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

by Julie Johnstone

  “Let him pass,” Nash said to Carrington as Nash concentrated on the man he wanted to throttle.

  Carrington immediately moved, and Owen shoved a chair out of his way, knocking it over in his haste to stand in front of Nash. “You vowed not to pursue her,” Owen spat, his face turning red and his expression twisting.

  “I kept my vow,” Nash said, his own fury climbing.

  “She’s mine!” Owen roared, pushing Nash in the chest. “And if I cannot have her, I’ll ensure you don’t, either.”

  The threat snapped the last thread of control Nash possessed. He reared back and hit Owen in the jaw, shutting him up and sending the man staggering backward and falling onto his arse. Nash’s pulse thumped in his ears as he came to stand over Owen, who was struggling to get back up. Nash raised his foot and pressed the man down to his back. “Make no mistake, Owen. I’ll kill you if you so much as touch a hair on Lilias’s head or dare to ever kiss her again. You lied about her kissing you on the balcony. You manipulated me, and now I know it.”

  His nostrils flared as he stared down at the man he’d almost helped wed the woman Nash loved. “Do not go near her,” he managed through clenched teeth. “She’s broken her betrothal to you, and made her wishes known, and if you cause her one more second of pain, I’ll cause you a lifetime of it.”

  “Get off me!” Owen demanded, trying to knock Nash’s foot away but not succeeding. “She can’t love someone like you! I did everything right. I was there for her! I stayed by her side for seven years listening to her carry on about you, pine over—”

  “What?” Nash interrupted, realization hitting him full force. He leaned down, grabbed a fistful of Owen’s overcoat and yanked him up. “You told me she never asked about me.” His head pounded with the understanding of just how much Owen had manipulated him through the years. A fury, like he’d never felt, pulsed through him. He’d practically carved out his heart to step aside for Owen to win Lilias. He reared his fist back to punch Owen again, but a woman’s voice rang out, freezing him mid-motion.

  “You!” Asher’s wife bellowed, coming into the room in a swirl of silk. She pointed a finger at Nash. “How dare you betroth yourself to another woman and break my friend’s heart all over again! Your actions will be her undoing! She’s gone and run off with Kilgore!”

  Lilias sat on the seat of Kilgore’s gig, shivering as he drove them deeper into St. Giles. As the gig bumped over the dirt road turned to slush by the earlier heavy rain and the fog grew thicker, the night took on an ominous air and she began to doubt her decision. But she could not turn back now. Kilgore was here, and she did not see how she could manage this confrontation in the daylight. Someone might see her.

  Though the hour was late, people loitered on the street, and as Lilias and Kilgore passed them in the gig, she studied them. The women were selling their wares, and many of the people sitting against ramshackle buildings with blankets pulled up around them likely did not have homes. But it wasn’t all gloomy. Several corners blazed with light, and when they passed a building where music flowed out into the cool night air, Kilgore told her it was a gaming hell.

  The houses grew closer to one another and smaller as they moved into the underbelly of St. Giles, and the stench of garbage made Lilias cover her mouth with her hand.

  Kilgore handed her a handkerchief as he drove the gig. “For the smell.”

  She nodded gratefully and took it from him, and then said, her voice muffled from the cloth, “Shall we go over the plan again?”

  “Yes. Levine should not be home. He always gambles at the Cross and Crown on Saturday night until nearly dawn. But regardless, I have my pistol with me.” Kilgore lifted his right leg, and she gazed down with a mixture of relief and concern. She’d never gone on a mission as dangerous as this one was working out to be, but she would not turn back now.

  “How will you get in if the door is locked?” She only now thought to ask.

  Kilgore laughed, but it was a mirthless sound. “Let’s just say I learned long ago how to get out of rooms in which I had been locked.”

  She nodded, repressing the urge to ask him about it. The mysteries of Kilgore would have to wait until this mission was complete.

  “You will keep watch on the corner by Clyde’s Pub, which is a stone’s throw from Levine’s house, while I try to find the manuscript inside his home, assuming it is even there,” Kilgore continued. “There is always a line of vendor carts there, and you will hide behind those. If you should see Levine coming, give the bird call so I’m prepared for him but he’s not alerted to my presence. If I have not found the manuscript, I’ll confront him about it with my pistol in hand.”

  She nodded, feeling fairly secure in their plan. Kilgore had told her he made it his business to know what his enemies were up to so that was why he knew Mr. Levine’s routine. And thank goodness he did!

  “Let me hear the bird call again,” he demanded.

  She gave it, pleased with how loud it was.

  “You’re as good at it as any man I’ve ever worked with.”

  “Do you care to expand?” she asked, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill that was settling into her bones.

  “No,” he replied. “Some stories are best left buried.”

  “What if the manuscript is not there and we cannot persuade Mr. Levine to give it to us?” Lilias asked, nibbling on her lip and staring down at the pretty new gloves that Nash had bought for her. Nash, who might be betrothed to someone else.

  A dark chuckle came from Kilgore. “Lady Lilias, there are always ways to persuade men to part with things they don’t wish to. But don’t fret about that now. We’re here.”

  She followed his pointed finger and felt her mouth slip open at the dark, tiny, dilapidated house that was Mr. Levine’s residence. And she had thought her life was hard! Shame rolled over her. She knew nothing of true poverty, but tomorrow, she was going to do something about that. Somehow, she was going to help those less fortunate. Mr. Levine had not started out wicked. He had come into the world pure, as all babies do, and the circumstances of his life had molded him. That was no excuse for the things he had done, of course, but it did make her wonder how the Mr. Levines of the world could turn out if they had more of a chance.

  Kilgore pulled the gig up to the pub. Though the door was closed, laughter and bawdy songs flowed from the tiny establishment. Light illuminated it, and Lilias could see men in dirty work clothes and women dressed to catch the men’s attention all packed inside, tankards raised and smiles on their faces. It was not all sadness here, and that lifted Lilias’s gloom just a bit.

  After Kilgore secured the gig, he helped her down. Her slippers sank into a layer of slosh that made disgust roil in her stomach as he led her to the vendor carts. Just as he’d said, there were five of them lined up on the street.

  “What are these for exactly?” she asked.

  “Oh, most of the people who live here don’t know how to cook, nor do they have the means to do so in their homes, so the vendors sell food.”

  “For a peer, you know a great deal about life in St. Giles.”

  “As I said, I make it my business to know my enemies.”

  Somehow she thought it was more than that, but again, questions would have to wait.

  Kilgore’s hand came to her shoulder. “I’ll open the window as soon as I get in the house so I will be sure to hear your bird call.”

  She nodded, her heartbeat increasing now that their plan was about to come to fruition.

  “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone,” he said, winking at her. And then he withdrew his pistol, straightened, and made his way to the front door of Mr. Levine’s home.

  It was thirty steps from where she was, exactly as he had said it would be. He knocked with his pistol raised, and when the door remained closed, she exhaled with relief. She gasped in admiration as Kilgore made quick work of getting past whatever lock Mr. Levine surely had in place. The door opened and closed behind Kilgore, and she wa
s left to wait.

  Anxiousness turned in her stomach, and her palms grew damp as she stared at the dark house, willing him to hurry. Something rustled by her feet, startling her, then that same something scampered across her foot. Shock made a scream rise swiftly, but she clamped her teeth down and kicked her feet to rid herself of what had to be a rat. To her horror, however, instead of kicking the rat away, the creature seemed to multiply in the dim light, and squeaking sounds rose from the ground. As the rustling increased, she could just make out a stream of rats flooding out of one of the carts. She did scream then, slapping a palm over her mouth and scampering back, away from the cart and straight into something solid.

  Her pulse exploded as steely arms encircled her, and a deep, rough voice said, “Hello, Mrs. Artemis.”

  Just as she opened her mouth to scream yet again, Mr. Levine’s door banged open across the street and Kilgore charged from the home roaring, pistol raised.

  Mr. Levine jerked her roughly against him, one arm releasing her and the other locking her in place. A blade suddenly shimmered in the moonlight, and then the sharp point of it came to her throat, and she cried out in fear.

  “I’ll slit her throat if you don’t lower your pistol,” Mr. Levine called out, and when Kilgore took another step toward them, to her relief, Mr. Levine jerked the blade away from her throat. But it was short lived as the dagger glinted above her for a moment before the heavy handle met her skull and darkness descended.

  Nash drove the gig hell-bent on reaching Lilias. Beside him, Carrington held on, which was wise. Nash took the turns to St. Giles at a pace that caused alarm to slither through him, but he did not slow down. As the roads grew narrower and the stench increased, so did his fear. It had seeped into every part of him as Carrington’s wife had told him of Lilias’s latest mission with Kilgore. If anything happened to Lilias, Nash didn’t know what he would do, who he would hate the most—himself for denying them for so long, his mother for lying to Lilias and telling her he was betrothed to Miss Balfour, or Kilgore for agreeing to accompany Lilias into the rookery at night to steal from a man Nash sensed was unstable.

  The fog was pervasive tonight, making seeing conditions deplorable, and as he rounded the dark corner where Clyde’s Pub was, a man appeared from the thick, white mist and staggered toward them. Nash had to pull back sharply on the horse’s reins in order to avoid running the man down. “Get the hell out of the way!” he yelled at the drunk, his blood pumping through him so fast all his senses were on fire.

  “Greybourne!” Carrington bit out. “That’s Kilgore!”

  Nash frowned, black fright sweeping over him because he did not see Lilias. Kilgore fell to one knee.

  “He’s injured,” Carrington said, but Nash was already out of the gig and closed the distance between him and Kilgore in a heartbeat. He reached for the marquess just as the man glanced up, and Nash froze. The left side of Kilgore’s face appeared wet in the moonlight, and the metallic smell of blood hit Nash’s nostrils. Kilgore had been cut, and a quick perusal also showed that he appeared to have been stabbed in his right leg.

  “Kilgore,” he said, gripping the man by the forearms. “It’s Greybourne.”

  “And Carrington,” the duke said, now standing by Nash.

  “I bloody well see you,” Kilgore panted, revealing the pain he was in when his whole body shuddered.

  “Who did this?” Nash asked, the light bright enough for a moment that he could see a long gash down the left side of Kilgore’s face.

  “Levine.” The one word came out as a curse. “He stabbed me in my leg, cut me across the face, and knocked me out. I awoke in his home with this on my chest.”

  Kilgore shoved a crumpled missive at Nash, but in the moonlight, Nash could not see what it said. “Tell me,” he ordered, fear rampant within him.

  “It says he’s going to use my woman for what I did.”

  Rage made Nash shake. “Lilias?” Kilgore nodded. “Why does Levine think Lilias is your woman? He just met her with me not long ago.”

  “She saved me,” Kilgore said, coughing. “He’d knocked her out and forced me into his home with her. He was going to kill me, but when she awoke, she pleaded for my life. She made up the most unbelievable tale right on the spot, and Levine believed her. She told him that she loved me and I loved her, and it would be much worse on me, much better vengeance, if Levine took her from me and left me alive.”

  Fury nearly stole his ability to speak. “Where did he take her?”

  “To my house,” he replied. “He thinks—” Kilgore swayed, and Nash gripped him more tightly. “He thinks that’s where I seduced the woman he claims to have loved.” Kilgore shook violently and coughed before he continued. “But all I did was shelter her there while making plans for her escape. That’s it.” He sucked in a ragged breath and swayed once more.

  “What of your servants? Won’t they stop—”

  “Don’t have any,” Kilgore choked out while shaking his head. “Levine knows.” He grabbed Nash’s overcoat, and Kilgore’s gaze clung to him. “He must have been studying me even as I watched him. I’m sorry,” Kilgore said, misery in his voice. “I thought myself so damn clever.”

  “Jesus,” Nash said, glancing to Carrington and then back at Kilgore. Worry clawed at him now, causing him to tremble as badly as Kilgore. “No one is there? No one is at your home to help Lilias?”

  “No,” Kilgore rasped. “My aunt is away at Bath.”

  The thoughts going through Nash’s head would drive him mad. He thrust Kilgore at Carrington. “Take Kilgore and get him help.”

  On a nod from Carrington, Nash left them both standing there and ascended the gig, praying he would get to Lilias before it was too late.

  Chapter Fourteen

  This was not how her story was supposed to end. Lilias jerked on her wrists once more, which were tied painfully tight to the bedposts of Kilgore’s bed. Her gaze darted across the candlelit room to the closed bedchamber door, and she yanked against her bindings repeatedly, the rope cutting into her skin, burning and causing her to whimper. But white-hot fear drove her to continue trying until warm blood trickled from her wrists. She was trapped.

  Her throat tightened with the need to scream her fear and rage, but she refused to give Levine the satisfaction of believing he’d broken her. She was a fool to have gone to his home, to have made up that ridiculous lie, but she’d been desperate to save Kilgore.

  Heaven above, Kilgore!

  Her stomach roiled recalling all the blood on his face and leg, and then her stomach heaved recalling how Levine had told her he intended to use her so Kilgore would have to spend the rest of his life tormented by images of Levine touching her. The man was insane!

  Heavy footsteps suddenly thudded on the stairs, and her pulse spiked as she began to yank again, wincing against the pain. Even if she didn’t care about Levine thinking he’d broken her spirit, it would do no good to yell. The house was utterly empty of servants. And by its exquisite furnishings, she didn’t think that had to do with a lack of funds, which meant Kilgore had sent everyone away to isolate himself.

  “Mrs. Artemis,” Levine called as the bedchamber door creaked open and he appeared in the threshold. “I’m here for you. Are you ready for me?”

  “You make me sick,” she cried out, frantic now and yanking on her wrists so hard that tears sprang to her eyes.

  Levine moved into the room, stripping off his clothing as he went. He threw his overcoat to the floor and yanked off his neckcloth. Lilias’s stomach clenched. She was going to be sick, but by heaven, if it was the last thing she did, she’d keep the contents of her stomach down until she could lose them all over Levine.

  He tugged off his boots, loosened his breeches, and offered her a sick, twisted grin. “You are far too overdressed, my dear. Let me help you.”

  The bed dipped with his weight, and she screamed with all her fear and frustration, kicking out at him. He let out a strange laugh, catching her ankles deftly a
nd yanking her legs apart. As she squeezed her eyes shut for the worst, a near inhuman roar filled the bedchamber. Her eyes flew open just in time to see Nash striding through the room like an angry god bent on destruction. He was upon Levine before the man could react, and he went flying backward—Nash having thrown him—and crashed into a set of chairs by the window. Then Nash turned, his massive shoulders heaving, and swallowed the distance between him and his prey.

  Lilias could not see to the other side of the room, but she heard the thunk of Nash’s fist against the man’s body, bone crunching, and moans of pain. “Nash!” she screamed. “Nash! Stop it. Stop it! He’s not worth the guilt if you kill him! I’m here. I need you!”

  Silence fell, then a moment of shuffling, followed by more groans from Levine. Heavy footsteps came toward her, and Nash appeared, agony twisting his face. He towered over her for a moment, then a string of curse words she’d never heard flowed from his mouth as he made quick work undoing her binds.

  “Lilias,” he said, his voice a cry of regret and need. He gathered her into his protective arms, bringing her to his chest and cradling her. “Lilias, my Lilias,” he said, then kissed her nose, her chin, her cheeks. He cupped her face and looked at her, his visage a mix of undeniable love and pain. Lilias’s heart pounded as he stared at her. “Did he—”

  “No!” she said, her voice breaking on a sob. “Is he dead? Did you—”

  “No. He’s tied up.”

  “Go on and kill me!” Levine bellowed.

  Instead of answering, Nash scooped her off the bed and carried her away from Levine and into the hall. He set her on her feet, his gaze holding hers. “We’ll deal with him soon enough.”

  She could not stop the smile from creeping onto her face and the hope filling her heart as he pressed her against his full, solid length. “We?”

  “Lilias.” His deep voice broke on her name. “God, I want to kiss you.”