by Shana Galen
“Then why is Lucifer here?”
“You tell me!” Andrew stood. This conversation was ridiculous. He would have stomped home except he remembered the stream. He could have forded it. He was strong, but Lily could not make it, and no matter the accusations she made, he would not abandon her in the woods.
“I don’t have the documents with me,” she said, “but I would not lie to you.”
He gaped at her. “You’ve lied about everything! You are an agent for the Crown, not a courtesan.”
She glared back at him. “I told you before I was not a courtesan, and keeping my true reason for being here was a necessary omission. But when you have asked me questions directly, I told you the truth. I told you about my son.”
He was not going anywhere, so he sat beside her again. He did not want to hear what she would say next, but by the same token, he knew he must listen.
“You know something,” she said. “I see it in your face. I’ve said something that hits close to the mark.”
He clenched his jaw and did not answer. He would confront his father. This was a matter to be dealt with in private, within the confines of his family.
“Lucifer will stop at nothing to reclaim the documents pertaining to the Diamonds in the Rough. He has resorted to murder before, and he will do it again. For that reason, I am thankful Lady Emma will be sent away. But no one is safe—not you, not your father, not the staff. I cannot help you if you will not help me.”
“You have no intention of helping. You want to accuse my father of treason.”
“Your father is guilty of treason. Once I find the evidence that proves as much, I will turn it over to my superiors. My job is to protect the agents of the Crown. Already your friend Fitzhugh has been the target of several attacks. He may not survive the next one.”
“Even if what you say is true”—and he had a sinking feeling some of what she said had merit—“why would my father want to kill these men? Why would he promise them jewels that have been in our family for generations?”
She looked down. “I don’t know.”
“But you have a theory.”
She glanced up, and her green eyes were filled with pain. “You don’t want to hear this.”
It was too late for that. Far too late. He needed to know all of it now. “Tell me.”
“I suspect your father is the notorious assassin, Artemis. He killed valuable British agents during the war, but the Diamonds in the Rough always eluded him. I think he wants to prove he can kill them to bolster his pride and line his pockets.”
“For profit?”
She hesitated, and he could see she did not want to say more. He grasped her wrist to keep her from moving away.
“Profit?” he asked again.
“The French have been defeated, but we have other enemies. The Diamonds in the Rough are the best we have. If they are killed, or worse, captured, Britain’s intelligence community will be hobbled.”
Darlington shook his head, but it was more out of horror than denial now.
“We know there are traitors in the Foreign Office. Fitzhugh tracked and captured the man who sold the identities of the Diamonds to Lucifer. There will be others. If so, your father may have been approached by these men. It is vital we question your father and have him order the cessation of the attacks on the Diamonds.”
Her hand shook as she spoke, more out of passion now than cold. The rain had ceased, and patches of her hair had actually begun to dry. He had never seen this aspect of her before. He had never thought of her in any role other than that of seductress. But clearly she was clever and brave.
Andrew was not certain he had the courage to travel alone to the enemy’s lair, to risk discovery and the accompanying perils. And for what? Loyalty to King and country? She could have no other motive. Quite suddenly, he felt ashamed. He had not fought in the war. He had not cared what happened to the men who did, not really. Casualty numbers meant little to him. He had always cared for his own pleasures, and as the heir to a dukedom, he had been safe from inconveniences like war. Had he ever done anything for his country? Had he been living with a traitor and not even known?
If these accusations were true, he could save his father. He could expose her and alert his father to cover his tracks. Lily knew this. He could see in the wary manner she watched him that she knew he had the upper hand. And she had risked telling him anyway.
“I’ll help you,” he said. “I’ll help you find the evidence you need.”
“No one is asking you to betray your own father,” she said, turning his grip on her wrist so she cupped his hand in both of hers.
“And if he is a traitor, and if he orders the deaths of these men and profits from it, am I supposed to revel in one day being a beneficiary of that treachery?”
“The scandal on your family, if he is found guilty, will be all but insurmountable.”
“In that case,” he said, “my cooperation may be the only way to save the dukedom.”
She nodded. “You do your family service.”
“No. I have not. I have not served my country either, but that is going to change.” He lifted his free hand and cupped her cold cheek. “I admire you, Lily, and now that I know your true purpose for being here, it is impossible for me to allow you to continue unprotected.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said, straightening her back and all but bristling at the idea that she couldn’t.
“I know you can, but I can take care of you too.” He leaned close to her, brushing his mouth against hers. “Let me.”
Fifteen
She froze, not sure how to respond to Darlington’s kiss. She wanted to kiss him back, but was this some sort of deception? She had just told him his father was a traitor. He should have hated her. Instead, he praised her and kissed her.
As he wrapped his warm arms around her cold body, she melted into the welcome heat of him. She was so cold, inside and out. When he touched her, she realized how much she missed this sort of simple human contact. She tended to avoid physical contact since the night Sinclair found her, broken and bleeding. It was different with Darlington. When he touched her, he set her on fire. Now she craved that heat.
She did not regret what had transpired between them. He’d shown her she could take pleasure in the physical aspects of a relationship, but how would she feel if he wanted more? They were not married, he had not proposed, and she did not want to bear another child out of wedlock. She could not allow him any further intimacy.
Slowly, gently, Darlington pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. She was warm now—from his lips and the closeness of his body. His hands were flooding heat into her chilled cheeks. His dark eyes studied her face with an intensity she hadn’t thought he was capable of. “I’ve never felt like this before,” he said, his voice so low she almost thought she imagined his words. “I’ve never known a woman like you.”
His tenderness overwhelmed her, punctured her defenses. “I’ve always been in love with you,” she said. “You know that.”
“Despite my frequent lapses into idiocy.”
“Despite those.” She laughed. “Perhaps because of them.”
“I want you,” he told her, his fingers tensing slightly on her tender flesh. “I know this is not the place.” He gestured to the woods, where the leaves glistened around them from the recent rain and the glimmer of late afternoon sun peeking through the clouds. “I feel as though I’ve waited an eternity to have you, Lily. Let me come to you tonight.”
She shook her head. “I cannot. I know that sounds ridiculous coming from a so-called courtesan, but I do not want another child. I made that mistake once, and I will not repeat it.”
“I know precautions.”
Lily had heard of these precautions. One did not associate with courtesans and ladies of ill-repute for long without learning something about t
he ways in which one prevented the birth of unwanted children. But whether or not he possessed French letters or knew of some other method, a child was only part of the issue.
He sat back, releasing her cheeks. “If your feelings have changed—”
“No.” Her entire being mourned the loss of his touch. “My feelings haven’t changed, and please do not think this is some scheme to force you to propose marriage. I know who you are and what your responsibilities entail.” No man of noble birth would ever want her.
“Then what is it?”
She studied the damp ground beneath them, lifting a small stick and pushing it about to form various designs. Could she tell him? Could she confide in this man what she had confided to no one? Lord and Lady Sinclair had rescued her, but they had not asked questions. They undoubtedly knew she had sinned, but once she entered their house, it was as though a new life had begun. She was no longer that girl.
She glanced up at Andrew, sighed at the tender way in which he watched her. She should tell him if only to turn that tender look into one of disdain. He would not want her when she revealed the truth. And that would make it easier for her to give him up for good.
“You don’t know me like you think you do,” she said to begin. “You don’t know the truth about me.”
“I know you are smart, brave, and resilient. I know how I feel about you. How I feel when I am with you. What else need I know?”
“After the birth of my child, I had nowhere to go. My parents had disowned me.”
“What about Lady Sinclair?”
She shook her head. She often perpetuated the misinformation that she had known the earl and countess for years, because she did not want to speak the truth. “I did not know the countess then, and my mother had turned her back on me. I don’t blame her. I had disgraced my family. I had no one to blame but myself.”
“And yet it seems kindness and loyalty should win over reputation.”
“You say that because someone in your station can afford a little scandal. You can survive a scandal. My family’s position was one step away from ruin. Creditors could call in debts. My father could have lost his position. The landlord might have turned us out.”
“I see.”
She doubted that, but she knew he tried, at least.
“I had the baby in a charity hospital, surrounded by the other women who had nowhere else to go. And then I had nowhere else to go. I had no money, no skills, no connections. A few days after the birth, I was told there was no more room for me.”
She’d wandered the cold streets, still sore and bleeding, taking what charity she was offered, sleeping in doorways or church graveyards. The only thing she had cared about was her child. Somehow she had to care for him, provide for him, protect him. “I stole and I cheated and I—I did all manner of things I’m not proud of, but I cared for my baby. And then it began to rain. It rained for a week, and I had no protection. I huddled on stoops when I could, and I begged passersby to spare something so I could give my child shelter.”
She’d begged, her dirty hand extended toward those more fortunate, those who passed her by and pretended not to see her. She’d known hunger and cold and desperation.
“One night an older woman passed us. She barely glanced at me—and then she came back.” There was something caught in her throat, but she ignored the way it tightened, and soldiered on. “She took me inside a coffeehouse, bought me food and drink, and she told me about her daughter, a married woman who was barren. She talked and talked about her child and the girl’s husband, and I didn’t understand at first. I was so hungry. All I cared about was the food and keeping my little baby dry, but then she put twenty pounds on the table. I think I almost fell over. It was a fortune to me then. I would give her my child, and she would give me money. No questions.” Save one. The woman had asked for her name. Her real name.
“Lily.” Andrew’s hand on her arm tightened, but she couldn’t look at him.
“I took it. I was so weary. I knew I couldn’t go on much longer. I sold my child.” She looked into his eyes now. “What kind of person does that?”
She wanted to see condemnation, expected it, but his face showed only anguish.
“It must have been difficult to let him go.”
She waved her hand, because if she spoke of that now, she would never be able to continue. She could not think of losing that small defenseless child to an uncertain future. She could not bear to remember having that part of herself, a part she had nurtured and grown with her own flesh and blood for months. The child who had been with her constantly, who had moved within her, his little flutters and kicks and hiccups her constant companion during the loneliest time in her life.
No, she would not think of that now.
“He was safe, or so I prayed, but I was lost.” She’d considered just stepping off a bridge into the Thames, ending it all. Her child was gone. Another woman held him in her arms, smelled his sweet hair, rocked him to sleep. Her family had abandoned her. She was as good as dead to them. But as she’d stood on London Bridge and stared at the rushing water below, she could not make herself take the last step. She wanted to live. She wanted to believe the world had something more for her than this miserable, invisible existence.
And then she’d stepped back onto the bridge and laughed so hard she’d clutched her empty belly. She had always wanted to be invisible. One should be careful of wishes.
She’d been robbed not long after—that precious money gone—and she’d gone back to desperation. She’d resorted to selling her hair, though the price was not very good. Blond hair was prized above her unfashionable red. And then one night she’d been jarred awake by a man’s stale breath and his heavy body. She’d been sleeping in the doorway of a church. Sometimes the vicars were kind and let her sleep inside. Not this one, and she was vulnerable and exposed.
She tried to fight the man, but she was weak from lack of food and groggy from sleep. The pain and the terror and the humiliation had been more than she could take, and she’d gone away in her head for a little while. Even now, years later and miles and miles away, she could not make herself go back there. Not completely.
But she remembered that when he’d finished, he’d tossed her a coin before doing up his breeches and walking away. She’d eaten the next day.
She felt the burn of tears behind her eyes and looked away. She could not look at Darlington as she told him what must come next. “I had fallen as low as I could. Used and left for dead. But I took that money. I had no other choice,” she whispered. “I should have died, but I was stubborn. I wanted to live.”
“Lily.” His voice was anguished, and he pulled her into his arms. She tensed, certain he had not understood her. Why would he be holding her? Shame and mortification heated her cheeks all these years later when she thought of how she’d sold her child, how she’d been raped, but instead of fighting, she’d taken the money as though she were a common whore.
She pulled back and forced herself to look at Andrew’s handsome face. It was the face she had dreamed of beside her, the face that, not so long ago, she had lain in her soft, cold bed and wished were there with her. The face she knew she could never have.
And perhaps that was why she’d chosen him. He did not want her, and she was safe. She could love him from afar and never have to fear she would shrink from his touch as she’d learned to shrink from men on the streets of London.
“You don’t understand. I sold my child.” There, she’d said it. Before today, she’d never said it aloud, and now she’d admitted it twice. She could feel her face flaming, but she went on. She had to tell him all of it now. “I could have fought for my child, fought that man off, but I didn’t.”
She watched him, waited for the disgust, but his face showed only compassion, much as the Earl of Sinclair’s had the night he’d found her.
“Lily, Lily,” he whispered, an
d took her in his arms, enveloping her in his warmth. The way he said her name… it was almost as though she were as precious as the flower she’d been named after. But she was soiled. Ruined.
She pulled back, out of Darlington’s arms. “How can you touch me? I told you what I did.”
“You were a child. You did what you must in order to survive. And, if you recall, I touched you before, when I thought you were a courtesan.”
She shook her head. “That’s different.”
“Why? Because the beds are softer and the protectors wear silk and brocade? Do you know one reason I held onto my infatuation—” She began to protest, but he cut her off. “Yes, it was an infatuation. I know that now. But I clung to it because I wanted to save her. I thought I could take her away from that life, the life of an Impure.”
“You couldn’t have hoped to marry her,” Lily said, astonished. But if she was honest with herself, and there often seemed so little reason to be honest, she knew there was a flicker of hope in her words. A flicker for herself.
“I don’t know what I thought, what I hoped. And I don’t know what you went through, but thank God you found a way out.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We can both agree I am no saint,” Darlington admitted with a smile. His thumb stroked her cheek reverently. “I’m no one to judge. How did you escape it? How did you become a ‘diamond of the first water’?”
“The Earl of Sinclair.”
“Your protector.”
“My savior,” she corrected. “Both the earl and the countess. He found me, broken and bleeding, brought me home, and she took me in. Juliette and Fallon were already there. I told them I was from York, because I didn’t want them to search for my family in London. I don’t know if the countess believed it, but she never asked me any questions. She must have suspected something.”
There was no question Lily was, at the very least, a fallen woman. She remembered she’d stood in Lord and Lady Sinclair’s vestibule, marveling at the soaring ceiling and the enormous curved staircase. The footmen had stood so straight, so regal. They pretended they didn’t even see her. She hadn’t wanted to be seen. She’d been dressed in rags. Her hair—the little she had left—had been dirty and matted, and she had blood on her face from a blow she’d been given by a man she had fought off.
