by Anna Bennett
And then it hit him. The mysterious, veiled woman who knew Lily wasn’t merely Serena Labelle.
She was Madam Serena Labelle.
Proprietress of the most infamous brothel in London.
Chapter 23
“If you have questions of a delicate nature, seek answers from those you trust. Consider turning to an older sister or a married cousin—someone who won’t call for her smelling salts at the mere mention of a gentleman’s anatomy.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Lily’s head was spinning. From the moment Serena had uttered the name Lily Hartley, snippets of her life flashed through her mind.
Mama and Papa. Their comfortable house. Her cozy bedroom. Fiona and Gray. Her dear friend Sophie.
The tangle of memories was working itself loose, freeing her mind from its binding.
But she still didn’t understand her connection to the woman dressed in black who sat across from her—Serena Labelle.
“How do you know me?” Lily asked again.
Serena deliberately stepped back and sat in the chair adjacent to Lily, clasping her trembling hands in her lap. “I knew you when you were a babe,” she began. “Your birthmark is rather distinctive, and though I only saw it when you were very young, I remembered the shape of it.”
“Are you a family friend?” Lily asked.
The woman shook her head. “Not really.”
“A relative?” she pressed.
Serena swallowed. “It’s rather complicated, and you’re already overwhelmed with information.”
Lily pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I want to understand.”
Serena gazed at her with compassion. “Go home to your family. Make sure they know that you’re safe.” She flicked her eyes to Nash and added, “Listen to your heart.”
“I intend to,” Lily said, frustrated. “But I must have the whole picture. Whatever it is that you’re keeping from me—I deserve to know it.”
Two small lines appeared between Serena’s eyebrows. “You’re right. You do deserve to have all the facts.” She reached into her reticule, pulled out a tiny baby bootie, and pressed it into Lily’s hands. “Here. This may not mean anything to you right now, but it will, eventually. Take time to sort through your feelings. After that, if you still wish to talk, I would love to meet with you again. But if you’d rather not further our acquaintance … I understand completely.”
Serena stood and nodded politely in Drake’s direction. “I am grateful for your assistance, Mr. Drake.” Turning to Nash, she said, “And thank you, Your Grace, for taking good care of Lily.”
Finally, she faced Lily and looked deep into her eyes. “I hope to see you again, but in case I don’t, please know that I wish nothing but the best for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
With that, she pulled the veil over her face and glided out of the office, her head held high.
Nash slipped an arm around Lily’s shoulders, and she leaned into the comforting solidness of his chest.
Drake stood and circled around his desk. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he said kindly. “Take all the time you need.”
When Nash and Lily were alone, he sat, pulled her onto his lap, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I wonder how many times I’ll slip and call you Caroline.”
She wound her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek. “I don’t mind if you do. I think I’ll always carry a little of Caroline with me.”
“If you’d like, I can take you home directly,” he offered. “Or, we could send word to your family that you’re safe and will be home later tonight. That would give you time to gather your things and say goodbye to Delilah.”
“There’s no rush to notify my parents or Fiona.” She closed her eyes and recalled her last evening at Fiona’s house. “My parents are in Bath for another week or so, and Fiona and her husband are in Scotland. My dear friend Sophie is visiting her aunt.” She shrugged. “I think we should go home to Delilah and tell her the news.”
Nash frowned slightly. “That reminds me. In the coach on the way here, you were going to tell me something about her.”
“Yes,” Lily said. Her mind was still a mush of memories, recent and old. “She mentioned that after reading the latest edition of The Debutante’s Revenge, she finally knew what she had to do.”
“That sounds ominous,” Nash mused. “What was the column about?”
“Let me think.” She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. And then she remembered the drawing that Delilah had shown her that morning, of the man and woman sitting on a bench, stealing a private moment beneath a parasol. Wait. She’d seen the drawing before that morning. In Fiona’s drawing room.
Oh God. She was connected to The Debutante’s Revenge.
“Lily.” Nash cupped her cheek in his hand. “You look dazed again. Maybe we should find a place for you to lie down.”
“No, I’m—”
Drake abruptly opened the door, his expression grave. “Forgive me for interrupting.”
“What’s wrong?” Nash gently slid Lily off his lap and stood.
“Hopefully nothing,” Drake said in a placating tone. “But one of your footmen just arrived. He said that your sister isn’t at home.”
Nash shrugged. “She probably went for a walk in the park.”
“Maybe,” Drake said. “But her maid isn’t with her. She found a letter on Delilah’s pillow—addressed to you.”
“Holy hell,” Nash muttered. He dragged a hand through his hair. “What does it say?”
“The maid didn’t open it—it’s still on Delilah’s bed.”
“Damn it.” Nash turned to Lily, his expression grim. “I have to go.”
She stood and nodded. “I’m coming with you.”
* * *
Stodges met Nash and Lily at the front door. “Your Grace. I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“It’s not your fault.” Nash was already striding toward the staircase, his heart pounding with fear. Was Delilah so lovesick over Brondale that she’d do something stupid? “Ready the carriage,” he called over his shoulder, just in case. He took the stairs two at a time and jogged down the hall toward Delilah’s room with Lily on his heels.
He burst into his sister’s bedchamber and quickly scanned the room. The armoire doors hung open, and a discarded gown was tossed over the back of a chair. A newspaper on top of her desk was opened to the latest column of The Debutante’s Revenge.
Nash was not generally one to jump to conclusions, but a cold, insidious dread seeped into his bones. The sight of the envelope, laying near his sister’s headboard, made him feel physically ill. Bracing himself, he ripped it open.
Dearest Nash,
I regret leaving in this manner, but you left me little choice. I am old enough to know my own heart, and I must follow it.
Rest assured, I am not Emily; nor am I destined for the same fate.
I hope that one day you will understand.
All my love,
Delilah
Shit. His head pounded with a potent mix of rage and guilt and fear. Somehow, he’d driven his sister away—and right into the arms of Brondale.
Lily rushed into the room, and he wordlessly handed her the note.
Her face fell as she read it. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Nash.”
“I have to stop her.” He was already stalking toward his room to stuff a bag with a few things.
Lily followed him. “Stop her from what?”
“From making the biggest mistake of her life.” He yanked open a bureau drawer, grabbed some money and a leather bag, and slammed the drawer shut. “From running off with a scoundrel who only wants to win a high-stakes bet.”
“Delilah doesn’t think he’s a scoundrel,” Lily said, then stopped short. “What kind of bet?”
“The kind where you win if you steal a young woman’s virginity—and provide proof.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach, sickened. “That’s disgusting.”
“That�
�s Brondale,” he countered. Suddenly starved for air, Nash yanked at his cravat. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and stop the buzzing in his ears. His skin turned clammy. The room swirled around him. And suddenly he was eighteen again, reliving the night Emily ran away.
Holding her as the breath left her body and the light went out of her eyes.
Fuck. He dropped the bag and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. He had to pull himself together, damn it. He needed to find Delilah before any harm came to her.
A gentle hand caressed the back of his neck and squeezed his shoulders. Caroline. No, Lily.
“I know this must bring back terrible memories,” she said. “But Delilah is smart and resourceful. You helped raise her to be that way. She can take care of herself till we find her.”
Nash stood and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve before he looked into Lily’s eyes. “I’m going by myself.”
She shook her head. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. And I might be able to help in the search. I can place myself in Delilah’s shoes easier than you can.”
Nash mustered a regretful smile. “You’ve just regained your memory, Lily. You should go home and wait for your family.” He scooped up his bag, shoved a change of clothes inside, and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m going to try and catch them before they get to Gretna Green. I’ll send word when I return.”
Lily grasped his forearm and forced him to meet her determined gaze. “No one is waiting for me at home. Even if they were, I’d want to be with you. Delilah may not be my sister by blood, but she is the sister of my heart.”
Nash closed his eyes. Could feel his resolve slipping. “We’ll be traveling as fast as we can. It won’t always be comfortable. And I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”
She nodded eagerly. “I’ll send word to my family that I’m all right—in case they return to town before we do.”
He hesitated. “There’s also the matter of your reputation. If we’re seen traveling together without a chaperone…” He let his voice trail off and left it to her to fill in the consequences.
Namely, that she’d be forced to marry him.
If it came to that, he’d give her everything he could—safety, companionship, and pleasure. But he wasn’t sure he could give her what she truly wanted or deserved—his whole heart, unguarded and exposed.
For the space of several breaths, Lily stared at him, thoughtful. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
Chapter 24
“If he truly cares for you, he will seek and respect your opinion. He will take note of your likes and dislikes. He will admire you for your wit more than for your appearance.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Lily sat beside Nash in the coach as it rolled over the pitted roads, taking them away from London. The landscape outside their windows alternated between vast, cow-dotted fields and dense, tree-filled forests. Nash stared at the scenery as it rushed by, but Lily doubted he saw any of it. From the bleak expression on his face, she suspected he was thinking of a very similar journey—one he’d taken five years ago, when he’d chased after Emily.
They didn’t speak much for the first few hours of the ride. Lily sensed he needed time to harness all his feelings and come up with a plan for rescuing Delilah. She was doing the same thing—but she’d also been remembering more about her life.
Before leaving Nash’s house, she’d grabbed her bag—the one she’d had with her at the Grey Goose—and packed a few items inside: a nightgown, underclothes, a brush, and her journal. At the last minute she’d stopped in Delilah’s room, taken the latest copy of The Debutante’s Revenge off her desk, and added it to her bag.
Now, she took it out, wondering if it held a clue as to Delilah’s state of mind when she left that morning. Lily read the column again, and the tingling at the base of her spine returned. She recognized the sensation now. Knew that she was about to remember.
She studied Fiona’s drawing in the paper—the bold strokes, the subtle shading, the raw emotion. She’d already deduced that her sister was the talented artist of the sketches in The Debutante’s Revenge, but what about the column itself? The words didn’t sound like Fiona or Sophie. They sounded more like … her. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see them handwritten in her own distinct script.
But that had to be her muddled mind playing tricks on her. She couldn’t have written this particular column, because she’d been in Nash’s house suffering from amnesia the entire week before it appeared in the paper.
Unless.
Bracing herself, Lily closed her eyes and let the memories come. Fiona and Gray’s elegant yet cozy drawing room. Lily shuffling through the sketches on Fiona’s desk. Fiona reading the columns Lily gave her. The ones she’d written and delivered before going to the tavern that night.
Sweet Jesus. Her head spinning, Lily opened her eyes and stared at the newspaper on her lap. She was more than Lily Hartley, heiress and sister to the Countess of Ravenport.
She was the mysterious, infamous authoress of The Debutante’s Revenge.
Even as her chest swelled with pride, her head urged caution. She, Fiona, and Sophie had made a vow to protect their anonymity at all costs.
Nash glanced over at her, worry for his sister etched into his face. “We’ll make a brief stop soon. There’s an inn just up the road, and I want to check in there to ask if anyone has seen Delilah or Brondale.”
“Good idea,” Lily said. “She can’t be too far ahead of us. We left London about three hours after she did.”
“I’m assuming she and Brondale are together and that they’re heading for Gretna Green, but I don’t know anything for certain.” Nash dragged a hand down his face, weary. “It’s quite possible that Brondale has no intention of marrying her. He might have suggested they elope just so he can seduce her or force himself on her.”
Lily’s gut twisted. “Delilah’s clever enough to see through such a scheme.”
“She fancies herself in love with Brondale, and love … well, it makes people do foolish things.” Nash nodded at the newspaper in Lily’s lap. “Is that the column Delilah read this morning?”
“Yes,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry.
“May I see it?”
“Of course.” Lily handed it to him, and he read, his face impassive.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding her breath as she awaited his response.
“That it’s reckless advice,” he said flatly.
“Reckless?” she repeated, incredulous. “How so?”
“It encourages young women to ignore the counsel of people who love them.”
She took the paper from him and read it again. “It doesn’t say that exactly…” Though she had to admit, it was rather close.
“It advises them to base weighty decisions on feelings and intuition,” he said—as if doing so was the height of idiocy.
She shook her head and impulsively reached for his hand. “I don’t think that’s quite what the author meant.”
“She says that young women should choose a man who makes their pulse beat faster.” He looked at their hands, clasped on the seat between them. “But that’s just a symptom of desire. Not love.”
Oh God. She had to tell him the truth—that she was the authoress. After all they’d shared, she couldn’t hide that part of herself from him.
“Nash,” she began. “There’s something important I need to tell you, and … well, you may not like it.”
His golden eyes turned wary, and he exhaled slowly. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Always,” she said sincerely.
“I’m not sure I can face any more revelations right now,” he said hoarsely. “I need to reserve every ounce of my energy and attention for finding my sister.”
Lily nodded and tried to keep her own emotions in check. “I understand.”
“I want to hear whatever you have to say,” he assured her. Outside the coach, the inn he’d mentioned came int
o view. “But unless it has something to do with Delilah, I’d rather wait until this ordeal is over.”
The anguish on his face made her chest ache, and she would have done anything to lessen his burden. “It can wait. Let’s find your sister—and we’ll worry about the rest afterward.”
* * *
Several hours and many miles later, the moon rose in the sky and twilight cast the countryside in a purple haze. The coach rolled up to an inn—the third Lily and Nash had stopped at that day. This one boasted vine-covered stone walls, a steeply sloped roof, and brick chimneys at either end. When a footman opened the cab door, Nash hopped out and helped Lily to the ground. “I’m going to talk to the innkeeper,” he told her, “and ask if he’s seen anyone matching Delilah’s and Brondale’s description.”
“I’ll stay out here and stretch my legs.” She pulled her shawl over her head, mindful that the fewer people who knew they were traveling together, the better.
When he returned a short time later, his body was coiled tight with frustration. “I didn’t learn anything,” he said. “I don’t even know if we’re headed in the right direction.”
“Maybe they’re a little farther up the road,” she said, hopeful. “We could keep going.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight. The horses need to rest, and I’d rather get an early start in the morning. In the meantime, I’ve secured a room. Come, I’ll take you there.”
Lily kept her head down as she followed him past the front desk and up the narrow stairs to a long hallway with doors on either side. He walked to the far end of the corridor, unlocked the last door on the right, and ushered her in.
The room was cozy—about five paces from the door to the opposite wall. Indeed, it was so small that even if it had been completely devoid of furniture, the mattress from Nash’s huge bed would not have fit inside. The furnishings were sparse and utilitarian—a narrow bed, a tiny table beside the bed with a washbowl, and one ladderback chair—but the room appeared tidy and the bed linens clean.
“The innkeeper’s wife will bring you a dinner tray in a bit,” Nash said. “Lock the door when she leaves and try to sleep.” When he turned to go, she laid a hand on his forearm, confused.
