Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 2)

by Julie Johnstone

Lilias waited in the passage, her nerves mounting, but the butler returned before she could work herself up into too great a state. They continued to the study, which was, thankfully, not far from the garden entrance.

  The butler knocked on the shut door, then stepped in, pulling the door almost closed behind him. Lilias heard a woman’s voice. It must have been Nash’s mother. Lilias swallowed, suddenly even more nervous. The study door opened, and the butler came out and instructed her to enter. When she did, she was surprised to see that Nash was nowhere to be found. There was only a woman—Nash’s mother, she assumed—sitting on a blue velvet settee. The woman was beautiful in a cool and aloof way. She had dark hair, much like Nash’s, but where Nash had light-gray eyes, this woman’s eyes were so dark they were almost black.

  “How can I help ye? Lady Lilias, is it?”

  Lilias nodded, feeling acutely self-conscious that Nash was not there and that she had no good reason to give this woman for why she was calling. She noted Nash’s mother did not ask her to sit down, and neither her tone nor her expression were welcoming. “Yes, Your Grace. I have business to discuss with your son.”

  The duchess’s mouth pulled into a pucker of obvious annoyance. “What business is that?” Lilias’s mind went blank and her mouth went dry, and the duchess’s eyes narrowed, then widened. “Ye’re the girl from the Cotswolds!” It was said as an accusation.

  “Yes,” Lilias replied. “I knew your son from the Cotswolds. He, the Earl of Blackwood, and I were friends.”

  “Ye,” she said, pointing at Lilias, “must be what lured him from the house at unspeakable hours of the night.”

  Lilias winced. “Is your son home?” she asked, feeling as if the situation with his mother was fast disintegrating. It was obvious the woman did not like her.

  “He is not. He is at supper with his betrothed.”

  She recoiled as if the duchess had slapped her. No. No. That could not be. Her heart refused to believe what his mother had just said. Lilias swallowed, anxiety tightening her throat. “Did you… Did you say your son was betrothed?”

  “Aye,” the woman replied, the word clipped. “So whatever business ye think ye have with my son, I daresay ye do not.”

  A tide of hopelessness washed over Lilias, threatening to pull her under. Betrothed. Had he done it simply to move on with his life? He’d said he wanted to let her go, that he had to. Heaven above, was this his way of doing so? Her legs felt suddenly too weak to keep her standing.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled and blindly pushed her way out of the room.

  The butler was there, hovering just outside the door. No doubt Nash’s mother had instructed him that Lilias would not be staying long. It took all her reserve to hold back her tears as the butler led her out and assured her he would inform Guinevere that she was ready to depart.

  Once outside, Lilias started walking. She didn’t even know where she was going, but she knew she could not stand in front of Nash’s house where his mother could look out a window and see Lilias sobbing. Nor did she want to be lurking there if he happened to come home early. She had no notion what to say, what to do. She wanted to fight for him, for them, but if Nash had taken this step, she feared the guilt he already carried would not allow him to break his promise to the woman he was to wed. Lilias’s step faltered as she realized she didn’t even know to whom he was betrothed.

  “Lilias!”

  She turned at the sound of Guinevere’s voice and her gig upon the street. Her friend was upon her in moments. “What on earth, Lilias? Where are you going? Why—” Guinevere’s mouth slipped open, and she scrambled down from the gig, grabbing Lilias by the arms. “Why are you crying? What did that man say to you?”

  Despite the sorrow drowning her, Lilias smiled at her sweet friend and how incensed she sounded on Lilias’s behalf. “That man,” she said, swiping at the tears that would not stop, “was not even home. His mother told me he was having supper at his betrothed’s home.”

  “What?” Guinevere gasped. “No! No, that cannot be. I don’t believe it.”

  Lilias frowned. There was that bit of oddness from earlier in her friend’s voice again. “Why do you not believe it? I told you of the guilt I believe he lives with, and he told me he wanted to let me go. I suppose this is his way of doing it,” she said, sobbing again.

  “How would he even have time to become betrothed?” Guinevere muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Asher would have said something, I’m certain of it. Though, I suppose there is the slightest chance he might not have. He’s been very mum about what they discuss because he owes Greybourne some sort of life debt, and apparently the man demanded payment in the form of Asher not speaking to me about the duke. It’s all been so tedious. I’ve had to work very hard to learn anything about Greybourne, and—”

  “Guinevere!” Lilias interrupted. “What are you talking about? What have you learned?”

  “Well, for starters, your uncle did not give your mother the Cotswold home. Greybourne purchased it from him for an exorbitant sum so you and your family would not have to leave!”

  She stared at Guinevere for a moment, speechless, and her heart exploded. “Nash purchased the home?”

  Guinevere nodded, grinning. “And he paid all your father’s debts. I heard Asher and Nash discussing the particulars of how Nash could do it and ensure he remained anonymous. I vow I think my husband wanted me to hear. He knows my habit of eavesdropping at doors, and he took no obvious precautions such as having the conversation outside or when I was not at home. Greybourne loves you. He must if he’s done these things for you.”

  Lilias could hardly believe it. She was alternately joyous and terrified. She believed he loved her, though he’d never said those three words. Yet, what he’d told her outside the club that night seemed to indicate it. His actions then, and his actions in regard to her uncle, her home, and her father’s debt, certainly indicated love, so how could he get betrothed?

  You did.

  She groaned, her jaw clenching, and her hands curling into fists.

  “Let’s go to my home and talk to Asher,” Guinevere said. “He will know if Greybourne is betrothed, and perhaps he can help you get through to the man.”

  Lilias shook her head. “I don’t want you to put Carrington in that position. If he promised Nash he’d not talk to you about this matter, then he should keep his promise. I don’t want to be the cause of Nash losing another friend.” She had already cost Nash his friendship with Owen.

  “Then what are you going to do?” Guinevere demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Lilias said helplessly. “I need time to contemplate it all.” Her head pounded, and her heart ached. “I think I’ll walk home.”

  “Lilias, no. Let me drive you.”

  Lilias shook her head. “It’s not far. I’ve done it before.” Of course, Nash had been following her then. He’d followed her to ensure she was safe, supposedly for Owen’s sake, but she knew now it had been because he’d wanted to ensure she was safe for her own sake. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away, seeing another gig headed down the lane toward them.

  “Lilias Honeyfield, I refuse to allow you to walk home alone. I—”

  “On second thought,” Lilias said as the driver of the oncoming gig came into perfect view and she realized it was the Marquess of Kilgore, “I don’t think I’ll be going home just yet.”

  With that, she held up her hand to wave Kilgore to a stop. As the rogue slowed his gig to a halt in front of her and Guinevere, Guinevere’s eyes narrowed upon Lilias. “What is this about? Are you going to try to make Greybourne come to his senses by using Kilgore?”

  “That’s quite the intriguing proposition without even a hello,” Kilgore said, a suggestive grin coming to his handsome face.

  “I have no intention of using you to make Greybourne jealous,” she said, her mind turning. She didn’t know where Nash was, and her heart and head were a mess. She needed something else to concentrate on at the moment, and
her unfinished mission to secure the manuscript from Mr. Levine was the perfect thing. A chapter of that manuscript had to be about Kilgore if Mr. Levine intended to see it published to gain revenge on the marquess, so Kilgore should be motivated to help her retrieve it. Besides, she highly suspected Kilgore was a man well acquainted with guilt. Perhaps some time alone with him and some conversation would give her some thoughts on how to reach Nash before he was lost to her forever.

  “Well, that’s rather disappointing,” he said, his voice like silk. “I rather enjoyed the idea of being used by you.”

  She studied him for a long moment. The way his mouth curved in a bored half smile. The seemingly carefree way he lounged on his seat. But he was not carefree. He was tense. His left hand clutched his thigh, and his right foot tapped. Kilgore was a man who wanted her and everyone else to think he was no good. She’d play along—for now.

  “Don’t fret,” she said. “I do intend to use you.”

  “Lilias!” Guinevere gasped.

  Lilias smiled reassuringly at her friend. “Don’t worry, dearest. I intend to use Kilgore to help me solve a problem he has somewhat helped create.” With that, she launched into a quick explanation of the manuscript by Helen Levine and her brother’s refusal to return it. She also mentioned what he had said at the Orcus Society: it wasn’t about money but about striking Kilgore in the heart.

  When she finished, she studied him. “Do you know to what he was referring?”

  “Yes,” Kilgore said, his face as tight as the one word. “I—” He glanced at them both almost apologetically. “It’s not fit for a lady’s ears.”

  “I’m not much of a ‘lady’ in the prim-and-proper sense so do go on. That is—” Lilias cast a look at Guinevere, whose face was alight with eagerness, “if Guinevere will not be shocked,” she finished, feeling sure Guinevere would not care, but Lilias was compelled to allow her friend to decide for herself.

  “Ha!” Guinevere pronounced. “You know better! Both of you do. Do tell us, Kilgore.”

  A breeze blew and ruffled Kilgore’s dark hair off his forehead to reveal a white scar down the right side. It appeared to start at his hairline and stop midway to his eyebrow. He touched his forefinger to the scar and appeared lost in the past for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and spoke. “I take it you have not read Helen’s manuscript?”

  Lilias and Guinevere both shook their heads, to which Kilgore nodded. “As I have not, either, so some of this is speculation, but it is grounded, I believe, in facts. “I have never touched Helen in my life, but I have an enemy who was her client, and I have no doubt he did not pay her what he promised. He very likely has a scathing chapter in her book.”

  “And this would be…?” Lilias asked.

  Kilgore’s gaze locked on Guinevere, and he raised his eyebrows. “You know,” he said quietly.

  “Oh!” Guinevere exclaimed, and when Lilias looked at her, she was goggling at Kilgore. “Are you referring to Asher’s brother?”

  “Indeed,” Kilgore answered. “Talbot met with Helen a great deal, and I would not be surprised if he spoke too freely in the throes of passion, and after, about his many schemes and goings on. As you likely know, one of which involved me and a certain wager on the books at White’s.”

  “Oh goodness,” Lilias said as her mind pulled the threads together. She knew the wager on White’s books of which Kilgore spoke had involved Lady Constantine. “You think there is a chapter in the book that must give details of you and Lady Constantine.”

  Kilgore’s jaw was like flint, and the flicker of fury in his eyes was so intense in the moment before his lashes fell that gooseflesh rose on her arms. “I do,” he ground out. “But you must believe me that Lady Constantine is a woman above reproach. She would not allow the likes of me to touch her with even the longest pole I could find.”

  The statement was emphatic, and Lilias did not know what was true, nor was it truly her concern. The matter was private and should stay that way. “Why would Helen write a chapter that would hurt you?”

  “I do not think it would have been intended to hurt me. I think she intended to hurt Talbot. He pursued Lady Constantine, and she turned him down, and he undoubtedly said something to the effect that she was not so pure, that she and I—” He stopped and sucked in a ragged breath. “I could swear it to be lies, but no one would care. And it is already whispered about, bandied around in Society.”

  “This book would make it seem as fact,” Guinevere said. “And Lady Constantine’s ruin would be official.”

  A strangled sound of pain came from Kilgore. “Yes.”

  “So now we understand how Mr. Levine intends to strike at you,” Lilias said.

  The three of them stood there for a moment, the unspoken truth that hurting Lady Constantine would be a death blow to Kilgore hanging between them.

  “But why?” Lilias asked.

  A dark smile tilted up the corner of Kilgore’s lips ever so slightly. “I recently gave him a thrashing he richly deserved and likely will never forget, and then I helped a woman he claimed to love flee him and disappear. He thought to show his love for her with his fists, and I thought to give him justice. In his twisted mind, he thinks I seduced her away from him. So I suppose now he is coming for me.”

  “Kilgore!” Lilias exclaimed. “You are rather like a hero.”

  “No,” he said flatly, “I am not. Pray, don’t ever forget it.”

  She didn’t know why he hated himself so much, but it was quite obvious he did. Now was not the time to unravel that coil, however. “Do you know where Mr. Levine lives?”

  “Why?” Guinevere demanded.

  Lilias ignored her friend, as did Kilgore, his gaze boring into Lilias. “Yes. He lives in St. Giles.”

  Lilias was somehow not surprised to hear that Mr. Levine lived in the most notorious rookery in London. Many families there were hardworking, but there were also pickpockets and criminals aplenty crammed into slum-like housing where the poorest, most unfortunate souls often turned to crime in desperation.

  Kilgore arched his dark eyebrows. “Shall we go there now and see if we can retrieve the manuscript? I happen to know a bit about Mr. Levine’s nighty routine.”

  Lilias didn’t doubt it. Kilgore was quite clearly a man of many layers, and it seemed one of them might by spying.

  “No!” Guinevere exclaimed, but Lilias nodded at Kilgore. Guinevere grabbed Lilias’s hand and jerked her around so they were face-to-face. “Dearest, no! I’m for going, as well, but not without Asher. He would be livid if I went into St. Giles without him. I shudder to think on it.”

  “You should not go,” Lilias said. “I quite agree that Carrington would be beyond reason, but I do not have a husband.” And she no longer had a man to whom she was betrothed, either. She had only herself, and she had no doubt that Kilgore could protect her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’ve been looking for ye,” Carrington said, pulling out the chair beside Nash in the Gold Room of the Orcus Society. The game of vingt-et-un had just ended and another was not set to start for a few minutes.

  “Well, you’ve found me,” Nash replied, shoving his cards toward the dealer, who quickly took them.

  “Dennington,” Carrington said to the dealer, “give me a few minutes alone with Greybourne.”

  The man immediately nodded, set down the cards he’d been about to shuffle, and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Wariness settled heavy on Nash. “If this is about Lady Lilias…” Carrington had been very vocal about how he thought Nash was making a mistake. Nash didn’t have the patience for it tonight. It had been a devil of a long one already.

  He’d gone to Dr. Balfour’s house to appease his mother, but he’d known the moment he met Eloise Balfour that he could never wed her or any woman. He could not pledge to hold another woman in his heart besides Lilias, especially not before God. It would not be true.

  “It is about Lady Lilias but not as ye think. Sh
e sent a missive to Guinevere this morning, and Guinevere told me Lady Lilias has broken her betrothal to Blackwood. And Greybourne, Blackwood lied to ye. Lady Lilias did not kiss him on the balcony that night at the ball. He kissed her. She told Guinevere so.”

  A queer buzzing filled Nash’s ears for a moment, then darkness started at the edges of his vision, blotting out everything but a pinpoint of light. In that light was an image of Owen. His supposed friend had purposely lied to him. Nash would find him and kill him. No, no. Murdering a peer would keep Nash separated from Lilias, and nothing, nothing, could keep him from her now. Not after learning of this betrayal. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was rising and shoving his chair back to go to her. She needed him, and he needed her. And in this moment, everything else paled in comparison to the news Carrington had relayed. Owen was a liar. Owen was not Thomas, not anything like Thomas, who had been good and honest. What else had Owen lied about? Rage seared Nash’s veins. He’d been so consumed by guilt, so determined to live a life of penance that he had hurt Lilias, almost forced her to wed someone she didn’t love.

  He was at the door when a thought struck, and he stilled. “She may not have me,” he said, more to himself than Carrington.

  His friend answered, anyway. “I would wager my entire fortune that she will have ye.”

  Nash tugged a hand through his hair, doubt rising. “She doesn’t know everything.” He told Carrington then about the horse race with Owen and then about his brother and the ice. Shame curled within him.

  “Good God, Greybourne. Those things were not yer fault. Letting Lady Lilias slip through yer fingers will be yer fault, but yer brother charging ye on the ice was not. Ye tried to save him, didn’t ye?”

  “God, yes.” Nash stared down at his hands, a memory tickling the back of his mind, but before he could delve into it, the door to the Gold Room burst open and Owen stalked in, his uneven gait more pronounced at his clipped pace.

  “You,” he snarled, pointing his cane at Nash. “You took her from me!” He started toward Nash, but Carrington stepped in front of him to block his path.