Derek thrust aside that unwanted emotion and searched his mind for the familiarity of that name. He’d not had a woman since he’d been back from his heroic pursuits upon the Continent. Since his return, not even a heavily paid whore had braved his touch. Shame pricked his neck at the memory.
“Lady Flora,” the man repeated.
“I’m not in the mood for your guessing games, Davies.” He snapped up a bottle of brandy. With quick, jerky movements, he yanked out the stopper and tossed it down where it clattered noisily upon the sideboard. Derek poured himself a tall snifter of fine French brandy. The bloody French. When Davies still did not speak, he turned. “Who the hell is Lady Flora?”
At that lethal whisper his man-of-affairs dropped his books once more. He fell to his knees and scurried about collecting his papers and folios, like a mouse who’d found crumbs in the kitchen.
Derek grabbed his cane and stalked over to the still silent man. Davies craned his neck back. “Your Grace, she is your niece,” he croaked. “Lady Stonehaven’s daughter.”
Edeline’s daughter. He gripped hard the top of his cane. That child born to his sister, a stranger whom he’d not met. The child he’d not wanted to meet, despite his sister’s occasional attempts to invade his sanctuary, with her daughter in tow. “What of her?”
The man, who’d loyally served the previous two dukes before, stared wide-eyed at him. “You were named guardian, Your Grace.”
“She has two guardians.”
“But her other guardian,” Davies yanked at his collar and then the folios drooped in his arms. He hurried to catch them. “Your mother would never have approved of Lord Landon, Your Grace.”
A mocking grin tugged the unscarred corner of his mouth. “But my mother is dead now, isn’t she?” He raised his glass in salute. For his devoted mother, the same one who’d taken one look at him upon his return from Toulouse and ordered him to hide his face from Polite Society, had been so devastated by her other children’s passing, that she’d willed herself to death.
Proving more loyal than smart, Davies frowned. “I have served your family for nearly two decades, Your Grace. Your mother was honorable and good and put the Blackthorne title first. As such, she’d not care to see her granddaughter living in Lord Landon’s household.”
That devoted, devastated mama had mourned her dead son, and then with Edeline’s disappearance aboard her sunken ship six months earlier, had abandoned all aspect of living. “You dare presume to tell me what manner of woman my mother was?” Proud and boastful of Derek when he’d been a young man in the 2nd regiment, and disgusted and horrified when he’d returned a monster.
The man gulped loudly. “N-no, Your Grace.”
He fixed a black glower on the loyal servant. That loyalty, no doubt, accounted for his willingness to bear Derek’s company, weekly. Derek returned to the sideboard to retrieve his brandy and limped toward his seat at the hearth. A mirthless half-smile formed on his lips. Loyal mother, indeed.
The flames danced and twisted and froze him mid-movement. ...Ah, God. Mother of God. Make it stop...
Davies cleared his throat. “Your Grace?”
That hesitant inquiry propelled him into movement and Derek reclaimed his chair. He settled his cane alongside his comfortable leather seat. With the muscles of his thigh aching from his exertions, Derek rubbed the throbbing tendons.
His man-of-affairs followed his efforts and he stilled. Tired of the servant’s presence here this day, Derek spoke in emotionless tones. “The girl can be Lord Landon’s responsibility.”
He expected Davies to take his leave. Instead, he set the burden in his arms on the side table and tightened his mouth. “She is your sister’s daughter. Surely that means something?”
“It does not.” Derek took a long, slow sip of his drink and then stared at the amber drops that clung to the other side of the glass. At one time, when he’d been human, such a thing as his sister’s child would have mattered. Then, he’d been a man who’d loved his sister and cared for her happiness. He didn’t care about anyone or anything, anymore. Not even himself. He looked up and frowned. “Why are you still here?”
The other man snapped out a kerchief, removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and brushed off the lenses. “Lord Landon is a rake. He has...” A mottled flush stained the other man’s cheeks.
It mattered not what Lord Landon had or did not have? And yet... “He has what?” he snapped.
“Parties.” Davies jammed his spectacles on his nose and then wrestled with his cravat once again. “Improper parties,” he said on a whisper. “With ladies and gentlemen who are not at all respectable. Shocking parties. Scandalous.”
Back in his youth, just before he’d gone off to war, his brother had hosted one of those shocking events. Attired in his resplendent uniform, women had clamored for a place in Derek’s bed, and he’d reveled in the fleeting role of rogue. The agony of remembrance struck as fresh as the day he’d returned; facing horror and disdain.
A potent hatred unfurled inside him toward Davies, who’d dredge forth all the ugliest, darkest memories of his past; memories he’d thought himself immune to. Derek gripped the arms of his chair and forced his attention back to the old servant who eyed him with a rightful degree of terror. “My sister’s husband named Lord Landon as the child’s second guardian. That should suffice in terms of your unease.” Derek swirled the contents of his glass. He’d but glimpsed his niece from the corner of a window when his sister had paid her foolishly devoted visits to his townhouse. Mother and daughter would arrive, knock, be greeted by his butler, and then turned away. He didn’t want Lady Flora to matter, because frankly, she did not matter. Ultimately, she was doomed by the very nature of her birth to their cursed family...and he’d little desire letting her in his life—in any way.
Davies took a hesitant step closer. “Prior to your mother’s passing, she asked that you see to Her Ladyship’s care.” Of course, because the repulsed mother hadn’t been able to manage a letter, let alone a visit.
“She never said a word of it to me,” he taunted.
The ancient man-of-affairs pursed his lips. “Her Grace was too grief-stricken to deal with the matter of the girl.” Yes, because for as little as she’d loved Derek, she’d much loved her Incomparable daughter, Edeline, and her pompous, now dead, ducal son.
...It is unnatural for a mother to look upon her son with a face such as yours... He sneered. “You expect me to care about what she wished?”
Davies winced. He opened his mouth. Footsteps sounded in the hall cutting into whatever the man was about to say. “The girl has been living alone with only her governess.” The footfalls grew closer and Davies spoke louder, as though trying to blot out the sound of it. “Her governess has refused to care for the child as long as she resides in Lord Landon’s home...and...” A rap sounded at the door. “And...”
“Who is next, the bloody, goddamn king?” Derek thundered. “Enter.”
His butler opened the door slowly and white-cheeked, stuck his head inside the room. “Y-your Grace?”
A small child, with dark brown hair stepped around the butler. With her tight curls and cornflower blue eyes, she may as well have been a tiny replica of Edeline, years and years earlier. The girl searched the room; her gaze teeming with curiosity, landed on Derek. The air lodged in his chest. What in blazes? Fear and horror sprang to life inside her eyes and he welcomed that familiar, comforting response to the beast he was, for that was the only thing he understood in this goddamn moment.
Except, with the same boldness and strength demonstrated by his sister when she’d been living, the girl came forward. Uninvited. Unasked. Unafraid? Surely not. She stopped before him. Then, she looked him up and down in an assessing manner. “You are my Uncle Derek.” She stuck her tiny palm out. “And I am here to live with you.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mostly because I have nowhere else to go.”
Derek cocked his head and stared down at the girl. Ignoring her outstretched finger
s, he whipped his gaze to the fool Davies.
The man swallowed audibly. “As I was saying, Your Grace. The lady’s governess would not care for Lady Flora in Lord Landon’s home. As such, I took the liberty of having her delivered here.”
He narrowed his eye.
Bloody hell.
Chapter 2
Just outside of London
One month later
It was raining.
Standing at the edge of the floor-length window draped in black bombazine, Miss Lily Benedict, fiddled with the midnight curtains. Her gaze remained fixed on the black carriage that had arrived a long while ago.
Raindrops pinged off the lead windowpane, with a grating staccato that increased the rapid beat of her heart. Lily forced herself to take a deep breath. Except...long ago, she’d come to find those crystal drops portended disaster.
Nor could it be a coincidence that after weeks of uninterrupted sunshine, the skies should open now, of all days.
A slow building dread settled in her belly and fanned out.
And she waited. Waited as she had since she’d received word of Sir Henry’s death a fortnight ago. Just as she’d been waiting ever since. But, when powerful gentlemen went on to the hereafter, the fate of six-year-long mistresses hardly took precedence. In fact, it took no precedence at all.
Her fingers shook, and to give the trembling digits purpose, Lily tossed the black velvet drape wide. Before being summoned by Sir Henry’s son just yesterday, she’d been tucked away in a cottage amidst abundant gardens and trees; a place that might as well have been a fairy’s meadow and not a place fit for a whore. Now she awaited word of her future. In a perfectly menacing show of nature’s fury, rain slanted a downward path from the skies.
Lightning cracked, illuminating the sky in an ominous display of blue and white, and she jumped as the rumble shook the foundation of the cottage. The ping of raindrops continued to hit the windowpane. Her pale visage reflected back and she touched one of the fat raindrops streaking down the lead panel like a crystal tear.
...It means the sky is crying, doesn’t it, Papa...?
...Don’t be silly, girl, the sky does not cry. Your whimsical nonsense will find you in trouble someday, Lilliana...
“Mr. Holdsworth will see you now.”
Even expecting that summons as she’d been, from her spot at the edge of the parlor, Lily released the curtain with alacrity and it snapped noisily into place. She spun to face the butler. A man of indeterminate years, he eyed her down his long nose.
Tipping her chin up, Lily started for the doorway. She’d long grown accustomed to that disdain. However, she’d been a desperate, cowering child years earlier. She was no longer that girl. Lily forced her legs into motion, then moved at a sedate pace, keeping a sizeable distance between her and the head of the household. The man shot a disgusted stare back in her direction. It would seem even servants had standards where whores were concerned. She turned down the hall and the butler drew them to a halt.
Without so much as a knock, he pushed the door open and motioned her inside. She took a step, but not before he leveled her with an ugly sneer.
Another splash of heat burned up her neck and set her cheeks ablaze. Setting her jaw at a mutinous angle, she strode past him and into the quiet office. The servant pulled the door closed behind her with an ominous click. Lily froze at the entrance of the parlor. Black bombazine lined the walls and covered the curtains giving the room a look of a life-size spider’s web of black thread. The mahogany Chippendale furniture with the angry lions lent that angry air of rapaciousness, reminding her how she had always detested her protector’s choice of furnishings in her own cottage. And at the center of that web was a tall, too-slender gentleman. With his wild mane of crimson Brutus curls and long sideburns, the man had the menacing look of one of those predatory creatures.
By the amusement in Mr. Lucas Holdsworth’s eyes, he’d noted her scrutiny. “Miss Benedict,” he greeted, stretching out those long, nasally syllables.
“Sir,” she said through tight lips.
With a casualness that set her teeth on edge, he propped his hip on the sideboard and studied her over the rim of his glass. “You are, indeed, as lovely in person as my father described,” he said without preamble.
Did he expect her gratitude for such compliments? Lily remained stonily silent.
The ghost of a smile played on his hard lips. “Shall I get to the heart of it?”
She inclined her head. “If you would.” For all the vile things she’d done, for the depraved life she’d lived warming Sir Henry’s bed, at last she would have her freedom. A giddy lightness filled her chest, muting the self-loathing, and fear, and contempt. Oh, those sentiments would always be there. She’d never be free of them, but she had survived and there was something to be said for living.
“You have nothing.”
And just like that, a gentleman had cut the legs out from under her somewhat steady world once more. Lily went still and attempted to pick her way through her confounded thoughts. “Mr. Holdsworth?” She managed to force that inquiry out.
“Nothing,” he said, the slow grin forming on his lips hinted at his twisted enjoyment. “You have nothing.”
Lily gave a slight shake of her head. What could he be saying? “Sir Henry settled funds upon me,” she said, her voice hollow. He’d promised her through the years; promised to see her cared for after he passed.
“No,” he said, inclining his head. “Perhaps he intended to settle funds upon you at some point. He did not, however, settle anything upon his death.” The man’s son took another sip. “You see, there is nothing to settle. There is nothing left of the estates and certainly nothing to give my father’s whore.”
No! Just another man’s lies. Lily fisted her hands hard enough that her nails drew blood on her palms to keep from indulging in the scream stuck in her throat. The room swayed and she shot out a hand. She found purchase at the edge of the leather button sofa she was standing near. There is nothing. There is nothing... His mocking words echoed around her protesting mind. Lily pressed her eyes closed. She could not have sold her body and soul for freedom, only to have nothing. What was it for then? Surviving? Is that what this has been these past six years?
“Tsk, tsk.” He made a clucking noise like a chicken that had pecked around her family’s home. “I see I’ve upset you.”
“I am n-not upset,” she said, hating the break in her voice. She was livid. Enraged. Broken. Shattered. No, the dark swirl of emotions threatening to drag her under moved far beyond a mere upset.
Holdsworth took yet another sip. “There is something I would have you to do for me.”
She blinked slowly. Of course. Her skin went hot then cold with the inevitable insult; that vile proposition she’d not accept. The man could go to the devil and she’d send him there with a kick to his pompous arse. She’d not spread her legs again. Not for him. And not for any other.
“I understand you are familiar with the Duke of Blackthorne’s family.”
Had he pulled the Aubusson carpet out from under her feet and upended her, she could not have been more off-balance. She shook her head. She’d spent years hating everything and anything connected with that name. She’d spent the other years hating herself for having humbled herself before that vile family. Lily had vowed to never think of them again and only in the darkest corner of her mind, when the clock ticked in the dead of night, while the nightmares kept her awake, did she allow herself to think of any of them.
“You’ve gone quiet, Miss Benedict.”
“I did not know you required a response.”
Her tart response roused a booming laugh. “Ah, if you are this feisty before a man in discourse, how spirited you must be in his bed.”
Bile burned at the back of her throat. Odd, she’d not grown accustomed to crude talk and leering stares. “Say what it is you’d say and be done with it,” she said with a practiced cool that drew a frown. Good, he did not care for
her aloof dismissal. A thrill of satisfaction went through her.
“It occurs to me you detest the Duke of Blackthorne’s family nearly as much as I do.”
He would be wrong. “How do you...?” She snapped her mouth closed, already having said too much. Even as she longed to know just what he knew of her connection to that loathsome lot, she’d not allow him to toy with her like a cat with a mouse between its paws.
He winged a red eyebrow upward. “How do I know that part of your past, Miss Benedict?” He paused meaningfully. “Or should I say Miss Bennett?” Holdsworth gave her a sardonic grin. “I know more than you would like.”
A chill stole through her. Lily schooled her features into an inscrutable mask, refusing to give him a hint of shock and confusion currently running through her. She’d believed she’d carved out a relatively obscure identity as Sir Henry’s lover. With his two daughters near of age to Lily herself, she’d foolishly believed he’d keep Lily away as his dirty secret. Who else knew of the shameful life she’d lived these years?
The memory of her family flitted around the chambers of her mind and an unexpected agony lanced her heart. What would her parents, her siblings, say of Lily’s deeper descent into depravity? Odd, she’d thought each memory of each member of her family was properly buried and forever forgotten. How awful to have that erroneous truth shattered before this heartless bastard, no less. As this icy stranger continued speaking, she forcibly thrust back the images of her brothers and sister.
“My father was quite forthcoming.”
Lily jerked erect. “Was he?” She could not keep the bitterness from creeping into that two-word question. Men had proven themselves remarkably boorish and detestable where she was concerned, and she’d proven herself foolish time and time again for trusting a word out of their treacherous mouths.
Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) Page 3
