by Shana Galen
“He’s in Town?” Colin asked.
“For the wedding,” Lila murmured. Rose’s parents were extremely wealthy, and King George IV had a tendency to overspend. He cultivated the good graces of wealthy families, receiving loans in return for using his influence in other ways.
“I believe the king and I will deal with the issue of Brook Derring.” The duke glanced at his pocket watch and rose. “I must be on my way. I wouldn’t want to keep His Majesty waiting.”
More likely he would be gone most of the day, kept waiting himself for hours on end. Lila watched him go, dread making her head pound with every footstep he took.
She looked at Colin. “What does he have planned?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think you’ll like it.”
“I can’t think Sir Brook will like it either.”
“He doesn’t like anything. Straight as they come and a dead bore.”
“What do you mean?” Lila leaned forward, interested despite herself. The impression she’d had of Brook Derring from the women of her acquaintance was that of a hero who could do no wrong. It surprised her that her brother should see him differently. “I thought he was a hero.”
“Yawn.” He brought his hand to his mouth and pretended to yawn. “He doesn’t gamble, rarely drinks more than a sip or two of brandy, and spends all his time in the rookeries—not for diversion either.”
Having recently escaped the rookeries and having seen firsthand the squalor and filth, Lila couldn’t think what diversions the slums held for any man, her brother included.
“And that’s not all,” Colin added. “The female population is falling all over him and his so-called heroic deeds.”
“Having been on the receiving end of his deeds, I’m inclined to think they are more fact than supposition.”
“Be that as it may, the man has his choice of women.”
The subject made Lila vaguely uncomfortable, reminding her that Colin, though younger than she, by virtue of being a man, knew much more of the world than she did. But it was more than the novelty of discussing such a mysterious and prohibited topic. Lila found that while she did not particularly care who her brother bedded, she did not want to know Sir Brook’s bed partners.
“Colin, I don’t think—”
But he ignored her interruption. “And he could care less. Doesn’t even look twice at the most choice courtesans. I’ve been trying to snag Mrs. Arbuckle for a month, and she all but tosses her skirts up every time Derring enters the room.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
Colin had warmed to his topic, and he either didn’t care or didn’t hear. “I half think if the Duchess of Dalliance hadn’t married and gone off to produce a passel of brats, he’d look right past her. And she was the most beautiful courtesan in the last hundred years.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “All that says is Brook doesn’t care for courtesans. Perhaps he finds it distasteful to pay for a woman. You speak of women like they are horses to be bought and sold.”
Colin gave her a look of pity. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I don’t wish to understand. You’ve only reinforced my belief that Sir Brook is a good man, who saved me from certain death.”
“Not yet he hasn’t,” Colin pointed out. “Not very gentlemanlike to leave you when you are still in danger.”
“I haven’t heard you volunteer to protect me either.”
“Me?” Colin’s face went white. “I can’t put myself in that sort of danger. I’m the heir.”
“For the moment. I imagine father and Valencia are working to produce a spare.”
Colin’s lip curled. “Now I’ve lost my appetite.”
“So have I! Funny how being the target of a murderer has that effect.”
Colin nodded and took another bite of scone. He’d apparently forgotten he couldn’t bear to eat. “Demmed inconvenient of you to witness that murder.”
“Especially for me.”
“The duke will fix it,” Colin said with a faith in their father Lila did not share. “He’ll make sure Derring protects you.”
“I don’t want Derring forced to protect me. He already hates me.”
“Why?”
Lila looked away. She wouldn’t reveal that sordid bit of history to her brother. “He just…does.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t hate anyone. Doesn’t love them either. He’s not a man of passions. Trust me, you’ll be perfectly safe with Derring.”
But Lila was not so sure.
Five
Brook would murder Lady Lila himself. How dare she trap him in this fashion?
The king had gone on and on about annulments and contracts and special licenses. Brook hadn’t heard a word. He’d fastened his gaze on the Duke of Lennox, who stood at the king’s right arm. Lennox, that bastard. It was as though he’d made it his life’s work to humiliate Brook.
Brook hadn’t tried to argue with George. There was no point. Once the king made up his mind, he would not change it. Not if money was involved at any rate, and Brook was willing to believe quite a bit of blunt had been deposited in the king’s coffers to seal Brook’s fate.
He might have asked his mother to come to his aid. The Dowager Countess of Dane still had some influence, but his mother would likely side with the king. She wanted Brook to marry.
His brother, the earl, might come to London to intervene, but he might also laugh his arse off.
Brook had other friends—Viscount Chesham and the Marquess of Lyndon—but the time it took to rally them would give Beezle the time he needed to dispose of Lila. Brook might not want to marry the chit, but he didn’t want her dead.
If she managed to survive the time it took for Brook and his friends to argue with the king, the result would still be the same. Lennox would make another donation to King George’s treasury, and Brook would be ordered to obey his sovereign.
And so he sat in the coach outside Derring House and stared at the special license in his hands. He’d put off telling his mother as long as he could. He’d put off having Hunt polish his shoes and starch his cravat. If there was one thing Brook knew, it was when to admit defeat. That did not mean he gave up.
It simply meant he needed a new strategy.
* * *
The church was all but empty. Brook’s mother and her husband sat with his sister and Dorrington on one side, while the Duke of Lennox and the Earl of Granbury sat on the other. Behind them, one of the king’s attendants took a seat. Brook supposed he was there to ensure the king’s wishes were followed precisely.
There hadn’t been time for Dane and his wife to come in from the country. If his older brother had been present, Brook would have asked him to stand beside him. As it was, Lila had no attendants, so perhaps it was for the best Brook stood before the bishop alone as well.
The bishop, a jowly man with white hair and a ruddy face, cleared his throat and began. For the first time since her father had brought her in, Lila looked up at him. Her warm brown eyes appeared too big against her pale skin, which was as white as the silk gown she wore. The gown had a leaf design in silver netting, and she wore a small, silver leaf to ornament her hair. Pearls circled her throat and danced at her ears, and with her hair piled high in a coil of ebony, she looked every inch the duke’s daughter.
The bishop had droned on—something about God’s will and not entering into marriage unadvisedly; clearly the bishop did not know about the king’s will and advice—but now the officiate paused and cleared his throat again.
“Into this holy union Sir Brook Erasmus Derring and Lady Lillian-Anne Pevensy now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now.” The bishop paused at this, looking first at Lila then Brook. “Or else forever hold your peace.”
Brook ground his teeth together and glared at Lila. She lowered her gaze again.
“I require and charge you both—” the bishop began.
“May I ha
ve one moment with my—er, betrothed?” Lila said.
She had spoken to the bishop, but her gaze was on Brook. He raised a brow.
“You can speak to him after the ceremony,” the duke said from the pew.
“Just for one moment, Father,” she said.
“My Lord,” the duke said to the bishop. “Please continue.”
“I am sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot. Lady Lillian-Anne must come to this union of her own free will.” He glanced at Lila. “If you need a moment, my lady, you may use the sacristy.”
She nodded and gave Brook an imploring look. With a shrug directed at his mother, whose face was the picture of disapproval, he followed Lila to the side chamber. The room was full of books and vestments, all in order, and in the middle were a small altar and a sacrarium, where the bishop washed his hands.
Lila stood before the altar, like a sacrificial lamb. Brook stood just inside the door, keeping it open for propriety.
“Delaying the inevitable?” he asked.
“I had to make certain you knew this was not my doing,” she said, her voice breathless. “I never told my father to go to the king. I did not want to force you into marriage.”
Brook leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I must admit, your previous refusal was quite definitive and robust. This sudden change of heart surprised me.”
“Oh, stop speaking so formally! I am trying to tell you I have no more choice in this than you.”
“The bishop will ask for your consent in a few moments. All you need say is I won’t.”
“And then my father will disown me, and Vile Valencia will make certain I am shipped off to Cheapside to live with my mother’s great-aunt, who is so poor she can ill afford to feed herself much less me.”
“Beezle will find you inside a week there.”
She closed her eyes, seeming to summon patience. He couldn’t blame her. He was being an arse. “You must be the one to say you won’t have me,” she said.
“Oh, no.” He pushed away from the jamb. “And have the king throw me in the Tower? Not bloody likely.”
“He won’t throw you in the Tower.” She folded her arms under the square neck of the gown, pushing her breasts up until they swelled at the bodice.
“I’m not taking that chance.”
“Then we have no choice but to marry.”
“I assumed that was the reason we were both in the church at half eight in the morning—you in your bridal silk and me in this stiff-necked cravat Hunt tied far too tightly.”
“But you don’t want to marry me!”
“I want to be thrown into the Tower even less.”
“Nice to know I rank above imprisonment.”
“Barely,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “Besides, the king mentioned annulment. I’m to keep you safe and capture the man who killed Fitzsimmons and abducted you, and the king will see the union annulled.”
“On what grounds?”
“How the devil do I know? On whatever grounds His Majesty fabricates.”
“But what if you don’t capture this Beezle, or whoever it was?”
“I will.”
“And what’s to happen to me after the marriage is annulled?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” He glanced behind him and into the sanctuary. Lennox had risen and was looking pointedly in his direction. The king’s attendant was scribbling something on a sheet of vellum. “Let’s finish this.”
He turned to exit the sacristy, but her hand on his upper arm made him pause. He looked down at the gloved fingers, so white against his dark blue coat, and then at her pale face.
“Brook, I don’t—I just don’t want you to hate me for this.”
“It’s far too late for that.”
She didn’t look at him again during the ceremony. She spoke her vows, her voice quiet but steady. If he thought he saw tears sparkling on her black eyelashes a time or two, she didn’t allow them to fall. That was to her advantage. He’d never liked women who manipulated men with their tears and feminine wiles.
Finally, the deed was done, and the party retired to Lennox House for the wedding breakfast. At least everyone but Brook did. He met Hunt at his office on Bow Street and reviewed the reports on Fitzsimmons the Runners he knew had compiled.
“I don’t know if the man was in league with one of the Covent Garden gangs, but he had something on the side. These purchases he made in the last year or so require income far above his.”
“Perhaps he came into some money,” Hunt suggested.
“I’ll have Dorrington look into that and into his habits at the gaming table. I’ll find out who he had ties with in Parliament. Has anyone interviewed his widow?”
“I know Sawyer wanted to, but he was told it would be unseemly to bother her at this time of grief.”
“I don’t mind being unseemly.”
The door, which had been only half-closed, swung open. “I’m glad to hear it because you missed your own wedding breakfast,” Dorrington said, strolling into the office. “If that isn’t what you nobs call unseemly, I don’t know what is.” He slouched into one of the chairs across from Brook’s and propped his boots on the desk. Brook glared at the boots, but Dorrington didn’t remove them.
“I don’t have time for wedding breakfasts. I have a killer to catch and an annulment to request.”
“Your mother is furious,” Dorrington said with a smile.
“I’ll bring her flowers.”
“Your wife is humiliated.”
Good. She’d humiliated him. Let her see what it tasted like. Brook sat and crossed his arms. “Your point?”
“I do have to give the gentry mort credit. She held her head high.”
“Then all that training finally proved useful.”
“Dane and Marlowe sent their best wishes to the breakfast and said they would come to Town soon,” Dorrington said.
They would undoubtedly stay at Derring House, and he would have to make a point of speaking with Marlowe when she arrived. Like Gideon, now called Dorrington, across from him, she’d once been part of Beezle’s gang. She might have insights he’d overlooked.
“Marlowe must be breeding again,” Dorrington said.
Brook supposed it was possible. His nephew was almost a year old now. “Why do you say that?”
“When I saw her at Christmas, she ate half a kidney pie.”
“I’ve seen her eat more than that.”
“I haven’t. Not since she started having regular meals. She’s bellyful. Mark my words.”
Brook sat forward. “We can discuss my brother’s growing family another time. Today I need you to look into Fitzsimmons’s gambling habits. Make the rounds of the hells catering to gentlemen and ask about him. If you don’t find anything at those—”
“Try the rookeries. I know what to do, but hadn’t you better go claim your bride?”
“Why?”
“It’s almost six. Or did you intend to leave her alone on your wedding night?”
Brook glanced at the clock on his desk and cursed. The day had slipped through his fingers. He hadn’t thought what he would do with Lila on their wedding night. It wasn’t as though she’d welcome him into her bed. Not that it should matter. He was her husband, and she was his for the taking. Whether or not he bedded her made no difference for the annulment. The king would have to find some technicality on which to declare the marriage unlawful. Even if he didn’t take Lila to bed, everyone would assume he had.
And why should he deny himself? He ought to have some pleasure from this arrangement.
Except, of course, there was no pleasure in bedding a woman who didn’t want him.
Brook looked at Hunt, hoping his man had considered the domestic arrangements. “You can’t take her to Derring House, sir.”
“No.” And that was too bad because Derring House was large and full of servants and family. He could stay well away from her at Derring House. But he wouldn’t endanger his family and home by having her
there. Beezle would have no qualms about slitting the throats of every man, woman, and child in residence if it accomplished his goal.
“I don’t suppose we can leave her at Lennox House. Her father doesn’t take the threat seriously enough,” Hunt added. “The duke hasn’t even hired additional footmen to stand guard.”
“He took it seriously enough to marry her to Brook,” Dorrington said.
“That’s because he’s lazy and has a termagant wife to contend with,” Brook said. “He’d rather foist his eldest on another man than exert himself to protect her.” Brook felt a twinge of sympathy for Lila, but he pushed it down. Her situation was little different than many unmarried women’s.
Except now she was married. To him.
“I suppose we have to take her to the flat,” Hunt said.
Brook groaned. Even as he wanted to argue, he knew Hunt was correct. Only a handful of people knew of his flat. Lila would be safe there for the time being.
But it meant taking her to the one place that was truly his. It was the place where he did not have to play the part of earl’s son or knight errant, where he could just be Brook.
And now the woman he hated most in the world would be living there as well.
* * *
Lila hadn’t known what to think when the handsome man who purported to be Brook’s valet had come to claim her at quarter past seven on the night of her wedding. After Brook had not made an appearance at the wedding breakfast, she’d assumed he was done with her. Perhaps he hoped she would be murdered. Then he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of securing an annulment.
She’d finally changed from her wedding dress, which she had loved, despite the fact that she had to marry Brook Derring in it. The short puff sleeves with a leaf on each sleeve, matching those in silver netting on the bodice and hem, were just lovely. She hated to take it off.
But she’d finally dressed for dinner in a white gown with flowers embroidered in red and gold and had sat down to have her hair styled. Lizzy had only just taken her hair out of its elaborate wedding style when Lila was summoned downstairs. She might have asked Lizzy to pin it hastily, but her head ached from the weight of the hair and the tight style in which she’d worn it all day, and she was glad for the respite.