated those empty people craving for some gratification from others, through meaningless conversations. He hated the hypocrisy, the gossip, the vain flatteries...
But with his best friend looking to get married, Lucian judged it better to be around, to make sure John wouldn't trap himself in a dysfunctional marriage with a woman unsuited for him. He, more than anyone, knew that John needed to be protected from himself, as he had never been the best judge of character, too optimistic a person to see the bad in others.
They had known each other for over seventeen years, since meeting at boarding school. Delawney had been a frail and sickly child, while Lucian was a robust boy, always taller than the children his age. With his red hair and his fragile condition, John had quickly become the favorite scapegoat of bullies. Already then, Lucian hated injustice, so it had been his solemn duty to protect that puny boy who couldn't defend himself.
However, He'd lost him about half an hour ago, and couldn't seem to find him. So, instead of being in the presence of his oldest friend, he was forced to endure the company of others. And he had no interest in others, most of all Ackley, the idiot he'd been stuck with for the past ten minutes.
"So, how were Spanish women?"
Lucian glared at the man, baffled that someone could be this dense. "You must realize my stay in Spain didn't allow any frolicking around," Lucian answered caustically, hoping the man would drop the matter.
"But still, you must have found time to enjoy some local delicacies."
"There's nothing delicate about the prostitutes lurking around a military camp, Ackley. I was there for the war, not for sightseeing and leisure."
"Well, I certainly would have made time for that," the imbecile insisted.
Deciding to ignore him, Lucian scanned the room, looking for his friend. He was having a hard time focusing on the task. There were too many people, too many sounds, and the man next to him just wouldn't stop interrupting his research. It was the first time attending a mundane event like this since he had been back from Spain, about eight months prior. And he hadn't missed it one bit. In fact, he'd much rather be at home than here.
He leaned on his cane, holding back a wince. After hours of standing up, the pain in his leg was making itself known. He stretched it discreetly and tried to find a more comfortable position.
"Ah, a battle wound?" the man asked, earning yet another glare from Lucian.
Lucian decided to answer despite his reluctance. "Yes, an unwelcome souvenir from my time fighting Napoleon's army." Lately, his recovery had been going quite well. He was getting better with every day, and he even had moments where his limp became imperceptible. He, alas, also had bad days, where the pain would make him consider cutting the damn leg off. According to the physicians, it was a miracle he could still stand, let alone walk.
