For the Love of Lila

by Jennifer Malin

  “There is no need to jeopardize your reputation further,” she said. “You have done far too much of that on my account already. I will stay at another hotel.”

  “You cannot stay at another hotel. You have no companion, not even a maid. Any unsavory character who spots you alone could pay you an unannounced visit.”

  She frowned. “I could enter D’Anjou separately from you and procure my room myself.”

  “That would scarcely be any better. You would still be seen alone. Lila, don’t you realize how dangerous sleeping in a hired room is anytime? One never knows how many people possess the key, not that any rogue worth his salt requires a key.”

  Her face blanched, satisfying him that he’d made his point.

  “Never mind. I shall smuggle you into my room.”

  “You what?” She looked at him with such huge, stunned eyes that he nearly laughed. He had finally managed to shock her. If the idea of again sharing a bedroom added to his diversion, he didn’t like to admit it.

  Smothering his amusement, he said, “All the rooms at D’Anjou have terraces. You can easily slip in undetected.”

  “Tristan, this plan is scarcely appropriate—”

  “Nor is there any alternative to it. Besides, you were never so missish before.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You do recall our first night on the road?”

  “But that was before...” her words trailed off. “That was unplanned.”

  “So is this.” Amusement stole up on him again. You are not frightened of staying with me, are you?”

  “Of course I’m not frightened. But, unlike you, I fail to find the situation entertaining.” She pulled her spencer more tightly around her. “Shall we go then? The hour’s late.”

  Bravado, he thought, but she was right not to show her wariness, and he was equally wrong to show his amusement. “Perhaps we had best.”

  She spun around and flounced back to the carriage, her movements as resolute—and feminine—as could be.

  Only as he watched her hips sway did he recall his own wariness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lila shivered on a second-floor balcony, huddling against the glass on one of a pair of French doors. The cold had progressed with the night, and her nerves had drained what body heat she had to spare. She had been waiting a good quarter-hour while a maid tidied and stoked up the fire in the room Tristan had procured. Through the crevice between the doors, she could hear bits of the girl’s muffled French, followed each time by Tristan’s laughter.

  He was dallying, while she froze to death on little more than a ledge!

  She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering and looked down one end of the street. At any other time, the view would have charmed her. Facades of townhouses and store fronts nestled around the stretch of cobblestones, creating a feel of coziness. As she gazed on, a phaeton drove past, the horse’s hoof beats echoing throughout the deserted block.

  A click from behind her made her start. She spun around to see Tristan open the door, his eyes solemn and lips pressed into a thin line. All trace of the amusement that he’d shared with the maid had departed along with the girl.

  He nodded for her to enter and took her elbow as she bridged the threshold. As soon as she had stepped inside, he let go and crossed to the hearth. While she surveyed the two narrow beds, single armchair and washstand that comprised the furnishings, he leaned on the mantel, arms folded over his chest.

  The crackling fire cast licks of light up his side, emphasizing the muscular contours of his calf and thigh. She felt a longing that unsettled her, a profound urge to cuddle up to him and sponge up his body heat. In his arms, she would feel so snug, so wonderful...

  “This is a bad turn, Lila,” he broke into her reverie. He let his arms drop and paced a few steps toward her. “The more I think about your cousin’s move, the less I like it. Judging by the landlady’s displeasure, Felicity probably left owing money. If such is the case, she is in no position to be of aid to you. More likely, you will end up lending her money.”

  She sat down on one of the beds. “I confess that I’ve thought of that as well, but perhaps the landlady rather than my cousin is at fault. Perhaps she...she keeps her tenants in squalid conditions, charging them an unfair—”

  “The building appeared well maintained.”

  She looked down at the mattress, absently smoothing the counterpane. “Well, we won’t know for certain until we speak to Felicity.”

  “And who knows when that will be.”

  “Tomorrow, hopefully, after we question the neighbors.” The doubt she heard in her own voice dismayed her.

  “Assuming she left on better terms with them than with her landlady.”

  “Goodness, Tristan, must you be so negative?” At last, she met his gaze. She could not hold it, however, aware that the whole truth would have given him yet more grounds for cynicism.

  She stared down at her lap, hoping she would never have to admit that the address she had for Felicity dated back from over two years ago. Neither her father nor her uncle had allowed correspondence between the cousins. She had only obtained the direction at all by discovering it in her father’s desk after his death. Felicity could have moved any time since then.

  Tristan sat down in an armchair at the foot of the bed. “I suggest that you return to London with me next week.”

  Her gaze leapt to meet his, and she could feel her heartbeat quicken at the idea of extending her time with him. Foolish heart. She moistened her lips. “Relocating to Paris is part of a plan I’ve spent years conceiving. My current priority is to put as much distance as possible between myself and the constraints I have suffered. Removing myself from English society is part of my...my liberation.”

  He lowered his head and squeezed his brow between thumb and fingers. “Lila, being in a foreign country will only add to the difficulties you will face as a woman living on her own. And you must see that your cousin will be of no service to you.”

  “She can offer me a social introduction, new acquaintances, a complete new start.”

  “You could easily have all that in London. My sister Hester lives in town and enjoys an extensive social life. I am sure she would be happy to introduce you to a variety of people.”

  His sister. Again, she felt a temptation she shouldn’t have. She would have liked to meet Hester, to see what resemblance the woman bore to her brother and whether she shared his noble character. Then again, he had described his siblings and implied that none were much like him. And going to London did not fit in with the scheme she had laid out for herself.

  “You are very kind, and I am sure your sister is as well, but I have other plans.”

  He stood and walked back to face the fire. “I don’t leave Paris until early next week. See if you feel the same in a few days. If you change your mind, you will know where to find me.”

  He might still be just across the room, she thought, if they didn’t find Felicity by then. No! If they didn’t locate her cousin tomorrow, she would have to obtain her own lodgings. Living alone might be dangerous, but living with Tristan put her in jeopardy, too—in jeopardy of compromising her plans, ignoring the philosophy she had spent her life developing, even...even other things she wouldn’t allow herself to name.

  “Tristan, I need to close my trust.”

  He turned around, his mouth set in a frown. “Really, Lila, if you are thinking—”

  “Could you see about getting me the money tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” His look changed to one of surprise. “You do realize it will take weeks to transfer the funds to Paris?”

  Her stomach sank, but she supposed she might be able to stretch what savings she had for a fortnight or so, longer if she found Felicity and could share expenses. “But you can set the process into motion?”

  He gave her a penetrating stare. “I would much prefer you to return to London and make the transaction in person.”

  Unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, she cast her gaze
back down at the bed. “You had best post a letter tomorrow.”

  A long silence ensued. When she heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor, she looked up to see him taking his jacket from a hook near the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer, stuffing his arms into the sleeves.

  “Tristan?”

  Finally, reaching for the door knob, he said, “I am going downstairs for a drink.”

  She watched him open the door and look up and down the hall. “You won’t be gone two hours this time, will you?”

  He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Why? Will you miss me?”

  She could think of no way to answer.

  Lip curling, he stepped outside and closed the door. The sound of his footsteps faded as he moved down the hall. Suddenly, she remembered the flirting maid and leapt up, rushing for the door. But she could scarcely call after him, even if she weren’t hiding from the proprietors and staff of the hotel. If he wanted to pursue an accommodating serving girl, she had no right to interfere—no reason, in fact. After all, she could not offer to take the girl’s place.

  Jealousy churned inside her while she readied herself for bed. That blasted maid. She knew she should not have cared...but she did. Glancing at the pocket watch Tristan had left on the washstand, she could hardly credit he had been gone a mere twenty minutes. She blew out the candles and lay in the firelight, drawing on all her will to keep from counting the seconds.

  When she heard footsteps approaching in the hall, she held her breath. Suddenly, she recalled what Tristan had said about hotel room keys and ear shot through her. She propped herself up on her elbows and listened as something turned in the lock.

  “All clear?” his voice whispered through a crack of opening.

  “Yes,” she hissed, her answer coming quick with relief for more than one reason. As he entered, she gushed, “I’m glad you’re back. I mean, after what you said about hotel rooms...”

  He scowled and turned his back, shrugging out of his

  jacket and tossing it on an armchair. “You may want to avert your eyes. Or not. Consider it your choice.”

  Her cheeks heated, and she was glad the dimness of the room would hide her embarrassment. Rolling over to face the wall, she tried not to picture him unbuttoning his waistcoat and pulling it off. Likely, he would follow that with his shirt, she thought, recalling that he’d slept without one the first night they had spent together. She had no idea, however, how much clothing he had left on that night. As she listened to one boot thump on the floor, then the second, she wondered if he would strip off his breeches or not. More rustling sounded, but still not the creak of the bed. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

  “I believe I will stoke up the fire before turning in,” he said. “Give me another minute, if you will.”

  Her respiration resumed, shallow and fast. He could have stoked the fire before undressing! A suspicion crept up on her. Had he simply not thought of the fire until now, or did he intend to tantalize her like this?

  She waited, biting her lip, through endless minutes of stirring, pops and crackling, and hoped he would think she had fallen asleep.

  At last came the sound of hands brushing together and the patting of stocking feet progressing toward the other bed. “Well, that should do. I will be retiring now...unless you require anything, Lila?”

  Indeed, he drew this out purposely to tease her!

  “Such as what?” she snapped, vexed into speaking.

  “Hmm...a goodnight kiss?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to take his clothes and go sleep in the barouche, but the image of the flirting maid flashed again in her mind.

  No, she would not chase him out of the room. As a matter of fact, she believed she would call his bluff.

  “Very well.” She rolled back over to face him.

  He had frozen in the middle of turning down the covers on his bed. She noted that he had retained his breeches, thank heavens. His bare chest gave her quite enough to resist ogling.

  Looking up to his surprised face, she pushed herself up on one elbow. His gaze dipped downward before ricocheting back to her eyes, reminding her that her nightrail revealed more cleavage than any of her gowns.

  A lump of reservation rose in her throat.

  He dropped the counterpane and moved toward her.

  She stiffened and pulled the covers up to her neck. “Only a kiss, mind you.”

  But instead of trying to slip between the sheets with her, he stooped beside the bed, reaching out to take her chin.

  “Only a little kiss at that, I think,” he whispered, and bent to brush her lips with his own.

  She barely had time to register what had happened before he had backed away again. Dazed, she watched him climb into the bed across from her.

  “Goodnight, Lila.” He curled up under the covers, his back toward her.

  She dropped back down on the pillow, fending off a preposterous disappointment. Blast it! She had once again let herself slip into wanting what she could not have.

  Even without a thunderstorm to agitate her this evening, she lay awake well into the night.

  * * * *

  Tristan rose before Lila and managed a basic toilette without waking her. Her presence alone, even asleep, gave him a sense of pleasure. What man didn’t like having a beautiful woman in his bedchamber, under any circumstances?

  These circumstances, however, could land them both in trouble, so he wanted to smuggle her out of the hotel as early as possible. When he had finished dressing, he woke her gently and told her he would be downstairs for an hour, exhorting her to make good use of the time. He made sure he got her to sit up, still yawning, before he headed for the hall.

  On opening the door, he nearly collided with a man poised to knock.

  “Monsieur Wyndam!” The Comte D’Amiens, a colleague of his father’s, slapped him on the shoulder. “How good to see you again. I hope you don’t mind my having the maid direct me to your room. I know you are an early riser.”

  “Er, yes. Well, I am always pleased to see you, my lord.” Trapped on the threshold, Tristan pulled the door up against his back, which still left a gaping opening. “Would you mind if we spoke in the dining room? My chamber is in no state for receiving callers.”

  “By all means. I expected to find you there anyway—ah, but I believe I see why you have slept in this morning.” He stretched his neck to look past Tristan. “Bonjour, madame! Please, don’t let me disturb you.”

  With a quick glance backward only long enough to take in Lila’s ballooning eyes, Tristan pushed his way into the hall and yanked the door shut. “I am afraid she doesn’t wish to be made known. The lady is not...this is not as it appears. She is a respectable woman. We are not—”

  “Say no more, my boy! Your private affairs are none of my concern.” D’Amiens winked at him. “Quelle bon fille!”

  Tristan place a hand on the man’s back and steered him toward the stairs. “My lord, I cannot express how important your discretion is in this matter.”

  “Mais oui. My lips, they are sealed. Now tell me how your father does these days.”

  “My father?” The thought of the viscount nearly caused him to miss a step and tumble down the stairs. “He is well, very well. Should you correspond with him, I am sure I, er, needn’t ask you to omit mentioning my lady friend.”

  “Ha ha!” The comte slapped him on the back. “His lordship is not precisely one for the ladies, n’est—ce pas? Nor is your brother, the vicar. Thank goodness there is one real man in your family. But it is also true that your pere might think differently.”

  The men reached the dining room and seated themselves, Tristan asking a serving girl to bring strong coffee. He turned back to his companion. “I am pleased to report that the last of your West Indies ships reached Portsmouth a fortnight ago.”

  “Again ahead of schedule.” D’Amiens had found yet another reason to bestow his broad smile. “The West Indies v
oyages have been the best your father has yet recommended. Tell me, what cargo does he suggest we invest in for the year ahead?”

  Tristan spent a quarter-hour offering his father’s insights with only half a mind to the task. At the end of that time, he promised to bring further details to the comte later in the week.

  “You are certain you cannot join my family for dinner tonight?” D’Amiens asked as they rose to say good-bye.

  He shook his head. “I have urgent business that may take a few days to resolve, if I succeed at all. I need to track down the address of an Englishwoman who has been living in Paris. I have no idea where to start.”

  “An Englishwoman—of the gentry?”

  He nodded. “But perhaps fallen on hard times.”

  “Too bad.” The comte stroked his chin. “Still, your task may not be as difficult as you believe. The English gentry in Paris tend to keep together, and I am acquainted with many of them. What is your friend’s name?”

  “Actually, she is not a friend of mine. She is...” He stopped, thinking he should probably drop the subject altogether.

  “A friend of the lady upstairs?” D’Amiens grinned. “No, do not answer. What is the woman’s name?”

  Again, he hesitated, but a slim chance at a lead was better than no lead at all. “Felicity Childers.”

  “Madame Childers!” The comte laughed.

  “You know a woman by that name?”

  He gave a shrug. “We are acquainted, well enough that I can tell you Madame has recently taken up residence in Rue Nueve de Berry. I am not certain of the house number, but you should be able to locate her with very few inquiries.”