Then Frederica’s carriage had been stolen in the rookery. A dirty, though devilishly cute, urchin boy had shown up at Lilias’s home and told her Frederica was in need of her help and where to find her. Lilias had collected a dazed Frederica from a rather surly redhead, taken her home, and helped her sneak back into her bedchamber. Having done all that, she was certain her hair was in utter disarray. Not to mention her gown was soiled and torn from helping Frederica up the tree to her window. And Lilias was missing a slipper. It had fallen off while climbing, and she had not been able to find it in the dark.
No, she most definitely did not look anywhere close to the picture she’d wanted to present: the woman he’d see and ask himself why he let her get away. Of course she knew she ought not let her mind go down such paths, but honestly, she tried and her mind refused to obey. It was a problem. A large one. Especially now that she was betrothed to Owen, a man who didn’t make her mind go anywhere other than to fond memories of pleasant times with a good friend. It was all so depressing and final.
“Lilias, did you hear me?” he bellowed, making her scowl. “I asked what the devil are you doing out at this hour?”
“I heard you,” she bit out, her irritation rising as she studied him. A suspicion arose. His untied cravat had not raised any inner alarms, nor had his being upon the lane at such a late hour. She knew men went to gaming hells and gentlemen’s clubs late at night. It was the lip paint smeared on his cheek that made a hard realization hit her. He’d been dashing out on the lane from a woman’s house—or the lady’s bedchamber more likely. Lilias’s stomach clenched. An illicit affair? Was the woman wed? Did it even matter?
No. No, it did not.
Nash had stolen her heart, albeit apparently not purposely, and he’d frozen it while she’d waited for him for seven long years. Although, again, not purposely on his part. Then he had crushed it when she’d seen him at his house, and again on the terrace. Honestly, there should not be even the tiniest portion of her heart left to break, but she vowed she heard a crack as she stared at that lip paint.
“It is none of your concern what I’m doing out,” she said and tried to snatch her reins away.
But he held firm and scowled up at her. Even scowling, he was a sight to behold. Firm, full lips. Chiseled jawline. Arched brows that displayed his annoyance perfectly. “You are my concern,” he shot back.
Her heart squeezed, though she tried to stop it. The concern he spoke of was not the sort she had longed for, and now that she was betrothed, it would be devastating in an entirely different way if she were to learn Nash did indeed care for her. The situation was intolerable. She almost wished he’d go back to Scotland. Almost. She could not quite make herself truly wish him away. She supposed she must enjoy the torture of being near him.
Really, her thoughts were most inappropriate. She had to take herself in hand and get home quickly. She could not chance being seen out at night alone, nor with Nash. Either discovery would destroy Owen, not to mention endanger their betrothal and her mother’s and sister’s well-beings.
“We have absolutely no ties to each other anymore,” she said, yanking on the reins again to no avail, “so I am not your concern.”
“You are wrong,” he said, the words making her hope soar. “You are betrothed to Owen, which binds us.”
Her hope plummeted. Again. She prayed it stayed down permanently this time. It was a futile hope at this point, anyway. “Let go my reins! If I’m discovered with you, the scandal will set London on fire.”
“I’m more concerned about your being out alone than a possible scandal, Lilias. Besides—” he glanced up and down the empty lane “—there is no one out and about at this hour.”
“Besides men returning to their homes after trysts with lovers,” she snapped, eyeing him. Silence fell. Blast him. “Who is she?” The soft words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. She was mortified, but she did not take the question back.
“No one you know,” Nash supplied.
Fury and hurt rose up in her throat to almost choke her, but she managed to speak. “Let go of my reins at once, or I will scream so loudly that I will wake this neighborhood.”
“I thought you were concerned about causing a scandal,” he said, his tone challenging her bluff.
“I was,” she replied, infusing tartness into her voice. “But I’ve decided a scandal would be preferable to one more minute with you.”
There. A knot clogged her throat that she could not swallow.
“Why so hostile, Lilias?” he asked, gazing at her with his thickly lashed beautiful eyes as if he were concerned. He had liar’s eyes, she decided uncharitably. And the fact that he sounded genuinely perplexed made her even more livid. He’d broken her heart without ever really knowing it. He had not even thought of her enough to realize he’d had the power to crush her. That should offer comfort to a reasonable person, but she was feeling decidedly unreasonable.
She couldn’t say any of that, though. She needed a believable excuse for her anger. “I am hostile, Greybourne, because men always act as if they have the God-granted right to tell a woman what to do, even when the man in question—” she paused to let the first part of what she’d said sink in “—has no right whatsoever. I am not your sister. I am not your mother. I am not your friend. I am not your betrothed. I am nothing to you.”
He moved in a flash, springing from the street, and landing at her right on the ledge of her gig to clasp her wrist. His hold was firm but not harsh. Everything else about him, however, was an invasion. Smoldering heat from his fingers singed her. His scent—brandy, horse, and smoky wood—assaulted her, making her curl her toes. She sucked in a greedy breath. His size made her want to know what it would feel like for him to cradle her, hold her, protect her from the mess that was her life. She found herself leaning toward him when she should be pushing him away. Their faces were suddenly so close that his sharp inhalation whispered in her ear and his exhalation wafted over her lips. Gooseflesh rose all over her body, and an ache sprang up deep in her womb, making her clench.
“There has never been a second since the moment we met that you were nothing to me. You are… You are—” If he didn’t finish that sentence, she could not be held responsible for what she did to him. Her heart pounded so hard her ears rang. “I—That is, you shall always be remembered fondly as…as…the girl who broke my nose.”
Ire flared within her, and she shoved him straight in the chest as hard as she could. She shoved with all her disappointment, and it was quite a lot. She caught him unawares, and her actions surprised her, as well. His eyes widened, and he fell backward, unfortunately righting himself when his feet hit the ground and the puddle that had formed as he’d stood there splashed up around his boots. She scowled that only his boots had gotten wet and muddy. He really did deserve to land on his arse.
“Lilias—”
“Do not,” she said, seething, “call me by my given name ever again. It is Lady Lilias to you. Being remembered fondly for a brief period we spent together seven years ago gives you no right whatsoever to question me or tell me what to do.”
The rain grew a bit harder and the fog seemed to thicken, which fit her dark mood, and she was enjoying immensely that he was still in the rain. He’d not tried to sit in the small seat beside her, and she’d not offered.
For one brief moment, with Nash’s face tilted up to look at her and the lamplight illuminating his expression, she would have wagered every coin she had, if she had any, that he looked as if he was in misery. As if her words had crushed him.
Impossible.
She was seeing what she longed to see, or had longed to see, and not what was true. She squeezed her eyes shut for one breath, determined to stop portraying him as the man he had never wanted to be for her, and when she opened her eyes and brought her gaze to him once more, his dark eyebrows were slanted as he frowned.
“You are correct, Lady Lilias. I have no right whatsoever to ask you what you are do
ing out and about at night. Alone. Nor do I have any right to demand you go home and never go out unchaperoned again. But I am certain Owen will be interested to know.”
She forced out a derisive scoff, though his words were fairly true. Once she was wed to Owen, he would practically own her, and if he chose not to wed her because she was doing things he did not approve of, things would be dire for her family, indeed.
The fog seemed to grow even thicker, swirling and curling around Nash, and the rain became yet harder, tapping like a drum against the foldable head.
“If you go home now and vow to me that you will stay there at night from now on, I vow to you not to tell Owen.”
“I vow I’ll stay home,” she lied, though what she really wanted to say to the conceited man was to go stuff his cravat in his mouth. It wasn’t as if he was going to lay in wait outside her home and watch to ensure she kept her vow, and Owen was in the Cotswolds to see after his father, so for now she was free to do as she pleased. And she planned to take full advantage of that freedom as long as she could.
“Am I excused now, Father?” she bit out between clenched teeth. She could not say more. She wanted to. Oh, she had a great deal she wanted to say. Such as if he loved her, they could have gone on these late-night missions together. She was positive it would have been the sort of adventure that would have excited him. Nash and propriety had never been intimately acquainted, which was probably one of the reasons she’d fallen for him so hard and fast. Her soul had recognized a kindred spirit. The older Owen became, however, the more tightly he wrapped himself in propriety, and honestly, it had been one of the only things that ever made them fight. She could tolerate him being so restrictive with himself, but she had detested when he made mention of the things he thought she ought not do.
She feared she and Owen would make each other miserable. She feared he would eventually forbid her to work with SLAR. It would be impossible to go on missions and hide them from him. She feared she would never love him as she should, but what could she do? What choice did she have? The man she loved did not love her. He loved ladies who painted their lips and invited him into their homes to do God only knew what. She would not imagine him doing that with anyone else, nor would she allow herself to imagine a life with him ever again.
He stepped aside and waved a hand for her to go. “Straight home, Lady Lilias, and no more outings. Or remember, I’ll tell Owen.”
“May your tongue rot off,” she muttered and then reached far forward to grab the reins Nash had taken from her that were now dangling from the horse. She grunted when her stays cut into her waist as she struggled to secure the reins, and just as her fingertips grazed the leads, her gown, which had been hopelessly torn at her right shoulder during the tree climb on Frederica’s behalf, ripped even more and slipped off her shoulder. She gasped and made a grab for the reins, trying to get a hold of them while tugging up the right shoulder of her gown. She was so busy with these two things that she didn’t know Nash had moved until her gig dipped.
She looked up to find him standing on the ledge of her gig once more, his face a hairsbreadth from hers once again, but his eyes were narrowed. He brushed the hand away that was fumbling at her right shoulder and tugged her gown up himself. Everywhere his fingers touched, he left a path of heat on her skin that sent her pulse into a desperate gallop.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice vibrating with unmistakable rage that so shocked her, she could not form an immediate proper reply. In that pause, Nash came fully onto the gig, his arm sliding over her shoulder and tugging her into the rock wall that was his side. Iron and heat—that’s what Nash was made of.
Confusion washed over her. The rage in his voice sounded greater than what would belong to a man who merely cared for a friend’s lady. Perhaps she was merely hearing what she had longed to hear for so many years.
“Shh, don’t fret,” he said, his hand suddenly moving from her shoulder to stroke her head.
Good heavens, his hand sliding down the rounded slope of her skull felt divine. She wanted to curl into him like her cat Tabitha did to her when she would pet the feline. But what did he mean don’t fret?
“Why did you not say something?” he asked, a faint tremor in his voice. “Were you afraid?”
Well, of course she wasn’t, but she found she wanted to hear what he would say next, so she kept her silence.
“Give me the man’s name, Lilias. And if you don’t know his name, tell me where you saw him, what he looked like.” Nash’s hand had stopped stroking her head.
Pity, that. Though, how tightly he was now holding her and the way both his arms were encircling her, as if he was going to protect her from the world, felt wonderful. Too wonderful. Longing sprang forth hot and throbbing. She had to move away from him, break contact before she did something unthinkable. She set her hand on his thigh to push him away, and the unbridled power she felt under her fingertips made her shiver.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said, his voice now low and soothing. “I will find the man that dared to touch you, and I’ll kill him. I’ll rip his heart out. I promise I’ll—I mean, Owen will never let harm come to you again.”
His impassioned words sent her pulse spinning in a direction she dare not allow her emotions or her mind to go again. He was honorable so he was angry that any man should act with dishonor, and that was that.
She shoved away from him, breaking his hold and put the little space she could between them on the small seat of the gig. “It was a tree, not a man. I climbed a tree and ripped my gown. Though I appreciate your neighborly concern.”
She expected him to laugh or possibly lecture her on tree climbing or some such. What she did not anticipate was the fury that settled on his face as he stared at her. “You,” he bit out, “need a keeper. You will get yourself killed carrying on as you do. Your mother has never been up for the task, and—”
“Don’t you dare speak ill of my mother,” Lilias bellowed, and this time when she shoved Nash, he did fall backward onto his arse where he belonged. She snatched up the reins before he righted himself, whistled at her horse to go, and proceeded to leave him behind her, as she should have done the day he’d left her without ever looking back.
But before she got too far, she heard him yell, “Stay home or else!”
Later that night, she lay awake in her bed staring at her ceiling. She’d long given up the notion that she would sleep this night. Nash was far too heavy on her mind, and guilt filled her heart and her head that Nash, not Owen, was in both. Owen, who had declared his love. Owen, who had told her that the pain he lived with from his limp was nothing if he had her as his wife in the end. Owen loved her, but Nash still filled every cell she possessed. She hated herself, and she hated Nash, too.
Yet, she didn’t. She hated that she loved him, and that it was not a simple matter to forget him, particularly when he sounded so enraged on her behalf that someone might have harmed her. She rolled onto her side and punched her pillow. When he did things like vow to kill the villain and rip his heart out… Well, those sorts of words could confuse a lady, especially one prone to romantic leanings as she used to be. She was not going to be that sort anymore. An impassioned vow such as Nash’s could make a lady think a man was harboring secret feelings for her. But not this lady, of course. She flopped onto her back again. She could not, under any circumstances, ask Nash if any of those scenarios might possibly be the case. Nor could she put herself in a situation where he might tell her.
She bit her lip as she stared once more at the ceiling. If Nash did love her, it would be worse to know, wouldn’t it? She listened to her breathing for a long while as her mind wrestled with that question. Yes, it would be worse. She’d accepted Owen’s proposal. They were to wed. But was it fair to Owen?
“Oh, for the love of God,” she muttered and pressed her fingers to her aching temples. Was she so pathetic that she would twist the truth to suit her desires? She might be. The thought was not a
pleasant one. She doubted she’d even see Nash alone ever again. She could see no reason why she would. It wasn’t as if the chances were high that she’d encounter him in the middle of the night leaving a woman’s house ever again. And who was that woman anyway? Tomorrow Lilias would—
No! No! She would not play the sleuth where Nash was concerned. It was none of her business, even if her heart wished otherwise.
Chapter Eight
The next night, Nash hid under the tree outside Lilias’s window and waited. He had a hunch that she was not going to keep her word. It was something in the way she’d so readily agreed to his demand.
Once he’d gotten home and was in his bed with time to think upon his encounter with her, he had concluded several things. First, a lady who had come and gone as she pleased for years because no one was properly watching her would not so easily relinquish her freedom. Second, Lilias undoubtedly knew Owen had been called from Town, so she knew that Nash could not immediately tell Owen her secret as Nash had threatened. And lastly, he had hurt her.
He had heard it in her voice and had seen it on her face last night, and the knowledge was a flowing pain in his veins that also made him question, once again, if her feelings for him had ever run to the depths his did for her. No. No. And yet… The possibility tormented him. He could not stop the thoughts. They burned in his head, consuming him. Considering what might have been if he’d never betrayed his brother, if he had not come perilously close to doing the same to Owen, if Owen did not love her, if Nash was truly the person she thought him to be filled him with an all-consuming, pulsing desire. He shook to battle against it. Perspiration dampened his brow and back, and his jaw ached from his clenched teeth.
All Nash needed to do was keep her safe until Owen returned, and if she tried to sneak out of her house again before that, he’d stop her. He’d attempted to pass the duty to Carrington, but the man had acted indifferent, as if it was perfectly acceptable for Lilias to be galivanting around London at night alone. It infuriated Nash that Carrington did not seem concerned, but what could he do? He could not force Carrington to do anything, so here Nash was.
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