by Lavinia Kent
“Please,” she whispered, hoping that her pleadings could buy time.
“I am afraid it’s too late for that now, even if my plans must change. Why’d you have to return so early? The reception should have gone on for hours, with you preening about your new status. It seemed so fitting that you’d return from a funeral reception to find the brat dead in his sleep. Maybe you’d even have been the first to find him, when you went up to check on him. You do check on him, don’t you? I wonder how many times each night? But you returned too early.”
Bile rose in Lily’s throat. Her eyes locked on the slight movement of Simon beneath the blanket. She could not let that happen to her son.
St. Aubin stalked towards her again, and Lily found herself backing up towards the grand entry stair.
“If only Sally – you didn’t know about Sally, did you? – she’d been meeting my brother, your beloved husband, in the village tavern for years, whenever she’d a day off. If only she’d been willing to do her job and finish the lad off herself.” He shook Simon hard and the baby started to whimper. “She was more than willing to help when it was a matter of leaving a window unlatched or stealing a few letters – such moving, emotional letters your husband wrote! But ask her to do some real work, and the silly girl quailed. Kept saying she couldn’t hurt Geoffrey’s babe. I had to come over here and take the task upon myself. You won’t be too surprised if Sally’s not to be found in the morning. Ah, but I forgot, you will not be in a position to learn the outcome of such a search.”
St. Aubin approached menacingly as he talked, and Lily found herself backing toward the stairs. Now she stood poised at the top. There was nowhere to flee; she could not back down the stair in her skirts, and she refused to turn and run, leaving St. Aubin to do his will with Simon. St. Aubin glanced from her toward the steep stair and then back. She remembered seeing that same expression on Worthington’s face as they stood at cliff’s edge, before he’d swung the whip.
A slow smile of distinct pleasure spread across St. Aubin’s face, from narrow cheek to narrow cheek. “Ah, how fitting. It won’t be quite as gloriously simple as the poor babe dying in his sleep, but imagine Westlake’s horror when he returns to find his wife and her son dead at the bottom of the stair – and all the servants asleep! It is amazing what one maid, a bottle of laudanum, and a large pot of tea can accomplish – except, of course, the poor nursery maid, who must have fled in horror after seeing her mistress and charge slip and fall to the stair. Such a tragedy – and none to gainsay it.”
He stepped forward.
“Would you like to hold your son one last time? I am sure he’ll be comforted to meet his end in his loving mother’s arms.” He started to press the baby forward. Lily reached out with eager hands. Once she held her Simon she could try and flee.
The massive entry door creaked. St. Aubin grabbed the baby back. Clasping Simon cruelly tight with one hand he reached into his coat’s deep pocket with the other. A large pistol gleamed.
Arthur swung through the door, ignoring the absence of footmen, intent only on finding his bride and putting all to rights between them. He paused inside the door, waiting as Wulf traded a quip with the coachman. Only then did he become aware of the figure above, St. Aubin, standing still at the top of the stairs, the glint of a muzzle shining in his hands.
Arthur stepped forward, feeling the weight of his own carriage pistol heavy in his pocket. He’d taken it from the carriage while prowling after St. Aubin, and neglected to return it. Its presence was little comfort as his eyes grew accustomed to the interior light and he saw Lily pressed against the upper rail of the stair.
“Ah, but this family does have such atrocious timing!” St Aubin mocked. “Every time I seem to arrive at a suitable denouement, some new player must trip upon stage!”
Arthur felt his heart stop as St. Aubin waved the gun back and forth between him and Lily. He slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the pistol.
“So sorry to interrupt.” Arthur lifted his head and stared at St. Aubin coolly. Not even a fingertip quivered, betraying the terror he felt as St. Aubin’s gun again pointed towards his bride.
He had to act now.
In a smooth gesture he pulled his own pistol and took aim.
“No!” Lily’s cry rang out, halting his movement. She stepped forward, placing herself in front of St. Aubin.
With a harsh chuckle St. Aubin shoved her aside. “Now, now my dear, don’t get in the way. We want your beloved husband to see just what he hits.” He stepped forward to the middle of the stair, his gun now holding steady on Arthur.
But that was not what caused fear to lick at Arthur’s spine. While one hand held the gun tight, in the other, Arthur could now see, St. Aubin held Simon, his small hands waving in displeasure as he began to squawk.
“Be careful where you aim, your grace. You wouldn’t want to miss and do my job for me. And even if you did aim true, what do you think the results would be for the little lad, taking a rough tumble down the stairs? It might not be a pretty picture.”
“Put the child down.” Arthur invested his voice with all the authority he could muster. “Let’s settle this like men.”
“And give up my advantage? I prefer not.” St. Aubin progressed down the stair. Simon lurched in his arms and St. Aubin tightened his grip, the gun swaying. He was having trouble keeping a bead on Arthur while grasping the squirming child. He clutched Simon ever tighter, as he attempted to steady his aim. Arthur stepped back.
“What do you think will happen if you do succeed? Do you think a dead duke is an easy thing to manage?”
“It really won’t be my problem. I am as we speak across town abed with a dear friend – a dear friend who would like very much to be a countess.” He stepped forward. He was almost at the bottom of the stair.
Arthur withdrew further, mentally urging the man on. The cold breeze from the partially open entry brushed his back. If only Wulf would step in and upset the balance!
St. Aubin stopped at the bottom stair. He lips pursed and he turned his gun from Arthur and aimed direct at Simon.
“I see your game. I am no fool. Drop your gun now or I shoot the babe here and now, and damn the consequences.”
Arthur looked up the stair past St. Aubin at Lily. She stood at the top rail. Even in the low light he could see the white of her fingers as she clutched carved wood.
He let his arm fall to his side, dropping his pistol to the floor.
Lily watched Arthur, felt her heart stop as his pistol clattered on the stone floor. Still he stood proud, his every muscle tensed, giving the appearance a large predator ready to take down his prey. St. Aubin waved the pistol again at Arthur, gesturing him forward. Lily saw Arthur grow tense, felt his desire to spring.
“Don’t.” St. Aubin spoke the one word to Arthur, and his finger tightened against the trigger. He gestured again, moving Arthur to the bottom of the stair.
“Your ‘beloved angel’ – so you called her in your letters – needs to learn her lesson. I want her to see what her stubbornness has done. I want to watch her cry as you fall, to watch the blood pour from you, knowing that she and this brat are next.” Simon gave a loud cry as St. Aubin tightened his hold again.
St. Aubin eased to the side, coming to stand against one of the upholstered benches that lined the wall. Keeping his aim fast on Arthur, he dropped Simon to the cushion. Simon yelped louder and began to thrash. Ignoring the baby, St. Aubin brought his second hand up and braced the pistol, his eyes staring a hole deep into Arthur’s chest.
Lily breathed deep. She eyed the long cylinder of the gun barrel, watched the finger grow taut, and waited for the bullet. Her glance shifted to Arthur, her golden wolf. Meeting his eyes, she tried to convey in a moment the depth of a feeling she had only begun to express. He met her eye, and then his glance lowered to her fingers, which lay limp upon the balustrade. It was an instant of perfect understanding. The hint of a smile played on her lips as she thrust herself onto the b
aluster – and hurtled towards the startled combatants.
Arthur glanced up a Lily. She would be his last vision. Too late, he thought, Wulf would be drawn by the pistol’s discharge, and would protect Lily. He met her eye and gave one last smile, then gazed in horror as she launched herself upon the balustrade. He had no time for thought as she hurtled down, catapulting towards him. All he could do was brace himself as she slammed into him, thrusting them both pell-mell clear across the entry hall.
A shot rang out.
The door crashed open.
Which happened first? Arthur felt his heart miss a beat.
Still trying to make sense of the shocking scene, Arthur grasped Lily, quivering, in his arms. Then he crushed her in a desperate embrace.
St. Aubin lay crumpled on the floor, a crimson rose blossoming on his forehead, blood pooling on the floor. Lily gasped – she had followed Arthur's gaze. Then her eyes darted about the room.
Wulf stood in the doorway, a wisp of smoke still curling at the end of his pistol.
“Bloody hell.” They were words Arthur had never heard escape her lips. “Who in hell is he?”
Arthur’s heart began to beat again as Lily looked up at him with darkened eyes. She held his gaze for a second; then, not awaiting his answer, pushed clumsily to her feet and rushed to the bench. She lifted Simon up and examined him, assuring herself that he was unharmed. The baby squawked once more before settling down to a happy gurgle as he gazed into his mother’s eyes. Her body relaxed visibly as she assured herself of his safety.
Then she turned back to Arthur, but kept an eye on Wulf. “Is it over, then?”
“Yes. It’s over. Not as I had planned, but over.”
Lily shifted Simon in her arms and moved to Wulf. “I still do not understand, but I think I owe you my thanks, Mr. Huntington.”
Wulf’s glance shot between Lily and Arthur. “I must make apology for the distress I caused you before. I did not comprehend the situation. I must leave it to your husband to explain the rest.”
Lily glanced at St. Aubin’s corpse. “I believe your apology has been made. I do not want to think of what would have happened if you had not been present.”
Arthur embraced her again, laying a soft kiss upon her brow and then upon Simon’s.
“I would suggest that you return upstairs and settle yourself and our boy. Leave this mess below to me and to Mr. Huntington. I will join you and explain as soon as this is handled. I’ll have – where is everybody?”
Lily told Arthur what St. Aubin had planned, hugging Simon tighter as she spoke.
“Lily, take Simon upstairs. He is safe, and you are safe. Trust me to take care of the rest.”
She probed his eyes sharply. “I trust . . . I’ll see you above.”
Then, lifting her head high, she sailed back up the steep stairway, clasping Simon tightly. Arthur waited until Lily disappeared.
“That was a closer shave than I care to consider.” Arthur lifted his brow in self-mockery. “I sought the villain everywhere, but never dreamed he would darken my own door.”
“I wouldn’t have thought he’d have had the courage,” Wulf answered. “What should we do with this?” He waved the pistol at St. Aubin.
“I am afraid we shall have to call for the magistrate. At least, St. Aubin did have his gun drawn.” Arthur’s voice grew unsteady. “You have proved yourself a true friend this night. I can’t bear to imagine the outcome if you had not come. I don’t know how to thank you. If you ever need a favor –”
“Consider it a penance for my previous mistake. I need no thanks.” He smiled again, waving his pistol up the stairs as lightly as if it had been a baton. “And you will need to take care of that – mine was not the only gun to discharge.”
Arthur followed the movement and gazed upon the portrait of his father. The ball of the St. Aubin’s single shot – its intended course deflected by its owner’s fall – had found its home square between the old duke’s emotionless eyes. A wry smile twisted Arthur’s lips.
“Yes, I’ll commission a portrait of my bride in its place. This foyer could use a little cheering. That can wait, however. There is a certain duchess upstairs who I am sure is waiting for an explanation, and I had better be sure the household only sleeps.”
A matching smile cheered Wulf’s face. “Aye, that would be wise.”
“Ah, one more thing.” Arthur reached down and felt the lining of St. Aubin’s waistcoat, he pulled out a small gold ring. “My wife’s first wedding ring. I can’t imagine why he has it, unless he had it stolen from Lily when she and Worthington were attacked. Be sure the magistrate knows how it was recovered.” He tossed the ring to Wulf.
Wulf grinned. “I will. You can be sure of that.”
Arthur slapped Wulf’s shoulder in farewell. “I imagine the duchess and I will return to the peace of the country and put off the vigor of London until well into the season.”
Wulf nodded. “I’ll be leaving, myself, in the next day, after I finish with the magistrate. I find that London holds no pleasure for me.”
Lily sat in the center of Arthur’s bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. It was over. For the first time in years she felt free and full of hope.
“You are happy, then?” The low voice vibrated across the room.
Arthur lounged in the doorway. He tossed his jacket and waistcoat aside and even his neck cloth hung loosely. He looked more a dissolute rake than a proud duke.
She rose to her knees. “Happy is too simple a description of what I am feeling.”
He smiled down at her, light shining in his eyes. His eyebrow rose, but its expression was not mocking, only questioning.
“I feel free, and safe, and wondering. I have lived so long with worry, I am unsure how to greet safety.”
Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed. There was a tentativeness about him she had never seen. He traced the pattern of the embroidery with his finger.
“You’re safe, both you and Simon.”
“I know, but it will take time to believe.”
“Did you hear more of the conversation from below?”
“No, I needed to settle Simon, and then I was lost in my own thoughts. I trusted you to do what would be right.”
“You did, didn’t you? Trust me, I mean?”
“Yes. I find I trust you implicitly. I might question, at times. For instance, when a tall, lush widow thinks it her place to handle you,” Lily said, not concealing her jealousy, “Or when you neglect to explain how my attacker can possibly be your bosom friend. But I find that, despite all, I trust you, and against all appearances, my trust is rewarded.
“As for the widow, she’s merely an old friend. Mr. Beowulf Huntington is another matter. He is an even older friend. I am sure I’ve mentioned him before. Will it content you if I say that St. Aubin duped him? He did not know the truth of our story when he waylaid you. He thought he was protecting Simon from a scheming woman, and returning him to his proper place and due. Wulf had his reasons for believing as he did. Will you trust me farther if I say he is a good man, and deeply regrets the harm he caused you?”
Lily nodded in wondering silence.
“Did you mean that other thing you said this afternoon?” He looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Do you still mean it?”
She paused, afraid to believe the question she had heard. Her heart beat fast.
She rose from the bedstead and stood behind him, pressing her face against his back as she whispered, “Yes, Arthur. Yes, I love you. I never expected to, or wanted to, but I do. I would willingly have died for you.”
“Is that what love is? Is it the desire to put someone else first, not simply because it is a duty, but because there is no choice?”
Lily wrapped her arms tightly about him. “Perhaps, or perhaps more. It’s not your safety alone I care about, but your happiness. I do not regret what I told you, but what I left unsaid. I suppose I feared my gift would not be welcome.”
Arthur embraced Li
ly, bringing her cheek to rest above his heart. “Not unwelcome, but unexpected. I’d never heard those words uttered before – nor realized how much I needed to hear them. They overwhelmed me, and I fled before them. Perhaps I was afraid that if I accepted your love I would grow to crave it, become addicted to it, lose my ability to be strong alone.”
“And now you realize that is not true.”
He laughed. “No, I realize how true it is. I do need you, Lily. Oh, aye, I could live without you, but it would not be a world I could wish to live in. I am unready to retreat into that uninteresting darkness I inhabited before stumbling across your path.”
Arthur drew Lily’s face up to his. The trace of a smile danced on her lips. She had thought she could bear to live as a friend and paramour to him, but as he spoke, she realized how empty that would have been.
She steeled herself, eyeing Arthur warily. “And you, duke? How do you feel? Am I a duty, a possession for you to protect?”
“I knew you would have the courage to ask. I will certainly protect you, always, both you and Simon – but you are not a duty. Yes, Lily, I love you. I never thought I would place myself so willingly in another person’s hands, but how could I deprive you of the joy I feel when you say the same words to me? Lily, you do not complete me; you enlarge me. You have introduced me to a world I did not imagine, filled not only with duty and honor, but with joy and caring.”
Lily wondered if Arthur could see the gleaming within her as he spoke. She had never dreamed such happiness was possible. Nothing could improve the moment. Nothing, except . . .
She ran her hands down her husband’s firm body with a light touch.
“Then come, Arthur, husband, show me just how much you love me. I find I grow weary of talk.”
With a low laugh, he swung her into her arms and stepped towards the bed. It was time to experience how sweet this new life could be.
*****
Keep reading for and excerpt from Price of Desire the second book of The Desire Series.