“Oh, yes.” Flora nodded. “But I laugh when I’m scared.” She stared intently at the gold lettering of the book’s title. “I didn’t always. Not when my mama and papa were alive. Then they...” Lily took in the girl’s white-knuckled grip. “They...” Died. They died. When presented with this innocent girl’s suffering, all the unholy glee she had found in George’s family’s suffering faded, leaving her with a humbled shame for not considering that not all of George’s kin were vile, heartless fiends. Flora raised grief-filled eyes to hers. “So you see, sometimes I laugh when I am not supposed to.”
Yes, sorrow and fear elicited all manner of peculiar reactions in a person. “When I...” Was cast out of my family, “...came to London,” she settled for. “I missed my family very much.”
Flora scrambled forward to the edge of her seat. “Did your mama and papa die, too?”
It was Lily’s turn to hesitate. She dusted her palms together and studied her gloved fingers. From the moment she’d been discovered by the town gossip, wrapped in the young duke’s arms, her fate had been sealed. “They are lost,” she said firmly. “They are not dead.” Flora slid her fingers over Lily’s and gave a gentle squeeze. At that innocent, tender gesture of support, emotion balled in Lily’s throat and she cleared it. “When I came to London I began talking to myself.”
The girl’s little lips twitched. “Talking to yourself?”
“It is quite bothersome, I assure you.” Fortunately, for the lonely mistress of a bored nobleman, there’d been few around to hear Lily’s mutterings.
The room filled with Flora’s giggles. “That is bothersome.”
“Oh, undoubtedly.” Lily waggled her eyebrows. “Particularly when you are attending Sunday sermons.” As soon as her paltry attempt at a jest left her mouth, she registered what she’d said. She’d not stepped foot in a church since she’d left Carlisle.
Flora spoke, bringing them round to their previous subject matter. “Are you afraid of him?”
Something in that halting question said that Lily’s answer was very important for reasons that went beyond the mere topic of a yelling, angry duke. “When I was a girl, younger than you are now, my brother found a pup wandering the countryside.” The memory pulled at her and, with her telling, sucked her back to Carlisle, to the place she’d called home.
Ever the duke’s niece, Flora sat in patience waiting, all the while her eyes urged Lily to continue in her telling. “His name was Pup.”
Flora furrowed her small brow. “That isn’t a very clever name for a dog.”
“I quite agree.” Lily smiled in fond remembrance of the unoriginal name settled upon him by her siblings. “He had three legs.”
The girl’s eyes went round. “Three legs?” Then she narrowed them suspiciously. “Are you making light of me?”
Lily shook her head. “Not at all. When Shel—,” she coughed into her hand. She’d not allowed herself to speak aloud the names of her parents or siblings since she’d left. “When my brother discovered him, Pup was hungry and scared.” Her arms ached to hold that mongrel pup with the same hungering she did to hold her siblings once more. He’d been a faltering, deaf, white-whiskered dog the day she’d left. He’d be long gone now. Odd, the loss of that loving canine should elicit the same gut-wrenching pain as being cut off from her family.
Flora squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the moment. “What happened to him?”
“The villager who set Pup free into the wild did not want him because he was...injured.” The duke’s scarred, chiseled cheeks flashed to her mind. He might be an odious, snarling beast, but her heart twisted anyway with the pain he’d known. “He barked and growled,” not unlike the duke’s thunderous roars, “quite ferociously at my brother and anyone who came near him.”
“Did he bite you?”
Lily shook her head. “He did not.” A brown curl tumbled over Flora’s brow and Lily brushed it behind the girl’s ear. “It did not mean I didn’t fear him every time he barked and snarled.”
Flora wrinkled her mouth contemplatively as she seemed to consider her words. “I don’t understand.”
She gave Flora a gentle smile. “Well, you see, your uncle is like Pup.”
The little girl’s mouth fell agape. “The duke is like Pup.” Another giggle burst from her lips. She slapped a hand to her mouth but laughter escaped. “You are saying my uncle is like a dog? And dogs go outside. Uncle does not leave this house.” She paused. “Ever.”
He never left this dark, miserable house? Thinking of the duke shut away from the world, living in shadows, and never knowing the feel of the sun on his skin, sadness stabbed at her heart. Aware of Flora eying her curiously, Lily continued. “Er...well, the duke is not like a dog. But the dog.” Altogether different. Story now told, she admitted that anyone who heard such a comparison would have been scandalized with the analogy between the duke and an injured pup. She lowered her voice. “And yes, your uncle is like Pup,” she clarified. It was fortunate the duke did not leave his office and wander down these halls. For if he happened upon this conversation where she likened him to a dog, she’d be sacked for sure.
In the sprawling townhouse he now called home, Derek sought out but three rooms; his chambers, his office, and his library. The sole halls he used were the ones that led to one of the respective spaces. He’d embraced the solitude of his office and was quite content to bury himself away in the privacy of his own company. Derek drummed his fingers on the smooth surface of his rosewood desk. So how was he to explain this restless energy running through him to abandon the sanctuary of this very room? He slid his gaze over to the closed door.
It is her...
He ceased his tapping. “Do not be preposterous,” he said under his breath. After all, what reason could he truly have to want to see Mrs. Lily Benedict? The lady was a mouthy spitfire with fury in her eyes, when he’d always preferred his women with soft eyes and an enticing smile. The muscles of his belly clenched and unclenched with the unnecessary reminder that the days of being viewed as anything other than an oddity at a Piccadilly Circus were over. The burns and scars on the left portion of his face marked him a monster for all.
Except, the young lady who’d stormed his fortress and demanded an audience, and then a position in his household, had not stared upon him with horror. Derek sat back and drummed his fingertips along the arms of his chair. Oh, there had been, of course, the inevitable shock, but that had faded so that for their entire exchange, he might as well have been, once again—human.
With a growl, Derek grabbed the cane resting against his chair and surged to his feet. His need to exit these rooms had nothing to do with the memory of her spirited display in this very room. Nothing. Abandoning his ledgers, he now shuffled down the halls, on to the library, which had come to represent his one escape from hell and loneliness. He continued limping through the halls, when a muffled giggle brought him to a bumbling stop outside his library.
A frown formed on his lips. With the burden his sister had thrust upon him, and through that burden, another burden in the form of Mrs. Lily Benedict, not even his library belonged to him anymore. Derek turned to go.
“...The duke is like Pup?”
The muted words belonging to the girl jerked him to a stop. Ignoring the ache in his thigh, caused by those quick movements, he fixed a glower on the door. What in blazes? Surely the damned governess or nursemaid or whatever the hell she was would not compare him to—?
“Yes, your uncle is like Pup.”
Bloody hell, she had. His ward’s hilarity spilled past the wooden panel. A low rumble of fury built in his chest and climbed his throat. He tossed the door open so hard it bounced off the back of the wall. Derek cursed and thrust his cane out to keep the panel from closing in his face.
Two startled shrieks met his undignified entrance. With lurching steps, he stumbled further into the room. All the while his furious gaze remained fixed on the woman who was more bothersome than the rodents seeking out t
heir survival on the battlefields of France. “What are you doing here?”
His sister’s daughter slid behind her governess. Fury raced through him. Her goddamned temporary governess. The woman gave no hint of that same fear. She stood unrepentant with her head tossed back and fire in her eyes. “Your Grace,” she greeted and then dipped a, by his way of thinking, insolent curtsy. Despite himself, a grudging respect filled him. “We were speaking, and,” she motioned with one hand to the stack of books littered about his sofa. “Reading as part of our studies.”
Derek dipped his focus and his gaze caught on Lily’s fingers tucked behind her back, locked with the girl’s. Did she seek to comfort the child? Or did she seek courage for herself? Or was it really a combination of the both? He narrowed his eyes, hating that he should care, either way. “Speaking, you say?” He dipped his voice to a low, deliberate whisper.
She gave a stiff nod.
“You were instructed to not enter these halls.”
The lady motioned with her other hand toward the hall. “No, I was instructed to not wander down those corridors.” She paused. “Which I did not.
The vexing Lily Benedict would drive a vicar to drink during Sunday sermons. He jammed the heel of his palm into his eye. The child’s need for a governess be damned, Lily Benedict brought with her more trouble than a bloody hurricane. Derek dropped his arm back to his side. He took another step toward the quaking pair. Their feet in harmony, they backed away from him. “Those corridors run down this hall, madam.”
“Ohhh...” Lily drew out that questioning syllable and then stopped. She chewed her lower lip, drawing his gaze to that subtle movement—and that plump flesh. Since his disfigurement, he’d not known the pleasure of a woman’s body. He’d been foolish enough to try just once in the early days of his return. Visiting a seedy club in the Dials, not even the desperate whores there would lie with him. “Do they?” His years of celibacy no doubt accounted for the lust raging through him. Over a goddamned lip.
He forced himself to recall her earlier question. “Do they what?” he snapped.
“Does that hall run down this hall?” She gestured with her hand. “I would say that as there is another intersecting corridor, this one qualifies as an altogether different hall.”
By God in Heaven, she’d so blatantly challenge him? A growl worked its way up his chest; an animalistic sound that stuck in his throat.
The girl at Lily Benedict’s back buried her face into the woman’s skirts momentarily calling his attention downward. He lifted his gaze back to the fiery-eyed governess who glowered in return. Not taking her eyes from Derek, she leaned down and whispered something to the child. Those hushed words penetrated some of the girl’s terror for she nodded in response.
“Curtsy to His Grace,” Lily murmured.
The girl snapped her eyes open. She managed a rusty curtsy and then with a look from her governess, her very temporary governess, the governess who led her to the doorway where the girl then raced down the hall.
Derek stared after her a moment. Hmm, how very odd. This spirited governess had captivated the girl, as well. The child had formed an attachment with this woman so quickly? It spoke volumes to the child’s loneliness. A sensation feeling very like pain needled at his chest, and on the heel of that was a comforting fury with this interloper, with the child, with himself for feeling anything when he was content to live a numbed, solitary life.
Between yesterday’s disregard for the privacy he craved and today’s continued explorations, this woman could not stay. He wheeled around, prepared to send Lily Benedict, packing.
The feisty beauty planted her hands upon her hips and glared. “How dare you?”
Derek froze and looked about for the particular “who” in question but found the hall remarkably empty. “Are you speaking to me?” he whispered, returning his focus to the woman. This odd figure who at the same time, quaked in his presence and boldly challenged him.
“I am. With your snarling and snapping, you terrify the ch-child...” Her words trailed off as she stumbled away from his advancing form.
“I terrify the child? Or I terrify you both?” He hated that her answer mattered and yet—it did.
The rapid rise and fall of her chest supplied the woman’s answer. She continued backing up until she collided with the end of the corridor wall. Lily splayed her hands out behind her and pressed her palms to the surface. “You terrify us both.”
Her honesty jerked him to a halt. The only manner of sincerity he’d come to expect from people had been in their fearful gazes and repulsed glances. Then, he continued walking. “You should be terrified.”
The graceful column of her neck worked with the force of her swallow. “Sh-should I?”
“Oh, yes,” he whispered, coming to a stop before her so a mere hairsbreadth separated them. “You see, I warned you to stay away.”
“Fr-from the other corridor.”
“From this one,” he said on a lethal whisper. “I warned you what would happen were you to invade my sanctuary and you have defied my orders.”
She wetted her lips, that slight, seductive gesture alluding to her nervousness. Except a wave of potent lust slammed into him; a desire to claim her mouth under his and explore the hot, wet cavern until she was begging for his caress. What madness was this? He thrust aside those musings that surely came from being without a woman for too long, and when he had been possessed of a full face and charm, he’d certainly never gone about seducing members of his then father’s staff. “For a woman who so desires the post, you’ve not demonstrated as much with your actions.” It was why she had to go. Defiant, disobedient figures in his household would not do. He dipped his head close to her, shrinking the already infinitesimal space.
A strand of black hair tumbled over her forehead and, in a reflexive moment, Derek captured it between his fingers. Softer than satin. The lady’s breath caught audibly and she looked to him with some indefinable emotion in her eyes. Did she feel this hunger inside, as well? He froze, numbed by his body’s awareness of her; this dangerous need for another person. He’d spent years shutting himself away and building up defenses where words could not hurt and glances were expected, and he wanted and desired no one. For who could ever feel anything for a grotesque figure who belonged more in a nightmare than amongst the living? Yet, in less than two days, Lily Benedict had roused a hungering from within that reminded him he was very much alive—and he did not like it one fragmented bit. He suddenly released her curl and took a step back. “Mrs. Benedict?”
“Yes?” Her word emerged as a breathy whisper.
“Get out,” he rasped.
She held her palms up as though in supplication. “You cannot—”
“I can do anything I bloody well please.”
“—go about scaring Flora,” she continued over him.
“Flora?” He rocked back on his heels and stumbled for his shock. The lady had not intended to argue for her post?
“Your ward,” she snapped, misunderstanding the reason for his befuddlement. Gone were all traces of her earlier trepidation. “Your sister’s child.”
Once again, her dedication to a child she’d but just met took him aback. His mother had shown little affection for her children, beyond the purpose they served. The governesses who’d come into his household before had fled, without a backward thought for the girl. He furrowed his brow trying to make sense of her staunch defense. Lily’s devotion to Flor—the girl, could only be explained by her desire for the post of governess. “Ah, again, that touching devotion to that child you’ve only just met.”
A flicker of pain lit her eyes, but then as soon as it came, it was gone. Had he merely imagined that faint gleam in their aquamarine depths? The lady set her shoulders back. “She does matter,” she said quietly. “It is not Flora’s fault she finds herself here with you.” She paused and looked pointedly at the scarred portion of his face. “Neither is she responsible for the marks you bear.” He went stiff, una
ccustomed to any bold statements about his disfigurement. The audacity of her words stunned him silent. “Furthermore, it would be wrong to send her through life holding her guilty for the crimes of others.”
Derek searched about his black soul for a jeering response but came up—empty. He eyed her with a sudden wariness. This woman with her bold scoldings and her unerringly accurate pronouncements terrified him worse than the damned French on the battlefield ever had. He needed her gone. “Get out,” he repeated quietly. Please.
Part of him that had come to expect her spirited rebuttals braced for her bold defiance of those orders, just as she’d done from the moment she’d entered his home. Except, as she dropped a polite curtsy, and then walked stiffly down the hall, an unexpected disappointment swirled through him wishing that this time she’d stayed.
Chapter 6
After his exchange with the spirited beauty yesterday morn, Derek attempted to thrust the thought of Mrs. Lily Benedict into the darkened recesses of his mind where other memories went to die. Except, the memory of her too-full lower lip and her lean, lithe frame proved how ineffectual his efforts truly were.
I wanted to kiss her. And for a moment of madness, in her eyes, he’d believed she wanted that kiss, too.
As such, he’d decided to torture himself in other ways by seeing to the routine his bloody fool of a doctor had tasked him with. How could massaging the muscles and walking on the blasted leg ever help heal the old wound? After languishing in bed for two years, nearly dead of his burns, he’d struggled out of bed, and attempted to wrestle use and movement into the useless limbs. The daily exercises gave him a daily purpose—even if just a small one. Now, however, his body would not allow him to wallow in the truth of his failings.
Instead, Mrs. Benedict with her black hair and aquamarine eyes commanded his whole body’s interest. Or it had.
Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) Page 10