And so she was Mrs. Benedict again. She nodded once. “I will. However,” she called as he turned to leave. He froze and cast a glance over his shoulder. Lily shoved slowly to her feet and tried to regain her bearing in his tall, towering presence; a nigh impossible feat with his six feet and five inches of unyielding masculine power. “I will not deal with Davies. I will report to only you about Flora.” His eye disappeared into a thin, narrow slit. She swallowed hard. No doubt, few presented ultimatums to a duke, particularly one of this commanding strength and power. “I will need to visit your office and speak to you.” She held her breath. For that request, if granted, would afford her entry to his most private room.
Charged silence blanketed the room. They stood, gazes locked on one another in an unspoken battle. As the moments ticked by and he continued to assess her in that piercing way, trepidation built at a steady, relentless rate. A man such as this one could look into a person’s eyes and glean their secrets and all the darkest, ugliest truths they carried. Her chest froze tight, until she reminded herself to breathe once more. For the lies she carried, were the dark, ugly sins that he’d no doubt destroy her for, when he ultimately discovered her duplicity.
Except...he gave a curt nod. “You will meet with me each Friday. You have an hour. Not a minute more. Not a minute less. Should you have requests to put to me, they will not come before those meetings.” Derek turned and started for the door.
An unexplainable disappointment filled her. For she well knew a man who shut himself away from Society would never exit the protective walls of his office and, as such, she would never see him. Is that not for the best? Then I may have free rein of his home and not fear being under his watchful eye...
Derek reached for the handle.
“Wait!”
He froze.
Her mind sped quickly and abandoning all proper decorum, she raced after him. “Meet but once a week?” she asked. It was madness to issue any protestations to his demands. The fewer dealings she had with this man who roused equal amounts fear and desire, the better, nay safer, it was for her to escape, unscathed. So why did she protest?
Derek eyed her dispassionately. “You’ll debate the merits of my terms?”
There was a hint of warning she’d be fool to ignore. “I will.” Then, she’d proven herself a fool many times before this. “You meet with Mr. Davies but once a week, but I am overseeing the care of a child entrusted to you. We must meet more than once each week.” Did she imagine the ghost of a smile on his lips at that last charge? Surely he’d already proven himself incapable of amusement. She shook her head. “No, one meeting will not suffice. I will meet you in your office each Monday, prior to beginning Lady Flora’s weekly lessons. And each Wednesday to go over the progress she is making and any questions I might have, until our Friday meeting where I will provide a detailed reporting for the week.”
He stood at the door and, for a long moment, she thought he’d fling her demands in her face and be done with her once and for all. “Very well, Lily.”
His words jerked her erect. What?
“You’ll have your three meetings.” Without another word, Derek turned, yanked the door open, and left. He shoved it closed and the panel rattled in its frames.
With Derek gone, her shoulders sagged. She folded her arms at her waist and squeezed tight. No matter how much she held herself, she could not drive back the self-loathing that churned in her belly and spread through her like a venomous poison. In coming here, she’d convinced herself of the right of deceiving the new Duke of Blackthorne. After all, blood will out. By the whispered rumors about the man called The Beast of Blackthorne, and the witness she herself had borne to his tirades and disdain for the child in his care, he fit with all heinous, ugly things she knew to be true about the now dead George.
Only, in three days’ time, he’d upended her world and forced her to see a man who protected himself at all costs. A lonely gentleman who’d not go near his niece for fear of terrorizing the girl with his visage. Why should he believe otherwise when, by his own admission, his own mother could not bear to look upon him? Derek Winters, the Duke of Blackthorne, was a man who trusted none and closeted himself away in his office, hiding like a great, injured beast, nursing his wounds in a corner.
And this is the man she would ultimately deceive.
Tears smarted behind her eyes; useless, empty drops, as she found just one more reason to hate herself. She stilled and blinking back tears, then stared at the door Derek had just taken his leave of. Yes, she would take from the Duke of Blackthorne and be off like the thief in the night she was...but perhaps, before she left, there was some good she could do here that would atone for some of the evils she’d done in her life.
As much as his old injury allowed, Derek walked briskly through the quiet corridors. Panic and fury warred for supremacy within, with neither proving triumphant. He’d allowed the lovely, vexing, and all things tempting Lily Benedict her three meetings. Not only had he allowed her to remain, he’d granted the lady free rein of his household and agreed to her outrageous terms of three weekly meetings. He gave his head a disgusted shake. Now he knew how that fool Odysseus, spending years of his life a willing prisoner upon that island, felt.
For instead of setting Lily from his thoughts, with each exchange, she strengthened whatever this maddening hold she had over him. He didn’t want to care—about her, his sister’s child, himself. He’d been content to live in the past, constructing defenses that would see him immune to Society and his own family’s loathing. Instead of caring, he’d fed his icy disdain for the world—for his mother who’d rejected him. For his former friend St. Cyr, who’d destroyed him. And for every woman, man, and child that had turned from him in horrified revulsion. Revenge against St. Cyr had fueled him—a desire to see that man as miserable as he’d made Derek. In the end, his efforts to shatter that man’s happiness and his marriage had proven futile.
Derek turned at the end of the corridor and marched awkwardly down the hall. Yet, since Lily had entered his household, a woman of mystery and courage, he’d been consumed by her: the sweet taste of her, the fragrant hint of lavender that clung to her skin. Through her, he felt more alive than he had since Toulouse.
His heart thundered hard and he lengthened his stride, damning his leg that slowed his retreat. For Christ in Heaven, he didn’t want to care there had been a gentleman with the face of the archangel Gabriel who’d hurt her in ways that made Derek wish he was whole again so he could tear the bastard apart with his bare hands. Why should it matter she knew hurt or pain? Why, when his own suffering was so very great? Only, the anguish in her eyes dulled his own self-pain, so that he wanted to drive back the memories that clearly haunted her.
“Goddamn you, Lily Benedict,” he spat. Derek’s heel scraped along the carpet. He stumbled and then pitched forward. Coming down hard, he caught himself on his palms as pain shot up his arms. His cane skidded across the carpet and then came to an abrupt stop at a pair of small, slippered feet. His breath coming hard and fast from his fall, he froze.
“Are you hurt?” she called and her almost haunting child’s voice carried down the hall.
He growled. “I am incapable of pain.”
The little girl took a step closer and then another. “I don’t think that is true.” She motioned to his scarred face. “That must have hurt a great deal.”
The scent of burned flesh seared his nostrils and his body went taut with the remembered agony of being stuck through over and over again in his thigh, like a lady’s embroidery scrap, by a French soldier determined to end the man whose face had been set ablaze.
“Did it?” she prodded. And then clarified. “That is hurt. Did it hurt?”
Drawing forth years of the harsh ugliness he’d reserved for all people, Derek opened his mouth, but the words would not come. “It did.” He jerked and then cast a quick glance about to the person responsible for that admission. Me. By God, I was the man who uttered those words
.
His sister’s child wandered ever closer. A tiny replica of Edeline when she’d been a girl of seven now hovered over his prone form. He braced for her horrified shock but, instead, she peered long and silently at this face. “Yes,” she said at last. “I expect it would have.” She leaned closer. “Does it still hurt?”
Derek shoved himself into a sitting position. Oh, how the ton would laugh and sneer should they see the fabled Beast in his shirtsleeves and gloveless, collapsed upon the floor with a child putting inquiries to him. Only, you don’t care what anyone truly thinks of you... Or, do you? He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “It does not,” he said gruffly, the lie slipped out with surprising ease. He was not so devoid of humanity that he’d fill this girl’s ears with the agony of movement; that his entire body throbbed daily with pain. He started. For hadn’t he spent the better part of seven years believing that very thing?
Unnerved by the girl’s silent stare, he came up on his knees and attempted to stand. His leg buckled in protest and a black curse slipped from his lips. The familiar self-hatred ran hot through him, burning him with the ever-deepening disgust for himself.
His sister’s child looked him over and then blessedly turned on her heel and skipped off as though she danced through the meadows of an English countryside and not the dark, lonely halls of The Beast of Blackthorne’s home. Derek attempted to stand once more, but his exertions running about the blasted townhouse in search of Lily Benedict and then away from her just moments earlier, crippled his efforts now. He sank back on his haunches, shifted his body’s weight onto his unaffected side and then narrowed his eyes.
The girl stopped alongside his cane and with an ease he envied, bent, scooped it up, and raced back. “You need your cane.”
Sweat dotted his brow and dripped into his eye, momentarily blinding him. He brushed it back and warily stared at the offering she held out.
She shook it. “Well?”
Reluctantly, Derek accepted it and, with the aid of the crutch, shoved himself to a stand.
“It is an ugly cane, you know.” There was a chiding tone to the child’s words that made him smile.
He quickly smoothed his features.
“I daresay if I required a cane, I would have a fairy or flower upon mine. Something happier than an ugly snake.”
He blinked. “Undoubtedly.”
“You did not allow Mr. Davies to sack Mrs. Benedict.”
Keeping up with this child’s ramblings was like being set out at sea in a squall. “Should you not be in the nursery?” Once more, the wisdom in allowing Lily to remain on, despite the havoc she wrought upon his senses, proved true.
Flora lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “Mrs. Benedict and I are going to the park for my lessons tomorrow.” She cast a hopeful look up. “Would you like to come with us?”
To smell the air. He closed his eye a moment. To feel the sun touch his face like a whispery caress. Derek opened his eye on his now scarred, disfigured face. “Run along to bed then.”
She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am glad you didn’t sack her. She is nice to you. Mr. Davies is not.”
Most people were not. And with good reason. He was an ugly, miserable bugger.
“Mayhap people are not so very nice because you are not so very nice, Uncle Derek.”
Uncle Derek. His entire body jerked reflexively. He’d been nothing more than a beast for so long, that all parts of the man he’d been had died and his name ceased to exist. Now, this child should call it forth and with her small, lyrical voice, remind him that he was very much human...and did, in fact, feel. He dusted a hand over his chest; the place his heart apparently did still beat. He preferred a life when he’d felt nothing for anyone...than this. Wide, curious eyes stared at him. Derek cleared his throat of the emotion lodged there. “No doubt you are right,” he said at last when he trusted himself to speak.
A mischievous sparkle lit her eyes. “Well, you are a little nice,” she whispered loudly. “For if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have cared about the mean things Mr. Davies said about Mrs. Benedict.”
“You heard that?” A dull flush burned his neck. Christ. What other inappropriate utterances had the girl been secret witness to?
Flora gave a pleased nod and then stopped abruptly. She twisted a curl about her finger. “What is a whore?”
Derek choked and raked a hand through his hair. “It...you...” By God, what had his sister been thinking of entrusting an innocent child to his incapable hands? He cast a frantic gaze about. Where in hell was Lily? Or Harris? Or anyone? Wide, expectant eyes met his. “Er, it is not an appropriate word,” he settled for.
She gave a slow nod. “Yes, I thought as much. Like damn and goddamn and bloody hell.” Then, a wide smile wreathed her face, revealing a gap where two of her teeth should be. That innocent, child’s grin caused an odd tightening in his chest. “Which is why you were very nice to not allow Mr. Davies to speak of Mrs. Benedict so. I rather like her.”
“Run along,” he said harshly, disquieted by this child’s artlessness and the clear reminder of innocence. “Go to sleep for your outing tomorrow.” And then he could be free of both of the young ladies.
She hesitated and then sprinted away.
With Flora gone, her words about Lily echoed about his mind. And terror stuck in his chest, with the realization that he, too, rather liked the bold-mouthed, courageous governess.
Chapter 13
“Oh, Mrs. Benedict, I have dearly missed the sun!” In a flourishing manner that hinted at a talent for the theatrics, Flora slapped the back of her forearm to her brow.
The following day, Lily and Flora with their books and blankets for the day’s lessons, marched through the crowded Hyde Park. “Indeed,” Lily said with a smile pulling at her lips.
And there was, indeed, truth to her affirmation of the girl’s words. For having been shut away for but a handful of days, she’d longed for the sun on her face. What hell it must be for Derek to be shut away with no visitors, no friends, and not even the sun’s warm rays for company. Thrusting aside the dull ache, she gave her attention to Flora. The girl chatted on, pointing out everything from the passing ladies to the magnificent carriages and horses...
Her charge stopped abruptly. “Shall we sit here?” She pointed a chubby finger toward the lake at Lily’s back. “I rather like this tree. What kind is it, Mrs. Benedict?”
Lily furrowed her brow and studied the towering tree. Having grown up in Carlisle, there had been an abundance of trees. Even so, she’d spent more time admiring the nature around her, than studying it. The wind shook the branches overhead and set the green leaves to swaying. Sunlight filtered through the green canopy. “I don’t...”
“It is an elm.”
Lily spun about to find the owner of that soft utterance.
A young woman with warm, blue eyes looked at Flora. “It is an elm,” she repeated. She turned a smile on Lily and under that gentle warmth, Lily burrowed into the folds of her modest cloak.
She took in the cut of her velvet cloak and the elegantly clad gentleman at the lady’s side. “My lady,” she greeted and dropped a deferential curtsy. Would this woman even be speaking to her now if she were to glean the identity of the person under these very branches? She thought not.
Flora skipped over and positioned herself between Lily and the smiling couple. Wind pulled at their skirts and plastered the cloak to the woman’s frame, revealing a gently rounded belly. Was the woman expecting? Sharp pain stabbed Lily’s heart, nearly crippling for the unexpectedness of it. Would the heartbreak of that lost dream ever ease? Of knowing she’d never know the gift of a child of her own. She was never more grateful for another person’s presence than Flora’s who commanded that happily wedded couple’s notice.
“Do you know a good deal about trees? Today we were going to learn about the nature at Hyde Park, isn’t that right, Mrs. Benedict?”
The trio’s attention swung back to Lily
and she warmed. “We were. Are,” she amended lamely. Her inability to identify the tree they stood under even now, hardly recommend her.
Lily took in the picnic basket in the arms of a servant hovering behind the couple. They were here for an outing. Regret tugged once more; to be on the arm of a loving husband, who looked upon her with adoring eyes. All of that she’d thrown away on a girlish infatuation. “Come along, Flora.” She dipped a curtsy to the adoring pair. “Curtsy to—”
“Lord and Lady St. Cyr,” the young woman interjected.
A lord and his lady. What an odd world she, a vicar’s daughter, now moved within. And what she wouldn’t give to trade back every vile, London moment and return to Carlisle, as it had been before one reckless decision. She cleared her throat. “I am Mrs. Benedict, and this is Lady Flora Ross. Let us leave you to your picnic.”
Shocked recognition flared in the marquess’ eyes. He swung his attention to the little girl before him. With a frown, Lily moved closer to the girl. “Come along, Flora,” she said again. She’d learned long ago that no gentleman was safe. Powerful peers with arresting smiles oftentimes hid black hearts.
Flora craned her head back and shot a frown at Lily. “But I do not want to leave this spot.” She gesticulated wildly about the landscape. “It has a magnificent view of the lake ahead and there is that wonderful boulder I would dearly love to climb on and...”
As the girl prattled on, Lily fixed on the Marquess of St. Cyr and a flood of agonized emotions paraded across his face. “Flora,” she said softly. “Make your curtsies and goodbyes to the marquess and marchioness.”
“Oh, very well,” her charge said on an exaggerated sigh.
“I knew your mother,” the man said quietly.
A laugh from some joyous lord echoed in the park. Flora stilled and looked up at the marquess with an almost desperate glimmer in her eyes. That vise of agony squeezed at Lily’s heart, once more. “You knew my mother?” she whispered.
Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) Page 18