Kilgore! Lilias just barely contained her gasp. Of course, the manuscript would have a chapter on the most notorious rogue she had ever known, the Marquess of Kilgore! He’d been in the middle of quite a few problems the last five years.
Before she could consider the newly revealed information any more, Mr. Levine flung open the door, and just as he did, Lilias felt her cloak fall onto her shoulders. She glanced at Nash. His face was tense. “Pull up your hood,” he said.
When she apparently didn’t move fast enough to suit him, he started to yank the hood up for her, and his fingers grazed her cheek. Her body reacted instantly to his touch, the pull to him more than she could bear.
“Stop it,” she hissed, brushing his hand away from her. “Do not touch me!” And before she said anything she would later regret, she took the lead from Mr. Levine and dashed out of the door and straight into Beckford, who’d been passing by.
“Done already?”
She nodded. “Did Mr. Levine leave?”
“I believe so. Did you not get what you wanted?”
She could feel Nash standing behind her, so close his heat warmed her back. “No,” she said, swallowing. “I did not. But I’ll find a way. I’d like to go home now. Would you call up my gig?”
“Of course,” Beckford replied. “Do you know the way out?”
“I know it,” Nash replied before she could.
With a nod, Beckford left them standing there, and Lilias had no choice but to follow Nash. He crossed the luxurious room they had come through before, which seemed less crowded, hinting that the night was winding down. But the men that were there gave her curious looks so she pulled her cloak tighter about her face. She let out a relieved breath when Nash went through a plain black door. Once they were in the passage, darkness descended except for the faint glow of the oil lanterns that stood every few feet.
Nash’s heavy footsteps mingled with her lighter ones in the silence, and she was glad he was not speaking. Her thoughts and emotions were a jumble, and it was all because of Nash. She knew she should fully accept that he had never cared about her, and she could, she really thought she could. She most definitely knew she should and that she should forget him. She vowed to herself that she would.
Her stomach ached while she followed him through the dark shadows. She stared at his broad shoulders and slim hips as he walked with a long, sure, commanding stride. In all her interactions with him, he had always been a man whose actions supported his words—except with her in their last interaction seven years ago and now their recent ones. In particular, her mind latched on to each of his actions that contradicted his claim that he did not care for her, and she turned them over one by one, examining them.
His distraught state over her wardrobe had been surprising, and the way he’d carried on about no one keeping watch over her had astounded her, as well. Of course, he’d said he only cared that she did as she pleased for Owen’s sake. Yet, the passionate way in which he seemed to care hinted otherwise. He’d acted extremely possessive in the club, too, and granted, it could simply be an act, but if it was, he could have had a career at Drury Lane.
What if he did care?
Her step faltered at the possibility. What if he had been running from something in his past, something he had not told her, something he was afraid to tell her? Was it something to do with his brother? Or Helen? Or both of them? Her heart began to pound harder, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, she forced herself to keep moving. He turned around and continued, and her pulse quickened even more as she followed him, this man whom she had long loved, whom she was unsure how to quit loving, who was lost to her.
This needed to be the last time she allowed herself to be alone with him, she realized with blinding, painful clarity. Every part of her wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, and she was afraid if he ever did such a thing, she would not be able to resist. She would betray Owen, and she could not live with that.
With each step, a war raged inside her. Should she confront Nash and ask him bluntly how he felt about her, or should she keep her silence and never know? Her emotions roiled so greatly within her that she had to take deep breaths to calm herself. By the time they reached the exit door and Nash opened it, she decided she could not bear to discover he cared. It was better to think he had not. Her nostrils flared with her resolve, and she steeled herself to simply keep her silence and let all the questions raging in her remain unanswered.
Her gig would be along any moment, and then he would drive her home and that would be the end. She could do it. She could contain herself. But then he turned to her, moonlight struck his face, and her breath hitched at the concern that was etched there.
His hands gripped her upper arms before she knew what was occurring. “Vow to me now that you’ll not pursue Mr. Levine without me.” It was a demand and a desperate plea at once. “I don’t trust him, and I cannot abide thinking you might stride right into danger.”
Each of his emotion-filled words weakened her resolve not to ask him, like stones thrown against fragile glass, and her determination shattered. Her blood roared in her ears, and she swallowed. She was facing a life of heartache with or without the truth, so she’d take the truth.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you care so much if I’m protected?”
When he simply stared at her, she wanted to scream. “What concern am I of yours?” she tried again. Still, he stood in silence, gripping her as if he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go. It was that grip, his holding her as if his life depended on it, that made her say what she did next.
“I’ll give you my vow not to pursue Mr. Levine alone if you tell me the truth about how you feel.” She did not add about me. She did not feel she had to. He would know. If he cared for her as she did for him, he would know exactly what she meant.
He released her as if merely touching her scalded him, and he shoved both hands through his hair. Then he took a long, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. The breeze suddenly picked up, and in the distance, the night watchman’s whistle shrieked.
“You were wearing green.” Nash’s voice fell low and intense. Her brow dipped into a furrow, and he offered an achingly gentle smile that made her warm despite the cool night air. “The day I met you,” he said by way of explanation. “You were wearing green.”
“You remember what I was wearing?” she asked, shocked.
“I remember every single thing about you. I remember details no self-respecting rogue should admit to recalling.” He looked down at her worn slippers and laughed. “You were barefoot. I knew right away you were different from any girl I’d ever met. Your hair was unbound and wild, much like now.” His gaze had come to her face, and it clung to her in an appreciative way that caused her toes to curl in her slippers.
She brought a self-conscious hand to her hair to try to tidy it, but he caught her fingertips and held them for just a moment, but even after he let go, the heat of his body lingered on hers.
“Don’t,” he said, the single word husky. “I love your hair. I love the way you wear it. I’ve dreamed about it, and—”
He choked off the sentence, and she wanted to fall at his feet and beg him to continue, to touch her hair, to touch her. Dear God, perhaps knowing was worse than not knowing. But she could not, she would not, stop him now.
His gaze softened, as if he was thinking back to something that made him happy. “You used to hum when it was silent, and I felt so terrible for you because I concluded that silence scared you. Yet, I was so in awe of your ability to face what scared you. Such a slip of a thing you are, but your force of will is greater than any man’s I’ve ever known.”
What he was revealing started a trembling in her that she could not control, so she wrapped her arms around her waist and waited.
“The way you laughed, the way you still do—so infectious. It made me once think that I might catch some of your joy just by being near you.”
“And did you?” She
could not keep quiet.
His mouth curved with tenderness. “God, yes. But happiness is damned slippery for someone like me.”
Tears sprang to her eyes to hear him say that, and she tried to stop them but they blurred her vision and rolled down her cheeks. He reached out and brushed his fingers across her left cheek before pulling back. “I remember how warm your tears are, from when you cried that day by the river. Do you remember that? When you told me of your father?”
She nodded, then sniffed and brushed at her tears. This was her opportunity to ask him about his brother. “You told me you betrayed your brother.”
“Yes.” The word seemed to catch in his throat.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was your twin?”
He shrugged. “It didn’t seem important. I was born first—the eldest, the heir.” He said the last so derisively she knew instantly that he hated being the heir. He inhaled a long breath, seemed to hold it, and then released it very slowly. “Thomas, my brother, used to say that I was the heir and he was the frail, unneeded spare. My parents would scold him and act horrified in the moment, but do you know, their actions hardly ever matched what they said.” She remained silent, almost certain he just needed to tell her, tell someone, and she did not want to interrupt that. “They treated him as if he could do nothing. They forced him to stay indoors almost always, as if they were afraid if he went outside he’d die, as if they were afraid that danger awaited him out in the world. I suppose, ultimately, they were correct.”
Nash had threaded his fingers together, and she longed to grab his hands and take them in hers, to help him conquer his pain. But if she did that, she feared she would not be able to make herself ever let go.
“They said to him, ‘You’re strong, don’t be ridiculous, you are not just the feeble spare,’ but every action they took, every action they demanded I take to protect him, to put him first, to let him win at everything, always said to him that they believed him to be weak, that they believed him in need of their hovering, coddling, and constant protection. He hated it, I hated it, and sometimes—” his gaze became pleading, as if he was asking her to forgive him “—I hated him.”
“Oh, Nash.” Her throat tightened mercilessly for the pain she could see he was in. “That is normal. I cannot tell you how many times I have wished my sister, Nora, ill for threatening to tell on me, for being a pest, for blackmailing me.”
Nash shook his head. “It’s not the same. You’ve never failed to protect your sister. I got tired of letting Thomas win, so one day I simply didn’t. Helen—” He swallowed, and Lilias’s heart stopped. There was a connection there, after all. “Helen came to our home for a sennight with her father, like Mr. Levine said. Thomas was instantly enamored of her, but she had her sights set on me—the heir. I knew it, too, so when she kissed me on the ice, I kissed her back. Thomas saw it, charged me, and, well, you know the rest… I told you I’m not good.”
She wanted to weep for the weight of the guilt he carried. “That was one moment of selfishness, Nash. That does not make you bad.”
“No.” The word was harsh, a total and utter denial. “I almost did it again with you, to Owen. I suspected he liked you. I tried to help him win you.” He swiped his hands over his face, stayed that way for a moment, as if he could not stand to continue, and then he dropped his arms to his sides. The look of raw pain in his expression made her suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t know if I was really unsure of how he felt or if I convinced myself I was unsure because I wanted you so damn much. That day, that day in the woods when I said you made me feel, what I was trying to say was that you made me feel alive. When I was with you, you made me feel again. Before that, I had barely felt anything since Thomas’s death. But when I kissed you, I felt alive. I felt hopeful.”
The revelation was everything she had ever longed for, dreamed of, and it hurt desperately. A sob escaped her, and as it did, Bear pulled onto the lane, driving her gig toward them. It was the worst and most perfect timing of her life. Because she knew, she absolutely knew, that if they had been alone for one more breath, she would have flung herself into his arms and kissed him. She would have betrayed Owen and her promise to him. She had one thing she needed to say, though, before Bear was upon them, before this moment was gone forever.
“I have loved you every day since the moment I met you,” she said through the tears that were now streaming down her face. “And when you came back, I had hoped… Well, I went there hoping… But now—”
She didn’t know what to say. She was betrothed to Owen, but she wanted to tell Nash she’d break it off. What sort of person did that make her if she did that? What sort of person was she to even think about such a horrid betrayal? And even if she did end her betrothal, would Nash court her? She feared his honor and his guilt would prevent it. She needed time to sort out her head.
“Nash, I—”
“Don’t say it.” He pressed one searing finger to her lips. “Whatever you were going to say, don’t. I told you I wasn’t good.”
“Your brother’s death was not your fault.”
“It’s not just that, Lilias. God, it’s not, but that’s enough. Listen to me.” He pulled her close, buried his head in her neck, and inhaled long and deep. Before she could lock her hands behind his back, he pushed her away gently, and through her tears, she saw that Bear had pulled up with the gig, silent and waiting. Nash stared at her as if they were still alone. “I’m a selfish bastard, Lilias. I told you this because I have to let you go. You’ve haunted me like a ghost, and I need to let go. So promise me, swear to me, you won’t go on any more missions alone. I thought I could accompany you until Owen returns, but I can’t.”
“I swear it,” she choked out.
He nodded, then turned to Bear. “Can you see Lady Lilias home, please?”
She wanted to protest, to steal more time with him, but she knew this was best for both of them. So when Bear nodded, she didn’t argue. Nash stepped toward her, took her right hand in his, and brought it to his lips. His gaze met hers, and the heart-rending tenderness in his eyes was everything she had dreamed of, everything she had ever wanted, but it was too late. It was too late for them. Her pulse pounded, and her heart jolted as he brushed the softest kiss to the top of her hand. His touch sent gooseflesh over her body, and when he turned her palm over and kissed the inside of her wrist, she could not stop her moan of need. Their gazes met, clinging as he released her hand. Heat smoldered in his eyes, along with need and finality. Devastation swept over her, and she began to tremble.
Bear was there suddenly, taking her by the elbow and helping her into the gig, and when she turned to look at Nash, he was gone. She had no notion if he’d returned to the club or simply disappeared into the shadows, but he was gone. Gone from sight. Gone from her life, possibly forever. But he was lodged in her heart, desperately deep and permanent. She was his in the furthest reaches. Each beat was his. Each thought was his. She did not see how she could wed Owen knowing such a thing, but she did not see how she could do anything else.
Chapter Ten
A knock came at Lilias’s bedchamber door, but she did not respond, nor did she move from under her covers where she had been hiding, almost exclusively, for three days. She’d only come out to see to her most urgent needs of survival; to read a note sent to her by Helen in which Helen mentioned that the publisher was, thankfully, in the country for the remainder of the month so they had some time to obtain the manuscript; and lastly, to send the news in a letter to Frederica, along with Frederica’s locket and Lilias’s assurances that she would call upon Frederica in the next several days so they could discuss how to retrieve the manuscript from Mr. Levine.
When another knock came, Lilias called out, “Please go away,” and then she simply pulled the coverlet closer over her head, prepared to allow the same torturous thoughts about Nash that had infiltrated her mind continuously for days to do so once more. And they did—immediately. What had Nash meant when he’d said that h
e’d tried to help Owen win her? And when he’d said he’d almost done it again to Owen? Had he meant he’d almost pursued her in spite of knowing Owen liked her?
When her door banged open, she flinched and curled into a tight ball, but a throat clearing loudly and very near her compelled her to respond.
“I still have a megrim, Mama,” Lilias mumbled, certain it had to be her mother checking upon her again. She’d been in several times a day for three days. Lilias knew her mother was worried, but if she admitted just how much she did not want to wed Owen, her mother would be even more concerned and possibly take to her own bed.
“It is not your mama.”
The coverlet was yanked from her head, and Lilias blinked, finding Guinevere standing over her, a worried look upon her face.
Behind Guinevere, Nora hovered with a rapt expression. “Nora, not now. Please,” Lilias begged. For once, her sister listened and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind her.
Lilias dragged herself into a sitting position and met her friend’s concerned gaze as Guinevere sat on the edge of Lilias’s bed. “What are you doing here?”
“For one thing, you missed a SLAR meeting this afternoon, and you have never missed a meeting. For another,” Guinevere continued, not giving Lilias time to offer an excuse, which was just as well because Lilias did not want to lie to her friend, “Greybourne came to the house today to speak with Asher, and he looked dreadful. As if he’d lost the person who meant the most to him in the world.”
That got Lilias’s full attention. Just the mention of Nash’s name made her heart twist in her chest. She sat all the way up, her heart now pounding. “Go on,” she said, knowing Guinevere well enough to understand she had a point she had just not gotten to yet.
Guinevere studied Lilias for a moment, her look going from one of concern to what Lilias considered scheming.
She knows. Guinevere knows I’m still hopelessly in love with Nash. Please don’t let her ask me. Please don’t let her ask me. If she asks me, I might break down and pour my heart out.
Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 2) Page 16
