Royal's Bride (22 page)

And what of Royal? When Lily had refused to become his mistress, had he simply turned to the woman he would soon make his wife?

And if they were together, how could she fault them?

She glanced round the drawing room, but they were nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, Lily hurried along the hall toward the servants’ stairs at the back of the house, needing to go up and change out of her Tsaya costume and leave the soiree.

She wouldn’t return downstairs as Lily. Since Jocelyn and her parents were escorted tonight by the duke, Lily had pretended a headache and stayed home. Only Tsaya had come and as soon as she changed, she hurried out of the house to meet her uncle in the alley behind the stable where he waited in his rented carriage to escort her home.

Molly was with him, she saw when she reached them, both of them excited by the success of the evening.

Lily thought of Royal, ignored the pain in her heart and climbed inside the coach.

Jocelyn saw Christopher escaping through the French doors out onto the terrace. She watched him for a moment, heart pounding as she waited to see if Serafina Maitlin would join him.

But the redhead was busy entertaining a group of male admirers and didn’t seem in a hurry to leave.

Excusing herself to the ladies’ retiring room, Jocelyn fled down the hall and slipped out a side door into the shadows of the terrace. A few feet away, Christopher stood alone in the darkness, the tip of his cigar glowing in the inky solitude of the night.

Jocelyn readied herself as she approached him, her temper climbing with every step. He turned at the padding of her soft kid slippers on the flagstones and leaned back against the balustrade, clamping the cigar between his straight white teeth.

Jocelyn reached up and jerked it out of his mouth, tossed it out into the garden.

One of his dark eyebrows went up. “I see you are in one of your moods.”

“What were you doing with Serafina Maitlin?”

“I was entertaining myself while you preened and flirted with the duke.”

“I wasn’t preening. And what do you mean by entertaining yourself? If you think for one minute I am going to stand by and let you seduce that woman into your bed while you are making love to me—”

Christopher caught her arm and jerked her hard against him. “You think I was trying to seduce her? You little fool. You’re the woman I want in my bed. You, Jocelyn—with your tantrums and your fancy airs. I want to fuck the insolence out of you. I want to take you until you admit I’m the only man you need.”

Shock held her immobile. “Why, you…you crude, arrogant—” Her tirade ended as the passion in his words began to reach her. He wanted her. Only her.

She stared at the hard set of his jaw, the compelling planes of his face, unable to look away. His dark gaze bored into her, daring her to finish what she had started to say. Instead, her fingers curled into the lapels of his coat and she went up on her toes and kissed him.

Hard arms clamped around her and Christopher’s mouth crushed down over hers. He kissed her as no other man ever dared, holding her spellbound, unable to escape the powerful force he exuded.

The kiss went on and on and yet it ended far too soon. Both of them were breathing hard when Christopher broke away.

“Go back inside, Jo,” he said gruffly, “before I take you right here on the terrace.”

She just stood there, her legs trembling beneath her full skirts, a little whimper caught in her throat.

“Go,” he said, more gently this time. “For both of our sakes.”

Jocelyn turned and fled. Something was happening to her. Something she didn’t understand.

And she had never been more terrified in her life.

M
onday was the official opening of the Lily Pad. On the sign above her door in smaller letters it read, Fine Millinery Goods, and Lily grinned every time she looked up and saw it.

At the end of last week, she had hired a shopgirl named Flora Perkins to work a few hours each day so that she could leave the establishment if needed, and also have more time to sew. Lily hoped eventually she would have enough business to need an assistant hatmaker and she could train Flora for the job.

This morning the gangly, carrot-haired girl had arrived at ten, giving Lily plenty of time to reach the house in Piccadilly for Tsaya’s noon appointment with Preston Loomis.

There was a man in the house when she arrived. Dottie Hobbs said his name was Chase Morgan. Dressed in her black wig and Gypsy skirts, Lily pushed through the swinging door and jerked to a halt at the sight of Royal sitting at the kitchen table.

A little shiver of awareness went through her that she determinedly ignored.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slightly breathless note in her voice.

“Morgan was busy. I came in his place.”

“But…but…you can’t be here. If Loomis sees you, he’ll recognize you. For heaven’s sake, you’re the Duke of Bransford.”

But he wasn’t dressed like a duke. Instead, he wore the plain brown riding breeches and simple white lawn shirt he wore to the inn. As her gaze ran over the magnificent width of his shoulders and angled down over his narrow hips, she thought that he looked even better today than he had in his evening clothes at the Wyhurst soiree.

“I’ll stay in the kitchen out of sight,” he promised. “But I’ll be close by if you need me. If Loomis threatens you in any way, just call out.”

Lily set a hand on the silky garment flowing over her hip. “I don’t need your protection, Royal. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

His lips faintly curved. “Perhaps. You never fail to surprise me, sweetheart. But just in case, I am staying.”

Lily opened her mouth to argue, but only a sputtering sound came out. Spinning round, she marched out of the kitchen, passing Dottie Hobbs headed in the opposite direction. The door swung closed and Dottie laughed at something Chase Morgan said. Lily heard the sound of cups rattling as Dottie busied herself making him tea.

Trying not to think of him with Jo the night of the soiree, Lily walked into the parlor and plopped down on the sofa. The black wig itched, and every time she moved, the charms jangling on her bracelet grated on her nerves.

Silently she cursed. She was doing this for Royal, but at the moment, she had no idea why. Royal might be a duke, but he was no longer the image of the perfect man she had once believed. He was arrogant and domineering, stubborn and overprotective and used to getting his way. Why, the man would be impossible to live with. She pitied her poor cousin, once she was his wife.

Lily sighed as she leaned back on the horsehair sofa. She rarely lied to herself, as she was doing now. Royal might have his faults, but so did she, and no matter how pigheaded he was at times, she was still in love with him.

Not that it would do her the least amount of good.

Glancing over at the clock on the mantel, she saw that it was almost noon. Through the lace curtains, she watched Preston Loomis climb the front-porch steps right on time and knock on the heavy wooden door. Lily waited as Mrs. Hobbs went to let him in, then stood up as he entered the parlor.

“Mr. Loomis, please come in.” Lily motioned for him to join her at a small round table with a red fringed cloth draped over the top. Twin high-backed chairs encircled it, and both of them sat down.

“I appreciate your seeing me, Tsaya.” Loomis smiled. He had very large teeth, she noticed as she hadn’t before since they were hidden by his mustache. His coat and trousers were perfectly pressed and his silver hair gleamed. “You don’t mind my calling you that, do you? Your aunt and I were very good friends. I feel as if we are friends, as well.”

He was such a smooth talker. It was no surprise he was extremely good at his work. “I am flattered. If it is your wish, to you I am merely Tsaya.”

He nodded, obviously pleased. His gaze roamed over her face, taking in the straight black hair and fringe of bangs that covered her forehead. “Your eyes…they are quite an unusual shade of green and your skin is very pale for a Gypsy.”

She shrugged, shifting the scarlet silk blouse across her shoulders. “My father was a
gadjo,
a Frenchman.”

He stared at her across the table, his pale blue gaze piercing. “I came in the hope you might be able to advise me. What have you seen?”

Lily straightened in her chair. “Not much. A boat race, only. Bet a good sum, for you are destined to win.”

“What sort of boat race?”

“Four men. Friends and rivals. They will race on the Thames sometime soon. The black-haired man will win.”

Loomis seemed impressed. “How do you know these things? How can you be sure they are true?”

She had been waiting for this. The stars would give her predictions more credence. “If you were here at night, I would show you.” She rose and walked over to the writing desk along the wall, opened the fold-down top. Drawing a rolled-up parchment from inside, she returned to the table.

“What is it?” Loomis asked.

She unrolled the parchment. On it were drawings of the night sky over London at different times of the year. “At night, I look at the stars. Here…do you see this?” She pointed at one of the constellations. “This is the dog. Next to him, the hunter. At night, I look into the stars and study the patterns and when I do, sometimes images come into my head.”

He was frowning. “Medela did not do this.”

“No. It was something my mother taught me. It helps me to see more clearly. Mostly, I meet someone and something will occur to me, but for a clearer picture, I turn to the stars.”

He seemed to mull that over and Lily held her breath, praying he would be intrigued.

The frown lines faded from his forehead. “Tell me more about this race.”

“I know only that the man who wins will make you money sometime in the future.”

“Are you talking about some sort of investment?”

She pretended to think. Then nodded. “Yes, I believe it will be something like that.”

Loomis rose from his chair. “I’ll see what I can find out about the race. If you are correct, I shall return.” He set a pouch of coins on the table in front of her. “Good day, Tsaya.”

She inclined her head. “Mr. Loomis.”

Lily waited until he left the house, then hurried into the kitchen, slamming into Royal as she shoved open the swinging door.

He caught her when she stumbled, and a frisson of heat rolled through her. “Easy, sweetheart.” Still on alert for any sign of trouble from Loomis, his body hummed with its last remnants of tension.

He tipped his head toward the parlor. “From what I could hear, it sounded like Loomis believed it completely.”

“He asked questions. I gave him the answers he wanted to hear.”

He smiled. “You’re amazing.”

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. Lily steeled
herself. “I told you, you didn’t need to be here. Loomis was completely the gentleman.”

His smile slipped away. “This time, perhaps. But if he wants to meet with you again, I’ll expect you to send word. And I’ll want to know if his henchman, McGrew, shows up here again.”

She opened her mouth to tell him she had no intention of encouraging him to come back, when she felt his solid grip on her arm. “I’ll end this, Lily, I swear. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

Her heart squeezed. She couldn’t mistake his concern. Whatever he felt for her, he didn’t want anything happening to her.

If only all of this was over.
But they were in too deep to quit. Uncle Jack and Molly would get a share of any monies recovered from Loomis and she knew how much they were counting on the funds. She wanted to do this for them. And for Royal. She had no choice but to do whatever he asked.

“All right, I’ll send word. Otherwise, we’ll talk at the Red Rooster.”

He released his hold on her shoulder. “That’s my girl.”

She
was
his, utterly and completely. She wondered if he knew. For a moment, he just looked at her and she thought he might say something more. In the end, he made a slight bow of his head. “I shall see you at the meeting tomorrow.”

Lily just nodded.

Royal escaped out the backdoor, the way he had come, and Lily breathed a sigh of relief. Her heart was pounding. Her palms felt damp. Her body still thrummed from their single brief moment of contact. Sweet God,
she couldn’t be in the same room with the man without wanting him to kiss her—and far more than that.

Footsteps sounded and Dottie burst through the swinging door. “Good Lord, isn’t that man quite something? Made me want to swoon like a maiden.” Dottie cast a yearning glance at the door through which Royal had disappeared.

“Quite something, indeed,” Lily said, trying not to smile.

She thought of the lengths Royal was willing to go in order to protect her, and wished she understood what it meant.

Royal sat at their usual table in the taproom of the Red Rooster Inn. Lily sat across from him, looking so beautiful it made his chest hurt.

“So everything went as planned,” Charles Sinclair said, looking to Lily for confirmation.

“The meeting went smoothly,” she said. “Unless something goes wrong, Loomis is in for the duration.”

“And you mentioned the boat race?”

“I told him the black-haired man would win, just as we discussed.”

“I’ll speak to Savage and the others,” Royal said, “get things organized. The Oarsmen race whenever they need a little competition, so it won’t be unexpected.”

“So Savage will win,” Jack Moran said, almost gleeful at the prospect of Royal losing. He wondered how much Lily’s uncle had guessed about his relationship with Lily.
Past
relationship, he corrected. Whatever Jack knew or thought he knew, it was clear he disapproved.

And rightly so.

Royal looked over to where Lily sat across the table and found her watching him. Her cheeks colored prettily and she quickly glanced away. His groin tightened. God’s blood, he wanted her. He couldn’t stop thinking of making love to her, imagining her slender body moving beneath him with such unschooled passion, her sweet little cries of pleasure.

“So Savage understands what we have planned?” Sinclair asked, putting an end to his musings.

Royal nodded. “After the race, he’ll talk to Loomis, mention that he makes high-interest, short-term loans to a group of Americans. He’ll offer Loomis a chance to join in and if he agrees, a week later, he’ll have his money back plus a very sizable profit.”

“That ought to impress him,” said Sinclair.

Royal scoffed. “Unfortunately, it’s money I’ll have to pay.”

With an air of confidence, Jack leaned back in his chair, tipping it up on two legs. “Don’t worry, lad, you’ll get it back—and a handsome sum to boot.”

Perhaps he would, Royal thought, but there was a very good chance the entire scheme would fail and he would wind up losing money he could ill afford.

“You’re saving me for last,” Molly said. “Ain’t that right?”

“Savin’ the best for last, sweetness,” said Jack, whose chair thumped back down on the floor. He slipped an arm round Molly’s waist and gave her a hug.

“We will work out the details as we go,” said Sinclair. “Until then, let us focus on the race and the investment we want Loomis to make.”

They discussed a few more possibilities, but Jack
and Molly had an errand to run, so they made their farewells and prepared to leave. “Charlie, will you see Lily gets to the cab stand?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Jack and Molly left the inn and the three who remained finished making plans for the race and figured out how to make certain Loomis heard about it.

“All right then,” Sinclair said, rising to his feet. “With that settled, our meeting is concluded.” He pulled out Lily’s chair and helped her rise. “Come, my dear, I’ll walk you to the corner.”

She nodded, barely flicking Royal a glance. Each week, they came and left separately. Royal waited a few minutes for Lily and Sinclair to climb the stairs to the street, then started up behind them. By the time he reached the corner, Lily stood at the cab stand, waiting for a carriage. Sinclair was disappearing down the street.

He told himself to turn and walk the other way, but his feet refused to obey. Lily spotted him and froze as he started striding toward her. He didn’t see the skinny boy who darted into his path until they had collided.

“Beg pardon, milord,” the boy said, spinning round to dash off in the opposite direction. Lily’s hand shot out and caught the back of the lad’s ragged coat, bringing him to a sudden, sliding halt. Royal stepped in front of him, further blocking his way.

Lily’s glance went from the boy to Royal. “I believe you must have dropped this, Your Grace.” She held up the pouch of coins that had been in his inside coat pocket.