by Shana Galen
Warrick nodded. He had no interest in Lady Edith, but he would admit there was a part of him that wanted to reconcile with his father. He missed their chats, the closeness they’d once shared, the easiness between them when walking in the country. And, truth be told, he missed his family. He’d been alone for a long time. Now he wanted to be part of something again.
“What are you proposing?”
“I am hosting a ball in a few days. Surely you received the invitation.”
“Mama.” He groaned. He detested balls.
“Just listen. I have invited Lady Edith. Come to the ball. Reconcile with your father. Dance with Lady Edith. Your father will be so pleased. He does not say it, but he misses you terribly.”
Warrick nodded. How could he refuse?
***
Fallon moved back toward the stairs and began the long walk to her room. She didn’t know why hearing Lady Winthorpe discuss the woman she hoped Fitzhugh would marry disturbed her, but it did. Perhaps because she knew she would never be good enough. Perhaps because she knew his mother would never accept her.
And who cared? She didn’t want to be accepted by his mother. She didn’t want to have anything further to do with him. But though she’d stormed out and said she was leaving, she wasn’t so much a fool as to actually go. She knew she was in a veritable fortress here, and she wasn’t taking the chance that Gabriel or her father’s men were waiting for her on the outside.
Still, she would have liked to go home. And she would have liked to get her hands on a copy of the Morning Chronicle. She imagined the Cytherian Intelligence column was rife with stories about Mr. F— carrying the Marchioness of Mystery out of Lord A—’s ball over his shoulder.
She reached her bedchamber and dismissed the maids straightening it. She was only going to climb back into bed anyway.
She could kill Fitzhugh. She really could. The problem was that she also wanted to kiss him. And at this point, why not? Everyone thought they were lovers anyway. It wasn’t as though she had a reputation to protect. She pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes.
She knew him now. He wouldn’t reveal her past to the ton. He wasn’t that kind of man. He might threaten it. He might even do his worst in order to get what he wanted. She understood this wasn’t just about him. He was trying to save lives, trying to find a murderer. But she knew him well enough to know he was a rarity.
Fitzhugh was a true gentleman. She might accuse him of being otherwise, but he wasn’t going to intentionally sully a lady’s reputation. Even if the lady in question wasn’t really a lady at all.
She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. She was tired. His screams last night had woken her from a deep sleep, and after seeing him, she’d only snatched a few restless hours. What had he been dreaming about? He’d been drenched with sweat and white as a ghost. But that hadn’t startled her as much as the trembling. She’d never seen a man shake like that. What had scared him so much?
Where had he been? What had he done?
And why did she want to hold him and find a way to make it all go away?
A knock sounded on her door, and she sighed. “Go away, Fitzhugh. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“It isn’t Mr. Fitzhugh, miss,” a female voice said. “It’s Kitty, the maid.”
Fallon frowned. “Come in.”
Kitty poked her head in the door. “You have a visitor, miss. I told her you were indisposed, but she insisted I tell you she was here.”
Fallon covered her face with the sheet. “Don’t tell me it’s Lady Sinclair.”
“No, miss. It’s another like you.”
Fallon lowered the sheets. “Like me? You mean a courtesan?”
“She said she was the Countess of Charm.”
Fallon laughed. “Lily. Yes, send her up.”
“To your bedroom, miss?”
“Yes.” Fallon supposed she was shocking the servants as well as Fitzhugh’s family. Now they had not only one fallen woman but two in their hallowed halls. She sat and tried to do something with her hair and then abandoned the effort. This was Lily. They’d seen each other looking far worse.
The door opened and Lily popped in. Fallon had rarely seen her auburn-haired friend without a spring in her step. Lily wore an apple-green dress with cream stripes and a matching hat. Lily almost always wore green or blue. She said those colors complimented her eyes. “There you are!” She immediately engulfed Fallon in an embrace. As usual, Lily smelled like apples and something else clean and wholesome. Lily leaned back and looked into Fallon’s eyes. “You poor darling. Tell me what’s going on.”
Fallon smiled. She had never known anyone as sweet-natured as Lily. With her freckles and dimples, she looked like she should be working on someone’s farm. But Juliette had been the farmer’s daughter. Lily, like Fallon, grew up in the city. Not London. Lily was from York, and Fallon could still hear a bit of the North in her speech. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful. Her face was a bit too round, her hair a bit too bright, and her smile a bit too wide. But she was pretty. She was the kind of pretty that when she smiled men forgot she wasn’t beautiful and fell in love with her anyway.
“How did you find me?” Fallon asked.
“I have my ways.”
Fallon groaned. “Don’t tell me my presence here is in the papers.”
“Give me more credit than that!” She pulled off her gloves and reached into her reticule. “Here is a copy of the Chronicle.”
Fallon turned right to the page and scanned the story. It was just as she expected. “I suppose it could be worse.”
“I don’t see how. The man literally carried you out of Alvanley’s ball over his shoulder, as though you were a sack of potatoes. A well-dressed sack of potatoes, of course.” She patted Fallon’s hand. “I don’t know Mr. Fitzhugh well.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew him at all.”
Lily waved her hand, dismissing the statement much quicker than Fallon preferred. “But he isn’t the type to make such displays. Fallon, are you in some sort of trouble?”
Fallon stared at Lily. “No. Well, perhaps. How do you know anything about Mr. Fitzhugh?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets.”
Fallon didn’t doubt it. She’d once seen Lily staring at a miniature of a little boy and weeping. But that sort of secret was nothing like Fitzhugh’s type of secret. “It’s my father,” Fallon said.
“I thought your parents were dead.”
“My father is apparently alive.”
“Is he trying to blackmail you?”
“No.” Fitzhugh had taken care of that himself. “But he’s not altogether a nice man, and Fitzhugh wanted to protect me.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough.
“Well, you’re in good hands.” Lily patted Fallon’s arm.
“How do you know that? I fail to see how you can know so much about Mr. Fitzhugh.”
“I like to know a little bit about everyone.” This was true. Lily did seem to have a nose for all the best gossip and knew every scandal before the papers ever did. Sometimes before those involved even did! “What can I do? Are you comfortable here? Can I bring you anything?”
“No. I’m—actually I’d like another change of clothing.”
Lily brightened. She loved being useful. “What sort?”
“Something dark.”
“Something seductive?” Lily raised her brows.
“No.” Fallon laughed. “It’s not like that.”
“Why not? Fitzhugh is just your type. He’s not too pretty, and he scares me half to pieces. Never mind. I shall have something sent right over.” She pulled her gloves on, and Fallon caught her wrist.
“Lily, don’t go yourself. Send one of your servants or a note to one of mine.”
She nodded. “I’ll be careful. Now, I must
be off!”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting Lord Darlington in the park.”
“Darlington? I thought he was away and in mourning for his mother.”
“He’s just back in Town, and I hope to cheer him up.” Lily glanced at herself in the cheval mirror and righted her bonnet.
“How will you do that?”
“Why, remind him of the bet he and Juliette made, of course. He promised to stand on his head if the Duke of Pelham attended Prinny’s ball. I’m going to collect for Juliette.”
“She’ll be ever so appreciative.”
Lily shrugged. “She may not care, but I do.” She gave Fallon another hug. “Be careful, and don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything else you need.” With a quick kiss on the cheek, she was gone.
In Lily’s haste, she hadn’t closed the door completely. Fallon moved to do so, but a hand on the wood prevented it. She followed the hand to the arm and then to the man.
Fitzhugh smiled. “Good. You’re alone.” He stepped inside and closed the door. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
Twelve
There was something about seeing her in a bedchamber that fired his blood. Really, seeing her at any time and in any place fired his blood, but when she was standing directly in front of a rather large tester bed, he couldn’t help but imagine her splayed on it, her hair fanned out in all its sable glory and her body gloriously naked.
“I didn’t invite you in,” she said. “I have nothing to discuss with you. And do not try to leave me behind when you travel to The Merry Widow tonight.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” His agreement was too easily given.
“Fallon, trust me. I am amenable to taking you as long as you agree to stay out of sight.” He stepped closer, and that was a mistake. He could reach out and touch her easily at this distance, and he couldn’t quite stop imagining doing so.
“Why must I hide?”
“Because if Bayley gets the chance, he’ll grab you. He can use you to get to me, and I can’t give him any leverage. I need to know who is behind this assassination plot. I have to find the leader. That’s the only chance I have of saving… the rest of the Diamonds in the Rough.”
She narrowed her eyes. She was no fool, and she knew he’d almost slipped and given her a name. “All right. I understand that well enough, but how could my father use me to get to you?”
He shook his head. “Do you really still not know?” He did touch her now. He took her hands in his and raised one to his lips, brushing his mouth over her soft fingers.
She watched him, looking perplexed. “Know what?”
“That I’m in love with you, Fallon.” He kissed her fingertips. “That I think about you all the time.” He took one of her fingers in his mouth and sucked lightly. She took a quick, sharp breath. “That I want you.”
“Why are you saying this?”
He laughed. Before Fallon, he had never been inept at making a woman know he wanted her. Of course, he’d never told a woman he was in love with her before. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps he was doing it wrong. “I’m saying it because it’s what I feel.” He cupped the back of her neck and drew her gently to him. “And I think you feel some of it as well. Am I mistaken?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Do you want me?”
She hesitated. “Yes. I want you.” She moved to kiss him, but he put a finger on her lips.
“How are your ribs?”
“What? Oh, they’re fine.”
“Are you still wearing the bindings?”
“Is this really what you wish to discuss at the moment?” A line had appeared between her eyebrows, and she looked slightly annoyed.
“Humor me.”
“Yes, I’m still wearing the bindings. They help.”
“Then we’ll have to be careful.”
“Careful? When?”
“When we do this.” He scooped her into his arms and kissed her, moving toward the bed. She gasped in surprise and then kissed him back.
“Put me down,” she murmured against his lips.
“Your wish is my command.” He set her gently in the center of the bed and climbed in beside her, kissing her again, pressing his body to hers, careful not to put any pressure on her rib cage.
She kissed him back, her hands twining in his hair then moving to his shoulders to pull him harder against her. “I want to feel you,” she whispered. “Skin on skin.”
“We’re both wearing too many clothes,” he said.
She looked down and laughed. “You’re still wearing your boots. Kitty will have my head if you spread dirt on the counterpane.”
“Kitty is going to be too busy untangling these sheets and remaking the bed to worry about a small detail like that.” He kissed her throat.
“Oh my,” she murmured. “That sounds quite scandalous.”
“Only if we do it right.” He reached her gauze fichu and let his tongue trail over the soft material until he reached the swells of her breasts. Then he pulled the gauze out and watched it flutter to the floor. He kissed her skin, training his tongue over the soft flesh, already pebbling from arousal and the cool air. “I suppose this is one of those gowns with dozens of intricate fastenings.”
“Just push up my skirts,” she said.
He frowned down at her. “I don’t think so. Now that I have you, I want to do this properly.”
“Warrick.” Her voice was breathless. “I don’t want to wait.”
“I’ll make it worth the wait. I want to see you.” He rolled off her and held out a hand to help her stand. With a huff, she rose and offered him her back. Why did these gowns have such dainty hooks and eyes? His fingers felt monstrous and clumsy beside them.
“You know, the more I stand here and think about this, the more I think it a bad idea.”
“Then stop thinking,” he said between clenched teeth as his hands fumbled with the fastenings. He got the dress open then sighed at the stays. Why did women have to wear so many layers?
“Perhaps we should keep a professional relationship.”
“Our relationship was never professional. I wanted you the first time I saw you.”
She turned to look at him. “You hid it well. I made quite the effort to seduce you.”
“Turn back around.” When she complied and he was unlacing her stays again, he said, “No, you didn’t. You were seducing a man. Not me. You didn’t know me at all.”
“I feel I hardly know you now.”
There! He pushed the gown down to her ankles and tugged the stays off. She stood in only her chemise and petticoat. Those were easy garments of which to divest her. “Do you want to know me? Know my secrets?”
She looked as though she wasn’t certain. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Here’s one secret.” He undid her petticoat and let it fall to the floor. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
She sighed. “Fitzhugh…”
He cupped her chin. “Call me Warrick.” He kissed her softly. “And it’s true.” He kissed her soft cheek then moved to her neck, tracing a gentle path to her shoulder. There, he slipped the sleeve of her chemise off and let it fall down her arm.
“Tell me something about you. Something no one else knows,” she said.
He paused and glanced up at her face. There were so many things no one knew about him. Things he didn’t want anyone to know. Things he was not proud of.
“You know my real name. You know all about me.” She began to undress him now, loosening his cravat and tugging his coat off his shoulders. “I think it’s only fair.”
“You’re right, of course, but most of my secrets aren’t the kind of thing one speaks of before going to bed. They’ll give you nightmares or turn your stomach.”
She nodded, unbuttoning his shirt and then pulling it over his head. “What about this scar here?” She touched a white gash that began in the center of his chest and continued to his flank, along his rib cage. It had long ago healed, but when she touched it, it felt hot once again.
“War wound,” he said. “Bayonet.”
“Bayonet?” She stood back and looked at him. His gaze traveled to the neck of her chemise. One sleeve was down to her elbow, and the curve of her creamy breasts was exposed. He wanted to slip the silk down farther and cup her. “Shouldn’t you be dead?”
“It was a glancing blow, fortunately for me. I was on horseback and jogged at just the right time.”
“Were you fighting? I thought you were a spy.”
“Spies don’t always sneak around behind the action. Sometimes we have to cross battle lines. I happened to be crossing at a particularly bad time.”
“But you made it across.”
“I did. Honestly, I didn’t even feel the wound until I was off my mount. War is like that. The excitement numbs the pain.”
“And what happened to the man who bayoneted you?”
He looked down, the image flashing across his mind as though it had happened mere moments ago.
“Warrick!” Suddenly, Fallon was beside him, and he realized he was on his knees on the floor. She knelt and cupped his face in her hands. “What is it? You were fine and then all of a sudden you sank to the floor.” She rose hastily and poured water from the pitcher on the bedside table. “All the color has gone out of your face. Shall I call for your man?”
“No.” He grabbed her arm and held tightly. “Just give me a moment.” He sipped the water and took deep breaths. Gradually, his hands regained some feeling, and he noted the softness of her skin under his fingertips. He would concentrate on that, he thought. He would think of her silky skin and her low, husky voice, and he wouldn’t be back on the battlefield. Fallon would keep him grounded.
“As I said, I chose to cross battle lines at an inopportune moment.”
“Are there any good moments?”
He smiled at her and sipped the cool water. “Yes, when the two sides are sleeping. And, in fact, it was early morning, and I thought several hours until fighting would begin again. But I happened to cross at a spot close to where a small skirmish was taking place. As I was moving through a field, a flood of redcoats came running over the hills.”