Lords of Honor-The Collection

by Christi Caldwell

  She returned her gaze forward. Drawing in a deep breath, she rushed across the empty street and approached the coarse stranger. The pockmarked driver lounged against his black, numbered carriage with a cap tipped low over his eyes. From where he stood, the man ran an assessing eye over the fabric of her garments. No doubt, unchaperoned as she was, he took her for some scandalous miss. He would only be one part right on that score. She fished coins from her reticule and held them out. “Highgate.”

  His eyes flared with a faint surprise, but wordlessly he collected the coins and pocketed them. He helped her into the hack. Moments later, the carriage sprang forward and he sent the conveyance rattling through the empty streets.

  Lily sat stiffly on the uncomfortable bench. Her fingers curled reflexively about the purse in her hands. Derek had thrown her world into upheaval, so she questioned her selfish efforts for survival.

  With his gruff whisper echoing around the chambers of her mind, she pressed her eyes closed and willed his voice away. But then there was still the remembrance of his passionate loving. And his gentle caress. And his impassioned defense.

  She was never more grateful than when the hack drew to an abrupt, jarring halt outside the high, metal gates of Highgate. The carriage dipped as the driver left his perch and pulled the door open. He reached a hand inside. “Ma’am?”

  Lily placed her fingertips in his and accepted his assistance. She fished out more coin. “There will be more, when I return,” she pledged.

  Greed lit his dark eyes and he touched the brim of his hat. “Very well, ma’am.”

  She moved briskly, her gaze trained forward. Then, wasn’t that the way of their world? All people could be bought. Servants, lords, hackney drivers—and whores. She bit down so hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. For ultimately, she’d entered a man’s house, under the guise of caring for his ward, a girl who’d been so cruelly robbed of both parents, all to save herself.

  She picked her way through the cobbled streets and pulled the hood of her cloak down further over her eyes, even as she knew the action unnecessary. Respectable lords and ladies did not arise at this godforsaken hour and those who might, would certainly never be paying a visit to Highgate.

  …I do not see a whore. I see a woman and a survivor. And perhaps that is why we two can move along in some harmonious rhythm when I despise all who cross my path, because we are not unlike…

  Guilt unfurled in her belly, gripping her with a vicious ferocity. Except Derek. Derek didn’t see a whore when others did. Did he not make love to you too, with no offer of anything more?

  She squared her jaw. He was different; unlike all the others before. Forcibly tamping down the whispering doubt, she came to an abrupt stop outside Highgate Cemetery. The overhanging elm trees cast an almost park-like quality upon the space.

  Lily drew the fabric of her cloak closer about her person and huddled within herself. Morning birds chirped their cheerful song, at odds with the consecrated ground that marked the end of a person’s life. She wandered through the gates. Her purposeful steps ground up dirt and gravel. She moved past the countless crosses and towering stone angels until she came to a stop.

  She stared frozen at the well-tended headstone of a child. The weeping stone angels bespoke the wealth of parents who’d loved that child. Emotion wadded in her throat. Lily stole a glance about and finding the grounds empty, she dropped to a knee beside the headstone.

  The wind stirred the leaves overhead and they rustled in the quiet. Silently, she dusted her palm over the traces of dirt and mud spattered on the carved name and date.

  16 November 1813…

  Her heart stuttered at that date. A day of agony and grief all around. For these parents who’d buried their babe and for Lily who had climbed inside Sir Henry’s carriage and buried the dreams in her heart, and the hope of a child and husband. Tears clogged her throat. I want to do it again. I want a start where there is only me and Derek and none of the ugly past between us. Lily drew in a shaky breath.

  Methodically, she moved on to the handful of weeds that had sprung from the ground at the foot of the headstone. She tugged them out, finding a soothing balm as the tenacious weeds gave way and relinquished their hold. Efforts completed, she sank back on her haunches and dusted her palms together. “I promised I would one day have my retribution,” she said into the quiet.

  The birds chirped in reply.

  “I was so very close.” Lily settled onto the ground, and drew her knees close to her chest. “And now I have never been farther away from it.” She dropped her chin atop her knees. For swearing revenge and carrying out shameful acts of theft, were entirely different scores when one knew a person, and foolishly she’d allowed the duke and his ward inside. She’d not let herself see them as the means to the end she so very desperately needed, but rather as a hurting man and child. They were human to her in a way that made her intentions nigh impossible.

  Last night, with only the two of them and the quiet of the night, Derek, a man feared by all, had let her into his world in a way she’d wager he’d not let any other person. Racked with guilt and shame over that gift, Lily swallowed hard. The Duke of Blackthorne was a man who did not trust and when he should choose to bestow that gift, he erroneously turned it over to her undeserving hands.

  She rubbed her chin back and forth over the rough, wool fabric. After George’s betrayal and deception, she’d lived her life without honor, all in the name of survival, so bitter and hurt and angry that she’d convinced herself all that mattered was survival. For, in the absence of her family or anyone who truly cared for her, what else had there been?

  In granting her the post in his household, in not turning her out even knowing what she was, Derek had proven he cared. He was not the beast they claimed he was. So it begged the question: how could she turn that sought-after heirloom over to Holdsworth and betray Derek, in this cruel, unforgiveable way? Lily stared out into the distance at the tall graves of unknown strangers. If she did this thing, what good was left of her soul? What good was there in living that secure life, tucked away in a far-flung corner of England if every day she arose hating herself for betraying the one man who was good?

  I cannot… She braced for the staggering panic and a screaming protest to resonate about her mind. Instead, an unexpected calm stole through her, leaving her with an odd peace. The branches shifted overhead once more and the leaves noisily shook, as though in agreement and support.

  The loud crunch of boots crushing gravel brought her head up. Her heart jumped into her throat and she rushed to stand. For one horrific moment, the fear that Derek had followed her here slammed into her with such force it sucked the air from her chest. She spun about and then quickly staggered back a step.

  Holdsworth stood several feet away, a mocking grin on his cruel lips. “Were you expecting another?” Then, as though they were in the middle of a ballroom and not in the midst of an empty graveyard, he doffed his hat and sketched a deep bow.

  Knots twisted at her insides. “Indeed not.” She despised herself for the quaking tremor to her words.

  His mocking smile widened and he flicked his gaze over at the headstone, and then to another. “Well?” He waggled his eyebrows. “What have you learned?”

  A chill raked her spine. How casual he could be about his grasping attempts at that magnificent bauble while standing among the lost souls here? Hatred for this man and his kind blazed stronger than ever. A healthy anger sent her chin notching up. “I have changed my mind.”

  Holdsworth blinked. She may as well have declared herself Bonnie Prince Charlie, back from the grave for the shock in his wide eyes. “You changed your mind in what way, Miss Bennett?” he asked slowly.

  Smoothing her features into a contrite mask, Lily held her palms up. “I thought I could help you, but I cannot.” She drew in a steadying breath. “I cannot steal from,” Derek, “the duke.” Perhaps before, when she’d seen him as a cruel extension of the othe
r Winters male. Not any longer. Not when he’d proven himself to be a man who did not condemn her for the mistakes she’d made and the acts she’d committed.

  Holdsworth doffed his hat and beat it noisily against his leg. “Beg pardon?” The incredulity underscoring those two words indicated his was more a statement than anything else.

  “I cannot help you,” she said into the quiet. “It would be wrong.”

  “It would be wrong?” he parroted back, the high timbre of his tone hinting at his thin grasp on control.

  She backed up a step and put the poor, long-dead babe’s stone between her and the monster before her. “Yes, wrong.”

  He froze and tossed his head back. The ugly, cynical amusement spilling past his lips echoed about the grounds. He laughed until tears seeped from the corner of his eyes and then seeped down his cheeks. Holdsworth yanked out a white handkerchief and dusted the moisture from his cheeks. “This is rich, indeed, my dear. I gather by your whispered lamentations and regrets, you’ve made yourself a whore for the Beast of Blackthorne now, too?”

  Through his vile charges, Lily stood stonily erect refusing to be the mouse prey to yet another man who toyed with her like a cat. Nausea churned in her belly. With those flippant words, he’d make what she and Derek had done together last evening the shameful, cold acts carried out between her and his now-dead father. “I am not his whore,” she said in smooth, even tones. What she and Derek had shared was beautiful and good, and this man would debase that special union. Yes, Derek’s touch roused a passion inside she’d not believed herself capable of and she would give herself to him to know more of his alluring caress, but she’d not sold her body to him for that right.

  Holdsworth peered at her a moment as though examining a new, confounding species. Then, he tossed his head back and bellowed with laughter once more. “Ah, that blush on your cheeks proves you a liar.” He flicked his finger at her cheek and Lily winced.

  She clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides, her fingers twitching with the need to slap his smug face. How had she ever agreed to the demands of one such as him? Because I was desperate and desperate people are driven to do desperate things…

  He took a step forward, and she forced her feet to remain rooted to the earth so as to not give him the advantage of knowing his presence unnerved her. She concentrated on the steady, even draws of her breathing. A gasp escaped her as Holdsworth brushed his gloved fingertips down her cheek. “A whore who blushes,” he murmured, as though he puzzled through a complex word riddle.

  Lily slapped at his hand, tired of his taunts. “And a gentleman who commits theft.”

  A mottled flush colored the man’s cheeks. He opened and closed his mouth, sputtering like a fish plucked out of water. A thrill of triumph reared once more. How long had she been the meek, biddable creature dependent on these men who could crush a woman as easily as they mashed a spider under the heel of their expensive boots? Well, no more. She may have been a whore and she might now be a thief, but with his plans to obtain that expensive bauble, he was just as much a thief as she. “I cannot help you. Nor will I help you. As such, there is nothing left for us to say.”

  Lily expected another flare of fury from his angry eyes. Instead, he lowered his ginger lashes, the desire that filled his leering gaze brought bile rushing to the back of her throat. “My, you are spirited,” he whispered, running his gloved palm down her cheek once more.

  She slapped at his fingers again and her protestation ended on a gasp as he captured her slim wrist in his powerful grip. “I can think of more creative activities for your fingers, Lily, than slapping my person.” Lust lent his words a husky undertone and the nausea churned all the greater. He’d attempt to seduce her here, amongst the dead? “Perhaps you would consider the benefit of coming to my bed, instead? I assure you it will be a good deal more pleasurable than bedding that monster. Would you like that?” he whispered, dipping his head.

  Of its own volition, her hand shot out. Holdsworth’s head recoiled under the ferocity of her blow. The cemetery echoed with the sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh. She hurried away from the babe’s gravestone and placed another stranger’s stone between them. “The Duke of Blackthorne is more honorable and good than you’ll ever be or ever hope to be. And I would choose death and hunger in the streets than give any part of myself to you.”

  The passion lifted from his eyes, replaced with that familiar disdain. “Very well,” he said, coolly composed, once more. “You’ve made your decision, my dear.”

  At the ominous threat to those words, unease tripped inside her belly. Not allowing him to witness her anxiety, Lily jabbed a finger at him. “I am not your dear. I am a woman who your father made promises to and broke.” A man who’d also preyed on a naïve girl. “And you.” She jerked her chin. “You sir, are a thief, who’d take advantage of a person who is desperate.” She gave her head a shake. “I am not that person.” Not anymore. She had been. Scared and angry and hopeless. “I will not help you steal from the Duke of Blackthorne.” He deserved far more of life than her betrayal.

  Fury leapt in his eyes and threatened to burn her with the angry fire radiating in their brown depths. He took a lurching step forward and she stumbled over herself in her haste to back away.

  Detesting the way her heart hammered in her ears, Lily smoothed her trembling palms over her skirts.

  Holdsworth tightened his mouth and then tugged his gloves off in an infuriatingly nonchalant manner. He dusted them together and dropped his voice to a low, lethal whisper. “One word from me and you would be carted off to Newgate. No one would believe the word of a whore over a gentleman.”

  His words iced her veins. He can say nothing… I’ll return the diamond… Finding strength in that truth, she pasted on a mocking smile. “Ah, yes, but one word from you would reveal your complicity, wouldn’t it?” She lifted one eyebrow. “What would the ton say to a gentleman who employed the assistance of a whore to steal from a respected member of the peerage?” She braced for his continued threats, only…

  He passed a look over her face. Did he search for signs of weakness? He need but look at her trembling hands hidden in the folds of her skirt to see that telling gesture. Then, some of the tension eased from his broad shoulders. “Come, Miss Benedict.” It did not escape her notice he no longer commandeered her given name. “Surely you’ll not throw away your life for a man you’ve known but a week?” Not again. Those words echoed, unspoken between them. For after but a short time, what did she know of Derek? He continued, relentless. “You’d not sacrifice yourself. Not for a man whose family is responsible for what you’ve become.”

  How long had she hated all those linked to the late Duke of Blackthorne? That rage and need for revenge had sustained her. What was she without it? As though sensing her weakening, he took a small step closer, shrinking the distance. “Your future will be secure,” he cajoled with the same soft, silken promise Lucifer himself must have used when he’d dangled that crimson apple. “No more fear. No more whoring yourself. You will disappear and can craft a life as a widow.”

  She closed her eyes on that tantalizing promise that had sustained her for six years. So how in a week’s time had that dream become unraveled? Because, what was time, in the significance of knowing a person? Her father had given her life and had snipped her from his life the way he might have removed a dangling thread from an embroidery frame. He’d not stood by her, when Derek, a man she’d known for a handful of days had defended her against his man-of-affairs and lent her his support. Time, it would seem, meant different things to different people. “I cannot.” Those words emerged with far more strength than she imagined herself possible of in that moment.

  Holdsworth looked at her for a long while; his expression veiled. Then, he brushed a speck of imagined dust from his sleeve. When he again looked at her, there was a cold, stony resolve etched in his features. “You will regret this and then there will be nothing. No security, no property. You will, once more, f
ind yourself a whore on your back, only this time for the guards at Newgate.”

  Lily folded her arms close to her chest in a bid for warmth. What a cold, ruthless world she dwelled in; where a diamond meant more than a life and not even a graveyard was an honored sanctuary amongst them.

  “Well, I will give you but one more chance,” he stated, cutting across her dark musings.

  She managed a terse nod. “I have made my choice.”

  An ugly smile formed on his hard lips. “Indeed, you have.”

  As he at last took his leave, she stared after him. Why, if she’d done something right, did it suddenly seem like the very worst decision?

  Chapter 21

  Derek limped down the corridor toward that smiling portrait at the end of the hall. Sweat dripped from his brow as he stretched out his long-legged strides. The pressure placed on his thigh shot pain down his knee and radiated down his calf. But for the heavy rasping of his breath from his exertions, silence filled these corridors.

  Which was as it should be after several years of prolonged silence.

  And yet, that is not how they’d been since Lily Benedict had laid claim to his household. A grin rose unbidden to Derek’s lips as he limped to a stop before the portrait of himself long ago. He mopped his damp brow with the back of his sleeve and recalled the gift she’d given him last night. His easy smile faded. For what Lily had given him moved beyond merely her body; a still cherished, precious offering. As governess in his employ, she’d flouted every rule he’d laid before her and laid siege to every aspect of his home—these halls included. Rather, she’d allowed him to see past the monster he’d been. She’d forced him to see there was a reason for living and smiling. I want her. I want her in every way. All the ways that are honorable and good, ways she believes herself undeserving of. A hiss escaped his lips and he stumbled, toppling over hard onto his buttocks. Pain shot up his back and he welcomed the sting of discomfort.