Just like before, there would be nowhere to go. She’d return to Holdsworth with no diamond and no future. Panic pounded away at her chest and filled her ears with the erratic beat of her heart. Clearly, the matter was at an end for the solicitor. Davies stepped around Lily. A desperate energy fueled her movements and she hurried to place herself in front of the duke’s man-of-affairs, blocking his retreat. “That is all?” Her words emerged as a high-pitched squawk. “That is all you’d say to me?”
Mayhap the heartless servant was the true beast. In a show of tedium with the exchange, he pulled out his watchfob and consulted the timepiece. “Mrs. Benedict, what would you have me say?” She braced for his streaming line of insults. He did not disappoint. “You preyed upon a monster of a man and whored yourself to him. Such a person has no place in this household.”
Terror receded under the rapidly building outrage and she nurtured the safe sentiment that made her stronger against such attacks upon her person. “How dare you?” She speared him with a hard look. Despite the damning embrace he’d witnessed in the halls, she’d no intention of whoring herself again. “I have done no such thing where His Grace is concerned.” Except, hadn’t she come to prey upon Derek? Mayhap not in a sexual way, but in the more loathsome, insidious way of slipping past his defenses to gain entry into his home. Guilt crept in.
Mr. Davies peered at her through his lenses and she curled her toes hard under the force of his scrutiny. “I do not know who you are, Mrs. Benedict.” Wagging a finger, he took a step toward her. Not allowing him to intimidate her, she held her position. She’d braved far more abhorrent fiends than this one. “I was not, however, born last evening. Respectable young women do not simply arrive on a gentleman’s doorstep, seeking employment. As such, I have already ordered your belongings packed.”
Her heart missed a beat. “P-Packed?” Did that faint inquiry belong to her?
Ignoring her question, he tugged his lapels once more. “Out of my dedication to the previous duke, I will not allow a common harlot to care for Her Ladyship.” It did not escape her notice that he did not pledge his allegiance to the current Duke of Blackthorne and it spoke volumes of this man’s poor judgment that George should have commanded this man’s loyalty. “Here,” she looked on in abject confusion as he fished around the front of his jacket. He pulled out a purse and handed it over.
Lily stared unblinkingly at the small sack. Another purse. Another person turning her out of this same household. Her chest rose and fell hard, and she alternated her gaze between the velvet bag and the scowling solicitor. In this moment, she was that young girl all over again, dependent on merciless men. She closed her eyes a moment to blot out the ping of rain echoing around the chambers of her mind, the stinging bite of wind lashing at her face—
“It is more than you deserve,” he said, bringing her eyes open. He pressed the bag into her hand and then drew his fingers back, no doubt, repulsed by the slight touch of their fingers. He pulled out his handkerchief and brushed off the fabric of his gloves.
Reflexively, Lily closed her hand tight around the bag of coin. Her fingers twitched from her need to toss the meager offering in his arrogant face, and her fury redoubled.
Derek hovered outside the parlor, feeling much the way he had as a child listening at keyholes. Periodically, Lily Benedict’s angry voice reached through the wood panel.
“You dare to condescend me? You, who speaks in such a vile way about your employer…?”
He really should press the handle and cut in to the volatile exchange between his governess and man-of-affairs and yet, something kept him still. The thick wood panel muffled the other man’s stammering response.
“…With your cruel words and cold heart, you are the monster, sir. Not he…”
Her defense froze him, and while the battling pair on that opposite side of the door barked charges and furious words at one another, he stared with his lone eye fixed on the panel. He’d accustomed himself to being the loathed, despised, hatefully whispered about duke. People disparaged him. They did not defend him and, assuredly, not so staunchly as this mighty avenger in his parlor.
The pompous prig who’d been loyal to Derek’s brother and not much more, cut into his musings. “…I have already told you, madam. You are dismissed…”
Derek pressed the handle and shoved the door open. The quarreling pair started. As one, their gazes flew to the entrance of the room. He flicked a cold, disinterested stare over Davies and then shifted his sole focus to Mrs. Lily Benedict. Bright color splashed her cheeks and her chest rose and fell with the force of her breathing. As she held his stare, there was none of the horrified revulsion or sick fascination he’d come to know from others. His pulse pounded hard and loud in his ears at the power of that unexpected bravery on her part. “Mrs. Benedict,” he drawled.
Lily dropped a hasty and belated curtsy. “Your Grace.” She did not look away in disgust, however. Rather, she held his gaze with an unrepentant strength. Admiration for the delicate slip of a beauty slammed into him; unexpected and unwanted.
He forced his focus to the other man. “Is there a problem, Davies?” he asked on a lethal whisper.
The color seeped from Davies’s face, leaving his skin a sick, ashen hue. “N-no problems, Your Grace.” Heavy fear coated Davies’s words, so that they emerged garbled. That unease was certainly founded. In the years since Derek had ascended to the role of duke, not once had he left his offices to meet the man—until now.
Derek narrowed his eye.
Davies shifted back and forth on his feet, periodically mopping at his damp brow with the handkerchief in his shaking fingers.
Good, the man should be fearful. With the tip of his cane, he shoved the door closed behind him with a soft click.
His man-of-affairs jumped.
Derek delighted in that show of fear and, with the assistance of his cane, he limped toward the battling pair. Mrs. Benedict stood with her delicate but strong shoulders squared. His man-of-affairs scrambled backward, tripping over himself as Derek strode past him. He’d grown long accustomed to such horrified fear from his servants, strangers…his mother. There was only one person who’d looked upon him with the hint of anything different. The very same person responsible for Davies’ presence here this day. Derek continued walking past the quaking man and stopped beside the heavy, brocade curtains. He rested his cane against the wall. Sunlight streamed through the slight crack in the curtains. That slight, deliberately gaping fabric that afforded him a view of the world; his only view. “You were instructed to deal with Mrs. Benedict,” he infused a deliberate lethal edge to his words. All his attempt at power was ruined as his leg buckled under his exertions in racing to the parlor. He silently cursed.
“Y-yes, Y-your Grace.” the man squeaked. “Th-that is correct.”
Derek shifted his weight, and borrowed the support of his crutch, hating himself for that weakness, despised that he should be so pathetic before this man…and her. From the corner of his eye, he stole a peek at Lily. Except, there was no pity there. Instead, her aquamarine eyes radiated relief and gratitude. When was the last time he’d done anything or been anyone to inspire such a sentiment in another? St. Cyr’s visage slipped in—the friend whose hide he’d saved on more scores than he could count. As with that, his mind sucked him back to the heart of battle and the echo of gunshots ricocheted around his mind until he ached to throw down his cane and blot his hands over his ears to tamp out the horrific cries.
The rustle of Lily’s soft, satin skirts cut across that hell of his past like a gentle, calming summer breeze. “Your Grace?” she asked tentatively.
He gave his head a shake. “You were instructed to see to the woman I’d hired for the role of governess,” he reminded the man, dragging his gaze reluctantly from the lady.
Silence fell. And then, Davies cleared his throat. “But I did. I-I—” He stuttered to a stop as Derek jabbed his cane at the man. His brother’s faithful servant mopped his brow once mo
re.
“Did I instruct you to sack the young woman?”
“No, but—”
“Did I tell you to see to her responsibilities with Flor—” He caught himself. “The girl?”
“Y-Yes, but—”
“And yet you deliberately went against my wishes.”
The white-haired man frowned. “I was instructed to see to the girl’s governess, and I did.” Apparently, when one called his efforts as solicitor into question, Davies could find his courage. The older man stuffed his wrinkled kerchief into his front pocket and pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles back on his nose. “There is something not right about you, Mrs. Benedict. Something I do not trust.”
Lily remained motionless through his perusal; a proud warrior princess, and the sight of her with her chin tipped up and fury glowing in her eyes, momentarily sucked the breath from Derek’s lungs. Of all the women he’d known before he’d gone off to war, none had held the faintest flicker of a candle to her dauntless spirit. And now, with the man he was, a person all women fled in fear, she should fight for her post here.
Davies looked to him. “Your Grace, governesses do not simply present themselves on your doorstep, as this one did.” The condescending servant peeled his lip back in a sneer.
In a breathtaking display of spirit, she angled her chin up and glared back.
“I have no reservations about the young lady,” he said quietly. Grateful as he was for the man’s undeserved loyalty for the cursed Winters family, he’d not allow him to disparage Lily. Derek himself had already been the gossiped-about and whispered-of figure. He’d not let this man transform her into the same.
His man-of-affairs looked to him with an entreaty in his old eyes. “Your Grace, my friendship to your father went back to our days at Eton. This family is a noble one, with a lineage that goes to the Conqueror.” The old servant peered down his long nose at Lily in distaste. “His Grace would not have permitted an unknown woman from the street to care for his sole grandchild.”
He’d been subjected to Society’s contempt since his return from war. Even for that familial devotion this man felt for his late father, Derek would not allow Davies to break down the one person who’d been unfazed by the monster he was. “You may leave, Mrs. Benedict.”
Lily jerked as though she’d been struck and then with a juddering nod, she fled the room, nearly stumbling over herself in her haste. With the young lady gone, Derek wheeled around so quickly, Davies jumped. The color drained from the solicitor’s cheeks, leaving his pallor a ghastly white.
Derek took a step toward the other man. “I do not have a problem with the lady.” Davies retreated.
“B-but Your Grace, she is no lady.” The man’s courage was to be commended, but then idiocy and bravery were often mistaken for each other. “She arrived on your doorstep with—”
He stopped before him. “Did I give you leave to speak?”
His solicitor wisely fell silent. The first wise thing the man had done all day.
Derek dusted his palms together. “I have named Mrs. Benedict as governess to the child. Do you have a problem with my decision, Davies?”
The other man rocked forward on the balls of his feet, as though prepared to launch his entire body into an argument against his employer’s decision. Then he pursed his lips and made one last appeal. “I-I am merely trying to—”
Derek limped over to the window and returned his attention to the streets below. “We are done here for the day,” he drawled in ducal tones even his father would have been hard pressed to not admire.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Davies said stiffly. He sketched a deep, deferential bow.
“Davies,” he called out, when the other man had his fingers poised on the door handle. His man-of-affairs turned to face him once more. “I do not care to debate my decisions with anyone.” Except Lily. There was an odd pleasure to be had in going toe-to-toe with the determined governess. Something in the fiery-tempered, courageous young woman roused a reminder of the joy in feeling anything beyond the rage he’d known these past years. “If it weren’t for your years of devotion to my family, I would sack you without another thought.” The servant gulped. “Do not gainsay me again. Particularly where Mrs. Benedict is concerned. Is that clear?”
“Indeed.”
“Unless you have reasons I should not trust the lady?” He gave him a long look.
“I do not, Your Grace,” the man said through tight lips.
“Then this matter is concluded.”
Chapter 12
Lily stood in the corner of her rooms and peered down into the busy London streets. The duke’s man-of-affairs had gone. And yet, in the nearly twenty minutes since he’d walked stiffly from the townhouse, she’d not been summoned or tossed out. It was as though she’d been forgotten.
A knock sounded at the door.
Lily jumped. She slapped a hand to her heart. “Of course you’re not forgotten,” she muttered to herself. That would be far too easy; to go on as though she’d not kissed her employer, and invaded his private halls, and gone toe-to-toe with—
Knock.
“Open your goddamn door, Lily. I am not of a mind to stand out here in the hall while you sulk in your chambers.”
She stared wide-eyed at the wood panel and then resumed a frantic blinking. What in thunderation? Never had she known a man, gentleman or town villager in the duke’s parish, who’d speak with his coarseness. Lily took five long strides across the room and swiftly pulled the door open. “Your Grace, your language leaves—” Oh, my.
Derek limped past her and the sheer punishing size of him, stole her breath. This towering figure who’d surely terrified men in battle and earned countless ladies hearts, limped into her bedroom. Butterflies danced wildly in her belly. With his scars, Derek, the Duke of Blackthorne, would never possess the unflawed beauty of the rogues and rakes of the world. And yet, there was a primitive rawness to him; a rough-hewn strength and rugged masculinity that captivated.
Her breath caught hard in her chest as the same fierce glare he’d leveled on Davies, he now turned on her. And her skin tingled in remembrance of his touch and the burning feel of him. Warmth pooled in her belly. Unable to meet the intensity of his gaze, she dropped her stare.
But snagging her notice were his shirtsleeves. Lily started. For with his absence of a jacket on his broad frame, something pulled at her heart. The fierce, snarling beast was a good deal more tempered when he stood before her only partially clad.
“I do not care to be kept waiting,” he snapped and the gravelly quality of his baritone wrenched her head up. She winced as pain shot down her neck. “Your Grace,” she greeted, gripping the edge of the door. She borrowed purchase from the panel.
Derek spoke as casually as if he’d entered her parlor for tea and a bed even now did not sit at their backs. “Well?” he growled.
She cocked her head. What did he expect of her? He came charging in here after Davies’ vile, if true, accusations. And once more, guilt stabbed her for the plan she’d become embroiled in. Lily curled her toes into the soles of her slippers. Nay, the scheme she’d willingly agreed to take part in.
“Nothing to say?” he continued, gruffly.
It matters not. He shares the blood of the man who ruined me and the woman who turned me away. What guilt do I have for entering his home and taking from him…when everything that truly mattered was already taken from me?
Yet why did it feel as though she lied to herself?
“I thought you felt I should not remain because of our kiss.”
His expression was inscrutable “If you were to leave my employ because of my advances, I would pay your wages for the year.”
She choked. “You would do that?”
“I would,” he said simply.
What nobleman would be so magnanimous and expect nothing more? Even that old, grandfatherly figure who’d taken her into his household as a maid for two years had ultimately expected her to warm his bed. Now, t
his man, whispered to be a ruthless beast, with his generous and unwitting promise, offered her freedom.
As silence stretched on, Derek stared at her with an inscrutable expression.
Take it. Take what he offers. An acceptance hovered on her lips. I cannot. Her heart dipped. Yet she could not lie to him. Not of this. “I wanted your kiss,” she said softly. For some reason, a reason she did not understand and couldn’t muddle through, she needed him to know that. “I would not leave for it.” But rather, stay.
He stitched his eyebrows into a single line.
Unnerved by the talk of their embrace, Lily smoothed her palms down the front of her dress. “Nor was I sulking,” she managed as an ever-present remorse filled her. She’d wager all hint of future security this was not a man who defended anyone or anything and yet, he’d battled a loyal servant who’d been in his family’s employ—for her.
Derek folded his arms at his broad chest and her breath caught once more under the heightened reminder of his power and strength. “I expect a woman who’d go toe-to-toe with old Davies would not cower in her rooms,” he speculated in hushed, gravelly tones.
“You requested I leave,” she returned. “The parlor was certainly not an appropriate place for me to be and I’ve been expressly forbidden from entering the opposite end of your home. There still remains the matter of whether you intend to…” Her cheeks burned under her inane ramblings. Clearing her throat, she dropped her gaze once more. “Given all that, I thought my chambers were the safest place.”
Lily stiffened as he brushed his knuckles along her jaw, forcing her gaze up. And this man, who’d roused terror but two days earlier, now elicited this maddening beat of her pulse. “Did you believe Davies convinced me of your unsuitability and I agreed to turn you out?” he whispered and this was not the lethal, mocking tone she’d come to expect of him. This was the softly seductive one that washed over her with the potent warmth of a hot summer sun.
Her eyes slid closed briefly. “I did.”
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