Disbelief seized her and nearly stole her ability to speak. She was going to marry, and not only that, she was going to wed a man she’d known for less than an hour. She squared her shoulders and held out a hand. “We do.”
He glanced from her hand to her face and then brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I’ll have the man’s name now, if you please.”
Dazed from the tingles his lips caused throughout her body, she swallowed and gently pulled her hand away. Leaning towards him, she whispered, “His name is Lord Derwent. He’s the lord who bought my favors and recently offered me marriage. The one I told you had a penchant for cruelty. Do you know him?”
He locked his gaze on her, piercing her to her soul. Never had anyone given her a protective look, let alone a fiercely protective one. An odd thrill ran through her. Silly nitwit. She didn’t want him to care about defending her. “You did only want this for information, correct?”
He gave her a distracted nod that didn’t make her feel a bit better.
“Lord Edgeworth.”
Looking past her, he snapped his fingers, stood and held a hand out to her. She took it, only just noticing how large his was. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed. “My driver will see you home. I’ll call on you tomorrow to work out the details of the wedding.” A man dressed in gold livery came up behind Lord Edgeworth. Lillian stiffened. She didn’t want Lord Edgeworth to think he could ever dictate what she did, and if he wasn’t as true to his word as Charlotte believed, Lillian couldn’t risk being trapped for life with another man legally able to control her actions.
She notched up her chin, silly given that he towered over her. “I’ll see myself home.”
He studied her for a silent moment. Finally, he shrugged. “As you wish. I’ll never command you to do anything.”
“On your honor?” Her question was hushed.
“On my honor.” His lips twisted into an ironic smile. “Though I’m obligated as a supposed gentleman to tell you, you should demand a different guarantee from me. I misplaced my honor long ago.”
“I think not.” She wrapped her hands around her waist to hide their trembling. Being near him made her feel funny―lightheaded and rather discomfited. He was exactly as Charlotte had promised, bless her dear friend. “Any man who’d admit such a thing has exactly as much honor as I require.” Before he could say anything to make her like him more, she brushed past him, hurried through the tavern and out the door into the cold night.
As the wind gusted, she pulled her coat tight under her chin and strode to the hackney she’d hired. On the ride to her townhome, she made a mental list of what she needed to do tomorrow, and then turned her thoughts to her future husband. Recalling his beautiful green eyes and wolfish smile, she experienced the same odd thrill as earlier. She scowled into the darkness. The less time they spent together, the better. She suspected she could grow to like him and that frightened her a great deal.
The next morning around the time most reasonable men were climbing out of their warm, comfortable beds, Nick stood in the foggy, damp green of Hamstead Heath as Blakely, his second, loaded the pistol Derwent’s man had delivered for the duel. Nick followed Blakely’s actions to guarantee a step wasn’t missed. He’d hoped Salisbury, his closest friend, would be his second. Nick had sent word to him last night with the request, but when he hadn’t received the immediate response he needed to set things in motion he’d asked Blakely to stand in. The barkeep had proven he could keep a secret, and Nick preferred not to burden Drew, who was the only other person Nick would trust with this. With Charlotte expecting soon, Drew had enough on his mind.
“You ever killed a man?” Blakely asked as he ran a finger down the length of the pistol.
“I don’t intend to end Derwent’s pathetic life. Just maim him permanently. But if an infection does kill him, I won’t lose any sleep over it. If he lives, he’ll walk with a limp and never sit a horse again. A dire punishment for an avid hunter like Derwent. His pain will eat at him day after day, and he’ll wish he’d never dishonored my wife.”
Blakely went slack-jawed. “I didn’t know you were married. I thought you said this duel was over the chit from last night.”
Nick chuckled, his breath coming out in a white ring of air in front of him. Once it dissipated he spoke. “I’m not married. Yet. But I will be in two days if all goes according to plan. And this duel is over the chit from last night.”
“Wedding of necessity, huh?”
Nick frowned. He’d never met a woman in more need of protection than the beautiful and bold Lillian Lancaster, so, yes, it was a necessary wedding, but not in the way Blakely meant.
Blakely gave him a knowing, cheeky grin. “I’d not thought that dark-headed dolly from the pub capable of being cajoled into a bed, especially before a right an’ proper wedding. From a distance she appeared stiff as the stick of my broom handle. Beautiful, but in an unapproachable sort of way, if you know what I mean.”
Nick resisted the urge to punch Blakely in the face. Instead, he inhaled slowly and reined in his temper. “I like you, Blakely.”
The barkeep started to speak, so Nick held up a silencing hand. “My fondness for the way you pour a drink, never ask me about my life―which, by the by, is why I asked you to be my second―doesn’t mean I won’t plant you a facer if you ever make unseemly insinuations about my wife-to-be again.” He leaned towards the man, allowing his height and size to help make his point. “Are we clear?”
Blakely tossed his hair out of his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing. “As a cloudless day. Lewd jokes ended. Here you are.” Blakely handed the pistol to Nick. “Satisfied?”
Nick turned the weapon over, the touch of the cold metal making his chest tighten in anticipation. “You can notify Derwent’s second.”
Blakely raised a hand, gave the signal they’d agreed upon and moved well out of the line of fire. Across the field, Derwent’s second did the same. The call for the duel to begin pierced through the roar of blood in his ears and made him flinch.
He whipped his pistol up a second later than he would have liked and fired. The recoil made his right arm jerk. Damn and hell. Derwent’s pistol was raised straight and true. A thousand thoughts flew across Nick’s mind. The last―had Derwent already fired―ceased to require an answer as a bullet sliced over Nick’s skin.
Across the clearing, Derwent’s howl filled the silence. Through his pain, Nick smiled as the man’s legs folded underneath him and he fell to the ground. Blakely raced to Nick. “Will you live?”
“For now.” Nick ignored the burn inching up his arm as he stared across the grass at the hunched over form of physician who hovered over Derwent. The sound of a rushing carriage filled the silent morning. Nick shielded his eyes against the sun. Salisbury’s carriage came to a shuttering halt across the park. As the door opened, Nick smiled. It was good to know his friend had come rushing to his aid, however belatedly.
With his uninjured arm, Nick nudged Blakely in the side. “Come. I’ll introduce you to a friend of mine.”
Blakely eyed Nick’s arm, where blood had soaked through the material. “Shouldn’t you get your wound tended to first?”
Nick glanced back at the physician still stooped over Derwent, jerked off his cravat with one hand and handed it to Blakely. “Tie this around my arm. It will stem the flow of blood until the physician can tend me.”
Nick winced as Blakely bound his throbbing arm. Once the man was finished, they made their way across the clearing. Nick whistled a merry tune as he walked. His injury was paltry, and from what he could tell of Derwent, the man’s leg was badly injured. What would Miss Lancaster think when she heard? His pulse pounded. He couldn’t remember having felt this protective of a woman since Katherine, but that had been understandable. He’d known Katherine all his life and loved her more than half of it. Yet he had been acquainted with Miss Lancaster less than twenty-four hours. Considering how things had turned out with Katherine, it didn’t bode well for him
that Miss Lancaster had already managed to capture his lust, and moreover, with her sad tale of mistreatment and daring in asking him to marry her, she’d also seized his admiration and need to protect her from those who would harm her.
Ever since he’d witnessed Beth’s abuse, he couldn’t turn away from a woman in the throes of distress. Yet, he’d ignored Amelia’s suffering. She’d been in misery, and he’d been too preoccupied trying to make Katherine regret turning down his proposal of marriage for an ancient man of greater social standing, Nick hadn’t noticed how his antics had appeared to Amelia, whom he’d impulsively asked to marry him simply to hurt Katherine.
Fresh shame rolled through him. He’d never forgive himself for Amelia’s death. If he’d not bragged how she could outride Katherine any day of the year, Amelia would still be alive. He’d had no right to ask her to marry him. He winced and swiped at his eyes. Damned sun was making them water.
His thoughts turned to Miss Lancaster. Five seconds before she’d walked into his life last night he’d been certain he would never marry, but after meeting her and hearing her story, he knew, without a doubt, marrying her was a chance to atone for his past. He’d failed to save his friend and he’d helped to cause Amelia’s death. He could help Miss Lancaster. She wasn’t a sheltered woman. She didn’t expect or want his love, which was rather convenient since he had none to give. No. This marriage was perfect. Miss Lancaster would have his protection, her theatre, the money her father left her and the money Nick would insist on giving her. Nick’s problem of his grandfather’s preposterous demands and his mother’s complaining would be silenced for good. Maybe now, his demons would quiet enough that he could sleep at night once again.
He stopped in front of Salisbury. “Nice of you to make an appearance.”
Salisbury glared. “I just returned to London and received your note. Had I gotten here sooner, I would have talked some sense into your thick head. Whatever this is about, talking is a much more effective way of solving differences.”
Nick chuckled. Salisbury was not known for keeping his opinions to himself, and it seemed this morning was no exception. “I couldn’t agree more, and normally, I strive to avoid violence. But Derwent ill-used the woman I intend to marry.”
Salisbury’s face took on a comical expression of shock. Nick struggled not to smile but it was useless. He did so love shocking the unflappable Salisbury.
The marquess opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you intend to marry a chit?”
“Well, I don’t intend to marry a gentleman. I’m marrying a lovely woman named Lillian Lancaster,” Nick replied, grinning.
“I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.”
Nick’s smiled faded with Salisbury’s serious words. His senses were just fine. He glanced over his shoulder at Blakely, who had paused a few feet behind him. Nick didn’t particularly care to discuss the intimacies of his impending marriage in front of Blakely. He motioned the man forward. Nick introduced the men and Blakely excused himself to see if the physician would be able to attend Nick anytime soon. Nick looked at Salisbury. “My desire to marry hasn’t changed. My circumstances have.”
“I understand. Pressure from the family can be hard to resist. Don’t feel bad.” Salisbury’s tone had turned insulting.
Nick gritted his teeth. “I don’t bow to pressure from anyone, you ought to know that.”
Salisbury cocked his right eyebrow. “I thought I did. If not guilt from your family and your view on marriage hasn’t changed, then why are you marrying a chit I’ve never heard of?”
“Because she doesn’t want to be married any more than I do. It’s perfect. We’ll wed and go our separate ways. Her problems will be solved and so will mine.” The other more personal details were his private affair.
Salisbury snorted. “You’re fooling yourself. No man fights a duel for a woman he’s marrying simply for convenience.”
“I do.” Nick didn’t like the questions Salisbury’s comment had immediately brought to mind. Why did he fight this duel? Why not just marry the chit and forget avenging her honor? He didn’t love her. Hell, he barely knew her. He shoved the questions out of his mind. Salisbury could bugger off. Nick would fight a duel for any woman who’d been wrongfully used as Miss Lancaster had. It had nothing to do with her. It was about honor and making amends for his past.
“Thank, God,” Nick muttered as Blakely and the physician approached them and spared Nick any more prying questions from Salisbury.
The physician set down his case and motioned for Nick to hold out his arm. After getting the binding off, Nick rolled up his sleeve to be poked and prodded. The pain caused beads of sweat to roll down his forehead but his thoughts were focused on one detail he needed to know. “How badly hurt is Derwent?”
The physician raised his head and gazed at Nick with a frown. “His wound is much worse than your surface wound. He’ll likely never properly use his right leg again.”
Nick struggled not to grin. It was disgraceful that Derwent’s misfortune made him happy, but any man who bedded an unwilling woman was a dog who deserved to be punished.
Lost in his thoughts, he jerked when liquid poured over his skin making it feel as if it melted from his bones. Nick bared his teeth against the agony. “Devil take it, man. You could’ve warned me.”
The man’s bushy eyebrows rose. “I find that warning people only makes it worse.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Nick snapped and stepped backwards as the doctor tried to grab his arm. “What happens now?”
“Now, I sew you up.”
Nick slung out his arm, belatedly realizing what a stupid move it was. Pain caused him to curl his arm back in a bit, but he forced himself to straighten it out. No time to be weak. “Make it quick. My work here is done and my future wife is expecting me by ten.”
Lillian paused, her quill hovering above the sheet of paper on which she balanced numbers to see if the theatre had a profitable month. This was futile. Her mind was on her future husband and his brooding masculinity. Goodness! Where had that thought come from? She scowled and threw down her quill. A foreign sense of hope filled her. Last night, Lord Edgeworth had seemed good and honorable. Was it possible not all men were like her father, Lord Derwent and the countless other men who’d tried to bed her?
She squeezed her eyes shut. This was foolishness. She knew better than to trust a man. Besides, even if she wanted to, she didn’t think she could. She glanced at the clock on her desk and fought her nervousness. Lord Edgeworth’s note she’d received this morning said he’d be here at ten o’clock.
A rap resounded on her door as it creaked open. Fearing her thoughts about Lord Edgeworth were written all over her face, she jerked her quill off the desk and scribbled numbers to appear busy. Beatrice slipped into the room, patting her silver coif with one hand and holding a dress in the other.
Lillian relaxed, seeing her friend standing there. Even if Beatrice read some sort of worry on her face, she would never comment. Since Lillian had rehired Beatrice as the theatre seamstress, the woman was particularly loyal to her.
Smiling, Beatrice held a dress out. “I stayed up all night reworking this gown for your wedding. Best try it on now to ensure no adjustments are necessary. It turned out quiet nice for an old gown.” Beatrice gave Lillian a pointed look.
Lillian stood, walked around her desk and took the gown. She fingered the faux pearls Beatrice had sewn into the faded silk bodice of the yellow dress and bit her lip to avoid frowning. Her friend had done excellent work as usual, but the dress was faded and, well…not new. Yet, that was not Beatrice’s fault. She forced herself to smile. “The dress is lovely.”
Beatrice huffed. “You’re a rotten liar, missy, but I appreciate you saying it, just the same.” Beatrice ran a smoothing hand over Lillian’s gown. “’Tis not bad, considering the dresses in your wardrobe I had to work with. Now, if you’d let me use one of the theatre co
stumes―”
Lillian held up a silencing hand. She wasn’t about to have that argument again. “No. I explained very clearly we cannot yet afford to replace any of the costumes should something untoward happen to it on my wedding day.”
“Whatever untoward thing could happen to a dress?”
Lillian cringed but managed to say, “A permanent stain.” Thank goodness her voice didn’t wobble. The memory of Lord Derwent ripping her dress from her limbs filled her head in vivid, colorful detail. It wasn’t just that he’d torn the dress from her body. After the first time he’d destroyed her clothes, he’d made a game of finding new ways to undress her the minute she walked though his door.
Silk ripped without any effort at all when one used a dagger or a sword. Lord Derwent’s teeth flashed in her head. She bit down on her lip to stop the scream clawing its way up her throat. Silk didn’t give so easily when one rent it with one’s yellowed teeth. It was too bad that during their struggles she’d never managed to knock any of Lord Derwent’s teeth out.
Her lower lip began to tremble, so she bit down harder. Now was not the time to start feeling sorry for herself. She was about to ensure the theatre was hers forever, so gaudy old wedding dress or not, she would be happy.
Beatrice pressed a hand to Lillian’s cheek. “It’s not the wedding you dreamed of as a child, ‘tis it?”
Lillian nodded helplessly. “I’m being ridiculous. I know childhood dreams are foolish and best forgotten. Any sane adult understands perfection has no place in real life―well, at least the life of a commoner like me born to a heartless father and a mother who abandoned me.” Lillian sniffed. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Forgive me, Beatrice. I’m better now. This marriage will save the theatre. It’s not important that I’m wearing an old dress for the affair. None of what I longed for as a child is important.”
Season For Surrender (A Danby Family Novella Book 2) Page 3
