I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (7 page)

“And I can act the lovesick puppy and follow you about. I’ve done that once before. I won’t be your lapdog again.”

She waved a hand. “Sir Brook, that’s not what I’m asking.”

He grasped her wrist before she could wave a finger in front of his face again. “Isn’t it? You think only of yourself—how you can attend the Season. But you don’t consider how it will look for me to shadow you. Not to mention, I have no desire to attend the events of the Season.”

She opened her mouth.

“And if, by God, you mention that your father will pay me”—he pushed her back against the door—“I will make you very, very sorry.”

She looked up at him, her breath coming quickly, and her breasts rising and falling in the
V
of the robe that had parted slightly. “I do not think anyone would mistake you for a lapdog.” Her voice trembled.

“Good.”

“But I do need your help.”

The words cut him. He’d thought he’d won, and his guard had slipped. Leave it to Lila to expose the chink in his armor. He steeled himself, released her arm, and pushed her away from the door.

“Sorry. I’m all out of favors.”

* * *

Back in her room, Lila stood by the fire to warm herself.

She hated him. Amazing how one might exist for years and never think of a person, and then less than a day after becoming reacquainted, she absolutely despised him. She would not have thought Brook Derring interesting enough to warrant hatred. He’d certainly not made an impression on her seven years before. She’d practically forgotten about him.

He had not forgotten about her. She’d wronged him in the past. She knew that now. She knew it then, but the difference was she cared now. Her mother’s death had changed her, made her appreciate the value of kindness and generosity. Before she’d been a spoiled, selfish child. The more beaux the better, in her opinion. Brook had been a casualty of her vanity.

But she wasn’t trying to be selfish now. She honestly needed his help. She had to find a husband, and the best way to do that was to attend the Season. She would not even be very picky. She would take the first man her parents approved.

If she didn’t find a husband…

She looked up the stairs and thought of her stepmother. Her father’s new wife was but a few years older than Lila and as spoiled and selfish as Lila had been at eighteen. She’d never liked Lila, but she was friendly enough when the duke had courted her. After she’d become his wife, she’d done everything she could to distance Lila from her father and from her home. Valencia would think of reasons Lila must stay in the country when the duke and duchess were in Town. Or she would send Lila to stay with one relative after another when the duke and duchess retired to Blakesford for the winter. Lila had not spent a Christmas at her home in four years.

The only reason she was in London with the duchess was because of her cousin’s wedding. Lila’s absence would have been noted and remarked upon, and the duchess had not been able to convince Lennox to leave Lila at Blakesford. And so Lila had come, suffering the cold looks of her stepmother in the coach and being told to stay away from Ginny.

Lila could not see how she was any sort of threat to the little girl. She was four and the only sister Lila had ever had. When the baby had been born, she’d been excited at the prospect of holding her, rocking her, singing to her. She’d been lonely without her mother, and Colin was never at home either. But Valencia had screeched the first time Lila had taken the baby in her arms, and Lila had been kept away after that.

She couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life being passed from one distant relative to another. She didn’t want to be the object of pity. She didn’t want to become a spinster. She wanted a child of her own, a home of her own, and, if not love, affection. The recent events meant she would be sent away again, ostensibly to keep her safe but also to keep her away from Valencia.

Lila didn’t doubt her father loved her, in his way, but he loved peace and harmony more. If sending Lila away meant his wife was happy, Lila would be gone within the hour.

She’d better have her maid pack her valise in the morning. She would not be there much longer.

Her father and Colin rose when she entered the dining room the next morning. Valencia, as a married woman, could breakfast in bed and never missed the opportunity. Lila took her seat and accepted a cup of tea. She glanced at her father, expecting to see exile written in his eyes, but she could not read his expression.

Colin winked at her before going back to shoveling food in his mouth. She was not hungry, though she’d barely eaten anything the last few days.

“Your mother and I have been talking,” the duke said after Lila had a sip of her tea.

She made herself swallow, though a lump had risen in her throat. “She is not my mother.”

“You know what I mean,” the duke said, waving a hand.

“No, I don’t.” She was being obstinate, but it stalled her dismissal for a few extra moments. “Valencia was still in the nursery when I was born. It’s impossible for her to be my mother. She was younger than Ginny when Colin was born.”

Her brother glared at her from across the table. Valencia and Colin had an amicable relationship, and, like his father, Colin preferred peace and had no wish to be drawn into Lila’s disagreements. Lila wondered if the cordial relationship between stepmother and stepson might change if Valencia ever produced a son. After all, then Colin would stand in the way of her son becoming a duke.

But Colin hadn’t thought of that, had he?

“Very well. Valencia and I have been talking.”

Lila set her teacup down with deliberate care. “I have already asked Lizzy to pack my things.”

The duke raised his brows. “I did not say you were leaving—not yet anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I agree with Valencia that you should go. If Derring is correct and there is some danger, your presence here threatens all of us.”

“Most of all me,” Lila pointed out, though she knew Ginny was the one Valencia cared about.

“Exactly, which is why we cannot simply send you to Aunt Millicent’s or your cousins in Wales. I think it unlikely, but you could be followed. We would put our family in danger, and you could be killed. You need protection.”

“Sir Brook said he is not a guard dog.”

“Sir Brook does not know who he is dealing with.”

Now Lila felt the tea in her belly churn and boil. She could only imagine what her father planned.

“What will you do?” Colin asked the question she was too afraid to voice.

“I have an audience with His Majesty.”

The king? Lila failed to see what the king had to do with any of this.

“He’s in Town?” Colin asked.

“For the wedding,” Lila murmured. Rose’s parents were extremely wealthy, and King George IV had a tendency to overspend. He cultivated the good graces of wealthy families, receiving loans in return for using his influence in other ways.

“I believe the king and I will deal with the issue of Brook Derring.” The duke glanced at his pocket watch and rose. “I must be on my way. I wouldn’t want to keep His Majesty waiting.”

More likely he would be gone most of the day, kept waiting himself for hours on end. Lila watched him go, dread making her head pound with every footstep he took.

She looked at Colin. “What does he have planned?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think you’ll like it.”

“I can’t think Sir Brook will like it either.”

“He doesn’t like anything. Straight as they come and a dead bore.”

“What do you mean?” Lila leaned forward, interested despite herself. The impression she’d had of Brook Derring from the women of her acquaintance was that of a hero who could do no wrong. It surprised her that her brother should see him differently. “I thought he was a hero.”

“Yawn.” He brought his hand to his mouth and pretended to yawn. “He doesn’t gamble, rarely drinks more than a sip or two of brandy, and spends all his time in the rookeries—not for diversion either.”

Having recently escaped the rookeries and having seen firsthand the squalor and filth, Lila couldn’t think what diversions the slums held for any man, her brother included.

“And that’s not all,” Colin added. “The female population is falling all over him and his so-called heroic deeds.”

“Having been on the receiving end of his deeds, I’m inclined to think they are more fact than supposition.”

“Be that as it may, the man has his choice of women.”

The subject made Lila vaguely uncomfortable, reminding her that Colin, though younger than she, by virtue of being a man, knew much more of the world than she did. But it was more than the novelty of discussing such a mysterious and prohibited topic. Lila found that while she did not particularly care who her brother bedded, she did not want to know Sir Brook’s bed partners.

“Colin, I don’t think—”

But he ignored her interruption. “And he could care less. Doesn’t even look twice at the most choice courtesans. I’ve been trying to snag Mrs. Arbuckle for a month, and she all but tosses her skirts up every time Derring enters the room.”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

Colin had warmed to his topic, and he either didn’t care or didn’t hear. “I half think if the Duchess of Dalliance hadn’t married and gone off to produce a passel of brats, he’d look right past her. And she was the most beautiful courtesan in the last hundred years.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “All that says is Brook doesn’t care for courtesans. Perhaps he finds it distasteful to pay for a woman. You speak of women like they are horses to be bought and sold.”

Colin gave her a look of pity. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I don’t wish to understand. You’ve only reinforced my belief that Sir Brook is a good man, who saved me from certain death.”

“Not yet he hasn’t,” Colin pointed out. “Not very gentlemanlike to leave you when you are still in danger.”

“I haven’t heard you volunteer to protect me either.”

“Me?” Colin’s face went white. “I can’t put myself in that sort of danger. I’m the heir.”

“For the moment. I imagine father and Valencia are working to produce a spare.”

Colin’s lip curled. “Now I’ve lost my appetite.”

“So have I! Funny how being the target of a murderer has that effect.”

Colin nodded and took another bite of scone. He’d apparently forgotten he couldn’t bear to eat. “Demmed inconvenient of you to witness that murder.”

“Especially for me.”

“The duke will fix it,” Colin said with a faith in their father Lila did not share. “He’ll make sure Derring protects you.”

“I don’t want Derring forced to protect me. He already hates me.”

“Why?”

Lila looked away. She wouldn’t reveal that sordid bit of history to her brother. “He just…does.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t hate anyone. Doesn’t love them either. He’s not a man of passions. Trust me, you’ll be perfectly safe with Derring.”

But Lila was not so sure.

Five

Brook would murder Lady Lila himself. How dare she trap him in this fashion?

The king had gone on and on about annulments and contracts and special licenses. Brook hadn’t heard a word. He’d fastened his gaze on the Duke of Lennox, who stood at the king’s right arm. Lennox, that bastard. It was as though he’d made it his life’s work to humiliate Brook.

Brook hadn’t tried to argue with George. There was no point. Once the king made up his mind, he would not change it. Not if money was involved at any rate, and Brook was willing to believe quite a bit of blunt had been deposited in the king’s coffers to seal Brook’s fate.

He might have asked his mother to come to his aid. The Dowager Countess of Dane still had some influence, but his mother would likely side with the king. She wanted Brook to marry.

His brother, the earl, might come to London to intervene, but he might also laugh his arse off.

Brook had other friends—Viscount Chesham and the Marquess of Lyndon—but the time it took to rally them would give Beezle the time he needed to dispose of Lila. Brook might not want to marry the chit, but he didn’t want her dead.

If she managed to survive the time it took for Brook and his friends to argue with the king, the result would still be the same. Lennox would make another donation to King George’s treasury, and Brook would be ordered to obey his sovereign.

And so he sat in the coach outside Derring House and stared at the special license in his hands. He’d put off telling his mother as long as he could. He’d put off having Hunt polish his shoes and starch his cravat. If there was one thing Brook knew, it was when to admit defeat. That did not mean he gave up.

It simply meant he needed a new strategy.

* * *

The church was all but empty. Brook’s mother and her husband sat with his sister and Dorrington on one side, while the Duke of Lennox and the Earl of Granbury sat on the other. Behind them, one of the king’s attendants took a seat. Brook supposed he was there to ensure the king’s wishes were followed precisely.

There hadn’t been time for Dane and his wife to come in from the country. If his older brother had been present, Brook would have asked him to stand beside him. As it was, Lila had no attendants, so perhaps it was for the best Brook stood before the bishop alone as well.

The bishop, a jowly man with white hair and a ruddy face, cleared his throat and began. For the first time since her father had brought her in, Lila looked up at him. Her warm brown eyes appeared too big against her pale skin, which was as white as the silk gown she wore. The gown had a leaf design in silver netting, and she wore a small, silver leaf to ornament her hair. Pearls circled her throat and danced at her ears, and with her hair piled high in a coil of ebony, she looked every inch the duke’s daughter.

The bishop had droned on—something about God’s will and not entering into marriage unadvisedly; clearly the bishop did not know about the king’s will and advice—but now the officiate paused and cleared his throat again.

“Into this holy union Sir Brook Erasmus Derring and Lady Lillian-Anne Pevensy now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now.” The bishop paused at this, looking first at Lila then Brook. “Or else forever hold your peace.”