Lords of Honor-The Collection

by Christi Caldwell

  Through her blurred vision, she examined the sterling silver cloth brush and comb far grander than her own treasured pieces; pieces she’d been forced to leave behind.

  Lily glanced over at the locked door and then returned her attention to the dressing table. With trembling fingers, she slowly pulled open the narrow center drawer and revealed the neat pages clipped from The Times. She shuffled through the pages she’d assembled; pages detailing the tragedies of one particular family. The Winters family who’d existed as nothing more than a conglomeration of individuals. She’d read through the scandal sheets about first the death of George, then the mother, and sister as all but one remained of the Winters line with a detached interest. Their tragedies had not roused the expected glee or satisfaction; for with their passing, none of them could right the wrongs once done to her.

  Before, she’d been removed from who these people were. It had been far easier to hate anyone and everyone who shared George’s blood when they were mere strangers, ducal kin gossiped about in scandal sheets. It was quite another when those same strangers became people, lonely, broken, fearful. Or, as Flora had indicated in the duke’s case—a hero who now cried when he thought no one else was watching.

  Her lips moved silently as she read.

  The 7th Duke of B dead in a carriage accident. With no heir or kin born to the couple, the line will pass to Lord Derek…

  Except him. The one Winters who’d lived; a figure who’d been mentioned as nothing more than an afterthought in the scandal sheets. He’d existed as another one of those who shared George’s blood and nothing more.

  Lily placed the sheet down and smoothed her palms over the worn page. Such a detail about who replaced that treacherous Duke of Blackthorne hadn’t mattered. Derek had merely been a name; a cold stranger who shared the blood of the man who ruined her and the mother who’d turned her away.

  Now, he was more real in ways that George and Sir Henry never had been. Her lips tingled with the remembrance of his powerful kiss and an odd fluttering danced in her belly. She slid her eyes closed and embraced those wanton, wicked thoughts of a man who’d roused a fierce desire within her—sentiments she’d never known with the men before and had never expected to know, ever.

  Lily drew in a shuddery breath and forced her eyes open. It had been a good deal easier to slip into this home to commit a theft when he’d been nothing more than a man who shared the blood of dark, ugly souls who’d turned her out. Now, nothing was certain. For he was real. And he was not the same man his brother had been. For if he’d been a lofty duke who thought of only himself, he’d not have left his office and stormed into her meeting with Mr. Davies. Knowing her as little as he did, nonetheless, he’d defended her anyway to his man-of-affairs. He trusted her.

  And she would repay that kindness and trust with the greatest lie and betrayal.

  Her hands tightened reflexively about the page and she hopelessly wrinkled the sheet. Forcing her fingers open, she then laid the page down, smoothing it with her palm. What did it say about the weak, pathetic woman she was that after only a few days of knowing Derek, she’d abandon thoughts about her future and security?

  Lily scrubbed her hands over her face. For how could she steal from him? How could she break the trust of a man who trusted none and who kept the world out, but had somehow found her a person worth defending? “Get control of yourself, Lily Louise.” Woolgathering about the man whose kiss had curled her toes would not help keep her warm, fed, and safe years from now. Except, she could no sooner stop thinking of him than she could undo that mistake she’d made with George all those years ago.

  Only, in this instant, the demons that haunted her had nothing to do with the regrets of her past or the horrific memories of George’s betrayal and Sir Henry’s improper offer, and her own fall from proverbial grace. This time it was Derek. A man called monster by Society, who cried in privacy. Emotion swelled in her throat. Somehow, between the plan presented her by Holdsworth and a little girl’s ramblings, Lily’s role in this household had changed in a fundamental way.

  She shoved herself up. “What alternative do I have?”

  The hum of nighttime silence served as her only answer.

  I can go home and beg… As soon as the thought entered, she shoved it aside. After the Dowager Duchess of Blackthorne’s passing, Lily had penned a letter to her father, pleading with him to allow her to return. To no avail. She would not humble herself before him again. Not when he’d been abundantly clear he considered his eldest daughter, Lilliana Bennett, dead to him.

  That propelled her into movement. There really was no other choice. Staying here in this fabricated role of governess to an innocent child only complicated her plans and muddied her thoughts. Lily shoved herself up from the chair and stood. The thin carpet did little to prevent the cold from seeping into her toes. Perhaps this uncharacteristic cool had nothing to do with the early spring evening and everything to do with this house. And the cold, hurt man dwelling here with an equally hurt and lonely child. Lily hurried over to the vanity and collected her wrapper from the back of the chair. She shrugged into the modest piece and bit her lip hard. She grabbed the box from the table and with the piece clutched close to her chest, carried it to the door. If she managed to locate the diamond, she could simply tuck it into the box and be on her way…and slip away to never again see Derek or Flora.

  A spasm contorted her heart. I cannot be weak…

  After all, that weakness had once cost her everything. A strand of hair fell across her brow and she tucked it back behind her ear. Before her courage deserted her, she pulled the door open and peeked her head out. Heaven ne’er helps the men who will not act… She looked left and then right down the empty stretch of hallway.

  She pulled the door closed behind her and started down the hall. As she walked at a brisk clip, her ragged breaths filled the corridors. When she’d received word that Sir Henry with his fat, sweaty hands had died in his clubs, she’d vowed to never, ever, ever find herself so desperate she’d spread her legs for any man. She increased her stride. The world, however, offered very few options for those unwed ladies. “Not that heaven had taken much care after I helped myself,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What was that, Mrs. Benedict?”

  A startled shriek burst from her lips and Lily spun about. A young maid stood eying her as though she were an exhibit on display at the Royal Museum. God in Heaven, this thievery business was no easy task. “Oh, forgive me.” In an attempt to still her racing heart, Lily placed her free hand to her chest. “We have not met.” So, there was a maid, a butler, a footman, and Cook. Hardly the empty household as it had been presented.

  “I am Claudia,” the girl said in a high singsong voice. Not much older than Lily had been when she’d been forced off to London to carve out a life for herself.

  “Claudia,” she repeated back, softly. There were few options for vicars’ daughters without references, on their own in the world. What would her empty existence have been had she found honorable work as this girl had?

  “Is everything all right, Mrs. Benedict?”

  “Lily,” she automatically corrected. “Please, just Lily.” She gave her head a clearing shake as she belatedly registered the girl’s use of her name “How did you know my name?” She deliberately avoided answering the girl’s inquiry. She took to avoiding mistruths where she could. And the reality of Claudia’s question was that she had not been all right in nearly eight years.

  The young woman tiptoed over with the quiet footfalls of one who feared rousing a beast. “We all know who you are, madam. That is, Harris and Thomas.” The blush on the girl’s cheeks hinted at more between the girl and the handsome footman. “And there is also Cook. Yes, we know a good deal about you.”

  What was that? A whore? A thief? A liar? Her skin pricked hot and then cold with shame. “Oh,” she said dumbly.

  Claudia lowered her voice to the faintest whisper. “You went down the corridor.”
r />   Lily cast a confused look left and then right.

  “The Beast’s halls,” the maid clarified, calling her attention back.

  A slight frown pulled at her lips over the young woman’s description of her employer. It mattered not that Lily herself had the same thoughts about the bellowing lout. That unkindness, however, chafed for it hinted at why the duke bellowed and glowered. “You should not call him Beast.”

  Claudia gave no indication that she heard the chastisement. “No one goes down those halls, miss. Well, Harris does, but only because he has no choice.”

  Of course, all the servants on the duke’s staff would have the sense God gave a goat to not violate his orders. “Unlike me,” she mumbled. Who had no other choice if she were to secure that blasted diamond.

  Claudia leaned close; her brow furrowed. “What was that, miss?”

  “Er…nothing,” she said quickly, her cheeks warm. A dearth of friendships through the years had resulted in the rather bothersome tendency to speak aloud to oneself. It was a rather embarrassing habit—when people were around to hear it, that was.

  “But you did go down those halls,” the maid carried on. She gesticulated wildly as she spoke. “He yelled and you did not flee as all the other governesses.”

  They all spoke of their employer as though he were a monster. What a sad way to go through life. She slid her gaze away.

  “You are still here,” the girl said excitedly. “You knocked on his door,” and I kissed him. Twice with wanton boldness. “You made demands of him.” If His Grace knew he had servants listening at the keyholes, he’d sack the lot of them. “And he threatened to toss you out, but he did not.”

  Well, for now. But there was time yet. “How do you know all this?” She at last managed to put a question to the girl.

  Claudia froze like a doe caught in a hunter’s snare. “How do I know all this?” the once garrulous girl went unexpectedly laconic. She shook her head. As in she would not answer the question? Or that she did not know? “Regardless, Mrs. Ben—”

  “Lily,” she put in. She’d not have the handful of servants here treating her as something more than she was. There was nothing the least brave about her. She was a woman who’d sold her virtue and now her soul for freedom from fear. Bitterness tasted like acid on her tongue.

  “How did you speak so bravely before him? I’ve been in his household a while now and cannot bring myself to approach his halls.”

  “He is just a man, Claudia,” she said softly. “Society expects us to see perfection in the human form as a thing of safety and beauty, but that isn’t always the case, is it?” George’s rakish grin slid into her mind. His beautiful face could have made the angels weep with envy, yet such a man would have never taken a stranger from the street and defended her before his man-of-affairs.

  Claudia gave her a small smile. “I like you very much, ma’am.”

  At the young woman’s kindness, gratitude lodged in Lily’s throat. She struggled to swallow. For so many years, she’d been the recipient of such disdain she no longer knew what to do with kindness. “I thought I would explore His Grace’s home,” she put in, needing to remove herself from this woman and her undeserving praise. She pulled her box close, praying the woman failed to note the damning object in her hands. “If you will excuse me?”

  “Of course, ma’am.” Lily stepped around her when Claudia called out. “Wait, ma’am.” She turned back as the girl fished her hand about the front pocket of her apron. “This arrived for you earlier this evening. It came to the servants’ entrance.” Color filled the maid’s cheeks. “I was given good coin if I saw it delivered to you.”

  Lily stilled as the girl brandished a folded note. Ice slid along her spine. Of course he would send ’round word. A man of Holdsworth’s determination would easily command such a feat. Fighting to calm her pounding heart, she accepted the page with fingers that shook. Unable to meet Claudia’s curious stare, Lily kept her gaze trained on the page, torn between wanting to crumple the sheet in her hands and wanting to read it right there. She looked up. “That will be all, Claudia. Thank you.”

  The innocent maid dropped another curtsy. “Good evening, Mrs. Benedict.” With that she rushed off in the opposite direction.

  Lily stared after her until she disappeared and then, with the ivory page nearly singing her fingers, she slipped into the nearest doorway. Presenting her back to the hall, she broke the unfamiliar seal and skimmed the page.

  …You are to meet me at Highgate, Tuesday before the dawn breaks…

  She quickly folded the page and tucked it inside the clever pocket sewn inside her wrapper. She stole a frantic look up and down the hall to determine whether anyone had observed her. Only the hum of nighttime silence filled her ears.

  With the eeriness of this great labyrinth, lending an air of evil to the note in her pocket, Lily moved quietly down the hall and to the stairway. She hesitated at the top of the sweeping marble staircase that led to the foyer. With the duke’s warnings echoing in her mind, she took the steps slowly, and then stopped at the base of the stairs. The cold marble on her naked feet, oddly calming, she walked on to his office.

  Do you intend to gape at me all day? Get out…!

  At the haunting remembrance of his snarled words, she captured her lower lip between her teeth. It was very easy to fear the duke. With his wounded visage and black patch, he had the look of a ruthless warrior who’d slay anyone who so much as questioned him. What she’d begun to discover, however, is that for his gruff orders and barking commands, there was far more to the man than that angry beast. His sneers and snarls were nothing more than a cleverly crafted veneer that masked his gentle touch and a man who’d defend those in need of defending—a man who when he loved, would do so deeply and unwaveringly. A seething envy invaded every corner of her being for that fortunate woman who would one day heal his broken spirit and earn that love. She slowed her steps and took in the gold frames. His ancestors stared back at her in all their haughty, frozen arrogance and a chill stole down her spine. Even the inanimate canvases recognized the wrongness in her moving along these corridors.

  Lily continued on, past the bewigged, powdered figures to the end of the hall. The intersecting hall that led to those forbidden rooms. Why would they be forbidden? Why, unless there was something of great wealth he intended to keep from servants and outsiders? She started for that forbidden door when, from the corner of her eye, a flash of crimson caught her attention and momentarily froze her. She wetted her lips and then glanced about. Her gaze, unbidden, returned to the portrait at the end of the hall.

  Your impulsivity will be your ruin…

  Yes, she’d already proven her father correct in that regard. Lily cast a glance over her shoulder at those forbidden rooms and walked slowly across the intersecting hall to the end of the corridor. She came to a stop before the portrait.

  Her heart kicked up a funny beat as she took in the uniformed soldier. Where the previous ancestors had been stern-faced, this man wore a bold half-grin that all but challenged life to erase that smile. Unable to draw her gaze away from the masterful picture he presented, Lily tipped her head to the side. The harsh, angular planes of his face bespoke power and regal strength. The blue of his eyes were pools that sucked at a person’s rational thought, and just held one silently captivated. She ran her stare over the frame, down to the strong, noble jaw…and then her heart missed a beat.

  Oh, God. Her grip loosened upon the box and she quickly righted her hold on it. All the while she kept her attention on him. This man. This smiling stranger. The Duke of Blackthorne.

  Emotion balled in her throat and she blinked back the crystal sheen that descended over her eyes. She cries. A single drop rolled down her cheek, followed by another, and another, until Derek’s powerful figure from some years ago was blurred before her tears. Her tears were not ones of pity. They were ones mourning the loss, not of looks that would have rivaled the archangel Gabriel, but rather the loss of that i
nnocence he wore in the painting. She cried at the death of his happiness and the misery left in wake of whatever private hell he lived in.

  The irony was not lost on her. They were both people living in the now, who could never go home. Not to the way home had been and would always be in those fond, distant memories. Life had aged them, battered them, and they’d emerged scathed and broken—but triumphant.

  She brushed the back of her free hand over her cheeks. “Is this really triumphant,” she spat. What manner of joyless existence was this, for either of them? She with dreams of a cottage in the countryside of England and Derek with his lonely office were not very much different. Lily scrubbed her cheeks all the harder. And yet, at the same time, she and Derek may as well move within two entirely different universes. For despite the loss and sorrow he’d known, he at least had what she would never have—a family. A little girl was dependent upon him for her happiness and security, and should he just allow himself the possibility of it, a freedom to step out of his lair, and into the world—and again, live.

  Lily hugged her arms close. The box in her arms bit painfully into her chest and she welcomed that slight sting of discomfort. She’d entered Derek’s home just four days ago, thinking to save herself through this act of thievery. But perhaps the reasons she’d come here, nay the reason she’d been brought here, was not for her own selfish need to survive, but rather to forgive—herself, his family, and through that, at last know peace. Mayhap she could just remain here as Flora’s governess.