The Trouble With Being Wicked (37 page)

Gavin’s broad face hardened. “He miscalculated when he refused to dower her if she married me. I don’t want a penny from him.”

Delilah smiled at her devoted brute. “Gavin is ready to support a family without it.”

He grunted and clasped her shoulder. “Anything she wants, I will provide. I promise.”

Touched, saddened and pleased, the myriad emotions squeezing Celeste’s heart made it impossible to form a coherent response. She nodded mutely, suddenly feeling very alone in the world. Delilah had loved Gavin for months if not years. What promises could Celeste make that would change Delilah’s mind? A titled husband wouldn’t necessarily look at her like she was the sun and he a helpless blade of grass growing toward it.

Delilah had no taste for Society or money, but then, she’d never been an outcast, never been poor. Celeste summoned the last of her energy to fight this. “You’ll be shunned for turning your back.”

Delilah held her gaze. “A back they would stab at first opportunity. I have no friends in Town.”

“You’ll not be received. Even the shops you frequent here won’t want the wife of a blacksmith to patronize them.”

Delilah regarded her serenely. “I’m a simple woman, Miss Gray. The country suits me well.”

Celeste stood by as their coach was called to board. Right and wrong blurred. What did she mean to do? Did she want to ruin their elopement simply to prove her life had been lived for a reason, that she’d survived hardship for the purpose of helping someone else make the right choice?
 

Her circumstances and Delilah’s were far more dissimilar than similar, and in the end, Celeste was left with nothing she could say for certain. Delilah wouldn’t necessarily be happier with a man who had more money. Celeste hugged her and let Gavin bow gruffly over her hand. As their coach pulled away from the inn, she waved a silk handkerchief at the pair. Then she returned to the phaeton, finding the drive home much longer than she remembered.

After handing over her borrowed vehicle to the distraught tiger and slipping him a coin for his distress, she walked the few blocks to her terraced house and let herself in. A hot soak while she risked sending Lucy a summons sounded heavenly. Something to lift her spirits after berating herself for not stopping Delilah, for losing Lucy’s virtue, and for enabling both of Ash’s sisters to disappoint him.

But there was no time for a bath. Lucy was already there. Celeste followed Gordo to her drawing room and stopped at the threshold. He continued on to the kitchen.

“I knew you’d try to find me,” Lucy said, suspiciously aglow, “and I thought I’d save you the trouble.”

Trouble?
If only she knew. Then again, she probably did. Lucy and Delilah were as close as two sisters should be. While she couldn’t know where Celeste had been, she must know of Delilah’s elopement.

Lucy seemed unaffected by Celeste’s mute stare. “What an interesting turn of events last night, hmm? Trestin and you, Montborne and me…” She waggled her eyebrows at her supposed accomplice. “We’re taking the town.”

“You should not have been there!”

Lucy raised her eyebrows, all innocence. “No one knew it was me. Even Trestin looked right at me and didn’t recognize me.”

Celeste fought the urge to drop into a screaming mess on the floor. “How did you even get in? You didn’t have a voucher. You shouldn’t have even known about it—”

“Why, everyone who is anyone knew about Mrs. Galbraith’s little party. It was to be quite the scandalous affair.”

“But how did you get in?” Celeste couldn’t shake the feeling she was at fault. Even if she hadn’t introduced the girl to the demimonde per se, she’d certainly ushered her across the line of propriety.

Lucy affected insouciance. “I’ve made friends.”

Celeste grasped the doorframe. It was exactly as she’d feared. She’d created a monster.

There was only one more question to ask. “Did you and Lord Montborne—?”

“Make love? Yes!” Lucy dropped her coy pretense. She leaned forward, her hands clasping the fabric covering her knees. “I cannot even begin to describe it. Oh, Celeste. You never said.” She smiled rapturously. “You never
said
.”

Celeste pressed her fingers to her brow. She crumpled against the doorframe. “Dear God.”

“God had nothing to do with it,” Lucy replied cheekily. “Lord Montborne is an amazing lover. So tender, I thought I would expire. When he—”

“Stop, stop now. Please. We must think this through. Did he know it was you?” She’d been wrong. There were many more questions to ask.

“Of course. I was naked.”

“Oh!” Celeste braced her forehead against the frame. What had she done?

And Roman. Dear, dissolute Roman.
How could he?

“I can see you’re wondering ‘how could he?’” Lucy said. “Very well, I assure you.” She punctuated this with a wicked laugh. “A rogue needs only a little coercion. He practically had me against the garden wall, though I did insist on a bed, which he obligingly provided. It was the most romantic interlude you can imagine. And you made it possible.”

She’d made it possible.
Yes, she had.
Oh, God. This was a disaster.

“Did he offer for you?” Celeste croaked.

Lucy looked at her blankly. “Offer what?”

Celeste could barely say it. “Marriage.”

“Oh, no. I told him not to bother. I believe I thoroughly flummoxed him there.”

Celeste swallowed and lightly banged her brow against the frame. She needed tea. Perhaps something stronger than tea.

Lucy shrugged. “He said he’s going to tell Trestin.”

Definitely something stronger than tea. Celeste pressed the back of her hand to her brow and forced her legs to carry her to the couch. She sat hard on it. Ash would never speak to her again. There was no way to hide her involvement in something so catastrophic. “Dear me.”

“Yes! You
are
a dear! In fact, I love you. You are the best friend in the whole world. Oh, Celeste, I couldn’t have done it without you. Montborne was so
thoroughly
besotted. Spouting love and nonsense and promising the moon just like I always imagined. Then I took off my mask and—”

“You took off your mask?” Celeste squeaked.

“Yes, well, he had to know it was me or else what was the fun in it?” Lucy regarded her with a primness out of sorts with her words.

Celeste could only gape. “Lucy! You could have come away freely!”

“As I said, that would have defeated the entire point. I set out to make him love me and I succeeded, barely lifting a finger in the effort. Truly, I’m beyond impressed. Your training is first-rate. We ought to offer classes to our girls, don’t you think? Teach them how to deal with men.”

“NO!”

Lucy blinked. “Why not?”

Celeste jumped up from the couch and began pacing her red and gold Aubusson rug. “Because this is a respectable school for respectable females. Really, why must I explain it?”

“Or,” Lucy said slyly, “it is a specialized education for young women who see themselves in, well, a slightly different light.”

“It’s a school for
innocent girls
who have
nowhere else to go
.”

“I imagine we all begin innocent,” Lucy said reasonably. “Only the clever girl who knows what she’s doing reaches your level.”

“Exactly!” But Celeste’s exclamation was lost on its target.

Lucy leaned forward excitedly. “We’ll train the best of the best! Men will pay handsomely for a girl with excellent, learned conversation and a pretty smile, will they not? And we’ll have the satisfaction of making independent women of girls who would have gone onto be servants and seamstresses, if they’re even that lucky.”

The vision was extraordinary. It was probably viable, and perhaps even brilliant. But it wasn’t what Celeste had in mind when she thought of using her hard-earned wages to help unfortunate girls who would, yes, be selling their favors without her assistance.

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but I cannot condone or support your idea. You’ve made love to the one man you’ve adored since girlhood. You don’t understand what it means to be a courtesan, to give yourself to the highest bidder and open your most private parts to men you don’t even know.”

Lucy’s excitement dimmed. “I suppose not.”

“Absolutely you do not!”

They regarded each other a long moment. Finally, Lucy spoke. “I’ll never truly understand what your life has been like. But I am very glad you’ve shared a part of it with me, and I will always be grateful you gave me the opportunity to follow my heart. We’re friends, Celeste. Never think otherwise. And I if ever should be able to return the favor,” her eyes gleamed with resolution, “I will.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

He was going to do it. He was really going to do it.

 
Ash pushed from his desk and stretched his legs out, holding a delicate emerald ring into a pale ribbon of sunlight. He’d sifted through all the crass trinkets passed down in his family. This was the only setting that didn’t cry out for attention, and one of the few that weren’t paste. A single emerald set in a gold band. A precious gem less pure than a diamond, yet amazing and admirable and beautiful. Like her.

It was perfect. And he was ready. He would ask her tonight, after a simple supper and a glass of wine. Not the most imaginative proposal, but then, he wasn’t the exciting, dashing man Lord Montborne was. He couldn’t offer her midnight parties or new gowns every other day, like a wealthy man could. He was never going to be as perfect a husband as he wished to be. But he could love her, and only her, forever. And he rather thought she’d prefer that to all the diamonds and impeccable lovers in the world.

Well, he hoped so.

His library door opened so quickly he didn’t have time to hide the precious ring in his pocket. Caught red-handed with a bauble that could mean only one thing, he dismissed his butler with a glance and regarded his intruder levelly. “What a surprise, Montborne. You must have sensed I’m happy.”

His butler backed out of the room. Montborne took the library in three strides and then, to Ash’s surprise, sat heavily in the leather chair across from his desk. “I’d tell you how incredibly stupid that sentimental look on your face is, but…” He trailed off, for the first time sheathing a cutting remark.

Ash opened his desk drawer and reverently set the ring on a cushion of papers he really should have been reviewing. When he was assured the wedding ring wasn’t going to disappear along with his hopes and dreams, he shut the drawer and turned to his uninvited guest. “I thought every day was Poke Fun at Trestin Day. Heart not in it?”

Montborne sighed mournfully and rested his chin in his hand. “The problem is, I don’t know what to do. And before you say it, despite what you may think about me, I
always
know what to do. But this is beyond the pale. I’ve really done it this time. My death may be imminent.”

“Surely it’s not worse than that deal with Lord Hollyhand’s daughter.” Impatient as Ash was to get on with this interview so he could be free to prepare for his proposal, he’d never seen his boyhood friend this distraught. Montborne’s curls were a frizz of half-formed ringlets and his skin a sallow ash. He was upset, whatever he’d done. Alarming in itself, as Montborne had allegedly done some horrific things in his time without evidencing an ounce of remorse.

“Oh, much worse than her,” he said. “Much, much worse. This time I fear there’s no recourse. I’ve lived up to my black reputation at long last.” He wiped his hand down his face, staring at the floor long enough to give Ash pause. Then he turned surprisingly sharp eyes up. “I did not ruin Lady Frances, just so you know. Hollyhand’s daughter was returned to him exactly as I found her.”

“Everyone seemed to think you lied about that.” Ash didn’t add that he’d considered siding with them. After their last, violent encounter, it didn’t seem worth saying.

“Yes, well, sometimes ‘everyone’ is wrong. I never touched her. Not in the biblical sense, at least. She threw herself at me
after
she got with child. What can I say? I’m an easy mark. Very nearly ruined in some circles.” Montborne shrugged. “Luckily, I’m delightful.” He didn’t laugh.

Neither did Ash. He’d thrown down the gauntlet a few days ago when he’d dared Montborne to prove his mistrust wrong. Certainly after their last argument, he hadn’t expected his old friend to return so soon, and looking for help with the same tired behavior that had caused Ash to doubt him in the first place.