Falling from His Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  Sarah nodded understandingly. She had waited up for her mistress and helped her quickly disrobe after the escapade. Yet Liliah was careful to not confide all the details of her excursion to her dear maid, lest Sarah be questioned by the duke. Less information was far more prudent for both of them.

  “I already arranged for your hot chocolate to be brought up directly,” Sarah said, and stood by the vanity, waiting for her mistress.

  Wordlessly, Liliah nodded. Sarah picked up a brush from the marble-topped vanity and started to unwind the plait in Liliah’s hair. Sighing contentedly, Liliah took a seat at the vanity and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of her hair being brushed. As she opened her eyes, she glanced to the wardrobe, considering what she wished to wear for the morning. Sarah made short work of coiffing her hair and was offering options for Liliah’s day gown. After she selected a gown of soft green muslin, her hot chocolate arrived. Soon Liliah dismissed Sarah and strode to her desk. Sending a missive to Meyer was not a wise idea; it could be used against them by their fathers, since only betrothed couples could exchange letters. The duke and earl would leap at the opportunity to move their impending betrothal along quicker. Drat.

  Liliah worried her lip, then thought over her schedule for the day. The Lyman rout was tonight, and Meyer was sure to attend. The issue was her impatience in waiting that long to speak with him.

  Yet there was nothing for it, she must be patient.

  And hopefully that patience would pay off in the end.

  * * *

  That evening as her father ignored her presence in the carriage on the way to the Lyman rout, the imp in her was tempted to simply announce that she had been compromised. But the problem came from not knowing the real identity of the person who had compromised her. With her luck, her father would claim it was Meyer and then they’d all be worse off than before. Yet it would be a delight to see her father’s expression, knowing that his daughter had dared defy him in such a manner. A slow smile stretched her lips as she tried to keep it from showing. But her smile faded as she considered that her defiance would only serve to punish her sister, who hadn’t a rebellious bone in her body. Their father would tighten the leash on Samantha, who was already afraid to even whisper her thoughts into the world. No, Liliah needed to keep her secrets to herself.

  The carriage rolled along the cobbled London streets quickly, and Liliah resigned herself to the silence in the carriage. Silence was preferable to scolding, and truly those were the only options.

  They arrived fashionably late, and as soon as she alighted from the carriage, her father gave her a stern glare to serve as warning, made sure more than one matron was available to serve as a proper chaperone, then disappeared into the growing crowd. Relieved to be rid of him, Liliah strode down the hall of the Lyman estate to the open ballroom. The enchanting sound of the string quartet aided in raising her spirits as she took in the swirling sight of dancers gracefully performing the cotillion. Her gaze shifted across the room, taking note of who was in attendance. It was always at this point she wished her mother was still alive, feeding comments and insights into her ear as they entered a ballroom. But wishing didn’t erase the past, and her mother had died around four years ago from pneumonia.

  Liliah straightened her shoulders, smoothing the soft silk of her sky-blue gown. As she strolled among the people milling about, she caught sight of Rebecca. A welcoming smile brightened her friend’s face as she spotted Liliah. Careful to meander around a footman carrying champagne, Liliah started toward Rebecca, meeting her halfway. “Late, as usual,” Rebecca teased, her sharp gaze sparkling with intellect.

  “I enjoy sneaking in while others are otherwise engaged,” Liliah returned with a cheeky tone. “Have you seen Meyer? I have a question for him.” Liliah’s gaze shifted from her friend to the crowd behind her.

  “Have you news?” Rebecca’s hopeful tone immediately put a damper on Liliah’s impatience.

  As she met her friend’s expectant gaze, Liliah gave a slow shake of her head, her chest constricting when Rebecca’s countenance fell. Reaching out, she grasped Rebecca’s gloved hand and squeezed affectionately. “How I wish that I had the news you so long to hear, sweet friend. We shall continue to work toward that end.”

  Rebecca nodded once, her shoulders straightening with determination. “Indeed. But if that is not what you wish to discuss, what is it that you have on your mind this evening?” Rebecca’s green eyes glinted with curiosity.

  Liliah bit her lip and glanced away, feeling her face heat with a blush.

  “You’re simply blooming with color! Tell me! What are you not telling me, and how in the heavens does Meyer know something of which I’m not aware?” Rebecca placed her hands on her hips as Liliah’s gaze flicked back to her friend.

  “He’d have a fit if he only knew.” Liliah grinned widely, giggling under her breath. “He made a slight slip about some information and I took it upon myself to investigate. Apparently there are many venues that gently bred ladies are not allowed to attend,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  Rebecca’s eyes grew wide. “What have you done, Liliah! And don’t you dare skip a single detail.” Rebecca tugged on her friend’s hand and led her toward the edge of the ballroom.

  Liliah followed willingly. When they reached the spot that Rebecca deemed satisfactory, Rebecca released her hand and gave her an impatient gaze.

  “Well, it truly wasn’t Meyer’s fault, so you mustn’t be cross with him,” Liliah explained.

  “Very well, continue.”

  “I learned the location of an exclusive gentleman’s club, snuck in, was mistaken for a courtesan—”

  Rebecca’s gasp was loud enough to attract the curious and disapproving gazes of a few nearby people. Liliah gave a tight smile to her friend and waited till the unwanted attention faded.

  “Pardon,” Rebecca whispered, her face a mask of shock. “Do continue.”

  “Only if you promise to not make a spectacle of yourself,” Liliah scolded.

  Rebecca nodded with emphasis.

  “However, I must not have played the part well, for the manager, or some sort of gentleman involved with the club, began to question me. So I fled, but he followed me.” Liliah leaned forward, enjoying the retelling of the story.

  “And? Did he catch you?” Rebecca asked, then glanced around to make sure their conversation was not overheard. Upon reassuring herself that it was indeed a private conversation, she met Liliah’s gaze with an expectant one.

  “Yes.” Liliah widened her eyes, grinning wildly.

  Rebecca gasped, covering her mouth with her white-gloved hand.

  “I had snuck into a bedroom—”

  “No!” Rebecca whispered a little too loudly, and Liliah gave her a disapproving arch of her eyebrow.

  “Carry on.” Rebecca lowered her hand and waited with wide eyes.

  “He questioned me, then kissed me—and Rebecca, it was utterly heavenly. I never expected it to feel like that, to make me feel—I don’t even know how to explain it. Surely you know, surely you’ve kissed—” Liliah’s words trailed off as she watched her friend’s gaze falter.

  “Surely not,” Liliah almost scolded.

  “We have, but it’s been . . . a length of time since we’ve had the opportunity,” Rebecca replied softly, her tone thick with disappointment.

  “I’m sorry.” Liliah gently touched her friend’s shoulder.

  Rebecca forced a brave smile, then asked, “So who was the man who stole your first kiss?”

  Liliah grinned. “Luc, and I haven’t a clue as to the rest of his name. Which is why I wish to speak to Meyer. Surely he will be able to help me identify this mysterious man.”

  Rebecca replied, “This party has become very exciting indeed! Let’s go seek him out. Surely neither his father nor yours would begrudge it!” She spoke dryly, her gaze already searching the bon ton for her love.

  “You always seem to find him before I can, so I’ll leave the searching t
o you,” Liliah teased.

  “There, over by the faro room.” Rebecca nodded toward the other side of the ballroom and started in that direction. Liliah followed, skirting around the edge of the dance floor. As she nodded to several gentlemen, an odd prickling sensation trailed up her spine. Glancing to the left, then to the right, she couldn’t find a reason for the strange feeling. Hurrying her steps, she stayed close behind Rebecca as they approached the length of wall where Meyer conversed with several of his chums from his days at Eton.

  Liliah curtseyed along with Rebecca as they stopped. Meyer halted his conversation and reached out, taking Liliah’s hand first, kissing it quickly. He turned then to Rebecca, and taking her hand with gentle care, he lingered in kissing her gloved fingers. Liliah glanced away at the intimacy in their secretive grin for one another.

  Meyer’s friends made their introductions then excused themselves, leaving the three of them in relative seclusion. “To what do I owe the honor of two lovely ladies trekking across the ballroom to find me?”

  Rebecca blushed prettily under Meyer’s intense gaze, and Liliah waited patiently for them to finish.

  “It would seem you have information that our dear friend requires,” Rebecca replied after a moment, her gaze flickering from Liliah, then focusing back on Meyer.

  “Oh?” Meyer arched a brow, turning to Liliah. “I pray it’s nothing to do with our previous conversation.”

  Liliah grinned unrepentantly in response.

  “Why do I have an ominous feeling?” Meyer lamented, shaking his head.

  “Because you know me well,” Liliah answered cheekily.

  Meyer waited, his gaze suspicious.

  “What do you know about the gentlemen who are involved with the management of the place we mentioned before?” Liliah asked in a roundabout way.

  Meyer narrowed his eyes. “I’d say they were a loose interpretation of gentlemen, in the way of their morality. But titled men, powerful men . . . men I’d not wish to cross.” He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”

  Liliah tugged on her glove, straightening it. “Does one of them go by the name Luc?”

  Meyer’s gaze darkened with concern. “Indeed. Why?”

  “What is his full name? Or title, if he has one,” Liliah asked, her heart pounding with anticipation.

  “He would be Lucas Mayfield, the eighth Earl of Heightfield. A dark history if there ever was one. Did you happen to meet the gentleman in question?” Meyer asked slowly, as if afraid to hear the answer.

  Liliah bit back a grin. Lucas Mayfield, Earl of Heightfield. A name, she knew his name! It was a small victory, but it seemed quite large at the moment.

  “Liliah?” Meyer asked, his tone concerned.

  She nodded. “I’ve met him.” Kissed him, lay on a bed with his body—She forced her thoughts to halt as a blush crept up her neck and warmed her face violently.

  “Do I dare ask how you met him?” Meyer asked cautiously.

  “No,” Liliah answered succinctly, her gaze lingering on the ground a moment before meeting Meyer’s puzzled and alarmed expression. “I’m quite certain you don’t wish to know.”

  “I’m quite certain I don’t wish to know either, yet part of me wonders if I should at least be aware so that you aren’t left to your own devices.” Meyer muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting to Rebecca. “Are you aware?”

  Rebecca nodded once. She was biting her lip as if trying to keep her silence as she watched Meyer.

  Meyer’s gaze lifted heavenward as if petitioning the Almighty for aid in dealing with his situation. As he turned his attention back to Liliah, she noted that his gaze shifted to just over her shoulder. She was about to turn when Meyer met her gaze. “Liliah, I need you to be utterly honest with me.”

  Liliah’s brows pinched as she nodded.

  “Is there any way that the gentleman you met could be aware of your identity? For the love of Mary, tell me you wore a disguise.” Meyer’s gaze was worried and he shifted his attention over her shoulder once more.

  “I wore a disguise.”

  Meyer’s shoulders relaxed.

  “But I think it’s also possible that he knows who I am,” Liliah finished.

  Meyer’s expression sharpened as he studied her. “I suggest you skirt around the ballroom to the left, then seek out your father directly, just in case.” Meyer’s gaze was over her shoulder again, watching someone.

  “Why?” Liliah asked, turning to follow Meyer’s gaze.

  “Why don’t you just listen?” Meyer hissed, but it was too late.

  Liliah’s eyes widened as she took in the dashing figure of Lucas Mayfield, Earl of Heightfield. His midnight-black evening kit seemed far darker than everyone else’s in the room, drawing attention to the way the cut of the cloth accented every line of his body. Liliah watched as he turned to his companion, and Liliah recognized him as the man who had attempted to escort her to the study. He was just as tall and broad as she remembered, even more so as the cut of his evening kit accented his wide shoulders.

  “Friends of yours?” Rebecca asked softly.

  Liliah nodded, unable to speak as she greedily took in the sight of Luc. It wasn’t love, but it certainly was something. Attraction, maybe? But it felt more . . . insistent. Was this what lust felt like?

  “I’ve never seen them before,” Rebecca commented.

  “That’s because they don’t attend the parties that are of the more proper variety,” Meyer commented dryly. “There must be some reason they came out of their self-exile. I can’t imagine what that might be.”

  His tone caught Liliah’s attention, and she noted his glare in her direction. “Me? You think they are here on my account?” Liliah asked, though her body warmed at the idea. Yet she didn’t expect it to be true. “Rebecca, I’m concerned about Meyer, he’s acting quite delusional.” She gave a quick wink to Rebecca, who just watched her with wide eyes. Liliah’s attempt to lighten the mood had apparently failed.

  “What if he is correct, Liliah?’ Rebecca asked, her gaze on Meyer, then Liliah, then the two men in question. Her gaze widened, as if trying to take in all the small details.

  Liliah didn’t blame her. As she scanned the room, she noted that most of the attention of the ton was focused on the new gentlemen in question. Whispers were heard echoing through the hall, as matrons whispered to their charges. Likely warning them, yet secretly wondering if the gentlemen were entering the marriage mart. For if the men were as notorious as Meyer believed, then they were dangerous and delicious—true catches of the season for any unmarried lady of breeding. Their clothing spoke of substantial wealth, and at least Luc was a titled earl. The London social sphere had grown far more interesting.

  “You need to stop staring!” Meyer whispered, scolding.

  Liliah lowered her gaze, then like a moth to the flame, she hazarded a glance back, watching as Luc’s gaze scanned the crowd. His chin was tipped up slightly, as if finding the attention of the ton beneath him. Restlessly, his eyes searched the crowd with each step deeper into the ballroom. Those around him gave a wide berth, all whispering secrets behind gloved hands, as the gaze of the ton moved as one, focused on the two men.

  “Who is the other one?” Liliah asked, turning to Meyer.

  Meyer sucked in a deep breath, his expression irritated and concerned, as if realizing his advice to avoid the gentlemen was going to be ignored. “That would be the Viscount Kilpatrick. He’s a titled Scot, so not one of us, but none of the gentlemen here would dare speak it to his face. Liliah . . .” Meyer drew out her name. “He is not a man to be trifled with, neither of them are. Do you understand me?”

  Liliah nodded once, for she did comprehend the danger. But the risk didn’t negate the reward. As she searched Meyer’s face, it was as if fate were staring back. Her future played out in a flash—holding Meyer’s arm as his wife, never holding his heart. Always knowing that he was destined for another woman, knowing she was destined for another man. No love, no passion,
no secret jokes, no thrilling jolts of electricity through her system with a heated gaze. Nothing.

  It wasn’t a future she could resign herself to, ever. As she met Meyer’s gaze, it was as if he saw the same thing, only the reversal. Rebecca gasped beside them, pulling Liliah’s attention to her friend.

  “What is it?” Liliah asked, watching as Rebecca’s gaze widened.

  “Liliah,” she mouthed, and Liliah turned to see what had caught her friend’s attention.

  The air whooshed out of her lungs as she met clear blue eyes not more than ten feet away. A flicker of amusement flashed across his expression before Liliah was frozen by the icy chill of his regard. She glanced to his side, noting the attention of his friend, the Viscount Kilpatrick. But rather than a chilly stare like that of the earl, the viscount’s expression was amused. Full lips spread into a wide grin as he arched a brow in her direction.

  Against her better judgment, she grinned back. The viscount gave a slight shake to his head, as if unable to believe her audacity.

  She couldn’t quite believe it either.

  “Baron Scoffield, isn’t it?” Luc addressed Meyer, even while his gaze was trained on her. Her face heated with a blush and he raised an eyebrow, then turned his attention to Meyer.

  “Indeed.” Meyer extended his hand. “Lord Heightfield, is it not?” Even as his greeting was formal, his tone bordered on incivility. Liliah glanced at her friend, shocked and concerned at the potential social implications it could create. Turning to Luc, she watched his reaction.

  A corner of his mouth lifted in a half smirk. “Indeed. Would you please introduce us to your companions?”

  Meyer’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth, and Liliah held her breath, wondering what course of action Meyer would take. She exhaled as he gestured to Rebecca.

  “This is Lady Rebecca Grace.” She dipped a slow curtsey.

  Meanwhile the crowd around them had grown thick with people wanting to hear what was taking place. Liliah swallowed compulsively, then glanced back to Luc.

  “And this”—Meyer sighed—“is Lady Liliah Durary.”