by Anna Bennett
Her dark hair gleamed in the brilliant candlelight; her luminous skin glowed from within. Her light green eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled, instantly heating his blood.
The rest of the ballroom faded away, leaving just the two of them. “I was wrong,” he said.
“About what?” she asked soberly.
“Lots of things. But mostly thinking I could live without you.”
She blinked and her gorgeous green eyes welled.
“Dance with me?” he asked.
Her pink lips parted in surprise before she nodded and offered him her hand.
The simple contact had his head reeling and his pulse racing. But holding her hand was more than exhilarating—it was perfectly natural. Right.
He led her to the dance floor and pulled her as close as he dared, savoring every subtle connection. Her fingers resting lightly on his collar. The wisps at her nape, brushing the back of his hand. The silk of her dress, smooth beneath his palm. Her breath, soft on his cheek.
Lily twirled in his arms, her white gown billowing behind her like she was an angel floating in the clouds. Neither of them said a word, but every look that passed between them spoke of longing, desire, and affection.
When the music began to wind down, her forehead creased. “There’s something I must tell you,” she said.
He leaned closer to her ear. “I’d hoped to speak to you too, in private. If you can slip away, meet me in my study at a quarter to midnight. I’ll wait for you there.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. “I’ll try.”
As the last note of the song echoed in the air, he squeezed her hand, reluctant to let go.
She slowly pulled away, giving him a soft smile over her shoulder. “Until later, Your Grace.”
Chapter 32
“A gentleman’s expertise on the dance floor often extends to other key areas as well.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
At precisely a quarter to twelve, Lily peeled herself away from a circle that included Mama, Papa, Sophie, and her mother, mumbling an excuse about drinking too much lemonade. She walked past the ladies’ retiring room, however, and glided down the dimly lit corridor to Nash’s study.
She hesitated at the threshold for a second, then turned the knob and entered.
She’d been in his study before. It was the location of their first kiss and their indoor picnic. But everything looked different tonight. Maybe because everything was different.
“I’m glad you came,” Nash said, his relief palpable. He took a step toward her like he wanted to hold her, then drew up short, apparently as unsure as she was.
He’d lit a lamp on a small side table flanked by two leather chairs. “Please, sit,” he said, gesturing toward one chair and lowering himself into the other.
She accepted his invitation, settling herself in the chair next to his. “I can’t stay long,” she began.
“I know.”
“But there are a few things I need to say.”
He propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “Please.”
She tried to ignore the charming lock of hair that fell across his forehead and his shiver-inducing gaze. And she prayed for the courage to tell him everything that was in her heart.
“I’ve missed you, and I’ve missed us,” she said, “and the way we were before my memory returned. You say you’re incapable of loving me completely and unreservedly, but I know that’s not the case. I’ve seen your heart, and it’s generous and true.”
“Thank you,” he said, his expression serious. “I’m humbled by your faith in me.”
She inclined her head, then forged ahead. “But I need you to understand something else too. The Debutante’s Revenge is important to me—and to its many readers. I have no intention of giving it up.”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t blame you. And I’d never ask that of you.”
Her eyes stung. “I’m glad you understand, but there’s more to it. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect my work, because … because it’s a part of me.”
Nash looked at her, his golden gaze intense. “May I tell you something?”
“Yes.” Her heart pounded wildly. She prayed he wasn’t about to deliver a sentimental but nevertheless crushing send-off. A cliché along the lines of: For as long as I live, I shall never forget you. Or, the trite but ever-popular: It’s not you, it’s me. No matter what, Lily silently vowed she would not cry.
He leaned forward, his handsome face heartbreakingly earnest. “I know that the column is a part of you. And the truth is … well, the truth is that I adore and respect every part of you. The part of you who dares to walk the streets dressed as a chimney sweep. The part of you who pours her heart out onto the page, empowering other young women. And I especially adore the part of you who convinced my sister to come home by writing down everything I wanted to tell her but couldn’t find the words to say.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “You read the special edition?”
“I did. It was beautiful and moving … so much so, that it brought my sister home. The next day, I asked Delilah to show me your other columns. I read them all. And I owe you an apology.”
Lily swallowed, scarcely believing her ears.
He spoke slowly and clearly, his amber eyes searching her face for absolution. “I’m sorry that I denounced your column without ever properly reading it. I dismissed it out of hand, making stupid assumptions about the content and the women who read it. But I was wrong about your writing. It’s entertaining and insightful. It’s inspiring and enlightening. It’s very much like you. And I hope you can forgive me.”
Blast. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. “I can. I have.” She swiped at her eyes and went to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I forgive you.”
He pulled her onto his lap and cradled her face in his hands. “Then you’ll give me another chance?”
Her chest nearly bursting with joy, she tilted her forehead to his. “Yes.”
The word had scarcely left her lips before he slanted his mouth across hers in a deep, bone-melting kiss. She’d told him everything—and he hadn’t shunned her. Hadn’t run away.
He was there, holding her, and saying everything her heart wanted to hear. Almost.
Best of all, he kissed her like he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him.
When he finally stopped to look into her eyes, they were both a little breathless. “As much as I’d like to keep you to myself for the entire evening,” he said, “we should not stay away from the ball too long. Your friends and family will be looking for you.”
She sighed, savoring the feel of his thick, cropped hair between her fingers. “I suppose you are right.”
“But before we go, I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
He helped her up and tugged her by the hand. “Over here.” He led her across the room to a large, flat object covered with a sheet. “I hope you like it,” he said, grinning as he pulled off the cover.
There, in the center of Nash’s study was the most gorgeous desk Lily had ever seen. Made of rich mahogany, with turned legs and shiny brass drawer pulls, it was fit for a king. Indeed, Shakespeare himself couldn’t have wished for anything more beautiful.
“This is for me,” she said, dumbfounded.
“You deserve a special place to write your column,” he explained. “I chose one with plenty of compartments, and they all lock.” He pulled out the center drawer and gestured toward the key tucked into the corner. “You won’t have to worry about anyone reading your columns before they’re published. And the top is inlaid with leather, so it will feel warm and soft beneath your hands.”
“It’s beautiful. I love everything about it.” Her heart broke as she ran a finger over the buttery-smooth leather. “But I’m afraid I can’t keep it.”
His handsome face fell. “Why not?”
“It’s too generous a gift. Mama would never allow me to accep
t something so valuable from you, a gentleman who I’m supposed to be only slightly acquainted with.”
“Even if we were engaged?”
She blinked. “What did you just say?”
Nash circled his hands around her waist, lifted her so that she sat on the edge of her glorious new desk, and leveled his gaze at her, his golden eyes glowing. “I love you, Lily Hartley. Fully. Passionately. With everything I am and ever will be. From the moment I met you, you challenged me to feel more, live more … be more. I can’t go back to the way I was before, and I don’t want to. All I want is to spend the rest of my life with you, loving you, making you happy.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, sending delicious tingles drifting over her skin. “Will you marry me, Lily?”
“But … Serena. And the column. How would it all work?”
“We’ll make it work,” he said, confident. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Joy filled her chest, and her stubborn, cynical heart began to believe. “I love you, Nash. And knowing you feel the same … it’s like a dream.”
He swallowed and searched her face. “Is that a yes?”
She slid her arms around his neck and touched her nose to his, letting their breath mingle in the space between them. “It’s a yes. To marriage, to loving you always … to whatever adventures come our way.”
He let out a low, wicked growl that made her toes curl. “What would you say to an adventure right now? Right here. On your new desk.”
“We haven’t much time, but…” She wriggled closer, wantonly wrapping her legs around his hard, muscular thighs. “I think we should begin as we mean to go on, don’t you?”
Chapter 33
“As the ball draws to a close, do not linger too long. Bidding farewell to friends can be sad, but remember: What feels like the end is often just the start of something new and wonderful.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Fiona and Sophie called on Lily the next afternoon, ostensibly to take tea and exchange gossip about last night’s ball.
But she knew very well what they were about. They’d seen the heated looks Nash had cast her way. They’d narrowed their eyes suspiciously each time he led her to the dance floor. They’d arched a brow at her prolonged absence from the ballroom. And now they wanted to know precisely what had transpired between her and the duke.
Almost as much as she wanted to tell them.
But though she longed to spill the happy news to her sister and her best friend, Lily remained deliberately vague, holding the precious secret close to her chest, basking in its glow for a little while longer.
The three sat around a cozy fire in the drawing room with their feet tucked beneath the hems of their gowns.
Fiona tossed a copper curl over her shoulder, feigning disdain. “Since Lily selfishly refuses to share any details about her handsome duke, we might as well discuss business.”
“Yes, let’s,” Sophie said coolly.
Lily laughed. “I’m putting the finishing touches on a new column. It’s about sisterhood and the importance of nurturing friendships even when one is in the midst of forming a romantic attachment to a gentleman.”
“How ironic,” Fiona teased. “But I shall have no difficulty drawing an accompanying sketch. I’ll use you two as my subjects.”
“As long as we cannot be identified,” Sophie said, twisting her graceful hands. “And I do like the theme. Interestingly, I spoke with several young ladies at the ball last night about The Debutante’s Revenge—all devotees of the column. They had no inkling of my connection to it, of course, but they all expressed a desire to have a safe place to gather and discuss the column with like-minded women.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Lily mused.
“I think it would be lovely … to give our readers an opportunity to connect with each other,” Sophie replied. “And it would give us valuable insights as to what our readers wish to know. What they would like to see in future columns.”
“That’s brilliant,” Fiona proclaimed. “It could be quite difficult, though. For every avid reader we seem to have an equally avid detractor.”
Sophie nodded her agreement. “The meetings would have to be conducted in utmost secrecy. I’m not exactly certain how or where, but it’s a project I’d like to undertake.”
Lily’s heart swelled. “That’s very daring of you, Sophie. And if anyone can succeed, you can.”
Her friend’s blue eyes twinkled. “I was thinking of calling it the Debutante Underground.”
“Perfection!” Fiona declared.
“I love it.” Lily raised her teacup in a toast. “To sisterhood, friendship, and Sophie’s deliciously scandalous new adventure: The Debutante Undergr—”
“Lily Hartley!” Mama burst into the drawing room, her cheeks flushed and her palm pressed to her chest.
Lily jumped up, sloshing her tea. “What is it, Mama? Is everything all right?”
Her stepmother collapsed on the settee, then artfully arranged an arm across her forehead. “You tell me, missy. The Duke of Stonebridge has come to call.”
“He’s here?” Pulse racing, Lily straightened her bodice and smoothed her hair.
“Yes,” Mama breathed, with a bit more drama than was strictly necessary. “To be more specific, the duke is in the study because he requested an audience with your father.”
Fiona gleefully glided to the settee, picked up a silk pillow, and began fanning Mama with it. To Lily, she said, “Does this mean what I think it means?”
“You might have given me some warning, Lily,” Mama interjected. “I shall never forgive you for this.”
Sophie hid a smile as she joined the little gathering near the settee. “Shall I fetch you a glass of water, Mrs. Hartley?”
“You’d better make it something stronger, dear,” she said with a moan. “It’s not every day that one’s daughter is courted by a … by a…”
“There’s brandy on the sideboard,” Lily said, shooting Sophie a grateful smile.
All four women decided a bit of fortification was in order, and all were quite composed by the time the gentlemen joined them.
Papa strode through the drawing room door first, chest puffed out, proud as a peacock. Nash followed, meeting Lily’s gaze with a smile that was just for her. Good heavens. She suspected that even if she lived to be one hundred, his wicked grin would still have the uncanny power to melt her insides.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hartley, ladies,” Nash said, bowing gallantly.
Mama whimpered, then recovered her manners. “What an unexpected pleasure, Your Grace.”
“I wondered if I might have a word with Miss Hartley.”
Lily decided not to torment Mama further. “Actually, Your Grace, we may speak freely here.”
He arched a brow, clearly amused. “Excellent. Would you care to do the honors, or shall I?”
Mama’s eyes turned to saucers. “Someone enlighten me.”
Lily squeezed Mama’s hand. “Nash—that is, the duke—and I … have decided to marry.”
Fiona and Sophie hugged each other, squealing with delight.
“I love your daughter to distraction, Mrs. Hartley,” Nash said earnestly. “And I promise to spend the rest of my days caring for her, trying to make her as happy as she’s made me.”
“My daughter … a duchess?” Mama said, clearly stunned.
Sophie fetched the decanter of brandy again.
Fiona beamed. “A whirlwind courtship,” she said knowingly. “I look forward to hearing all the romantic details, someday.”
“Perhaps.” Lily linked her arm through Nash’s leaning into his broad, hard shoulder. “Someday.”
* * *
That night, shortly after sunset, Nash sat at his desk, alternately poring over ledgers and contracts in a futile attempt to keep his mind off Lily. Damn the reading of the banns and a respectable engagement period.
He missed her. Needed her now.
And if it wouldn’t have b
een the height of hypocrisy, he’d have begged her to run away to Gretna Green.
An odd tap at the window of his study made him snap his gaze away from his work.
He stood and peered through the pane at the dusky purple sky suspended above the verdant garden and shrugged. Probably just an insect that had flown into the glass.
But as he turned back toward his desk, two more taps sounded behind him.
Exasperated, he threw open the sash and stuck his head outside. “Is that you, Drake?”
“It’s me,” the sweetly familiar voice answered in a stage whisper. “Are you trying to alert the entire household?”
Lily. His blood heated as he searched the shadows, finally spotting her beneath the garden trellis. She stood there in a shaft of moonlight, wearing delightfully snug trousers and sheepishly waving her cap at him.
“Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
A moment later, she was in his arms, pressing her lithe body against his.
“What are you doing here? Not that I object, you understand,” he added quickly. “In fact, it’s the best possible surprise.”
“I just delivered my column.” She ran a wicked finger across his lower lip. “Surely, you did not expect your fiancée to retire her chimney sweep disguise?”
“On the contrary. I’m delighted to discover that you have not.”
She purred, rocking her hips against his. “I decided to make a stop on my way back from the newspaper offices.”
“Did you pop into the Grey Goose?” he teased.
“You mock me, but if I hadn’t ventured into that tavern, we would never have met.”
Growling, he slid a hand beneath the hem of her shirt and tugged on the binding beneath. “I would never have met the chimney sweep, or Caroline, or Lily. Which, I freely admit, would have been a tragedy.”
“You’d still be a grumpy, semi-reclusive bachelor,” she mused, tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue.
