“And this is my best cloak by far!” She eyed him with haughty disdain, but he knew it was only because he’d angered her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and assure her it would be all right. That he would provide for her. Protect her.
Her sharp inhalation alerted him that she was not done with her dressing down that he richly deserved. “I would have brought a coachman, if I had one, but we are not all blessed with wealth like you, Your Grace.”
“What of your stable master? Why could he not have stood in as your coachman?”
“We no longer have one of those, either. You really should not speak of things until you are certain you have all the information, and if you cannot, keep your opinion to yourself.”
It was the most blistering reprimand he’d ever received, and he loved it. He adored that she spoke her mind. His mother never did so, not directly. A murmur here. A look there. A total withdrawing of her love ever since Thomas had died. He loved that Lilias was so impassioned and not cold. He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he went in for the coup de grâce. “Your mother is shameful to pay so little attention to you and her household that both are in shambles.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and she reared back and slapped him. He saw it coming. He could have stopped her, but if it helped her keep her pride, he’d let her slap him a million times over. His cheek stung for it, but the sting made him ridiculously happy.
“My mother,” she said, her voice quivering, “is worth a thousand of yours.”
He didn’t doubt it. He would have said so, but he needed Lilias to finish, to reveal the truth.
“She has spent the past seven years trying desperately to pay off the debts my father left us with. She has gone without, all the while letting us think she was escaping for restorative, luxurious cures to Bath when she was making trips to sell off her jewelry bit by bit to keep the ruffians my father owed from doing us bodily harm. And she had to endure groveling at my selfish uncle’s feet to allow us to stay in his houses. So don’t you dare talk about my mother. She is amazing. Yes, she may have a bit of a dependency upon laudanum when she is home, but I daresay anyone in her situation would.”
“I imagine you are correct,” he said quietly, though a black rage had come over him at the thought of unscrupulous men threatening Lilias and her family. And the notion that her uncle, her family, had not wanted to help them, had clearly barely done so, made him want to kill the man, but that would help no one. He kept the rage inside, and in a calm voice, he said, “Your mother sounds as if she has done her best.”
“She has,” Lilias whispered, looking down at her lap and wringing her hands. “But it is not enough.”
He could only imagine with what Lilias had revealed. Her mother selling her jewelry during fake trips to Bath—that was likely so she could sell her jewels without being recognized. Her mother groveling at Lilias’s selfish uncle’s feet and it not being enough—was the marquess planning on turning them out? He knew the Mayfair home they stayed in was the smaller of the two their family owned in Town. And the Cotswold home? Did the same hold true there?
“Did your family have another country home?”
She frowned. “What?”
“Another country home. Did your family, or rather does your uncle, currently possess two such homes?”
A distracted nod. “Yes, a much larger one in Shropshire.”
“Why did you all not stay at the larger country home?”
“My father preferred the smaller.”
Just then, the back door to the club opened, and a tall, wiry man stepped into the shadowy lane. “No loitering in the alley.”
“We’re coming in,” Lilias called.
Nash scowled. She knew nothing about getting into a club such as this. “You cannot just say you’re coming in. You have to be given permission.”
She offered him a haughty smile, stood, and opened her cloak, letting it drop upon the bench she’d just risen from. He got a full view of the tops of her breasts again, as did the stranger whose mouth dropped open. “Send the man who tends to the carriages,” she ordered, and to Nash’s astonishment, the man nodded and disappeared.
Lilias grinned down at Nash. “Well,” she said, her tone smug, “he did not seem to notice I have no gloves, a hole in my slippers, and a threadbare cloak. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
To his surprise, she stepped down from the gig. He had to lunge for her, and he just barely caught her by the wrist.
She glanced over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows challengingly. “You can come if you want, but don’t expect me to wait for you, Nash.”
He had mere seconds to find out the most important thing he wanted to know, the one fact that would determine his actions. “Did you tell Owen you love him?”
“What?” She looked utterly perplexed. “Do you… Do you mean when he asked me to wed him?”
“No. Before that. Four years ago in the Cotswolds by the river. The one where I first met you.”
He saw the moment she recalled saying it, and it felt like a blow, though it shouldn’t. Everything would move forward just as it should with her and Owen.
“I did say that,” she said, her voice so quiet he barely heard her. She turned fully toward him then, her head tilted back. “But I meant as a friend,” she added, her voice even lower now as each word dripped misery. “He told you?”
Nash nodded, his chest tightening, the world around him spinning.
“When?”
“Four years ago,” Nash replied, feeling a sort of numbness for what he was sure she would say to his next question. “Would you have wed Owen if you had not been caught on the terrace with him?”
She blanched at that, and Nash knew. Good God, he knew.
“I—” Her gaze dropped from his, and she shook her head. “Probably not, but who can say for certain. I—That is, my mother and my sister—”
“Need you. They need a savior, and Owen is to be it.”
She nodded again, her head rising and her eyes finding his. The tears that shone there made him want to fall at her feet and offer himself if she’d have him. But maybe she wouldn’t, and he could never do so anyway.
“You think me horrible?” She sounded small, broken.
“No.” His body thrummed with the need to go to her, to embrace her. He had to clutch the edge of the seat he still sat upon until he was sure he could master his basest desire. “I think you are a woman trapped in a man’s world.”
Before anything else could be said, the back door to the club opened once more, and the tall man from before came out. But this time he was accompanied by another tall but broader, more muscled gentleman with brown hair that was tied back at the nape of his neck. He wore expensively cut clothing as a lord would, but he had the look of one who knew the streets well. It was a hard look, a wary one. He had an air of self-confidence about him that Nash recognized immediately as belonging to someone with authority. This had to be Carrington’s partner in the club, Beckford.
The man looked between Nash and Lilias, and then he said, “I had to come out here myself to see what sort of lady could tempt my gatekeeper to break the rules he knows well not to break.”
“What rules are those?” Lilias demanded before Nash could speak.
“I’m to meet all ladies that want entrance. I don’t want any jealous husbands coming here causing me trouble. But for you—” he winked “—I could make an exception.” The man stepped toward her as if to touch her, and Nash stepped in front of her to meet the man head-on.
A slow smile spread over the man’s face, but it did not lighten his eyes. “It’s like that, is it?” He did not have the cultured tone of one raised by tutors and nannies. He possessed a more guttural speech, as one who had been raised by their own wits on the streets.
“It is,” Nash said in an unbending voice, but just in case there was any doubt, he added, “The lady is with me.”
“Fine, then,” the man replied. “And just who are you?”
&nb
sp; “He was here last night,” the sinewy man answered for him. “At the front entrance. That there is the Duke of Greybourne.”
“Of course you were here last night,” Lilias scoffed, cutting Nash a glare. “No doubt this is where you met the light-skirt who smeared lip paint across your face.”
Nash ignored her for a moment, though he’d not missed her jealous tone or how dangerously pleased it made him feel. Instead, he focused on the man who’d spoken. “I don’t know you. We’ve not met. So how do you know me?”
“Carrington told me. When you got snippy with him and stormed out, I asked him if he wished me to bring you back. He didn’t. He said you were a personal friend, and you were welcome here anytime. Said to give you special treatment should you require it.”
“And who are you?” Nash asked of the man he suspected to be Beckford.
“That there is Beckford, the owner of the Orcus Society,” the wiry man said, glaring at Nash. “You should know the owner of a club you want to get into.”
“Stand down, Bear,” Beckford said, then addressed Nash. “You’ll have to forgive Bear. He’s rather protective when he thinks I’m being disrespected.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Nash said easily. “I knew your name, of course, but I have never seen you. And I wasn’t required to know what you looked like when I was previously given entrance.”
Beckford eyed Nash and then Lilias. “You are the only one whose identity is still a mystery.” The man’s voice was too smooth, and his gaze lingered too long upon Lilias’s chest for Nash’s liking. He reached down, snatched up the cloak she’d discarded, and set it on her shoulders. She glanced at him in obvious surprise.
“She’ll remain a mystery,” Nash replied before Lilias could. She elbowed him for his gallant efforts, but he didn’t care. She did, he noted with relief, pull the hood of her cloak up. All that concerned him was protecting her. “She’s with me. That’s all you need to know. Well, that and if she ever comes here without me, do not give her entrance. That would infuriate Carrington.”
A knowing look settled on Beckford’s gaze, which was still upon Lilias. “Another Society lady dressed as a courtesan.” He shook his head.
“What gave me away?” Lilias demanded.
“Your face is too innocent. And this one—” the man jabbed a finger in Nash’s direction “—is too protective.”
“Men are not protective of courtesans?” Lilias asked.
“Yes,” Beckford replied, “they are, but in a different sort of way. A way that says, ‘This is my paid possession.’”
Nash did not like the direction this conversation was going. “Shall we go into the club?”
“And what did Greybourne’s way of being protective say to you?” Lilias asked, ignoring Nash.
“How the devil is this man supposed to know?” Nash bit out.
“Oh, I know. I’ve a keen eye. Your way says this woman is a part of you.”
Lilias gasped, and Nash had the urge to punch Beckford in the mouth. “Your vision has turned bad.”
Beckford snorted, Bear guffawed, and Lilias was utterly silent beside Nash. He purposely avoided her gaze. Nothing good could come of their eyes meeting now. “We’re here in search of someone,” Nash said.
Beckford nodded and motioned his hand toward Bear and then Lilias’s gig. In a flash, Bear was moving toward the gig and Beckford was waving them inside the club. “You can tell me who you’re in search of on the way in. I do have one question, though, and one favor.”
Nash did meet Lilias’s gaze then, and she looked as surprised as he was.
“What’s the question?” Nash asked.
“The lady, Lady.…?”
“A,” Lilias said. “You can call me Lady A.”
Nash raised his eyebrows and tried to convey with a look that she would need to explain this to him later.
“All right, Lady A,” Beckford said agreeably, closing the door behind them, which effectively left them in a dark, narrow corridor.
Somewhere in the distance, muted conversations were happening and music was being played. The notes of both floated on the air to Nash. Scents assaulted him as before, too. Scents of burning candles and lamps. Of crackling fires and heavy perfumes. Of the tang of excitement and the sweetness of desire. He moved closer to Lilias, pressing his hand to her back, needing to have contact with her to ensure she was safe. He half expected her to pull away from him, but she leaned into his palm, the curve of her lower spine fitting perfectly there. It made him wonder how they would fit together in other instances. Without clothes.
“Damnation,” he muttered, going perfectly hard.
Lilias and Beckford looked at him.
“Stubbed my toe,” he lied.
Beckford looked at him skeptically but asked, “Are all rooms open to Lady A?”
As Beckford wound them down the dark, stuffy hall and passed an oil lamp that had been fashioned into the wall, the momentary pop of light highlighted Lilias’s expression and showed her to be scowling at Beckford’s back. Nash stifled the desire to laugh.
“Why are you asking him?” Lilias asked, sounding incensed. “I am right here, and the question is about me, so you should address it to me.”
“Very well,” the man said. “Do you wish to enter the pleasure rooms or avoid them?”
“She’ll avoid them,” Nash said quickly.
“I most certainly will not,” Lilias objected. “If they are good enough for you to go into and meet your lady bird, then I’ll enter as well.”
“I did not meet my lady bird there,” he ground out.
“So you admit you have one?”
“No,” he snapped. Only Lilias had the power to confound him. “Lady A will not be entering any pleasure rooms. And if Lady A argues about it, Lady A will find herself hoisted over my shoulder, carried out of here, and taken immediately home. Does Lady A understand?”
“You’re a brute,” Lilias said. “But fine. I’ll not enter a pleasure room unless it’s necessary. Now that the matter is settled, what is your favor, Lord Beckford?”
“It’s just Beckford,” he said, coming to the end of the passage and opening the large double door the led into the club.
Sound and light exploded from the room. There was laughter and chatter, the notes of violins, and a pianoforte. There were glittering chandeliers and cheroot smoke swirling in the air. The rattle of dice being cast and the cheers and cries of those who’d just won fortunes and those who’d lost them. It all rushed at them at once on a roll of cool air.
Lilias shivered and pressed closer to Nash, and then she said in a voice full of awe, “This is better than any novel.”
Chapter Nine
She was certain she sounded naive, but she was also certain that she did not care. This moment, here with Nash, seeing this club that Owen would never allow her to enter, was a moment she would never forget. Nor would she forget how protective Nash was being, as if she were a part of him. Wasn’t that what Beckford had said?
The words of the club owner made her remember he hadn’t answered her about the favor he needed. She firmly believed in returning favors, and she suspected he’d only allowed her entrance as a favor to Carrington since Nash and Carrington were personal friends and Carrington was part owner of this club.
No one knew Carrington was an investor, of course. He was a duke, and dukes were not supposed to do things like own gaming clubs, but Guinevere’s husband was his own man, born and raised in Scotland. He hadn’t even known he was part of the ton until he was in his twenties; he had thought himself a bastard until then. He had raised himself from poverty, started a successful distillery business in Scotland, and then invested in this club. Guinevere had told her in secret, and her friend’s voice had been full of pride, as well it should be. Carrington made his own choices and did not allow the ton, or anyone else, to dictate how he lived his life. A man like that, one who would tolerate her excursions with SLAR, would be much better suited as a husband for her than O
wen. She’d always thought Nash was such a man.
She glanced at Beckford, intending to ask him what favor he needed, but the magnificence of the room captured her attention. Three glittering chandeliers cast shards of light from where they hung from an elaborate ceiling high above. The light seemed to slide into spaces in the room, which was somehow large, yet cozy. She supposed it was the thick rugs on the gleaming floors, the crackling dual fireplaces, and the plush red velvet curtains hanging from the windows that gave the room such a welcoming feeling. She wanted to go over to one of the oversized chairs by the fireplaces and order a drink. It was a scandalous and thrilling thought.
Or perhaps she would recline on one of the comfortable-looking red-and-gold settees that were positioned under the windows. Or maybe she would gamble. She could, if she knew how, which she didn’t. After all, there were half a dozen large, circular gaming tables in the room with green baize tablecloths and places for ten men at each table. A man in black livery stood at the head of each table, looking very stoic. She supposed he was in charge of the cards or the dice, depending upon the game.
She scanned the room and counted six doors. She looked at Beckford. “Is this the gaming room?”
“Yes. This is the main one where most people play.”
“There’s another?”
“Yes. Do you see the door by the pianoforte?”
She nodded, immediately finding the door.
“There is a smaller gaming room in there that has only one table. It is a high-stakes table, and only those who can stake one hundred pounds can enter.”
Her eyes widened. “One hundred pounds! That’s a fortune!”
“Yes,” he said, smiling, and she noticed he had the most unusual blue eyes, the color the lightest blue she had ever seen. But no, she had seen that blue before, she thought as she stared at him. She just could not remember where, but something tugged at the back of her mind. “About my favor…”
“Yes,” she said, blinking.
He withdrew a necklace from his coat and held it out to her. “This belongs to Lady Frederica. I believe she is a fellow SLAR member.”
Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 2) Page 14
