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 other 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 b
ut 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, find 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.
“Your Grace!” His doctor came charging over from the opposite end of the hall with an alacrity and ease that would have made him grit his teeth not even a week ago. He dropped his head into his hands. And now he lay upon his backside, woolgathering about a woman. Nay, not just any woman. Lily.
“I am fine,” he mumbled as the other man came down on a knee beside him.
“Your movements were more precise, but still too quick.”
It was not the pace or the pain that had brought Derek to his proverbial knees—or in this case his arse. It was her. Why did that truth not terrify him as it ought?
Dr. Carlson leaned out and inspected the throbbing muscles of Derek’s thigh. He gave his head a shake, his expression contemplative. “They are no tighter than they usually are.” The young doctor furrowed his brow. “Perhaps we might be best served retiring for the remainder of the day.”
“No,” Derek growled. He shoved himself to his feet and cursed as his leg went out from under him. Dr. Carlson took him by the arm and steadied him. A dull flush heated his neck. No matter how many days or years passed, he’d never grow accustomed to having become this man, unable to use his own body in the simplest of ways. “I am fine,” he gritted out.
The doctor hesitated and then with a slow nod, strode briskly down the hall to his previous spot. “You’ve made great strides, Your Grace,” he called with an ease no one had demonstrated through the years. Except Lily.
He gave a noncommittal grunt. Though, in truth, the doctor did not merely issue false praise. Nor was that the type of doctor Carlson was. The day he’d returned from Toulouse, Derek had been confined to first a bed and then an invalid chair, and then resolved to either end his own life before forever remaining in that godforsaken piece of furniture or he’d climbed out. And promptly fallen.
Ultimately he’d found Carlson. No, this progress was real. They both knew the truth of that. Yet today, Derek was not trained on his painful efforts or even his own failings.
From where he stood at the opposite end of the hall, Dr. Carlson called out. “Are you all right, Your Grace?”
“Fine.” Derek gritted his teeth through the pain of using ligaments that no longer wished to be used. No matter how many times he stretched the muscles of his thighs and conditioned his body, the pain would not go away. Perhaps it would always be there. At one time, that truth had crippled him in ways that moved beyond the pain of old battlefield injuries. Now, there was a calm acceptance in knowing this was who he was. Beast to some. But not to all. Not to those who mattered.
The dimple-cheeked Flora and spirited governess who saw to that girl’s care slipped in and he found himself smiling once more. Derek stopped.
“Are you smiling, Your Grace?”
“No,” he muttered. For the acceptance he’d developed these past days, in who he was and what he’d become, he didn’t think he’d ever return to the easy-going, charming gentleman he’d once been. And that was all right, too. Time changed them all. Lily had proven that.
The familiar silence reigned once more as Derek strode with his painfully uneven gait down the length of the corridor. In the past, where the quiet had been a balm to his broken soul, now he craved the peel of laughter and tart-mouthed replies from tempting lips. Yes, in the past, each of these agonizing steps would have consumed him in a bitter fury. Now, she consumed him. Thoughts of her. A wave of desire slammed into him; a hungering that came from more than that beautiful gift of her body last night, but rather was born of her. He cast a glance past Dr. Carlson’s shoulder. Where was she even now? Her responsibilities, no doubt, had her in the nursery...
“You are shouting a good deal less since I last saw you,” his doctor called from his position under the portrait of Derek in his youth.
Yes. Yes he had been. Or perhaps she was exploring the household corridors, as she’d been wont to do since her arrival...
“Nor are you thundering for me to quit my questioning,” Dr. Carlson added.
“I bloody well should be,” he muttered, wringing a booming laugh from the other man.
Carlson folded his arms at his chest and never took his gaze off Derek’s purposeful movements. “It is my opinion that such a transformation can be attributed to but one thing.”
He would prefer the other man keep his personal opinions to nothing more than the professional sphere of Derek’s recovery and therapy regimen. Days ago, he would have hurled those very words to divert him away from his inquiries. This time, he remained silent.
“It is invariably a lad
y who muddies the waters of our lives,” the doctor mused aloud.
Perhaps it was years without friendship and dialogue, but Derek who would have normally sent the man to the devil for such musings, shot back. “What do you know of it?”
“More than you perhaps think,” the doctor said with a half grin. “But enough to know this change to your disposition could most likely be explained by the appearance of a certain...” He quirked an eyebrow. “Governess.”
Derek shot his eyebrows up. What in blazes did the man know of Lily Benedict’s role here?
“Lady Flora was quite enlightening.” He inclined his head.
A silent curse stuck in his throat. His niece chattered worse than a magpie.
Footsteps sounded down the hall and Derek looked away grateful for the sudden interruption. His butler, Harris, stood at the end, his cheeks their familiar ashen hue as he shuffled back and forth on his feet.
Derek withdrew a handkerchief and dusted his sweat-dampened brow. “Harris,” he called out.
Even with the space between them and one useless socket where his left eye had been, the other man’s flash of shock registered. “You called me Harris again,” the man blurted.
From the corner of his eye he detected the doctor’s knowing look. Derek resisted the urge to yank at his loosened cravat. “It is your name,” he mumbled. A name he’d resisted speaking to maintain that carefully crafted façade of indifference and coldness. Lily Benedict was capable of the kind of magic fey creatures were possessed of, and God help him, she’d woven a spell that had brought him back to life.
A small smile formed on the other man’s face. “Indeed it is, Your Grace.” Then clearing his throat, he said, “Mr. Davies has arrived. I-I know y-your feelings on unexpected meetings and as such have told him you are not receiving visitors,” the man’s words ran together. “He, however, i-insisted. Should I—”
He sighed. “Show him to my office shortly.”
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