Falling from His Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  But for whom?

  Light spilled onto the street from a house just ahead. Its size seemed overstated, and there were footmen at the entrance, speaking with the occupants of each carriage before it pulled up to the residence. Interest piqued, Liliah watched as a carriage was allowed entrance and paused before the stairs. Two men stepped out and up the stairs, another footman speaking with them.

  But what solidified her suspicions?

  The men wore masks.

  It appeared as if Spencer had given her the correct address after all! She shifted to the inside of the carriage, lest anyone see her even through the darkness, and waited as the hack passed several houses before pulling over.

  It was now or never.

  But she couldn’t very well go through the front door. She glanced out the window again. Certainly there was a servants’ entrance. If she could gain entrance through there, then maybe she could find a room where she could change, don her mask, and blend in. Absentmindedly, she stroked the small carpetbag beside her, thankful for her foresight in bringing it along.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the carriage door, careful to keep her head down, her hat in place. Without a word, lest she give away her disguise, she handed the driver a few coins along with written instructions to wait for her return—with a promised bonus if he remained.

  The driver eyed her curiously, as if not fully believing the story she’d initially given him.

  But the lure of money must have been enough, and he gave a grunt with a swift nod and seemed to settle in.

  Without wasting a moment, Liliah walked into the shadows, keeping a wary eye out. To anyone looking, she’d appear as a young lad. With her leggings and boots, she looked nothing like the daughter of a duke. Her golden hair was pinned tightly against her head, a hat hiding the gold beauty. Her hands felt cold as she gripped the carpetbag tighter, taking quick steps toward the house that promised escape—for just a night. An alleyway appeared ahead, and she studied the distance between the house and alley. It was indeed close enough that it could lead to the back of the residence. She paused, her gaze lingering on the dark cobbled alley. A slight breeze tossed a piece of discarded parchment across the cobble, giving a ghostlike appearance as it danced. One tentative step at a time, she slowly made her way into the darkness, sighing with relief when the path took a bend toward the house. Stepping quicker, she watched as several lads unloaded boxes from a cart and carried their contents through an open door.

  “Hurry, lads!” a man called, and Liliah saw her chance. Rushing forward, she kept her head down and walked up to the door, hoping the light spilling into the narrow street didn’t give away her disguise.

  “I’m late, excuse me.” She spoke in her lowest timbre, brushing past the man.

  “Ach, you’re going to be sorry, lad,” he mumbled, but didn’t stop her progress. Rushing inside, she kept her head down as she wove around servants, all rushing to and fro.

  “Did ye get the champagne? The lord insisted it be served at eleven!” a woman shouted as she passed Liliah, her accent slightly Scottish.

  “Ach, stop your worrying, woman!” another man called out, just as a lad about Liliah’s size caught her shoulder as he passed, almost knocking her over.

  “Watch it!” he ground out, but Liliah didn’t turn, simply kept pushing through, relieved as she saw several doors. As she watched, one swung open, giving her a glimpse at her target.

  Golden masks covered each face, and the sound of music like she’d never heard floated through the door, only to be shut off as it closed.

  “Are ye just going to stand there and stare, lad? Get to work!” A woman blocked her view of the door, her expression impatient as she raised a dark brow.

  Liliah nodded, not trusting her voice, and scurried on, unsure of where exactly to go. Her gaze darted from side to side, and as she moved forward, the hallway cleared up a bit from the sweltering crowd of people. Seeing a door slightly ajar, she glanced behind her. Everyone was far too absorbed in their own duties to take notice, and with a silent breath, she slid into the dark room.

  Then gasped.

  “I do believe you’re in the wrong room, love,” said a woman from the corner of the room, whose seductive voice matched her tight silk dress. Liliah blinked at the most scandalously beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Raven hair cascaded down her shoulders and around her back, hiding more skin than Liliah had ever dreamed of revealing.

  “I, uh. I—” Liliah swallowed and stumbled back, only to end up closing the door fully rather than stumble through it.

  “Oh!” The woman’s lips created a perfect O as she slowly approached. “You’re the new one, then. Lovely. Truly you’ll make a splash. Is that your dress? Let me help you.” the woman’s movements were graceful, catlike, and Liliah felt utterly wretched in comparison—a feeling that was entirely foreign.

  “Can’t you speak, love?” the woman asked gently as she took Liliah’s carpetbag and opened it.

  “Yes,” Liliah answered, piecing together exactly what was going on. Dear Lord. The woman was a courtesan.

  The woman thought that she was a courtesan as well!

  A slow smile spread across her face. What luck!

  She forced back the thoughts that questioned her sanity, offering a smile to the woman.

  “I’m Lark, sweetling. What’s your name?” the woman asked as she opened the bag and pulled out Liliah’s somewhat wrinkled dress. “Oh dear, this will never do. Lord Heightfield will never approve of wrinkles. You must learn this now if you’re going to make it out there.” She gave a stern glance that softened. “Give me just a moment, I’ll find you something. It was utter providence I took a moment to myself. I can’t imagine if you had wandered out there ill prepared.”

  “Thank you.” Liliah swallowed.

  “Just what was your name?” Lark asked, pausing with her hand on the door.

  Liliah scrambled for an idea, a grin spreading across her face as one struck her. “Delilah.”

  “Well, if that isn’t the perfect name, I don’t know what is. You just wait a moment, Delilah, I’ll be right back.”

  As the door closed, Liliah gave a deep a sigh of relief. Well, she was in. She’d made a friend, and she was about to become a courtesan.

  Well, at least pretend to be one.

  What could go wrong?

  Chapter Four

  So far, so good.

  Lucas scanned the ballroom below from the balcony, watching as the men cheered at the gambling tables off to the side, while others sauntered from one side of the room to another, studying the competition. While a small string quartet played, it was hardly heard above the constant yelling at the tables. Few danced, and when they did it certainly wasn’t the kind of movement you’d see in a London ballroom. Glancing to his list, he checked off the name of every person who was anticipated. The footmen at the gate had turned away several young bucks attempting to sneak in, but so far there was nothing amiss.

  Which made him more nervous.

  Narrowing his eyes, he studied the golden masks that covered each face, yet certain signs gave each identity away. His gaze locked on Lord Warrington at the faro table, his knee bobbing slightly as he waited for the next turn. Shaking his head, Lucas wondered just how much of the lord’s fortune was left after his immense loss just a week past. Moving on, he noticed Lord Kribe with Lark, his paramour—at least his paramour at the moment. He gave a sigh of impatience. Lark tended to be passed around among the gentlemen, and he knew she preferred it that way. Fickle as the day was long. He swallowed his irritation at the beautiful woman. He’d spoken with her concerning the possibility of causing a disruption within Temptation by allowing herself to be passed from protector to protector. After assuring him that all her protectors knew her nature, Lucas let it slide. But here was something deeper; he sensed it but didn’t push her to reveal it. In truth, he simply suspected that her fickle nature was a form of protection. And he’d not begrudge her that.

&nb
sp; They all had their own ways of protecting themselves.

  Himself included.

  Disregarding the raven beauty, his eye caught a woman in a tight red dress, but her demeanor made her stand out. Her face, though covered with a delicate golden mask, seemed far too attentive to the surroundings—as if seeing them for the first time.

  Damn it all.

  No courtesan allowed in the Temptations club would act in such a way. All of them had been screened, knew the protocols, and abided by the rules. Yet this woman gawked at every aspect of her surroundings. He needed to figure out just what was going on.

  He took the stairs two at a time, thinking back over the list of guests. Had any of the gentlemen notified him of a new courtesan? He came up blank, sure that none had. As he reached the ballroom floor, he pulled his mask down over his face, lest he attract attention, and wove around the assorted tables of cribbage, faro, and hazard to where the woman in question waited, shadowing Lark.

  Biding his time, he took the long way around the table, regarding the beauty with flaxen hair. Her dress wasn’t overly tight, which was odd since the courtesans habitually wore clothing that revealed more than the ladies of the ton, and her gloved fingers caressed her bared shoulders, as if she found it strange to wear such a gown. Between taking in the party around her, she’d turn to Lark and mimic her movements, the pop of a hip, the slow caress from her neckline to her hip with a gloved finger—they were not the practiced flirtations of a courtesan. They were the awkward movements of the innocent.

  Dear Lord.

  Who in hell would bring an innocent here? Did she recently acquire a protector? Entirely possible—yet if that were the case, why did she not stand beside him? Why Lark?

  There were far too many questions, and not enough answers. And he needed answers, damn it all!

  Sauntering over to the faro table, he took an empty seat beside Lark, giving her a tight smile as he placed his bet. He watched as Lord Kribe won the round, and Lark squealed, hopping onto his lap and kissing him full on the lips.

  A quiet gasp stole all his attention, and he turned. Eyes wide, the woman watched Lark as if astonished at her brazen behavior.

  If that scandalized her, heaven only knew how innocent she truly was!

  At that moment, she glanced away and met his gaze. He fully expected her to break eye contact, further confirming his suspicions. Yet she did not. Rather he found himself swimming in the depths of a sea-blue gaze, one that did not flinch as he arched a brow. Instead, her tinted lips widened into a welcoming smile that seemed to constrict the very air around him, making it difficult to breathe.

  “You are?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and pulling himself into line. It was a bloody courtesan! A professional seductress and flirt. He must be going daft if he let someone like her toy with his emotions.

  “Delilah,” she answered, and even with the mask covering most of her cheeks, he could see the tinge of a blush.

  Raising his suspicions once more.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen one of the demimonde blush. But damn it all, if her voice wasn’t as welcoming as a silk-sheeted bed. He tried to ignore the way her voice seemed to caress the air, and turned back to the gambling table.

  “I see you’ve met the new girl,” Lark whispered into his ear, his body growing irritated at the close proximity. Damn, the woman had snuck up on him!

  “New girl?” he asked, forcing his tone to be disinterested, when he truly was hanging on to each word, searching for answers.

  “Indeed. I found her earlier. She was quite lost, but I took care of the little lamb. Delicious, isn’t she?” Lark straightened, and Lucas relaxed slightly, appreciating the distance. Yet he wasn’t finished with the conversation.

  Turning to look over his shoulder, he asked, “Just where did you say you found her?” He cared not that the woman in question was just over his other shoulder, easily hearing every word.

  “In the servants’ entrance just past the kitchens,” Lark replied, hitching a shoulder, causing the shoulder of her deep blue gown to slide from her body.

  “Excuse me.” Lucas nodded to the other men at the table and stood, but as he turned to address Delilah, she was nowhere in sight.

  “Blast it all,” he muttered, scanning the room. Catching a flash of red just across the ballroom, he started toward it. He watched as a door opened and closed, a glimpse of flaxen hair giving him the only clue he needed to give chase. He waited till he was through the thickest of the crowd, then darted around the last two tables, wrenching the door open. A vacant hall loomed to the left and right, and he paused, listening. Soft footsteps sounded from the right, and he took off, certain he’d catch up, only to come up empty as he reached the end of the hall. Listening, he slowly approached the nearest door. Gripping the handle tightly, he opened it quickly and discovered not a girl but a staircase. A soft gasp reaching his ears was all the encouragement he needed, and he was once again giving chase. The staircase stopped at a door that opened to the balcony he had only recently vacated, and sure enough, Delilah was slipping through one of the doors in the hall. A smile tipped his lips as he stalked his prey, knowing she had no means of escape. The few doors from the balcony held rooms of the private residence of Lord and Lady Barrot. Most were likely to be vacant at the moment, as the night was still young— but there was no escape except through the door which she had just entered.

  His hand closed around the cold metal of the door handle and he slowly turned the knob, opening the door silently. He stepped over the threshold and blinked.

  “Did you enjoy our game of hide-and-seek, my lord?” the silken voice asked from her reclined position on the bed that dominated the room.

  That was unexpected.

  He was fully anticipating a woman in hiding, a woman keeping secrets.

  Not a woman playing games.

  A few candles illuminated the room just enough to make out her masked face. His gaze lowered to her shoulders, then to the soft swell of her breasts, the sight enticing him in ways he hadn’t explored in years.

  But far more distracting was her rapid breathing, and the way her leg trembled as it was tucked neatly behind the other. Knowing how to read people was one of the most crucial skills in operating a gambling hell—especially one as exclusive and illusive as Temptations—and Lucas prided himself in those particular skills.

  “I must confess that I did not. Why were you running?” he asked at last, taking slow strides toward her, trying to ignore just how inviting the bed appeared at the moment.

  She shrugged delicately, her gaze flickering to his left, then back to meet his once again. “Don’t you ever tire of the predictable?”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “I would say no. I rather delight in all things predictable. It’s so much easier to anticipate life that way, don’t you think?”

  “No. While I can understand the siren call of exerting control in one’s life, you cannot expect me to believe that a man such as yourself, a man here, would rejoice in the mundane.”

  He hitched a shoulder, his knees almost touching the bed as he towered over her. “I never once said I enjoyed the mundane. Just the predictable. But you never answered my question. Why did you run? You had no expectation for me to follow . . . or did you?”

  “You asked Lark about me, and I figured I had sparked your interest.” She smoothed her skirts, a move that triggered a million memories of debutants in the ballroom, debutants in parlors awaiting swains—hell, even his own mother smoothing her skirt before she spoke when uncomfortable.

  Surely not.

  How would a deb know about the club . . . let alone find it?

  Impossible.

  Rather, it should be. The thought made his hot blood run cool. There was one way to find out for certain.

  “You were right,” he replied in his most seductive tone. It was foreign on his lips, but he pressed forward. Placing one knee on the bed, he leaned in closer to her, watching as her blue eyes widen
ed. But rather than edge away, she sat motionless, watching him with an odd wonder, a strange curiosity that was utterly seductive in its innocent nature.

  Tugging off his glove, he reached up and caressed her bare shoulder with his hand, the sensation of her skin against his hand was like touching a smoldering coal that threatened to bring his body to life in ways he’d rather ignore. Her red lips parted, a slight gasp at the contact, but she leaned into his hand as if the warmth, the touch were welcome. A pink tongue darted out to lick her plump lips, and without thinking, Lucas leaned forward, capturing them. All thoughts flew from his mind as his body ignited with a long dormant passion that burned from the inside out. Her lips weren’t enough, and he closed the distance between their bodies, glorying in the way she immediately reclined onto the soft mattress. Every inch of his body hardened as he deepened the kiss, only to have the bloody masks in the way. A flick of his wrist sent his sailing across the room. He quickly removed hers as well, the metal making a slight clink on the wooden floor as it landed. His hands reached into her hair, his fingers trembling at the thick, soft texture of the golden locks, and he groaned as her hands found his hair as well, tugging, caressing—mimicking.

  Bloody hell.

  Mimicking.

  He broke the seal of their kiss and met the confused gaze of the woman who had utterly shredded his prized self-control. She was even more beautiful than he had anticipated. Her skin was like lit alabaster, with the smallest hint of freckles across her nose. Dark lashes framed expressive eyes that were openly searching his.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked, her tone thick with arousal, reminding him that, indeed, he didn’t need to stop . . .

  Yet in the same moment, his suspicions were more insistent than his very demanding body. “Who are you?” he asked, his body still poised over hers, his lips only inches away.

  “Liliah,” she whispered. Then swallowed. “Delilah,” she finished.

  But it was all he needed to break through the passionate haze and gather his thoughts.

  “Which one is it?” he asked, his tone harsh.