“Did Carrington tell you that?” Lilias demanded, already prepared to lecture Guinevere’s husband, who seemed to be blabbing all about Town about their secret society.
“No, Lady Frederica did. But don’t be vexed with her. She was quite unaware of what she was saying. It was after she’d been hit from behind and her carriage was stolen,” Beckford said. “I actually carried her to the house where you picked her up. I’m the one who sent Davy to you. Freddy—I mean, Lady Frederica gave me your address. When you came for her, I was just in the other room.”
Lilias smiled. “You hid in the other room to protect Frederica’s reputation.”
“I would not use the word hid,” Beckford said, frowning. “I intentionally withdrew myself.”
She bit her tongue on teasing him.
“Why the devil did you act like you didn’t know who she was when we met you, then?” Nash demanded, his arm coming around Lilias’s waist. He drew her to him and stepped a tad in front of her. Lilias’s heart galloped at the protective gesture.
“I wanted to see what the two of you would say. If you’d be truthful. Just because Carrington tells me to trust someone doesn’t mean I automatically do, Greybourne. They, woman or man, need to prove themselves worthy.”
Nash grunted, but Lilias nodded her agreement to the sensible statement. “I take it you deem us honest?”
“For now,” Beckford said with a smile. “But the night is young… Lady A,” he went on, though she knew now he knew exactly who she was, “will you give Lady Frederica her locket for me, please?”
“I will, but if you know where Frederica lives, why do you not return it to her yourself?”
“There is your world,” he said slowly, “and then there is mine. The two worlds do not normally mix except at night and on very special occasions, like when a friend from your world has a foot in both worlds, but that’s rare.”
“Like Carrington?” Lilias asked.
“Yes. Now, enough about me… Why are the two of you here?”
“I’m here to retrieve something from one of your members, Mr. Levine. I have it on good authority that he’s here tonight.”
“Whose authority?”
“That of his sister, Mrs. Porter.”
“Ahh, Mrs. Porter.” Beckford drew the out the words, and Lilias understood immediately that he knew Helen was a courtesan by trade. Did he know she was not even really Mrs. Helen Porter, the supposed widow, but really Miss Helen Levine, the unwed courtesan? Lilias understood why Miss Levine went by Mrs. Porter and pretended to be a widow. It was easier for widows to go about as they pleased, and people asked fewer questions of her that way than they would as the unwed Miss Levine.
“Mr. Levine is in the Gold Room. Careful with him, though. I get the sense that he can be dangerous. There is something about him. He always seems on edge, and more so lately.”
Lilias frowned. “Then why do you permit him to enter?”
“My dear, if I turned away every gentleman I thought dangerous, I’d lose a fortune. The key is to watch them and swoop in if need be.”
She nodded and swept her gaze around the main room, her attention coming to rest on a gold door. “The Gold Room, I presume?” she asked, pointing.
“Yes, so named because it brings me much gold. That is the vingt-et-un room. He’s in there playing. Do either of you play? The rule is that you can only enter if playing or if you are a mistress of a man playing, as the women seem to have a calming effect on the men.”
“I play,” Nash said.
“Excellent,” Beckford replied. “You can enter. And you”—he looked to her—“can play the part of his courtesan. I assume you wish your identity to remain secret?”
“Yes,” she said, the word coming out breathless at the thought of playing Nash’s mistress.
“Then play your part. The better you are at it, the less likely it will be that questions are asked.”
“Who’s within the room?” Nash asked. When she looked at him questioningly, he said, “I want to ensure no one you know is in there to give away who you are.”
Beckford listed six men, none of whom she knew. Nash nodded, satisfied. “Keep your cloak pulled up around your face until we are in the room and the door is shut.”
“If you need me,” Beckford said, “ask my sister for me. She’ll be the one who comes in to let the dealer know when any new players are to enter the Gold Room. That way, if someone is entering who might recognize you, you can put your cloak back on and depart immediately.”
She nodded, a thrill of excitement going through her. This was the sort of adventure she loved, the sort that would be lost to her as soon as she became Owen’s wife.
The Gold Room certainly lived up to its name. Everything in it glittered and was lushly opulent, from the gold velvet curtains, to the luxurious gold rug, to the gold plush chairs the players sat upon. There were six men in the room and one man who appeared to be in charge of the game, and every one of them paused to look at Nash and Lilias as they entered.
Nash grabbed her hand and pulled her close behind him, and the simple protective gesture caused a thrill that made her heart speed up and her stomach flutter. It was a reaction she could not stop.
“You’ll have to wait for this hand to be over,” the man who appeared in charge said, addressing Nash.
It irked her somewhat that most men rarely seemed to think a woman would be capable or interested in pursuits that men assumed required their “superior intelligence,” such as cards, but she held her tongue. A mistress would never state such an opinion in public, and for now, she was Nash’s mistress.
Nash helped her out of her cloak, and she felt the eyes of the men on her. Though she’d dressed the part of a paramour intentionally, the lecherous attention made her uncomfortable, so when a man dressed in gold livery approached them and asked if they’d like a drink, she said yes. She’d never imbibed before, but she’d heard talk of spirits having a calming effect.
“What will the lady have?” the footman asked Nash, which snapped her temper in two.
“The lady,” she said, locking gazes with the surprised footman, “will have—” What would she have? The only spirit she ever had was ratafia, and she highly doubted they had that here. “The lady will have her usual,” she finished, her face burning. She prayed the footman had no notion if she was a regular or not.
The game of vingt-et-un had resumed, so thankfully, no one at the table was paying them any mind.
When the footman stood there with a confused look on his face, Nash slid his arm over the back of Lilias’s chair and said, “Do not tell me you have forgotten my lady.”
His lady. If it was possible for a heart to lurch out of one’s chest, hers just did.
This is not real. We are not a couple.
“She is unforgettable,” Nash continued, and he sounded so believable that she found warmth flowing through her, followed swiftly by a piercing ache.
“Yes, my lord,” the footman rushed to say, to which Nash hitched an eyebrow. “I mean, yes, my lord,” the footman hastened to correct, “she’s unforgettable.”
Nash nodded, playing the part of a stuffy aristocrat perfectly, especially when he said, “But you have forgotten me, apparently.”
“My lord?” the poor footman squeaked. He looked to be no more than twenty years of age, and his ears had turned red.
Suddenly, a blond-haired man seated facing them said, “His Grace, you fool. You are addressing a duke. He is not ‘my lord.’ He is ‘Your Grace.’”
The men at the table all stood, and Lilias realized the hand was over. The head man was gathering the cards, and all the players exited. The door shut, and the footman stammered, “I’m sorry, Your G-Grace.”
“No harm has been done,” Nash replied to the footman, his voice taking on an understanding edge, but his gaze upon the man who’d spoken was hard. “Do we know each other?”
Bushy eyebrows arched over dark-brown eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t re
member me, Your Grace.” But the man did not sound surprised, not truly. “My stepfather was hired by your father to teach your brother Latin when he failed to master it. I would know you anywhere, though we never formally met. When I came to your home with my stepfather, you were out each day, hunting, riding, doing all manner of physical things your frail, ailing brother could not.”
Nash stiffened beside Lilias, and she squeezed his hand, offering silent support. The man smiled, but his eyes held no warmth. In fact, they chilled Lilias. He flicked his gaze to the table, then back to Nash. “You look exactly like your brother. Twins, weren’t you?”
Twins? Nash had never said they were twins. He’d only ever called him his younger brother.
“We were,” Nash replied, his voice devoid of emotion but his hand was now gripping hers so hard that her fingers throbbed. But looking at him and the way he was focused intently on the gentleman speaking to him, she doubted that Nash was even aware of the reaction the man was eliciting in him. “I’m sorry, but what did you say your name was?”
“Mr. Levine, but you were far more interested in my sister, Helen. She’s Mrs. Helen Porter now. She’s widowed.”
Lilias froze in shock. Did Nash have a past with Helen Levine? Mr. Levine was smiling so knowingly at Nash that Lilias knew it had to be so.
Nash’s brows dipped into a confused expression. “Does your sister have flaming-red hair?”
The man nodded, and a slow, tauntingly smug smile tugged his lips upward. “As I said, you were more interested in her than in me the few days Helen and I came with my stepfather to your home. My stepfather was Jacob Pickering. Do you recall him?”
“Of course,” Nash said stiffly. “But why do you and your sister go by different surnames than your stepfather now?”
“We always went by Levine. You just never bothered to inquire.”
Lilias felt Nash flinch at the man’s tone of disgust.
Mr. Levine drummed his fingers on the table as he stared at Nash. “Helen and I were from my mother’s first marriage, and my stepfather did not ever deem us worthy to give us his surname.”
“Oh, that’s horrible!” Lilias blurted out, bringing the man’s attention fully to her.
The footman still in the room discreetly turned his back, and Lilias understood the man had been trained to act as if he heard nothing and saw nothing the patrons of the club said or did. This was likely the best opportunity she would get to persuade Mr. Levine to give her Helen’s manuscript. She untangled her hand from Nash’s while keeping her gaze on Mr. Levine.
“I actually came here tonight to find you,” she blurted, then rose from her seat next to Nash and took a seat at the table across from Mr. Levine.
By Nash’s loud grunt behind her, she gathered he did not approve of the way she was choosing to handle the situation, but she pressed on. The night would not last forever, and she had to be on her way home before the sky lightened and her family woke.
Mr. Levine offered her a lascivious look as he leaned forward in his seat and traced a finger over her forearm. She forced herself not to draw away as he said, “That, my dear, is the best news I’ve heard all night.”
She started when Nash sat beside her, not having heard him move, but she was glad. His presence was comforting, and she knew he would not let anything happen to her. And if she had questioned it at all, the intensity of his tone when he spoke next would have banished any doubt. He leaned his elbow on the table. “If you touch my lady again, I will break your hand.”
Mr. Levine withdrew the offending appendage, an irritated look upon his face. “Ladies such as this one”—Mr. Levine waved a hand in her direction—“go where their desires and the coin take them. If she’s looking for me…” He shrugged, letting his words trail off, but the implications were obvious enough.
“She needs something from you,” Nash said, each word punctuated with his obvious distaste for the man.
Lilias didn’t like Mr. Levine, either, and was particularly offended for all courtesans that they had to put up with such treatment from men. She doubted a single woman ever had dreamed of becoming a courtesan. Circumstances forced these women into their profession—no training, little choices, precious little freedom, and the desperate need to survive. And men were the main culprits of women’s terrible plights, and those same men dared to look down upon women when they did what they must to survive. His own sister was a courtesan, for heaven’s sake! Did he look down upon her?
Mr. Levine regarded her, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek in order not to say everything she was thinking. “What is it you wish from me, Mrs.…?”
“Artemis,” she said, thinking it rather ironic, given the role she played tonight, but also appropriate to call herself by the name of the Greek goddess of the hunt. Lilias was chaste, though her thoughts were not, and she was on a hunt—for a manuscript. She didn’t particularly care in this moment what Mr. Levine thought, though she highly suspected him perverse enough to like it.
Nash began to cough beside her, and Mr. Levine’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and then a dark, unsettling smile settled on his face. “Interesting surname,” he replied, his eyes undressing her suddenly.
She bridled, but managed to get out, “I am an interesting woman.”
“I can imagine—”
“Don’t,” Nash interrupted, his tone ruthless. “Do not imagine. She’s mine.”
It shouldn’t have made her heart flutter—it was an act, after all—but it did.
The man shrugged. “For now.”
“Forever,” Nash shot back.
“Gentlemen,” Lilias interrupted, almost wishing she did not have to. It was like listening to her secret fantasy come true, except it wasn’t true and never could be. She suspected what was actually occurring was what often occurred with men. They were trying to show their superiority over each other. “I’m flattered, but as His Grace has said, I’m his, and I’m quite happy with the arrangement.” Saying the words made her heart suddenly hurt, and she had an overwhelming urge to flee. She no longer wanted to play this game with Nash. It had gone from fun to torturous in a breath. But she stayed in her seat, determined to help Helen and Lady Katherine.
“I’m here on behalf of your sister.” She purposely left out that she was also there on behalf of Lady Katherine. She certainly didn’t need to mention that Lady Katherine had been lovers with Lord Quattelbom, who had failed to pay Helen the promised allowance that had resulted in Helen writing the manuscript in the first place. Lilias did not think any of the details would soften the man to their cause. By his demeanor thus far and his hostile interaction with Nash, Lilias actually suspected that it would only make the man more determined to publish the manuscript. He seemed to despise Nash for having been brought up in privilege, so it stood to reason that he despised all lords of privilege.
The man’s brows dipped into a deep V. “My sister? What of her?”
“She sent me to implore you to return the manuscript she wrote.” When irritation swept across his face and he opened his mouth to argue, she hurried to finish. “You know she has changed her mind. It is not your manuscript to see published.”
“I gave her the money to stay in her home, and she gave me the manuscript as payment.”
“Yes,” Lilias said angrily, “and you ought to be ashamed. She’s your sister. You should have helped her without requiring payment.”
“And just who are you to stand as savior to my sister? I’ve never even seen you before.”
“It’s none of your damn business who she is,” Nash bit out.
She put a staying hand on his arm, appreciating his wish to protect her, but antagonizing Mr. Levine would not help matters. And Mr. Levine and Nash obviously had a past, which she had many questions about, none of which she thought Nash would answer. He was a man of many layers, and she’d never even truly peeled back the first. She had not even known he was a twin.
“Tell me, Greybourne, why are you here accompanying your c
ourtesan on a mission for my sister?”
“That’s also none of your business,” Nash growled.
“I wonder,” Mr. Levine said, drumming his fingers on the table once more, “do you regret dismissing Helen from your life as if she never meant anything to you?”
Lilias’s breath caught at Mr. Levine’s words, which reminded her uncomfortably of what Nash had done to her.
“I regret that I allowed what happened to happen, given I did not care for your sister. If she felt mistreated, for that, I am sorry.”
“I doubt it,” Mr. Levine said, rising suddenly. “You’re like all men of your ilk. You leave disaster in your path without a thought to who you have ruined.”
“Wait, Mr. Levine!” Lilias scrambled to her feet as the man began to leave. “Many people will be gravely hurt if you see that manuscript published!”
He turned toward her, a mocking look upon his face. “You refer to people of the ton, I presume?”
She nodded. There was no point in lying. He’d most assuredly read the manuscript, and each chapter was about a man of the ton who had wronged his sister. “Those men deserve the chapters your sister gave them. I’m not denying that,” Lilias said. “But some of those men are connected to women in these chapters, women who have committed no larger crime than falling in love and making a mistake. Do they deserve to have their lives ruined as your sister’s was?”
He made a derisive sound. “I assure you, there are no innocents in this book.”
“I’ll pay you for it!” she blurted, though she had no notion where she would get the money.
His brows arched with obvious surprise. “I doubt a woman in your position has the money to buy back this manuscript from me.”
“Then I’ll buy it from you,” Nash said, surprising her and rising to stand beside her. Conflicting emotions washed over her. Why would he do that for her? He didn’t care about her. He’d dismissed her just as he’d apparently dismissed Helen.
“It’s not about the money, Greybourne,” Mr. Levine said condescendingly. “If that’s what Helen told you, she’s wrong. It’s about revenge. It’s about striking Kilgore in his heart.”
Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 2) Page 15
