A Duke's Temptation (11 page)

“Lady Juliette promised to marry Wickbury, you silly—”

She sat up. He shut up.

“Unlike your wife, Gravenhurst can put all the characters he has created out of their misery,” she said pleasantly. “Do remember what Lord Anonymous warns us in all his author’s notes: ‘Read as late into the night as you like. But snuff out the candles before you go to sleep. We would not want you to wake up dead.’ ”

H
er wedding day drew nearer, and Lily was swept by her female relatives into her nuptial plans. Her family arrived from Derbyshire, her mother, father, and brother sharing the strangers’ suite at Dominic’s town house. She was disappointed that her good-hearted German great-aunt, who shared her fondness for fairy stories, felt too rheumatic to attend the ceremony.

Lily’s bridal gown had been designed by the Marchioness of Sedgecroft’s French dressmaker, and she almost died when she saw the bill. Its pearl-encrusted cream brocade lace weighed Lily down like a coat of armor. The heart-shaped white silk bodice exposed much more of her bosom than the fashion plate had shown.

“You won’t be able to run from your husband on your wedding night even if you want to,” Chloe remarked, sitting at the dressing table while seamstresses, cousins, and two lady’s maids discussed the proportion of Lily’s veil to her bridal train and the height of her white silk heels.

“Two weeks,” Chloe said with a delighted grin. “Everyone is coming for the wedding, Lily. Even relatives I don’t know. Wait until you meet my sister Emma, though. She’s the commander-in-chief of weddings. She won’t let you eat a prawn without permission.”

“I hope she isn’t arriving tonight.” Lily twisted around at the waist, eliciting cries of protest from the circle of apprentices adjusting her hem so that only an enticing wedge of heel showed. “Lord Kirkham and his stepmother are taking Jonathan and me to a play tonight.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t his stepmother the same age as you?”

“I’ve never asked. Does it matter?”

“Only to a play?”

Lily suddenly noticed that the entire room had grown still. “Would you like to come?” she asked, hoping that Chloe would refuse.

Which she did.

And Lily would later wonder how different everything would have been if
she
hadn’t accepted the invitation. If she had stayed home, immersed in her wedding plans, secretly reading the papers for word of the enigmatic duke whose lilies had graced her bed stand until a few days ago.

He had not contacted her again.

No love notes.

No wicked invitations that she would have to refuse.

She still pretended, of course, to have no idea who had sent the lavish bouquet.

The newspapers had reported that Gravenhurst had been spotted strolling through Vauxhall Gardens the night after the literary masquerade. A gorgeous courtesan had been clinging to one arm; a scandalous young baroness claimed the other. So Lily decided that his floral arrangement meant nothing more than that he was open to an arrangement of another sort, and it was up to her to agree. It was her own fault for appearing fast. She had engaged in a dalliance with an unabashed rogue. Did she expect him to invite her to the library to read classic literature with his grandmother?

She wished she could forget him entirely. She would eventually. He had been her first foray into the forbidden, and her last.

She lived a charmed life.

But it was a full life, so full, in fact, that she could not pay attention to the play later that same night. Lady Kirkham whispered throughout the entire first act, pointing out the guests in various boxes and recounting gossip about their personal affairs. Soon Lily caught herself looking for a familiar hollow-cheeked face and a mouth sculpted into a sinful smile.

He was not there.

He was probably in another woman’s bed, the beautiful scoundrel.

How irrational to expect, to hope, that he would follow her around London when she had not been given a name to thank him for his flowers. She supposed she should be grateful for his discretion. At least their names had not been linked in the scandal rags.

What would she do if she encountered him tonight? The proper thing would be to give him passing recognition, and nothing more.

Where was he? Why did she allow him to intrude on her thoughts?

She put him out of her mind. Again.

Jonathan seemed to sense she wasn’t herself. He held her hand throughout the performance, and stayed at her side as they squeezed through the vestibule afterward and waited for Lady Kirkham’s outmoded coach to be brought around.

“It’s too early to go home,” the lady’s stepson, Quentin, announced, stretching his arms over his head. In evening attire he was a pleasant-looking gentleman, but too full of himself for Lily’s tastes. Still, he had carried Jonathan to safety through mud and cannon fire at Waterloo. Even Lily understood that favors incurred during the war must never be forgotten. She did wonder, though, how many times Jonathan would feel obligated to repay that debt.

As the coach rolled up, Quentin said unexpectedly, “Let’s take the ladies to Vauxhall.”

His young brunette stepmother made a face. “Not under my watch.”

“Nor mine.” Jonathan put his arm around Lily’s waist. Her protector.

Quentin gave him a mocking look. “Don’t you want to take a dark walk together? Or dance? This will be your last chance as lovers. In a month you’ll be begging to be let off the leash.”

“Someone ought to tighten yours,” his stepmother said with a false smile. “We do not wish to go, Quentin. Leave it at that.”

Lily restrained herself from adding that she had already walked through one pleasure garden and did not care to taint that memory by meeting the duke with another woman, or women, in his arms. To her relief, Jonathan refused to agree, and Lily decided as he helped her into the coach that he was the finest man a woman could marry.

As the coach pulled from the lane, Quentin casually suggested that the four of them drop in on a small party in Piccadilly. Lady Kirkham started to protest, then shrugged. “A half hour at most. I do not care for affairs to which I have not been properly invited.”

The party turned out to be a drunken revel, attended by knaves and half-world women who so offended Lady Kirkham’s sensibilities that she insisted the four of them leave the party immediately.

Lily was relieved, and so, she thought, was Jonathan. Neither of them cared for boisterous affairs. They would both rather sit by a country fire, sipping sherry and telling ghost stories with good friends, than mingle with strangers, several of whom appeared to know Quentin Kirkham well. One of them nodded almost imperceptibly at Jonathan in recognition.

“Do you know him?” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Never mind. Don’t look his way.”

“Go with her ladyship,” Jonathan said in an odd voice. “I’ll walk behind to make sure Quentin doesn’t get into trouble.”

Lady Kirkham hastened to the coach, not even pretending to be pleasant anymore. “Hurry up, Lily,” she urged over her shoulder. “This is not a neighborhood where decent people should be seen.”

Lily hesitated, glancing back. At the corner Jonathan and Quentin appeared to be having one of their frequent disagreements. Their voices rose. The street wasn’t well lit, and she suddenly noticed a cloaked man emerging from the narrow alleyway to their left. Lily hadn’t seen him at the party. But he moved in a quick, furtive way that sent a flash of unease through her.

“Jonathan,” she implored softly, “please, let’s go. It’s dark and dirty.”

Lady Kirkham was getting into the coach, the single footman assisting her. Lily decided to join her when she heard the cloaked man calling Jonathan by name. Jonathan glanced around, his tall frame tensing.

“
Jonathan
,” she said again.

He glanced at her in concern. “Get into the coach. Now.”

She shook her head, certain she’d misunderstood. Quentin had turned to the stranger to exchange words. She made out only enough to guess that it was a hostile confrontation. And that the three men knew one another somehow. From the infantry? Too much of a coincidence.

Did Jonathan lead a secret life? Impossible.

Her heart pounded. Bursts of conversation from the party drifted down the street. The coachman had parked too far away for her to attract his attention. The cloaked stranger raised his voice, addressing Jonathan now.

“You will damn well pay me tonight, Captain, or we’ll meet over pistols at dawn. We made a gentlemen’s agreement.”

Disbelief immobilized her. It had to be a mistake. She took a step forward, her impulse to help. Jonathan turned toward her, his face unfamiliar, afraid.

“Damn you, woman,” Quentin said to her between his teeth. “Do what you’re told for once.”

Before she could retreat the stranger moved. He reached inside his cloak. Then what happened afterward went by so fast she couldn’t do anything to interrupt the sequence of events.

Something metal glistened in the moonlight. Was that a pistol in Jonathan’s hand? The sight of it shocked her. She had watched him at shooting practice with his friends. A marksman. An infantry officer. But why had he felt it necessary to carry a gun to a party? He was strong enough to defend himself on the street. She knew his habits. It was the stranger’s gun. Jonathan must have confiscated it.

“You owe me, gentlemen, and I will collect my due—”

The pistol shot echoed in the street. It went on endlessly, tearing through the tunnels of her present, her perfect future. A human life. A soul wailing in the night. She wanted to insert herself like a shield. Death brushed her cheek, a kiss of coldness. Had she been hit? She stared at Jonathan, willing him to be safe. He was a good man. She felt nothing, numb.

“Lily,” he said in an agonized voice. “Lily, please, please. Get away from here right now.
Run
.”

She saw the other man crumple to the curb. She picked up her skirts. Heavy as lead, they felt.
Hurry, hurry, Lily. Get help. It’s not too late.
She reached the coach, shaking with fright. She heard her breath rasp as the footman stared at her in horror.

“Miss, miss,” he said in alarm. “What happened?”

“What now? What has he done?” Lady Kirkham’s voice tolled a funeral bell in her brain. “Little bastard. I told his father that boy was born evil.”

Lily pulled at the footman’s sleeve. “You have to help. He’s shot. Tell the coachman. I can’t breathe.”

The coachman jumped down from his box. “Wait inside, miss. It will be all right.”

Lily’s voice broke. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know whether he brought a gun—”

Lady Kirkham slid to the edge of her seat to reach for Lily. Lily drew away, aware that she made little sense. The coachman brushed past her with a bat under his arm. The footman gently pried her fingers from his sleeve.

“I’ll show you where he is,” she said. “It happened around the corner, and the man came out of the alley. I shouldn’t have left home. I—”

Stronger than she appeared, Lady Kirkham caught Lily under the arms and half dragged her into the coach. She smelled of costly perfume and perspiration. “Stay here with me,” she whispered fiercely. “Whatever is done is done.”

H
er fiancé and his friend insisted that Lily was imagining things. There was no dead man in the gutter. Jonathan admitted that he and Quentin had gotten into a minor argument during which a drunk had rambled by and pestered them for cash. But neither gentleman had shot anyone in the street or carried a pistol to a play.

The driver and footman reassured her that they had searched the street and found nothing more suspicious than a stray dog sniffing about the sidewalk. They smiled at each other, apparently pleased to have been involved in a harmless rescue.

Quentin dismissed her story with his usual patronizing contempt concealed behind a pretense of courtesy. He was, in fact, so unconcerned that Lily began to doubt herself. His stepmother remained silent throughout the short ride back to Mayfair. If she suspected Lily was telling the truth, she could hardly confirm what she had not witnessed. Perhaps she was afraid for her own life.

Jonathan tried to calm Lily. He stroked her hair and begged her to believe him. “Haven’t you known me all your life? I swear on my soul that I didn’t kill anyone. Would I defile you with my hands if I had?”

She refused to meet his gaze, shrinking from his touch. “I insist that we go to the police station and give a report.”

“They’ll think you’ve gone mad,” Quentin said in thinly veiled exasperation. “Your name will be ruined and mocked in the morning news. Do you think a corpse can rise from the gutter and vanish in the blink of an eye?”

“I know what I saw.”

“You saw shadows in the dark.”

“You are a liar,” Lily said.

“You are insane.”

“Please, Lily,” Jonathan said in a low voice, throwing Quentin a look. “Nothing happened. Don’t speak of it again until you’ve had some rest. You’ll be yourself in a few days.”

“And if any dead bodies pop up overnight in Piccadilly,” Quentin said blithely, “you can turn us both in. Or you could show common sense and realize you’re hysterical over nothing.”

Jonathan glowered at him. “I knew it was a bad idea to go to that party.”

“It was a bad idea to leave Tissington,” Lily muttered, shrinking from the hand he extended to her.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “But we’ll be going home after the wedding. Trust me until then.”

She ignored his advice. Everything she believed about him was false.

She wouldn’t ever believe a word he said.

She told her parents, Sir Leonard and Diana, Lady Boscastle, as well as her brother, Gerald, what she had witnessed the instant they greeted her at the door of the viscount’s town house. She even told the butler when he appeared to take her evening cloak. She wished with all her heart that Chloe and Dominic had not gone to Chelsea so that she could enlist their support.