The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3)

by Jillian Eaton

  Hauling up Glastonbury by his cravat, Lucas pinned him against the wall, where he squirmed like a worm on the end of a hook. “I am going to repeat myself one time, and one time only,” he snarled. “You are never going to touch Persephone again. You are never going to look at her again. You are never going to be so much as in the same bloody town as her again. When she is in London, you will be here. When she comes to the country, you can go live under a damned rock for all I care. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You have no right to do this! She is my wife! She is my property, and I will do with her what I see–oomph.” Tears leaked from the corners of the duke’s eyes as Lucas drove his knee upward. Pinning his forearm to Glastonbury’s neck in order to keep him from falling over, Lucas leaned in close. So close he could see the purple undertone creeping into the duke’s face as he wheezed for breath.

  “You’re right, Your Grace. For some, the lesson does come a bit slower,” Lucas said silkily. “In case you haven’t realized it by now, I could snap you in half if I wanted to. Have you ever heard the sound of your own bone breaking? No?” His head tilted thoughtfully. “Would you like to?”

  “P-p-please,” Glastonbury stuttered. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “You miserable, worthless excuse for a man.” Beyond disgusted, Lucas released his grip on the duke and stepped out of the way as Glastonbury crumpled to the ground and curled in on himself like a boiled shrimp. “I should kill you now and be done with it. But for some reason I cannot fathom, Persephone wants you alive. So, this is how it is going to be.”

  Glastonbury’s eyes rolled in terror when Lucas crouched down beside him. He tried to crawl away, and on an annoyed sigh, Lucas slammed his elbow directly between the duke’s shoulder blades. With a muffled squeak, Glastonbury collapsed to the floor, his legs twitching.

  “You are not going to send anyone after Persephone again,” Lucas said with remarkable calm. “You are not going to send anyone after me. You are going to leave us both alone, or I will come back here and make this seem like an afternoon at one of your bloody spas. Do we understand each other?”

  “Y-yes,” Glastonbury moaned pitifully.

  “Good. I’m so glad we could have this little chat, aren’t you?” Giving the duke a friendly slap on the back, Lucas stood up and dusted off his hands. “Enjoy the rest of the day, Your Grace.”

  Whistling a merry tune, he sauntered out of the parlor, while Glastonbury writhed in pain behind him.

  “Percy!” Helena’s delighted cry rang throughout the entire house. “You’re back!”

  “I am,” Percy confirmed as she nudged the door closed with her foot and began to take off her bonnet and cloak. She’d hardly untied the ribbons under her chin than she found her arms filled with Helena as the red-haired countess practically tackled her to the floor.

  “I cannot believe it!” Helena squealed.

  “Can’t–breathe,” Percy choked out.

  “Oh, dear.” Loosening her grip on Percy’s neck, Helena flashed her a contrite smile. Then she immediately took to fussing over her as a mother hen would her lost chick, first taking Percy’s outer garments and then guiding her straight into the drawing-room and onto a large sofa.

  “Lie back,” she instructed. “I can only imagine the ordeal you’ve been through. You must be exhausted! And starving. It looks as though you’ve lost half a stone. Do you want tea? Water? Wine? Biscuits? Cook made them fresh this morning. Scones? Banbury tarts? Shrewsbury cakes?”

  As Helena continued to rattle off sweets, Percy draped an arm over her face and wished she was in her bedroom with the curtains drawn and the candles doused. Her friend’s enthusiasm at her return was heartwarming. Truly. But Percy didn’t want wine or scones. She wanted Lucas. And if she couldn’t have him, then all she wanted to do was sleep.

  “…Going to send for Calliope at once.” Helena scurried from the room, taking all of her energy with her, and Percy actually managed to doze for an hour or so until she was awoken with a start by another high-pitched squeal.

  “PERCY! YOU’RE HERE!” Calliope screeched as she bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands together. “I couldn’t believe it when Helena told me! Are you all right? Are you hungry? Thirsty? What can we get you? How did you get here? Oh, I’ve so many questions!”

  “Tea,” Percy grimaced as she forced herself into a sitting position. Dragging a blanket off the back of the sofa, she draped it over her lap and mustered a strained smile. “Some tea would be nice.”

  “Not a word until I return,” Helena warned before she dashed out again.

  Calliope sat down beside Percy. “How are–”

  “Not a word!” Helena yelled from the kitchen.

  “She’s got the ears of a fox, that one.” Calliope rolled her eyes. “We’ve been absolutely beside ourselves with worry. I’m so relieved to see you home safe and sound. We knew Art would be able to find you.”

  “Art?” Percy repeated in confusion. “Who is Art?”

  “Artemis Bishop,” Helena said as she returned the drawing-room carrying a small porcelain teapot in her left hand and three matching teacups in her right. After pouring and distributing the hot brew, she took the chair across from the sofa. “She’s a thief-taker. We hired her to find you.”

  Percy blinked. “How did you find her?”

  The two friends exchanged a glance.

  “In Seven Dials,” Helena admitted after she took a sip of tea.

  “It was Helena’s idea,” Calliope interjected. “We were nearly murdered.”

  “Oh, we were not. Stop exaggerating.”

  Yes we were, Calliope mouthed.

  “But you’re saying Art didn’t bring you here?” asked Helena.

  “No, I’ve never met her.”

  Calliope’s temple furrowed. “Then…how did you get away?”

  “I was released.” Her gaze downcast, Percy plucked at a loose thread on the blanket. “And my kidnapper, Lucas Black, had his driver bring me here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Helena said.

  Neither did Percy.

  Given everything she and Lucas had shared, how could he have turned her out as if she meant nothing to him? How could he not even come back to give her a proper goodbye? Surely, after all they’d been through, a little closure wasn’t too much to ask.

  “If you want to hear the whole, sorry tale,” she sighed, “I’m going to need something stronger than tea.”

  Over a bottle of Madeira, Helena and Calliope listened intently as Percy began from the beginning when Lucas had appeared in the garden. She told them of how terrified she’d been, and how he’d allowed her to pack some of her belongings. A smile teased the corners of her lips when she recalled the sweet muffins Lucas had brought her, and a warm blush filled her cheeks as she told them about that first kiss, when everything had started to change.

  “He–he kissed you?” Helena blurted.

  “And you didn’t…er…” Calliope tipped her empty wine glass.

  “Faint?” Percy said wryly. “No, I’m pleased to say I remained on my feet.”

  “How was it?” Helena asked, her countenance rapt with fascination.

  “It was…” How did someone describe heaven? “Wonderful,” she said succinctly. “It was wonderful.”

  “But Mr. Black kidnapped you,” Calliope said as she reached for the wine bottle. “Isn’t he, well, the bad person is all of this?”

  “He is a thief,” Percy acknowledged. “And a criminal. And a rogue. But…”

  “But?” Helena prompted.

  Bringing her legs to her chest, Percy wrapped her arms around them, her empty glass dangling loosely from her hand. “But he didn’t treat me as if I was some broken, helpless thing,” she said quietly. “He was sweet, and compassionate, and at times he seemed to understand me better than I understood myself.”

  “He sounds…very nice,” Calliope said with a quick glance at Helena.

  “Very nice,” Helena
repeated.

  “I know how ridiculous I must sound.” Percy leaned her head on the sofa and gazed at the ceiling. “How trite it all must seem. Like a plot from one of those romantic books you so adore, Calliope.”

  “Those books are the height of literature,” Calliope said defensively.

  “They are quite good,” Helena agreed. “I’ll admit I was skeptical, until I read–what was it called?”

  “Pride and Prejudice,” Calliope supplied.

  “Yes, that’s it. Pride and Prejudice.” Helena grinned as she sipped her wine. “Mr. Darcy can come call upon me any day.”

  “What about Stephen?” asked Calliope.

  Helena waved her hand in the air. “I’m head over heels for him, of course. Everyone knows that. But I believe we can all acknowledge that we’d lift our skirts for Mr. Darcy.”

  “I found him rather pompous,” Calliope said with a shrug.

  Helena gasped. “You take that back!”

  “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.”

  “Not if they’re wrong.”

  Before her friends could dissolve into fisticuffs over a fictional character, Percy stepped in to play peacemaker. “You are both blessed with wonderful men who are so incredibly lucky to call you their own. Surely, that is a better romance than any book.”

  Helena pursed her lips. “Stephen is lucky, isn’t he?”

  “As is Leo,” Calliope said happily. Then she saw Percy’s wistful expression, and her smile faded. “You’ve truly come to care for this Mr. Black, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. I…I love him.” As a dull flush settled at the top of her chest, Percy looked at Calliope, then at Helena. “Unfortunately, he’s made it painfully clear that he doesn’t love me.”

  “Because he sent you home to us?” Helena asked.

  When her throat swelled, Percy could only nod.

  “But…maybe he did that because he loves you,” Calliope said earnestly.

  “I concur,” Helena said with a toss of her head. “If everything you’ve told us about your Mr. Black is true, and we’ve absolutely no reason to doubt that it is, then it’s obvious he is crazy about you. It’s also obvious he thought he was doing what was best for you.”

  Percy bit her bottom lip. “And if what’s best for me is to be with him?”

  Calliope and Helena exchanged another glance, this one notably longer than the last.

  “Then you are going to have to tell him that,” said Helena.

  “Maybe you can write him a letter,” Calliope suggested.

  “And send it where?” Lucas hadn’t exactly left her with a forwarding address. He’d covered the windows of the carriage when he kidnapped her, and covered them again when he sent her back. She’d tried to keep track of the twists and turns they’d taken on the way to Berkley Square, but she had soon lost sense of her surroundings until the carriage came to a halt in front of Helena’s townhouse.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Helena assured her.

  “But first,” Calliope put in gently, “you need to rest and recover. You’ve been through an incredible ordeal. Once you’re feeling like yourself again, we can pursue the matter of Mr. Black…if you still want to, that is.”

  Percy wasn’t oblivious. She heard what her friends were saying…and what they weren’t. They thought she was tired, and overwhelmed, and her feelings for Lucas would fade as soon as she felt like herself again. But she knew her own heart. And she knew it wasn’t soon to change.

  She loved Lucas.

  She loved him.

  The only question that remained was whether he loved her in return…and how the devil she was supposed to find the Devil of Duncraven.

  Chapter Eleven

  Percy looked for Lucas for two weeks. It was useless. He was a ghost. As invisible as air. And after she’d gone everywhere she thought he might be and still couldn’t find him, she went in search of someone who could.

  It was pouring rain and half past midnight when she snuck out of the house. Helena was fast asleep, dreaming of wedding bells, no doubt. She’d kindly delayed her wedding to Stephen until the autumn. “It’ll be prettier then anyways,” the countess had said with a flippant toss of her head.

  But Percy knew the truth.

  Both Helena and Calliope were worried about her. Oh, they hadn’t spoken as much in so many words. But she’d seen their concerned glances. Their raised brows. Twice she’d even caught them whispering together. She had told them repeatedly that she was fine, but they didn’t believe her. She could hardly blame them. After all, she wasn’t fine. And she wouldn’t be fine, until she tracked down Lucas.

  The hackney driver believed she was jesting when she told him she wanted to be taken to Seven Dials. She doubled his fee for the trouble, and soon found herself inside a crowded tavern called the Fox and Bull.

  It wasn’t difficult to locate Artemis Bishop. She was the only woman there.

  And she was standing on the bar.

  Singing.

  Squeezing between two drunken sailors, Percy waited until the voluptuous blonde had finished her ballad and climbed down.

  “Excuse me,” she said, her voice bold where it once would have been soft. “I need to talk to you. About a mutual…friend.”

  If Artemis was surprised to see her, it didn’t show in her expression. Pulling a handkerchief out from between her breasts, which were on full display courtesy of the corset she wore over a plain white shirt, she dabbed at her perspiring brow before tossing the handkerchief onto the bar.

  “How did you get here?” she asked, yelling to be heard above the crowd.

  “What?” Percy yelled back.

  “I said, how did you–come on. This is no place to chitchat.” Taking hold of Percy’s arm, Artemis dragged her to a table in the rear. There was a man sitting there, but one glance from Artemis, and he immediately scurried off. “Walk into my study,” she said, gesturing to the now vacant chair with a grand sweep of her arm. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”

  “You have?” Drawing off her hood, Percy flicked a quick glance behind her before she sat down.

  “Indeed. You just won me five shillings. I bet one of Molly’s girls I’d see you before the end of the month,” she explained at Percy’s bemused stare. “And here you are.”

  “Why would you make such a wager?” Percy asked.

  “Because you’re in love with the Devil of Duncraven. Obviously.” Crossing her legs, Artemis flagged down a barmaid and ordered two ales. “Haven’t had any luck finding him, have you?”

  “No,” Percy admitted, drumming her fingers on the edge of the table. “I haven’t.”

  “And you won’t. Not unless he wants you to. Quite elusive, our Lucas. Cheers,” said Artemis when the barmaid returned promptly with their ale.

  After a moment’s pause, Percy picked up her tankard and took a sip. Why not, she thought? When in Seven Dials, and all that. But no sooner had she tried the brew than she immediately regretted her decision.

  “Oh,” she gasped, her eyes watering as she slammed the ale down. “That tastes horrible.”

  “Like horse piss,” Artemis agreed. “But it gets better towards the bottom.”

  “I believe I’ll take your word for it.” With a shudder, Percy nudged her tankard aside. “Ms. Bishop–”

  “Absolutely not.” The blonde’s nose wrinkled. “It’s Artemis if you wager a cuff upside the head, and Art if you don’t. Bishop is reserved for my enemies, which I don’t think we’re going to be. Are we, Your Grace?”

  “Just plain Percy is fine.”

  “Just plain Percy,” Artemis repeated. Resting her elbow on the table and her chin in the palm of her hand, she studied Percy with sharp blue eyes and a spider’s smile. “I don’t think there’s anything plain about you, is there? I always wondered who would have the pleasure of bringing the devil to his knees. I’ll be the first to say that I wouldn’t have put my money on a shy, pint-sized duchess. Lucas never struck me as the blueblood typ
e. But you’re different, aren’t you? Not the usual sort of toff. Which is fitting, I suppose, as Lucas was never the regular sort of thief. His heart has always been too soft. If it were me, I would have turned you over to Glastonbury without a second thought.” Artemis sat back in her chair and jerked her shoulder in a careless shrug. “Nothing personal.”

  “Um…” Percy wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. “So you’ll help me locate him?”

  Artemis rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what I just said? I’ll need fifty pounds. That’s what I should have gotten from your friends, and practically a bargain for true love.”

  “Done.” Percy had all of six shillings on her person, but she wasn’t about to quibble about the price. She’d find a way to pay up. After she found Lucas.

  Just thinking about seeing him again was enough to have her heart pounding against her ribcage. How dearly she’d missed him! In such a short amount of time, he’d become such a large presence in her life, and now that he was gone, it felt as if he’d taken the air in the room with him. She couldn’t breathe for wanting him. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat.

  And she knew, she knew, there was every chance he would turn her away.

  But she had to try.

  She had to.

  “All right then, come on.” Artemis chugged the rest of her ale, swiped her hand across her mouth, and stood up. “Let’s be on our way.”

  Percy blinked. “Right…right this second?”

  “Were you planning on a certain date?”

  “No, I…” Suddenly nervous, Percy swallowed hard and pushed her chair back. “I’m ready.”

  “Good, because the sooner we get all this romantic nonsense over with, the better.” Artemis made a face. “It’s giving me a headache.”

  Rain lashed at the windows and pummeled the roof in a torrent of water as Lucas sat in front of the fireplace nursing his second glass of gin. He’d downed the first in a matter of seconds, but he wanted this one to last him well into the night. God only knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, and given a choice between tossing restlessly on his bed while thinking about Persephone, and sitting in front of a warm flame while thinking about Persephone, he was inclined to choose the latter. Bloody hell, but he missed her.