Mama scoffed. “He has not aided us. Not once. He allowed us to stay in the house in the Cotswolds and use this home because I gave him a payment, as well.”
Lilias knew instantly what the payment was. Her aunt had always coveted her mother’s wedding ring. Her gaze went to her mother’s finger where she used to wear that ring, which had belonged to Lilias’s grandmother. It had been set with a rare diamond. “Your ring?”
Mama nodded. “But now he says that payment has been exhausted, and he wants us out.”
A coldness settled deep in Lilias’s gut. Nothing was as she’d thought. All this time she’d been waiting for a man who did not even want her while her mother had been trying desperately to keep them alive. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her mother stroked a hand down Lilias’s head. “I didn’t want you to worry, and I wanted you to wed the man you loved.”
Lilias sucked in a breath. “You knew?”
Her mother nodded. “I heard you talking to your father at his grave about the Duke of Greybourne one day. Do you think he might rescue—”
“No.” Lilias stopped her mother before she could finish the sentence. “Greybourne does not care for me as I had foolishly allowed myself to believe. He’ll not be rescuing me. Our only hope is Blackwood.” She could hardly believe she was saying it, and she didn’t know if she could actually go through with it. “If he comes and offers, I’m sure it will be merely honor that compels him.”
At her mother’s questioning look, she quickly explained about her conversation with Owen on the balcony last night. “So you see, Mama, Blackwood is my dear friend. I am certain his kiss was impulsive and merely an effort to make me feel better.”
“And if it wasn’t?” her mother asked, the hope in her voice obvious.
Lilias’s gut clenched tight. She could not be selfish. She could not say she’d rather be alone and ostracized from Society than wed to a man she didn’t love and ruin his chances at finding his own true love. But she pressed her lips together on saying any of that. Her mother and sister came first; their safety was in jeopardy, and if Owen extended an offer, she would speak to him, possibly discuss terms where he could wed her and have a mistress, a woman he truly loved. Lilias and Owen could possibly be husband and wife in name only. Marriages of convenience occurred in the ton all the time. Except this marriage would only be convenient for her. She wanted to crawl into her bed, under the counterpane, and never come out.
At that moment, a knock came at the parlor door. “My lady, the Earl of Blackwood is here to call upon Lady Lilias.”
The look of utter relief on her mother’s face made Lilias feel as if the weight of the world had just been dropped upon her shoulders.
“Bring the earl here,” her mother replied, and then she turned to Lilias. “You should know, we only had the butler as part of the payment for the house. Your uncle plans to take him from us immediately.”
“Don’t fret, Mama,” Lilias vowed. “I will make it right.”
After gushing greetings at Owen and shooting Lilias a beseeching look, her mother retired from the parlor and gently shut the door, but Lilias knew good and well that her mother was undoubtedly standing on the other side with her ear pressed to the mahogany.
“Owen, I’m so sorry that I drew you into a scandal. I—”
“What? No! I kissed you, Lilias. I’m sorry. So very sorry. You know how I hate scandal.”
She did, which was why she had forced herself to start with an apology; for her mother’s and sister’s sakes, she could not muck this up, as much as the thought of wedding Owen made her stomach twist into knots. Owen closed the distance between them to stand directly in front of her. His green gaze, so different from Nash’s stormy gray one, locked with hers. “I’ve waited forever to tell you this, Lilias.”
Oh no. No, no, no.
She didn’t want to hear what he was about to say, though she should be falling on her knees with relief. It was almost somehow worse if he was going to say what she suspected. It made her feel like an utter fraud.
“I, well, to my utter shame, I have not been able to summon the courage,” Owen continued. “I was afraid, I suppose, that you’d say you could never love me, that you’d reject me.”
She swallowed the moan that rose up in her throat. It was worse than anything she’d imagined.
“I love you, Lilias.”
Her heart thumped a ruthless beat of guilt in her chest that she could not say she loved him in return.
“I have loved you for years,” he went on. “I think since practically right after I met you.”
Then it hit her. Was that why Owen had not told her Nash was in the Cotswolds? Because of Owen’s feelings for her? Or was it simply to protect her?
It hardly mattered now. Dear God… Why, why could it not be Owen that she loved? Or why couldn’t Nash have loved her?
Owen was looking at her expectantly, and she knew he wanted a response, but her tongue was thick and her mind offered no words. “Lilias, do you remember the day Nash and I raced, and I had my accident?”
She nodded.
“I did that for you… To impress you.”
The magnitude of her foolishness, of how he felt for her, was crushing. If she had known years before, she would have told him it was hopeless. She would have told him to forget her. She cringed. Just as Nash had told her. And what good had that done? She had gone on loving him anyway for seven long foolish years. Her heart plummeted to her feet.
“The limp means nothing to me if you are my wife. The pain I live with has been worth it if I win you in the end.”
Her gaze flew to his right leg and then the cane he was using today. He did not use it all the time, but he normally did after a ball. She could have prevented the accident, if only she’d realized why he had raced Nash. She would have told him then and there that winning a race was not the way to win someone’s heart. Her chest squeezed.
“Lilias.” He took her hands in his, and all she could think was that they felt so different from Nash’s. Whereas Nash had large hands, Owen had smaller ones. Whereas Nash’s fingers were like sturdy branches, Owens were long and slender. She knew what was coming as his gaze seemed to delve into hers, and she did not feel anticipation or happiness, only dread and sadness. “Lilias, will you wed me?”
She knew she had to say yes—for her mother, for her sister—but her treacherous, selfish lips would not form the word. The parlor door banged open in that instant, and her mother fairly stumbled in, a horrified look upon her face. Nora was behind her.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Nora sang, and Lilias understood that Nora must have leaned against their mother and caused them both to fall into the door, which hadn’t been shut firmly.
“Lilias, have you accepted?” Nora asked, the picture of wide-eyed innocence and poverty with her too small gown that had a hem trailing and was approaching threadbare.
“Nora,” Mama chided, looking as if she was about to faint, looking exhausted with dark circles under her eyes.
How had Lilias been so blind to what was really occurring with everyone around her? How could she say no?
She could not.
Chapter Six
“Good morning, Nash!”
The skip in Owen’s step as he happily waltzed into the study and past Nash’s butler was like a dagger in Nash’s heart. So the deed was done. Owen had obviously asked Lilias to wed him, and she must have said yes.
“I take it you are betrothed,” Nash said and quickly cleared his throat. His voice sounded shaky. Why was this so damned hard to speak of?
“Yes,” Owen replied, a rather smug look coming to his face. He half sat on the edge of Nash’s desk, grinning like a peacock. “I can’t tarry. I have a great deal to do today, but I wanted you to hear it from me and give you my thanks for all you did to assist me in getting the girl I love.”
Nash knew he needed to reply. Owen was looking at him expectantly, and so Nash wrestled with his mind, which felt sluggish,
to come up with a suitable response, but it was hard. So very hard. He imagined congratulating Owen, but the thought curdled on his tongue. He imagined punching him in his irritating smile. Nash gripped his desk on that idea. In the end, all he could manage was, “Excellent.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Owen crowed. “I don’t mind telling you now, but I had created fears in my head that did not exist. I had thought perhaps she might turn me down because I’m not overly exciting or that she held some ridiculous girlhood tendre for you that would have been roused by your reappearance.”
Nash wasn’t sure if he groaned or laughed at Owen’s words, but he’d done something. Owen was looking at him quizzically and took in a hissing breath. “I’m pleased to report I had worried over nothing. She kissed me last night on the balcony, and she was beside herself with joy this morning when I called upon her.”
Nash did not feel like himself. He was in some other man’s skin, a man who had to respond, to act happy, to be affable. He forced a smile to lips that felt brittle. “I’m glad.” Glad that Owen has to depart soon. “Where is it you need to be?” Time could not move Owen in that direction fast enough. Nash tried to swallow, but his throat no longer worked. He was parched, dry inside. The life was being sucked out of him.
“Oh, here and there,” Owen said, rising. “I’ll see you soon.”
Nash managed a grunt as Owen made for the door, and it was damn lucky Owen did not look back and say anything else. A single thread of restraint held Nash in place at the moment, and when his study door shut, he shoved back his chair, made for the wall, counted to one hundred to ensure Owen was far enough away, and then he began to beat his fist against the wall until the pain in his hand overshadowed the pain in his chest.
“I didn’t know ye frequented my club.”
Nash scowled but turned in his chair at Carrington’s voice behind him. “This is my first visit since you told me of your partial ownership in it,” Nash replied, then picked up the drink that had just been delivered to him and downed it in one gulp.
“Mind if I sit?” Carrington asked, sweeping a hand toward the empty chair across the table.
Nash was not in the mood for company, especially a man wed to Lilias’s best friend, even if Carrington was Nash’s friend, as well. The duke was bound to mention Lilias, her ruination, and the subsequent gossip. It had taken him all day since Owen’s visit to get himself under control. He felt like a caged lion, which was why he was here imbibing.
He still could not manage to feel pleased for Owen and Lilias, though he should, given what he’d set out to do had been accomplished. He may have failed his brother, but he had not failed Owen. Nash had proven to himself that he could be painfully selfless. He should feel somewhat redeemed, but instead he felt damned. A blackness was swallowing him, and God help him, he wanted to let it, but he had responsibilities.
When Carrington cocked his eyebrows at Nash, he realized he had not answered his friend’s question. “If you wish,” Nash replied, raising his hand toward a serving girl standing by one of the fireplaces.
Carrington mimicked the gesture as he pulled out the empty chair and sat, eyeing Nash’s wrapped hand. “What happened to yer hand?”
“It met a wall,” Nash replied flatly.
Carrington cocked an eyebrow at that but wisely did not ask. “I hear Blackwood and Lady Lilias are to wed.”
Nash’s teeth instinctively clenched as the serving girl came to stand by their table. He tapped the side of his glass to indicate he’d have another of the same while Carrington placed his order. When the girl left, Nash forced himself to answer. “Yes, Owen told me this morning.”
Carrington’s gaze touched on Nash’s wrapped hand once more, then met Nash’s eyes, probing him. “My wife was verra surprised Lady Lilias agreed to wed him.”
Lilias’s image popped into Nash’s head unbidden. Her full-lipped smile. Good God, why could he not forget that smile? It teased and tormented him. Nash tried not to react to his own roaring memories or Carrington’s news. “Was she?” he said mildly, fighting back a frown with such fierceness that his temples throbbed. “Why would her friend agreeing to wed the man who has her heart surprise your wife?” He was pleased with how bored he sounded and that the girl was returning with their libations. He could use his drink as a distraction, lest Carrington see something on Nash’s face that he did not want the man to bear witness to.
“I had a wager with myself whether ye’d take up the bait I threw out,” Carrington said, his voice smooth as a polished rock.
Damn Carrington.
“I inquired only out of politeness,” Nash retorted, feeling surly. “You wouldn’t know about that, though. You were raised in Scotland, where manners are not taught. You are in the heart of England now, my friend, and it’s polite to respond to people’s leading statements.”
Carrington scoffed. “Ye never did that in Scotland. Ye ignored me.”
“I adapt to the expectations of my surroundings,” Nash replied, forcing a smile.
“As I was saying,” Carrington continued, then took a swig of his drink before completing his sentence, “my wife was surprised.”
Nash let silence fall between them. He had no intention of rising to the bait again, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Are ye not going to ask why?”
“No.” But if Carrington didn’t offer the answer anyway, Nash might just use the man’s perfectly tied cravat to strangle him. “A cravat does not suit you tied like that. I could rework it for you.” He did not hide the veiled threat in his tone.
Carrington laughed. “I’d like to see ye try. But as I wish to return home soon, I’ll just get to my point.”
“That would be bloody amazing. This conversation is fast becoming tedious.”
Carrington flashed a grin. “Guinevere was surprised that Lady Lilias accepted Blackwood’s offer because she does not believe her friend loves the man. Guinevere feels Lilias must have been compelled to accept him so that she could aid her mother and sister financially.”
The drink Nash had picked up fell from his hand, hit the table, and sloshed liquor over the dark wood. The glass tilted onto its side with a rattle.
Nash didn’t move. He was too stunned, but Carrington did. He righted the glass before it spilled completely, then met Nash’s gaze. “I know of yer history with Lady Lilias. Guinevere told me.”
“There is no history but a brief friendship.” It was a bloody lie. He worshipped her.
I vowed not to interfere. But if she doesn’t love Owen… If she’s wedding Owen only for her family’s sake…
“Shut up,” he hissed to himself.
“Pardon?” Carrington said with a frown.
Good Christ. Nash swiped a hand over his face. He was going mad. Thoughts of Lilias were stealing his sanity.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he muttered.
It didn’t matter why she’d accepted Owen’s proposal. He could not allow it to matter. He had to stick to his damn bloody vow. He had to put Owen first. The yearning hammering him taunted him to do otherwise. He could not talk about them anymore. If he could, he would leave London again, but his sister needed to be taken in hand.
“Why are you here and not with your wife?” he asked, hoping Carrington would go along with the change of subject.
Carrington looked contemplative for a moment, and then he leaned forward. “My wife is in a secret society for women,” he said, voice pitched low. “The Society of Ladies Against Rogues. SLAR.”
“How interesting,” Nash murmured, not really caring. He cared about nothing but Lilias. It was maddeningly awful. Sitting here, he felt dead inside knowing she would be wedding Owen, knowing it was his penance to allow it.
Carrington scrutinized him for a moment, as if he realized Nash’s mind was elsewhere. “My wife started the society after I hurt her greatly. Interestingly enough, Lady Lilias is also in SLAR. It’s made up of women who either have been ruined by a rogue or have had their hearts broken
by a rogue. Or both.”
Struck, he opened his mouth to demand more information and then promptly shut it. No. He could not ask. He could not. The desire to do so, though, clawed at his throat. Had she joined the society because of him?
Impossible.
A hammer started in his head, banging his skull and rattling his composure. She had once believed him to be a man he was not. She had not known his secrets. Was it possible she had felt the endless depths of what he had felt, what he still felt? No. Damn it, no. He could not allow himself to go there. Yet, his mind went like a moth to flame. Was it possible? The question echoed in his head, becoming his heartbeat. Even if it was, he was not the man she had thought he was. She didn’t know the things he’d done. She wouldn’t wish ever to be with him if she knew. She was wrapped in pureness and loyalty and honor. He was wrapped in wickedness.
“In fact, Lady Lilias is a founding member,” Carrington said, studying Nash. “She and my wife.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Nash was a blink away from getting up and leaving. He’d never known information could be so much torture.
“Ye asked.”
“I asked you,” Nash said, struggling to keep ahold of his composure, “why you were not with your wife.”
“And I’m telling ye.”
He leaned hard against the back of his chair, feeling as if the world were collapsing in on him. “Do you mind getting on with it?”
“Ye look as if ye want to pound on something,” Carrington said in answer and with a slight smile. “Bad day?”
The desire to do just that rose dark and powerful within Nash. “You found me drinking alone, did you not?”
“Point taken. I’ll just leave ye to it, then.”
Nash had his hand on Carrington’s arm before he’d even realized he’d moved to stop his friend. The reaction was instinctual, and thankfully, Carrington did not protest. Instead, he offered Nash a triumphant look that sounded a warning in Nash’s mind.
Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 2) Page 10
