Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend

by Shana Galen

  Lily felt tears well in her eyes for her son’s good fortune. No one could know how many hours she had spent worried and anguished over her baby, wondering if she had made the right decision, if he was well, happy, loved. Why had the countess never shared this information with her? Lily almost laughed, because she knew why. The countess did not want Lily blubbering all over her with gratitude. Lily’s own mother might have disowned her, but the countess was a more than adequate substitute.

  Another knock sounded on the door, and with a sigh, Lily shoved the letters inside the desk drawer. Anna entered and informed her everyone was dressing for a light afternoon repast. Lily closed her eyes and consented to the tedious dressing ritual. Would madam prefer the gold or the brown gown?

  The meal was, of course, a ridiculous waste of time. She had managed to avoid Kwirley the past few days, but she could not escape him this afternoon. He was sullen and almost abusive. That would all stop when Ravenscroft announced their engagement. She had persuaded him to wait until they both returned to London, so they might make the announcement at a ball Ravenscroft held in Lily’s honor, but she could not trust that he would wait. It was in her best interest to ensure news of the engagement was never made public, but she was also well aware she might have to sacrifice her own interests.

  Her tension about what Ravenscroft would say or do, coupled with Kwirley’s insistence that every third sentence contained cutting remarks aimed at her, made the meal all but unbearable. And if worries about Ravenscroft and Kwirley were not enough to make her stomach hurt, Darlington did not join them. He had made his distaste for the guests clear, but now she wondered if he had learned some new information about Lucifer that kept him away. How she wished she had the freedom of a man. Right now she would have liked to walk the grounds and snoop a bit to see if she could find any evidence of Lucifer’s presence. She was not an expert at surveillance, but she knew what to look for. But if she mentioned going for a walk, half the men in the room would offer to accompany her. With her luck of late, she would end up on the arm of Lord Kwirley.

  Afternoon turned to evening, and Lily was forced to change yet again. This time she donned a gold silk gown with a shimmery overlay. The V-neck bodice was low enough to display her favorite sapphire necklace, nestled in her cleavage. She had no time to complete her letters, but she was able to excuse herself after the fourth dinner course, claiming a headache. Once again, Darlington had not made an appearance, and she considered changing into a dark cloak and sneaking past the drawing room later, when the guests were quite foxed, to take a look about outside on her own. She would have to take her pistol, of course. Lucifer could very well be lurking.

  Anna was helping with dinner and would then dine with the servants, so Lily knew she had plenty of time to herself. She opened her door, closed and locked it, and went immediately to her desk. She pulled open the drawer and inhaled sharply. Her letter to Fitzhugh, as well as the countess’s letter, were missing.

  “Looking for these?”

  She turned and watched as Darlington moved out of the shadows on the far side of the room. In his hand, he waved several sheets of parchment.

  “Those are personal.”

  “Yes, I’ve noted that. They are quite personal.” He stepped forward. “Are they true?”

  She didn’t answer. She had been foolish to leave them in an unlocked drawer, but she did not think they revealed anything at a casual glance. She was still not certain what Darlington thought he knew. It was better to keep silent, rather than give anything away. “May I have them back?” She rose and held out a hand.

  “No. I want to know what you’re doing here. Did Fitzhugh send you?”

  She met his gaze in stubborn silence. She did not blame him for trying to discover her secrets. He was desperate to protect those he loved. But she would help him more by staying silent.

  “Is he your superior? Is that why you are reporting to him?”

  She knew every effective interrogation technique as well as she knew the lines on her palm. If he thought merely questioning her would succeed in gaining information, he was quite mistaken. He moved closer, and she tensed. He looked furious, and the hard glint in his dark eyes was dangerous.

  “What exactly do you do for the Crown? Are you a spy?” He grasped her arm and hauled her against him. “Are you here to spy on me and my family?”

  She merely stared at him. He knew more than she had anticipated, but he wasn’t certain. If he was certain, he would not be here, questioning her.

  “You will answer my questions,” he said. “I deserve an answer.”

  “No, you don’t. This has nothing to do with you.”

  He released her, all but shoving her away from him. It hurt to see the contempt in his eyes, but engendering his dislike was the least of her worries. It was her own fault for allowing him access to her heart. And for daring to hope he might fall in love with her and forget, for one moment, the lovely Juliette. Oh, but how she wished she could confide in him. She wished she could tell him everything. But that was folly. Dangerous folly.

  “If you will not answer my questions freely, then you leave me no choice.”

  Lily felt a chill run down her back and into her legs. “What do you mean?” Her gaze flicked to the letters he held, and she caught her breath. He had read the one to Fitzhugh, but she had been careful in her wording. He could guess at what it meant, but he could not be certain. But she had forgotten the other letter she received—the one from the countess. The one that contained that detailed report. “No choice but…?”

  “I read the letter from the Countess of Sinclair. You have a son.”

  Lily shrank back, bumping against the desk and rattling the lamp on top. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

  But Darlington was looking at the letter. He was reading it, and she had never felt so naked. She had never felt so exposed. “I followed you, remember? The Musgrove boy is yours. I cannot believe I never saw it before. He has your coloring.”

  Lily clenched the desk, her blunt fingernails digging into the soft wood.

  “I didn’t piece it together until now.” He waved the letter. “Who knows besides Lady Sinclair?”

  She swallowed and attempted to force her lips to move. “You.” Her mind was whirling faster and faster, making the room swim. She had made a grave error—an amateur error. She should have burned the letter as soon as she received it. The countess should never have sent it, but she was not a spy. She was not expected to know the protocols. Lily was, and she did.

  But she had not followed them, and now she would pay the price. The Diamonds in the Rough and the Crown would suffer for her own stupidity.

  “This is privileged information then,” Darlington said. He was not taunting her. He was not crowing. She could see he took no pleasure in besting her. But he would not shy from using what he had, either. She knew the set of his jaw and the determined line above his brow. He would do what he felt necessary to protect his family. “What do you think the ton would do if it knew your secret?”

  “I don’t care.” This was true enough. “I do not think they would care beyond the fact that it would give them something new to gossip about.” This was also true. There was hardly an Impure about who did not have at least one child. If the child was a by-blow of a peer, the gentleman usually provided for his offspring’s rearing. The prince regent even gave titles to his illegitimate children. Having the child of the prince was a mark of prestige.

  But Lily’s child was not the son of a peer or even a gentleman. And she had not been a glamorous courtesan when she’d birthed him. She’d been a scared, lonely sixteen-year-old girl. All she had wanted was to survive.

  She did not care if the ton knew her secret. But she did care, very much, that the identity of the boy should be revealed. What would the child’s life be like if he found out he was adopted? If he found out he w
as the child of a courtesan? Would his friends turn their backs on him? Would he be the target of scorn and ridicule? She could not allow that, not any more than she could allow another of the Crown’s men to die at the hands of a paid assassin.

  “What do you think my father would say?”

  Lily paused. “He would understand. I would explain the circumstances.”

  “And what are those circumstances?” He waved the letters again, and Lily wanted to snatch them. She knew such an effort would be useless, but the urge was there nonetheless. “That the child of his intended is living a few miles from here?”

  “You cannot ever reveal that!” she sputtered and immediately regretted saying anything. She should have said nothing, but words had broken free before she could contain them.

  “And if I do?”

  She wanted to beg. She wanted to throw herself at his feet and plead. Would it make any difference? Did she have any choice? Bile rose in her throat at the very thought. She had only ever begged once before, when her parents had found out she was breeding. For her pains, they’d thrown her transgressions in her face and mocked her efforts to ask for forgiveness. “He’s an innocent child,” she said. “If you reveal that I am his mother, it will change the whole course of his life. If you read that”—she pointed to the letter—“you know he does not know he is adopted. He does not know who his mother is. If he learns, it could ruin him.”

  “Then tell me what I want to know. You hold the boy’s future in your hands.” His arms were crossed, his face stony. How could he be so harsh, so cruel? She had thought she knew him, but now she was not so certain.

  “I cannot. No matter the consequences.”

  “Fine.” He started away from her. “Then I go to my father.”

  Lily swallowed the bile in her throat. “No.” She went after him, grasped his wrist. “Please. Andrew, please.” She was out of options, so she fell to her knees. Her son was worth this humiliation. She would do it for him. She had done worse.

  Darlington tried to pull his hand away, but she held it tightly. “My lord, please. I beg you not to expose my son. If you must expose me, so be it, but spare him.”

  “Stand up.” He shook his hand free and grasped her shoulders. “I do not want you to beg.”

  “I have no other choice. What do you want from me? I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.” She reached for the fall of his trousers. Pleasuring him might not change his mind, but it would stall him. It would give her time to think.

  He took her hands. “No. Do you think I would use you like that?”

  She did not know what to think anymore. He pulled her to her feet. “You are blackmailing me,” she pointed out.

  He sighed. “I cannot even do that. You obviously love this child, your son. He does not know you are his mother, and you would sacrifice for him. Do you not see I, too, am trying to protect those I love?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you won’t tell me what I ask. I must resort to blackmail.” He spat the word as though it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

  “There are some sacrifices not mine to make.”

  He swore and crumpled the papers in his fist then turned away from her, resting a hand on the mantel. “How am I supposed to take a boy’s mother from him? How, when I know how that feels?”

  “Andrew.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss. Please understand I would never think of taking your mother’s place.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  She looked away.

  “Is this something to do with the Lucifer you mentioned? Is that what Fitzhugh and the Foreign Office are interested in?” He stared at the fire, and she could see his mind working. But did he have enough information to puzzle it out? She did not think so, but she dared not underestimate him. “You said my father may have something Lucifer wants, and this Lucifer is the man causing the recent mischief. In that case, I should alert the authorities. We cannot have Lucifer attempting to break in and steal my family’s property.”

  “You can try to do so,” she said, “but if you tell your father, he will stop you.” At least, if her suppositions about the duke were correct, he would stop his son. He would not want the authorities involved.

  “You think he would risk the safety of his home and family?”

  She gazed at him directly, allowing him to come to his own conclusions.

  He shook his head. “You have no intention of marrying him, do you?”

  “Does that relieve you? I will not defile your home or presume to take your sainted mother’s place.” She turned away, trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

  “I was wrong,” he said, catching her elbow. “I was wrong to say that about you. I… it was my grief speaking.” It was Darlington who turned away then, and though Lily knew this was the perfect opportunity to reclaim the letters—now when he was distracted—she could not do it.

  “Andrew, why do you still grieve for your mother?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of contempt. “Because she was the only person who ever loved me.”

  Lily stared at him, at the naked pain etched on his face.

  “I loved you,” she whispered.

  He gave a bitter laugh. “And look how I treated you. I never told her. I never thanked her.”

  “I’m certain she knew you loved her.”

  “I’ll never know.” He laid his forehead on his arm, and Lily’s eyes widened in surprise. She had never seen him like this and did not know what to say or do to make it better.

  “I never told her,” he said, voice muted. “I never told her I loved her. I never told her how much I appreciated all she had done for me.”

  “She knew.” Lily rubbed his back.

  “When I was first at Eton,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper, “I hated it. I was small and scrawny, and I made an easy target. I was lonely, too. My mother used to write me a letter every day. Those letters saved me time and again when I felt I could not go on. I knew if I made it one more day, I would have another letter from my mother.” He looked up, his expression rueful. “You can see why the other lads beat up on me.”

  “Not at all. You were a little boy. Of course you missed your mother.”

  “She gave me the advice that helped me through it.”

  “What was that?”

  “Make them laugh. If they were laughing at me, they couldn’t hit me—at least, not as hard.”

  “Is that how you became so charming?”

  “I was always charming.”

  Lily rolled her eyes.

  “But that was when I learned to use it.” He straightened. “This has nothing to do with you—”

  “But it does. I know what it is like to send a son away, although my circumstances are somewhat different.” Perhaps if she told him. Perhaps if she revealed something of her past, he would keep her secrets—at least long enough for her to complete her mission.

  “Is that why you became a courtesan?” he asked.

  “I was a fallen woman. I had no other options open to me.”

  “You could have kept the child.”

  She shook her head. “I was sixteen when he was born. My parents had disowned me, and I was living on the street in the worst part of London.”

  “What about the father?”

  “I don’t think he ever knew I was with child. We spent barely a summer together, and I was little more than a child myself. I hardly knew what I was doing.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Oh, he’s not completely to blame,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “I knew it was wrong. I knew that much. But I was so dazzled by him. He was handsome, and he dressed like one of the dandies I sometimes saw on the streets. I fancied myself in love. No one ever looked at me, you see, and he made
me feel beautiful and special.”

  Darlington huffed. “I can hardly believe that. You must have had admirers.”

  “No. I was an incredibly shy child. I had to learn to overcome that to ma—to become a successful courtesan.” She had almost said masquerade. She could not allow herself to drop her guard around Darlington. She had to remember he was very much her enemy.

  “But even if you were reticent, there is still the obvious.” He gestured to her as though his point should be clear.

  “The obvious?”

  “You are beautiful.”

  She gaped at him. She almost argued. She had never been called beautiful—that was a term reserved for women like Juliette and Fallon. She was always charming, as if her personality somehow made up for what she lacked in appearance. But Darlington was absolutely serious. He was not attempting to flatter her. He called her beautiful as though it were fact. “You say things like that,” she said, her voice breaking, “and it makes it incredibly difficult to hate you.”

  His brow rose. “And?”

  “And I need to hate you, Darlington.”

  “What if you didn’t?”

  “Then… this.” She grabbed him about the shoulders and kissed him. She expected him to go rigid with surprise, but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. She was lost. She knew that now. She was completely in his power.

  Twelve

  Andrew did not want to think about what he was doing. His was alone in the bedchamber of his father’s intended. He was kissing her, his thoughts and intentions far from brotherly toward the woman who might one day be his stepmother.

  Except all of that was a lie. She was hiding something, hiding a lot, from him and from his father. Andrew was not certain of the details yet, but it was coming together in his mind. He would figure it out. And when he did… what? He could not reveal her secret to Society. It had been an empty threat. Not simply because she was right about the damage it would do to the boy, but because he couldn’t hurt her. Could she not see he wanted to protect her? Why would she not trust him? Did she think he could not see there was more to her than she allowed others to glimpse? The mystery surrounding her, the secrets, intrigued him.