He’s a bad, bad man… In a good way.

Having had more to drink than was his habit, Lucien decided it was time to make his way home. A table erupted in raucous laughter, drawing his attention from across the room. He rolled his eyes when he saw that Randall Morley, Viscount Travers was holding court. The man was a swine. Lucien was almost through the door when he heard his name mentioned, he stilled and listened.
“Can’t say I blame him but he’ll have his hands full with that one. The Spencer chit is a fine piece, tried to have a go at her myself but she wasn’t game for it.” Lucien’s lip curled and he clenched his fist as the table exploded in laughter and rude comments. “Don’t know how he managed to get that minx to save herself for him while he fucked his way through the ton but I’d…” Lucien had heard enough. His roar cut through the room as he rushed towards the table.
Travers!” Lucien kicked his chair, sending the man sprawling sideways. He dove and grabbed him by his lapels and threw him against the wall. Stunned and wide eyed, the man didn’t have time to move before Lucien’s hand locked around his throat. The sound of chairs sliding and falling over echoed through the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edgar Thorpe, Travers’ cronie, advancing. Lucien grabbed a candlestick off a side table with his free hand and swung it at Thorpe. It connected with his jaw and sent him flying. The room became completely still. He looked at Travers, his face was purple and his eyes were bulging. Lucien released him and slammed his fist into his nose. Travers gasped as his eyes rolled back into his head and he slid to the ground. Lucien turned and looked around the room.
“The next man I hear of maligning my intended will meet me over pistols.” He yelled. “I would have said no to all of your wives and sisters if I had known Mirabelle Spencer would have me.” A hand closed on his shoulder and Lucien turned to swing. Alastair caught his fist in his hand just inches from his face. Lucien relaxed.
“It’s time to leave, Lucien.” He said softly. Lucien nodded. Alastair’s eyes traveled around the room. “I’m sure there is no doubt as to who his second would be if anyone is foolish enough to ignore His Grace’s warning.” His voice was clear and hard and met with silence.
Alastair inspected Lucien’s hand once they were inside his carriage.
“That was a neat punch, your hand should be fine aside from being a little sore. The whole scene was impressive.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “I was worried years of debauchery and old age would have made you slow.” Lucien closed his eyes and smiled. He was nearly foxed and it felt good to hear Alastair tease him. He’d barely spoken to him since he proposed to Mirabelle.
“Why were you following me?” Alastair had never been one for gaming. Even if he had been, he never lost at cards which made him unpopular at the tables. “I think you’d have been disappointed if you expected a wild night, I was just about to head home.”
“I know. You’re drunk. You’ve always known to go home before your judgment was too impaired. I wasn’t following you because I was worried you might stop at a brothel. This business with Whitrose concerns me.” Lucien cracked open and eye and focused on Alastair.
“I would think the idea of someone attacking me would appeal. Though I’m sure I could handle myself if anything should happen.” Lucien stretched and rested his feet in the corner of the bench. Alastair sighed.
“I don’t want you injured, Lucien. Unless you hurt Mirabelle, then I would be the one to do it.” There was no humor in his voice. “I know that you would never choose to hurt her. I am worried that you won’t be satisfied with one woman for very long. What if you grow bored?”

He’s a bad, bad man… In a good way.

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