Night Shadow

by Catherine Coulter

  With Lily?

  “And your mother?”

  “She died when I was fourteen years old. She wasn’t a flower, but rather a plain, very straightforward Jane.”

  “If she looked like you, there was nothing plain about her.”

  If he could have, Knight would have cut out his tongue. Lily withdrew, not physically, but he could feel it. She was wary of him, understandably so. He was a man and she was at his mercy, if the truth be told, and all this following on the heels of the disagreeable machinations of Ugly Arnold. Knight was a gentleman, for God’s sake, not some randy rake-hell whose only interest lay in getting between a woman’s legs. He started to apologize, then stopped. No, he would simply retreat. That should do the trick.

  Then she said easily enough, and if her smile was forced, only he was aware of it, “No, my mother was a beautiful woman.” She paused a moment, looking toward the bow windows that gave onto the park across the street. She added in a very careful voice, “I could tell from your expression that you’d heard of my father. He wasn’t a particularly wise man, but he loved me, truly, and he took good care of me.”

  Knight imagined that it was she who took care of him, but he said nothing.

  He was being polite, Lily thought. She said abruptly, “You wished to see me, my lord? About something in particular?”

  “Knight,” he said.

  “Yes, well, Knight.”

  “I understand that you and the children all slept in one bedchamber last night.”

  “It does sound a bit overcrowded, doesn’t it? I assure you that we weren’t packed together like a gentleman’s cravats. You must realize that the children—”

  “No, I perfectly comprehend your motives. And will you be moving this morning?”

  “If it is all right with you. I believe Duckett is arranging matters even now.”

  “Doubtless he is.” Knight waved a negligent hand toward a chair. “I forget my manners. Pray be seated.” He turned and sat himself down in the very large and comfortable leather chair behind his equally imposing mahogany desk.

  “Did Tris leave a will?”

  “No, not that I know of. He never spoke of one at any rate, and I didn’t find one in his papers.”

  “Then no one has been named as the children’s guardian.”

  “I am their guardian.” She sat straighter in her chair. “Surely that can’t be a surprise to anyone.”

  “I would have thought that Tris would have named a gentleman to be responsible for them.”

  “Why?”

  He regarded her with tolerance and patience. “You are very young. The boys will need masculine guidance. They will need someone to look out for them. You are a woman, and although you are attached to them, it is not the same thing.”

  She wanted to demand, Not the same thing as what? but she said only, “Perhaps.”

  “Further, you have no means of support. So it is to their advantage to have a male relative as their guardian, financially speaking, of course.”

  “No.”

  “That male relative could be Ugly Arnold or it could be me. The choice is yours. But I fancy you wish to have things arranged legally so there will be no possibility of you later losing the children.”

  She fell silent at that dreadful possibility, and he added, “It’s obvious that you haven’t had time to give this matter any thought.”

  “No,” she said, “I haven’t. I have been trying to find us a home. It’s left little room for else.”

  “I understand, but now you must see that things are handled properly and legally.”

  “No one could take the children from me, could they?”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll have my solicitor, Tilney Jones, drop by this afternoon. He will know what is to be done.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  No, he was in truth a cynical bastard, but one who didn’t cause much harm to his fellow creatures when all was said and done. He merely waved aside her comment. “You do realize, do you not, that if I am to be their legal guardian, I will have ultimate power over them until the boys reach eighteen and Laura Beth becomes twenty-one? Or until she marries.”

  Lily said nothing. The thought of four-year-old Laura Beth being married brought to mind the image of a young woman standing beside a supposed groom, the young woman’s thumb in her mouth. She grinned at the image, then harked back to his other words. Her fingers began to fret with the pleats of her muslin skirt.

  Knight eyed her. Obviously she found the entire proposition distasteful, but she was holding her tongue because he could, if he wished, boot her into the street. He felt guilty, and a bit angry at the situation, and said, “You must be thinking that you wished you had enough money never to have come here in the first place.”

  “That’s true enough,” she said, her chin going up. Just like Sam’s, he thought. She rose suddenly and her pale cheeks were flushed. With anger, he noted. Good. That meant she’d forgotten her wretched situation, at least for the moment. “I don’t know you, my lord, except that you were Tris’s cousin. You could be a saint or the devil himself, you could be Napoleon or Wellington, the Prince Regent or—or—”

  “Difficult to find the other side to that coin, isn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I will not give you control over my children. I won’t.”

  “Do compose yourself, Mrs. Winthrop. You’re a very young lady with little concept of this world—”

  That smug bit of masculine pretension sent her over the edge. “Ha. If you have heard of my father, then you know that he was cursed with a gambling fever. It didn’t leave him. On his deathbed he wagered the doctor that he would live another twenty-four hours, and that fool of a doctor told him it wasn’t possible. My father wagered the doctor’s fees, and do you know what? He lived twenty-five more hours! No, my lord, I wasn’t sheltered and protected like your little English misses. I took care of my father, saved him from more scrapes and dishonest cutthroats than you have probably seen in all your advanced years—”

  “I’m only four years your senior,” he said mildly.

  “You’re certainly older than twenty-three!” The instant the words erupted from her mouth, Lily gasped and took a step backward. She hit the arm of a chair, hard; the chair slid back, leaving her to flail the air with her arms to regain her balance. That didn’t work and she went down on her bottom with a thud.

  “Lily. Good God, are you all right?” Knight quickly skirted the desk.

  Her “Yes” was clipped. He stood over her a moment, seeing her chagrin, her fury, her tumbled skirts and beautiful ankles, and despite his better intentions, he laughed. “Here, let me help you up.” He offered her his hand, which she finally accepted, and pulled her to her feet. He jerked a bit too hard and she stumbled against him. For a brief moment, he felt the length of her. A surge of lust went through him that was so powerful, so all-controlling, he almost couldn’t recognize it for what it was. He couldn’t believe—he refused to believe—that any woman could send him skittering into sexual oblivion. Still, he wanted to touch her—

  “What are you doing to Mama?”

  Knight quickly turned, his lust dead as ashes in a summer grate. He saw Sam and slowly released Lily, noting the small boy’s hands were fisted, his sturdy little body ready for an attack. Knight sighed.

  “You walk as quietly as Duckett. I’m not doing anything to your mother, Sam. She fell and I helped her up. What do you want?”

  Lily pulled back and smoothed down her gown. She was embarrassed to the tips of her toes, needed an outlet, lost control, and yelled at Sam in a fishwife’s voice, “Really, Sam, this is too much. Go back to your room and knot the blasted sheets. Where is Theo? Laura Beth?”

  “We drew straws,” he admitted, studiously regarding the toe of his shoe. “I won.”

  “Now that you’ve seen, you may take yourself off. I’m still speaking to your mother.”

  Sam stood stiff as a rod, his expression mule-stubborn.

&n
bsp; Lily clamped down on her embarrassment, realizing her loss of control was not the child’s fault. She said, more mildly now, “Yes, my darling, do take yourself away. His lordship and I are trying to make decisions.”

  He still didn’t move and gave her a confused look. Lily’s voice became more cajoling. “Please, Sam.”

  “Out,” Knight ordered after a few more moments of stiff silence from the boy.

  Sam finally gave in. “All right, but we have more straws.”

  Lily and Knight watched him leave the library, his step lagging. Finally he was gone. Knight strode to the door, pulled it closed, and locked it. This was the first time in his life that he’d locked a door. He stood there, shaking his head. What had happened to the pleasant, altogether predictable march of events? Life had become noticeably otherwise during the past twelve hours. It was disconcerting. He turned to face Lily.

  She looked guilty enough to don a hair shirt. “I yelled at him,” she said blankly. “I actually yelled at him.”

  “I warrant he’ll survive it. Now, if you’re all right and have no bruises from your fall, let’s get back to business. You will also wish me to educate the children,” he said. “The boys at least.”

  “Oh, no, not yet. I will educate them, they are still very young and—”

  “How old is Theo?”

  “He turned nine in August, but he—”

  “He should be at school. At Eton.”

  “I will not allow it. I know enough to begin their education. I’ve taught them for nearly a year now—”

  “Only a year? I thought you’d been married to Tris for four years at least. That is Laura Beth’s age, isn’t it?”

  The wages of sin, the consequences of lying, Lily thought. “Tris taught them,” she said, and he knew it was a lie, not a complete and utter lie, but enough of a lie to make his lips thin.

  “I see,” he said and turned away from her. “I will send for you when Tilney Jones arrives. I trust that will suit you, ma’am.”

  He’d turned colder than a frozen winter pipe and she knew that he knew that she’d lied to him. She sighed. This interview hadn’t gone well at all. She’d fallen like a clumsy sweep, heard him laugh at her, then hold her, she’d yelled at poor Sam and disagreed with her host at every point—

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said in an emotionless voice. “Until later, my lord.”

  He turned to see her walking swiftly to the door, her head bowed. He called after her, “Lily, will you join me for luncheon?”

  She paused, saying nothing.

  “And the children, naturally,” Knight added, then cursed himself silently for that addition. He couldn’t imagine dining with children, for God’s sake. How could one have an intelligent conversation? How could one discuss, for example, the farming policies of Lord Liverpool with children there?

  He grinned at himself. He hadn’t discussed anything remotely concerning politics for the past three months.

  “All right,” Lily said and withdrew.

  I’m a perverse idiot, he told himself, staring at the closed door. Why did I invite her to dine with me? It had just slipped out. He didn’t like it, not at all.

  Knight took his leave ten minutes later. He met Raymond Cosgrove, Lord Alvanley, and Julien St. Clair, the Earl of March, and the three of them visited Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon. Knight was sweating, breathing hard, a bruise burning over his third left rib when he realized suddenly that it was long past luncheon. He wondered in a brief moment of honesty if he’d purposefully forgotten the luncheon because he’d felt constrained to be there in the first place.

  “I have to get home,” he said. “I forgot about luncheon.”

  “What the devil are you blathering about, Knight?” asked Julien. “You just flattened Canney over there and now you’re talking about missing your lunch?”

  “I’ve got visitors,” Knight said, toweling the sweat off his face.

  “Who?” asked Lord Alvanley.

  “My cousin’s widow and her children.”

  “Children?” Both Julien and Raymond looked at him blankly.

  Sir Charles Ponsonby strolled over. “I couldn’t have heard aright. Knight speaking of children? Did you run over some of them, my lord? Give them to Cuthbert to fry or broil or bake? This is altogether fascinating. What children?”

  Knight looked about at his friends. “I just said that they’re my cousin’s children,” he said evenly. “They and their mother are staying at Winthrop House.”

  “And you were going to have luncheon with them?” This was from Raymond. He managed it in a fairly calm voice, but then the laughter burst forth. “Oh, no,” he gasped, the laughter coming in loud hiccups now. “Children, at your bachelor’s quarters? Children at Winthrop House?”

  “I see it now,” said Sir Charles, shaking his finger at Knight. “It’s the children’s mother, isn’t it, Knight? She’s a beauty, I’ll wager. Does she want to hang onto your sleeve, old fellow?”

  “She’s not at all a beauty,” Knight said, lying without compunction. “For God’s sake, gentlemen, she’s destitute and she wants the best for her offspring. I had no choice in the matter. Now, if you laughing grouse will excuse me—”

  “How many children, Knight?” asked Julien St. Clair.

  “Three.”

  “Ah, I have it. One of the children is a beautiful girl, all of eighteen, right?”

  “No, Raymond, they’re all under the age of ten.”

  “And they’re staying at Winthrop House?”

  “That’s right. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “By Gawd,” said Sir Charles. “I don’t believe this. Maybe he meant they were staying under Winthrop House. Or perhaps beneath the oak tree in the backyard?”

  Julien said slowly, staring after his friend, “I don’t believe it either.”

  At Winthrop House, Lily waited as long as she could before allowing Mrs. Allgood to have their luncheon served. His lordship still hadn’t returned. The children were hungry, bored, and testy. They’d moved their belongings into their new bedchambers two hours earlier, and time had hung heavily on everyone’s hands since then.

  Lily finally gave it up, praying their host wouldn’t mind. In fact, she considered him abominably rude, but she wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone. “Come,” she said, “we’ll have luncheon, then go for a walk. I’m just as bored as all of you, so cease your complaining.”

  “We weren’t—”

  “Yes, you were, Sam. Be quiet and sit down.”

  “I left Czarina Catherine upstairs.”

  “Laura Beth, she’s not hungry, I swear it. Sit down now.”

  She did, and her chin came even with the table edge. Duckett smiled. “I’ll see to it, ma’am,” he said, and a few minutes later, Laura Beth was seated regally on four stacked tomes.

  “Sam, stop taking everyone’s silverware. Sit still.”

  “I’m just examining the design, Mama. It looks like cabbages with W’s wound in and out.”

  “This soup is green, Mama.”

  “It’s split pea soup, Laura Beth, and it’s supposed to be green.”

  “I don’t like ham,” said Sam, scientifically observing the thin slice of ham that was quivering on his fork.

  Lily looked at the three children and wanted to strangle each of them. “If you do not eat this minute, you will go back upstairs and I won’t take you out. Sam, stop trying to pull the books out from under Laura Beth.”

  “But this one looks interesting. It’s—”

  “It’s Francis Bacon,” Theo said, then, “Careful, Sam. Oh, no.”

  Laura Beth went tumbling to the floor, yelling all the way.

  Knight walked into the small breakfast parlor at that precise moment.

  Lily bounded to her feet and Sam slipped under the table.

  Duckett said, “Good afternoon, my lord. Would you care for your luncheon now?”

  Knight closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he met Lily�
��s gaze. She’d dropped to her knees on the floor, trying to calm a sobbing Laura Beth. Her face was perfectly white and he knew that she was afraid. He was overwhelmed by the chaos, but not angry. He said quite mildly, “I shall eat later, Duckett. Lily, are you and Laura Beth all right? Would you like me to thrash Sam?”

  Sam poked his head out from under the table.

  Theo, a moment before his brother’s executioner, was now his staunch defender. “It was my fault, sir,” he said, standing bravely in front of Knight. “Sam didn’t realize what he was doing. It was the Francis Bacon, you see. His Sylva Sylvarum. That means—”

  “I know what it means, Theo.” Knight looked about the small room one more time, turned on his heel, his greatcoat swirling around his ankles, and took himself off.

  “Oh, dear,” said Lily.

  “Don’t worry yourself about his lordship, ma’am,” said Duckett. “I daresay he’ll come about.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Lily.

  “I’ll plant my fingers in his face,” said Sam, crawling out from under the table.

  Three

  Arnold Damson, brother-in-law of the late Tristan Winthrop, stood on the corner of Portland Square and felt his self-confidence ebb just a bit. The houses bespoke wealth, power, and ancient privilege.

  He forced himself to square his shoulders. It didn’t matter. After all, he had right on his side. And right dictated that he could have Lily Tremaine. And he wanted Lily Tremaine. He wanted her more than he dreaded the impending interview with Lord Castlerosse. He kept telling himself that the viscount wouldn’t want to be saddled with Tristan’s three brats. Of course, Lily was another matter. He wondered if the viscount had already lured her to his bed.