Jack couldn’t shake the overall sense that something dire was about to happen. Several times over the course of the evening, he’d tried to shrug it off. But then, he would catch a glimpse of Haggerty across the way, cozied up to Tillmanshire and his daughter and appearing snug as a worm beneath a rock.
Jack was never far from Lilah’s side. However, since she conversed a great deal with Vale’s bride, Jack could not remain too close. Otherwise, it would appear as if the four of them had paired off. He understood Juliet’s initial reluctance to have him anywhere near Lilah for that reason. His sudden immersion into society had become a matter of curiosity for many, and they would be quick to link his name with Lilah’s if he remained exclusively in her company.
Wolford, who had been making the rounds and—surprisingly—gaining admiration, now sidled up to him. “Do you know that Tillmanshire claims to have a collection of gold inlaid etchings from the Orient but refuses to show them? In fact, he even mentioned having sealed off most of his rooms for the party.”
“From what I’ve heard, the baron only recently acquired his fortune. He must be afraid of someone wanting to take what is his.”
Wolford grumbled. “Locking doors during a party is bad form. It shows ill breeding. Hell, even you keep your house open, and you haven’t always had a fortune.”
“No man would dare attempt to take what is mine.” Jack’s gaze veered to Lilah. When he saw her glance in his direction and smile, that sense of primitive possessiveness tore through him. It was more than the result of jealousy, he realized. This went deeper. The intensity of what he felt for her nearly frightened him. And he didn’t see how he was going to let her go when the time came. The eventuality made him irritable.
“True enough,” Wolford agreed. “And with those daggers in your countenance, it is no wonder. Even if you had any treasures to your name, only those who know you would dare stand in your circle, let alone step foot on your doorstep.”
“I do possess treasures. However, I see no value in bric-a-brac.”
“Or furniture.” Wolford chuckled. “It is a good thing you purchased your country estate furnished, or it would likely be as barren as your townhouse. You do realize, I hope, that when you marry, you will have to spend some of your money on baubles and trinkets to satisfy your bride.”
Normally, Jack would have issued a jesting retort about never marrying, but the notion struck him more pleasantly than expected. Warmly, even. He could easily imagine Lilah choosing the furnishings for their home. He would give her anything she could ever desire. These thoughts should have startled him, but they did not. Instead, he felt overwhelmed by a sense of impatience.
She wandered over just then, with the duke and duchess in tow.
“What has put that peculiar expression on your face, Marlowe?” Vale asked. “You look as if suffering another moment at this party is more than you can bear. For my sake, I would rather view the fireworks and be gone.”
“My husband is rather cross. Tillmanshire did not permit him to examine the explosives beforehand,” the duchess said, leaning upon her husband’s arm. Vale was forever tinkering with things for a better understanding. “Now, he is determined to make that his next experiment.”
“The pyrotechnics were the only reason we attended.” Vale nodded, a calculating gleam in his gaze as he was, no doubt, forming a list of ingredients in his head.
Beside Jack, Lilah exhaled a shaky breath. He looked down, noting faint horizontal lines above her dark brows. “Are you not fond of fireworks, Miss Appleton?”
“Only the quiet ones,” she said, attempting a laugh.
Yet when her eyes met his, he saw a trace of fear in their depths. He’d witnessed this same expression in the garden when she’d told him about the abuse her brother had suffered. And suddenly, he understood.
In that moment, he would have promised to keep every firework quiet for her. Together with Vale, they could find a way to ensure that each one only issued the faintest crackle, while flaring with colorful, sparkling light.
Before he could make such a vow, however, Juliet came up to Lilah and Ivy and drew them both away for a quiet conversation.
“Marlowe,” Vale said, remaining with Jack and Wolford, “I have been wondering all evening why you are here.”
“He has become quite the curiosity of late,” Wolford remarked.
Jack was confused. Surely Vale noticed Miss Appleton in their midst. Since the duke had always been brilliant, his cluelessness struck Jack as odd. To Vale, he said, “I am honoring the bargain we struck on Christmas Eve.”
Yet even as the words left his lips, he knew it was far more than that. From the beginning, it had been more than that.
“Our bargain? Oh, do you mean the flowers I asked you to send Miss Appleton?”
“Of course,” Jack said, wondering if his friend had doubted his word. “You wanted my assistance in seeing that she found an alternative to what awaited her in her father’s will. I am making certain that she has that.”
Vale frowned. “I only wanted you to send her flowers. In fact, I distinctly asked you not to make contact.”
“What you did was forbid me,” Jack reminded, and even Wolford chuckled beside him, as if understanding the likely results. “You had to have known that would have incurred my interest, which led directly to my taking up the banner of her cause . . . as matter of honor, because we struck a bargain.”
“Inciting your interest by forbidding you did not occur to me until this instant.” Vale shook his head in puzzlement. “Surely you are aware that she must marry a titled nobleman.”
“Yes.” Automatically, his gaze drifted over to where Lilah, Juliet, and Ivy stood. But they were no longer there.
Jack’s gaze darted around, searching for the three of them. Then, as his heart raced, he found them by the fountain. Lilah appeared to be shaking her head, her hand covering her lips. Jack knew in an instant that something was wrong.
“We must leave here at once. Order the carriage,” he said to his friends as he broke from them and started toward her, just as the footmen began to douse the torches.
Dozens of people crowded closer to the edge of the terrace, inadvertently blocking his path. Then, with the first of the fireworks, Jack caught another glimpse of Lilah. Unfortunately, he also spotted Haggerty bow to her in greeting.
“It is true. I heard it from Markham’s own lips that he believes you are betrothed already,” Juliet said, disbelief in her voice. “He’d heard the news from Miss Ashbury and in the presence of her father.”
Lilah shook her head and shivered to the soles of her feet. “No. It cannot be. I thought the rumors had faded.”
“Oh, it is true, dear Cousin,” Winthrop said, appearing unexpectedly before them, just as a flash of light and deafening boom shook the air. “I see no reason to wait any longer. You are at your prime and never more of a feather for my cap. I sent a letter to the vicar this very morning to read the banns, Sunday next.”
“The banns? No,” Lilah whispered. This has to be a nightmare. Or my imagination conjuring a truly horrifying catastrophe. This cannot be real.
Ivy stood between them. “You have no right, Winthrop. She has been given until the end of the Season before the codicil finalizes.”
Juliet stepped forward too. “I’ve had my own solicitor looking into this matter as well.”
“Then you must know that it has always been within my power to exercise my rights,” Winthrop said with a frothy, serpentine smile, before turning back to Lilah.
When Juliet lowered her head, Lilah knew he was speaking the truth.
“I wanted you to have a taste of true society so that you would know what I expect from a wife. Surprisingly, you have not disappointed thus far. And now, I eagerly await our nuptials.” Winthrop sketched a courtly bow before turning on his heel and leaving Lilah in a state of shock.
More than anything, she needed Jack by her side. She turned away from the horror that was Winthrop and saw Jac
k’s broad shoulders push through a line of guests, his expression hard, his hands fisted at his side. She nearly collapsed with relief. Instead, she staggered a bit, leaning against Ivy for support.
Jack had murder in his eyes as he glanced at Winthrop’s retreating form. When his gaze settled on Lilah, it abruptly changed to something so intense that there was no way to describe it.
He stopped directly in front of her, his hands open and ready, as if he were tempted to pull her into his arms right here. And she would have let him. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Although it was good of him to know that there was no need to give the gossips anything more to feed upon.
“Miss Appleton, how may I be of assistance?”
Another boom shook the ground at her feet. Lilah felt herself sway toward him, but it was Ivy who caught her by the waist.
“Mr. Marlowe, I fear the night air has given me a headache,” Ivy said, sounding very duchess-like. “Would you be so kind as to escort me and my friend to a ready carriage? And Juliet, would you please inform my husband?”
“Thank you, Jack,” Lilah whispered as she took his arm.
Beside her, Ivy went still. In the instant that passed, she looked from Lilah to Jack and then back to Lilah again. She lifted her brows as if to ask if this was the man she’d mentioned earlier.
Lilah nodded at this unspoken question. Yes. Jack was indeed the man she loved.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lilah did not go to church the following morning with Aunt Zinnia and Juliet. In fact, she did not even sit up in bed when Nellie brought her a tea tray before she left for her day off, along with the other servants.
It wasn’t until Lilah heard the final click of a door closing, the hush of rain pattering against her windowpanes, and the house descending into silence that she decided to rise.
Pacing the floor, she felt the weight of the clock and calendar in every step. The outcome she’d been trying to avoid all this time was now upon her. Winthrop had exercised the rights given to him in Father’s will. The banns would be read—her stomach turned—in one week.
If only he’d waited.
In a day or two, the Season’s Original would be announced.
In a day or two, Ellery would return.
But it was too late. She had failed. And now, Juliet could lose her house and be forced from town. And the life Lilah had begun to hope for was over. In the deepest yearnings of her heart, she acknowledged that Ellery was not part of it. When she allowed herself to dream, she only saw Jack’s face.
A broken sigh left her. Lilah knew only one thing could possibly cheer her after last night. She needed to see her flowers.
Grabbing her wrapper, she slipped into the voluminous sleeves on her way down the servants’ stairs. Soon, she found herself in the garden.
Icy sprinkles rained down on her as she gazed at her azaleas. Glossy, dark green leaves splayed out like earthbound stars. In the centers, buds swollen with color were nearly ready to bloom. In a day or two, they would be ready.
A day or two . . .
Gradually, the sprinkling rain grew heavier, soaking through her plaited hair to her scalp, sluicing down her parted fringe to her temples and into her eyes. Making her way beneath the arbor, she paused to blot her face with the ruffled cuff of her night rail, only to find it wet and dripping. She was soaked through and chilled but felt no urgency to remedy the situation.
Instead, she took a moment to peer down at the silver web between the bench and the arbor post. Small pearls of dew clung to the lovely spiral design. Yet something was different today. There was no movement. No flurry of activity. There was, however, a fat insect caught on one of the outer threads. Surely with such a sizable visitor, the spider would come directly and begin cocooning it in silk, wrapping for later.
Crouching down, Lilah peered closer. She touched the web gently, hoping to alert the spider from wherever she was hiding. That was when she realized what was different.
It wasn’t a fat insect caught in the web after all. It was the spider. Only she looked smaller now, her body half its size, her legs shriveled and clawlike beneath her.
Lilah sank to her knees in disbelief. She shook her head. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The spider had tended her web every day. Why did she not have visitors? Why had she been left alone to suffer this fate?
A strange, keening moan filled the arbor. As hot tears trailed down her cheeks, Lilah realized that the sound was coming from her. She was sobbing, mourning the loss of a spider. The idiocy was not lost on her.
“Lilah, darling, what is the matter?”
She didn’t even jump at the sound of Jack’s voice or his sudden appearance, crouching beside her, his hand at her back. He must have slipped through the garden door as before. Somehow, she knew he would be here, right when she needed him.
She turned into his embrace and buried her face in the damp folds of his greatcoat. “She’s dead, Jack. No one came to her web.”
“Shh . . . ” he crooned, lifting her to her feet and tucking her into the warmth of his coat. His body was a solid wall of support against her. “It was too early for most insects. It just wasn’t her time.”
Lilah shook her head, her hands fisting over his chest. “But it had to be her time. She worked too hard to end up like this.”
He took her face in his hands and tilted it up to gaze down at her. “I won’t let that happen to you.”
The determination in his countenance caused a flutter of hope beneath her breast. The fact that he understood her crazy ramblings caused her heart to swell with longing. “Why have you come to the garden this morning?”
“Am I too early for calling hours?” He offered a tender smile as he brushed her dripping hair from her face.
For someone who remembered everything she said, this was an odd thing to have missed. “We do not have calling hours on Sundays. The servants have the—”
“The day off,” he finished for her, pressing his lips against her forehead. “The truth is, I was worried about you when I saw your aunt and cousin walk into the chapel without you.”
She closed her eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. “Worried? That does not sound like you.”
“No. It does not,” he said, not elaborating. Instead, he slid an arm around her waist and bent to scoop her into his arms.
She gasped at the suddenness of the motion as he strode up the path toward the house. “Jack! I have strength enough to walk on my own.”
“Come. Your feet are bare. You are wet through and need the warmth of a fire before you catch cold.”
Left on the latch, the door took only the nudge of his boot before springing open. And he closed it behind him just as easily. She shivered, leaning into him, wanting closer to his warmth, close enough to banish his worry. It did him no good, after all. In fact, worrying served no purpose for her any longer either. The time had come when imagining a catastrophe would no longer save her from reality.
It had been foolish to linger in bed this morning, feeling sorry for herself, hating that she had so few choices and none of them what she wanted. Because if she were allowed to make her own choices, then she would choose a life with Jack.
When he hesitated and looked around without lowering her to the floor, she placed a hand to his chest in reassurance. “As I said, there is no one here. And my aunt and cousin are dining at Mrs. Harwick’s after church as well, so they will be gone for hours.”
Essentially, this fact left the townhouse under her care. He was her guest. And they would be alone . . . for hours.
“I wish you had not told me that,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper, hoarse. He closed his eyes briefly. Then, after drawing in a deep breath, he started to walk again. “Where is your kitchen? Through here?”
She didn’t have time to answer before he’d turned the corner and was already inside the room he sought. Without a word, he lowered her to sit at the edge of the worktable. The moment he stepped apart from her, another shiver sliced through h
er, making her teeth chatter.
Her hair was dripping through her wrapper, the frigid water making her colder still. She tried wringing out the plait but only saturated her sleeves as the water sluiced down her arms. To her, it seemed the wet outer garment was the culprit. As she untied the strings, she watched as Jack moved around the room, searching cupboards with efficiency, until he closed the last one.
“Where are the drying cloths?” he asked, returning to her just as she slid the wrapper off her shoulders.
“All the clean linens are upstairs. My aunt prefers to keep them in a single closet.”
His gaze dipped. “Upstairs.”
“Yes. Directly outside my bedchamber.” It wasn’t until she let the wrapper fall to the table that she followed his gaze downward. Her night rail was damp and nearly transparent. The ruffles down the center did not hide the dark rose color of her nipples or the fact that they were taut and pebbling beneath the fine cotton. In fact, the ruffles weighted the garment so that it conformed to every curve of her flesh. The fabric clung to the swells of her breasts, the tapering of her waist, the flair of her hips, and the dark shadowy triangle between her thighs.
For an instant, whispers of decorum instructed her to cover herself. And she nearly did. Her hands lifted from the table and then hovered in the air on either side of her breasts. But then she looked at Jack again. His eyes were dark, heated, and devouring her. He licked his lips.
“Lilah, order me to leave this instant,” he said, his voice more raw than rough, more beseeching than commanding.
“I have few choices that are my own, Mr. Marlowe,” she said, feigning vexation, even though it was hard to catch her breath. To ensure he waited until she finished, she leaned forward and splayed her hand over his waistcoat. “I am more inclined to ask you to . . . stay.”
He covered her hand with his and met her gaze. “If I stayed, there would be irreversible consequences. Your choices would diminish even more.”
“Then let me have the one that matters most.” Determined, she slid off the edge of the table. Lifting her face up to his, she stood in front of him, her feet between his boots. “I don’t care about anything else. Whatever happens tomorrow will happen. But today, I am still free. I belong to no one other than myself, and if I want to give myself to the man I love, then I—”
The Debutante Is Mine Page 17