She sighed. “Liliah, if you must know. What is your name?”
Liliah. Somehow it fit her, and it surprised him that she was honest. He rather expected her to continue with the charade. “Luc,” he answered, giving only the barest of information.
“Luc.” Her voice caressed his name, sending a demanding throb to his lower regions that demanded release. A pink tongue darted out as she licked her lower lip, inviting him. He knew he must ask the questions rather than succumb to the temptation—the irony wasn’t lost on him—that she presented. Yet one more kiss surely wouldn’t hurt? He leaned forward slowly, watching in satisfaction as her eyes fluttered closed as he met her lips, savoring her flavor for one more stolen moment.
“Lucas, damn it all, where is he?” Heathcliff ’s voice sounded from the hall, the sound sobering him like a jump into a frozen lake. Withdrawing from the kiss, he watched Liliah’s eyes dart to the door, then back to him, worry etched in her features as she reached up a tentative hand and touched her maskless face.
“Having second thoughts?” Lucas arched a brow as he slowly stood from the bed.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “No, but privacy is a commodity I prize.”
“On that we can agree.” Lucas shook his head and strode to the door, then paused before opening it, glancing over his shoulder. “Stay here.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply, simply opened the heavy door and slipped into the hall. Heathcliff was at the end of the hall, wiping his hand down his face in an exasperated and frustrated manner.
“Do I even want to know?” Lucas asked as he approached his friend.
“Bloody hell, where have you been?” Heathcliff threw his hands up in irritation. “Damn it all, we have a bit of a situation. I addressed it as best as I can, but we have need to calm Ramsey the hell down. He’s in Lord Barrot’s office. Come.”
Heathcliff strode away, yet Lucas paused, his gaze darting back to the room, then to his friend. “One moment.”
Pausing, Heathcliff turned, giving his friend an impatient glare. “Yes?”
Lucas ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’ll go to Ramsey and speak with him . . . but I need you to watch someone for me.”
“Did someone get in?” Heathcliff took a wary step toward his friend.
Lucas blew out a breath. “Possibly. Though it’s not what you’re thinking. She’s in the second room on the right. I’m not finishing questioning her.”
Heathcliff’s face split into a wolfish grin. “Is that what we’re calling it? I can’t remember the last time you actually ‘questioned’ a woman.” He waggled his eyebrows and started down the hall.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing of the sort, just don’t let her out of your sight, there’s something she’s hiding.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and started down the hall, but damn it all if his ears didn’t capture the soft sound of the door opening. And he sure as hell couldn’t ignore the way his body all too clearly remembered her taste, her soft acceptance of his attention, the way rosewater clung to her skin.
Pushing the memories aside, he made his way to Lord Barrot’s office, determined to focus on the problem at hand.
Only then did he realize he hadn’t a clue what exactly that problem was.
Bloody hell.
Chapter Five
Liliah listened carefully for the sound of Luc’s voice, inching her way toward the door. The voices were too far away for her to make out the words, but just as she was about to open the door, she heard footsteps. Rushing back to the bed, she held her breath.
She should be trying to escape, she should be putting on her mask and hiding—yet she traced the outline of her lips, reliving her first kiss. Surely he had heard the mad pounding of her heart, felt the slight tremble of her hands, but all she wanted to do was taste his kiss once more, reliving the maddening sensation of his body pressed against hers and the delightful pleasure it evoked.
The door handle turned, and Liliah held her breath.
Only it wasn’t Luc.
The man’s smile widened, then froze. “Please tell me you’re not who I think you are . . .”
Closing her eyes, she wished she’d have donned the mask after Luc left, but it was too late. “That depends on who you think I am.” Liliah forced a confident smile, standing from the bed and tilting her head. Dear Lord, she hoped she was playing the part well enough!
The imposing man practically filled the door, and he finished stepping through it, then closed it softly—the gentleness a complete contradiction to his size. “Perhaps I’m mistaken.” He answered too quickly, raising her doubts. “Won’t you come with me? Lord Heightfield wishes to”—he coughed—“question you.” He bit back a grin. “Don’t forget your mask . . . my lady.” He winked and opened the door.
Drat.
Liliah sighed and walked over to her discarded mask, lifting it and carefully placing it back over her face. With a hesitant step, she followed the man into the hall. The hall opened onto a balcony and she glanced over the edge as they walked by, taking in the view. Away from home, practically compromised by a man she barely knew, and following another stranger toward a dark stairway weren’t exactly the most ladylike or safe behaviors. The full weight of her predicament weighed on her shoulders. Escape was necessary, especially if the man in front of her knew her identity.
The last thing she needed was for word to get back to her father. Perhaps if she disappeared now, then no one could prove her attendance? It was worth an attempt.
They took the stairs and turned left down a shadowed hall. Voices filtered through the closed door as they approached.
“One moment.” The man spoke quietly, opening the door and slipping inside.
Seconds later she was running down the hall and taking the door that she had used to slip from the ballroom when Luc initially suspected her. That first plan had worked brilliantly—and she only prayed her next plan would work equally well. She took the stairs swiftly, her feet going as fast as possible. Not knowing just how much time she had until she was missed, she burst through the door that led to the servants’ hall, and almost collided with a woman carrying a basket of bread.
“Oh!” the woman gasped, lifting the basket high so that Liliah didn’t unsettle its contents. Without pause, Liliah set her sights on the open back door, slowing only enough to not gain attention. She nodded to a few servants that passed, who gave her questioning glances but said nothing. Thankfully the door was unguarded, and she slipped out into the night. Running down the alley, she prayed that no one lurked about, and heaved a large sigh of relief when the hack came into view. The driver’s snores reached her ears, and she broke into a wild grin. She pounded on the carriage twice, and the driver jerked awake and spun toward the noise. Liliah nodded once, stepped into the carriage, and closed the door, biting her lip as the carriage slowly pulled away into the dark night. She likely startled the driver with her change in attire, but at least she wore the mask to lend her some privacy. She accepted her left-behind carpetbag as a total loss, but she counted it a worthy price for the escapade of the evening.
A hysterical giggle started deep in her belly, transforming into a laugh born out of fear and adrenaline. What a fantastic adventure! Her heart pounded with residual fear, yet she relived each moment with utter joy. Especially the stolen moments with Luc.
Her heart pinched at the thought that she’d never know his kiss again, nor would she likely be able to return to the club. It was a pity, she rather liked her time there—with him. It was a beautiful thing, to be wanted, to experience passion. It gave her a new understanding of Rebecca and Meyer, and it brought her own future into sharper focus. As the carriage rolled on toward home, she grew increasingly contemplative. After experiencing passion, she wasn’t willing to give it up so easily. One kiss, a few stolen moments weren’t enough. Not when she was facing a very platonic marriage just over the horizon. Yet she didn’t see a way to steal any more moments, nor did she want them with ju
st anyone. It was a problem, one that had no ready answer.
The hack pulled up a block away from her home, and Liliah slipped into the dark, giving the driver the promised payment, thankfully stowed away carefully in her slipper. As she wound her way around her home to the servants’ entrance, she quietly tiptoed inside, up the stairs, and down the hall before collapsing—fully clothed—on her bed.
Perhaps tomorrow she’d think of another brilliant plan.
Lord knows she needed one.
Chapter Six
Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. I will not kill my friend, I will not kill my friend, I will not kill the idiot that is my friend. “She’s gone?” He whispered the words, afraid to release them into the air.
“I would say so.” Heathcliff strode into the room as if having not one care in the world, and sat across from Lucas. He relaxed into the wing-back chair, the wood protesting under his weight.
“You’re not taking this seriously,” Ramsey remarked, his eyes narrowing.
“I always take everything seriously,” Heathcliff replied, yawning.
“The hell you do!” Ramsey said, standing, his hands fisted at his sides. “We had two men name their seconds tonight at the hazard table, one of them my bloody uncle!”
“Hazards of the game.” Heathcliff chuckled.
“You’re not amusing,” Ramsey replied icily.
“Both of you, enough. Ramsey, all is resolved, please relax. As for the girl, it’s nothing of note. She’s an unknown, so be it. At least it was a girl, not some young buck wanting to make a name for himself, eh?” Lucas shrugged, the lie tasting bitter in his mouth.
Ramsey ran his hand through his sandy blond hair. “Very well. I’m going out to check on the tables. Lord knows what other disasters will happen tonight,” he mumbled, quitting the room promptly.
Lucas watched as the door closed, his attention arrested by the low chuckle from Heathcliff.
“What?” Lucas bit out.
Heathcliff arched a brow, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “I know who your friend is.” He stood slowly, walking toward the fire burning low in the grate.
Lucas closed his eyes, controlling his reaction, his emotions. That encounter with the minx was still fresh in his mind. “Oh?”
“Indeed.” Heathcliff glanced over his shoulder.
Lucas took a calming breath. “And are you going to tell me who the bloody hell she is?”
“I can tell you who she isn’t.”
“Helpful.”
“She’s not a courtesan, though I’ll say she played the part shockingly well.”
Lucas’s blood heated at his friend’s words. “Did you touch—”
“No, I have no business ruining an innocent.” He gave a shudder. “Lord knows I’d have to pay for that sin. I much prefer sins I can commit without punishment.” He turned to face his friend. “You, on the other hand . . .”
“Her virtue is intact.” Lucas sighed dramatically, annoyed with his friend’s conversation.
“If my assumptions are correct, only by a thin shred. She might not be bedded, but she certainly was compromised. Her gown alone attested to that truth. That, and, well . . . the fact that your mask was tossed clear across the room, as if you were quite impatient to discard it. I cannot imagine why . . .”
“What of it?” Lucas ground out, his patience wearing thin.
“I just thought you’d like to be fully aware of the situation before you know her name.”
“I know her name. It’s Liliah.” Her name rolled from his tongue like honey, and his body responded.
“Calling her by her Christian name . . .” Heathcliff shook his head. “For shame. No daughter of a duke should give such license to a man not her betrothed.”
Lucas froze.
He replayed Heathcliff’s words in his head—twice.
No. No, no, no, no!
“You’re serious?” Lucas whispered, his gaze fixed on his friend’s face.
“Lady Liliah Durary, daughter of the Duke of Chatterwood.”
“Chatterwood.” Lucas shook his head. The man was an arse, a political thorn in his side, and one of the most self-righteous, arrogant men with whom he’d ever had the misfortune to share a sordid and distorted past. And Lucas had almost bedded his daughter!
Could the evening get worse?
Of course. She was no longer here.
“You’re sure?” Lucas asked, spearing his friend with an unwavering gaze.
“Quite.”
“Blasted bloody wretched hell,” Lucas swore passionately as he ran his hand through his slightly mussed hair.
Mussed by her hands.
His mind was quick to remember the welcoming sensation of her warm body pressed against his, and he bit back a groan. “What do you suggest we do?”
Heathcliff gave a slow shake of his head. “I’m quite shocked you don’t see the real problem here.”
Lucas glared at his friend. “Forgive me if there are too many problems at this point for me to be specific about solving one. If you have a brilliant idea, by all means, share it.” He gave a wide gesture with his hand and stalked to the sideboard, pouring himself a healthy snifter of brandy.
Lord knew he needed it.
“What strikes me as the most important question is the one concerning how in the bloody hell she even knew about the club’s existence,” Heathcliff observed smoothly.
Lucas almost choked on his brandy.
As he cleared his throat, he watched his friend approach the table and pour himself a finger of brandy, lifting it in a toast.
“To your biggest problem. For once, it isn’t me,” Heathcliff teased, saluting his friend and taking a large gulp.
Lucas ground his teeth together as he thought over the situation. His gaze shifted to the remains of brandy in his glass. He swirled the amber liquid, the sharp and sweet scent floating up to his nose. “Motive. She had to have a motive to be here. Don’t tell me it was simple curiosity.” He glanced back to Heathcliff.
“Perhaps it was, but I would wager that she had other reasons. And as much as I hate to say it, our best avenue for discovering how she learned of the club would be to ask her directly.”
“Hell no!” Lucas backed away from his friend as if his words had been breathed in flames.
“Easy, old man.” Heathcliff shook his head as if annoyed by Lucas’s overreaction. “I’d rather think you’d be quite interested in seeing the delicate English flower. But if I must, I’d be happy to take your place.” He offered a wolfish grin.
“Delicate English flower, my arse,” Lucas grumbled. “And what do you expect to do? Waltz up to her doorstep during receiving hours and ask her the pointed question in front of some stodgy chaperone? Why, that will go over splendidly.” Lucas chuckled with a sarcastic edge.
“You’ve no imagination. Your need for control and predictability has robbed you of any ingenuity.” Heathcliff rolled his eyes. “We wait till some rout, make an appearance, which will no doubt be the talk of the week. Think of it, the scandalous Lord Heightfield attending a ball, and while you’re there, you make conversation. She can’t exactly give you the cut direct in such a crowded place, not without causing talk . . .” Heathcliff let the words linger.
Lucas sighed. “I rather thought we discussed your approaching the chit.”
Heathcliff’s lips tipped into a knowing grin. “I have a feeling she’ll be far more amenable to speaking with you . . . if you gather my meaning.”
Lucas did, in fact, gather his meaning. And the thought was both terrifying and tempting beyond words. But a ball—damn it all, he avoided those like the plague, rats, and mustard sauce.
“I knew you’d see it my way.” Heathcliff downed the rest of his brandy and set the crystal glass on the table.
“I never once said that.” Lucas took a slight sip from his glass.
“Ye will,” he answered in his thick brogue that came out when he was greatly amused.
&n
bsp; Damn the man. “You can leave now.” Lucas arched a brow at his friend, irritated at his cocksure attitude.
“And leave you alone with your thoughts? It always took you longer to process information. I see my presence in your life as a real blessing,” Heathcliff said as he closed the door.
Lucas glared at his friend’s retreat, then turned back to his brandy. What was going so well earlier had certainly gone to hell in a handbasket in a hurry. But he knew that he had questions.
And Lady Liliah Durary had the answers.
Chapter Seven
Liliah woke up with a pounding headache. After her adventure, sleep had been elusive and fitful. Each time she’d surrender to slumber, she’d be haunted by the face of Luc.
Drat. How she wished she knew his full name. It sounded less real to have such limited information. But in her fitful sleep, she had come to accept two important facts.
First, Luc was somehow involved in the management of the secretive club. Second, she needed to see him again.
Execution of the second act would be far more difficult. Sneaking into the club wasn’t going to work a second time. If only she knew more about Luc. With a start, she sat up in bed, a grin spreading across her lips. Meyer. He would know! She wouldn’t have to give him all the details either, just enough to gain the much needed information. From there, she could ascertain her next step.
As she rose from bed and rang for her maid, the thought that Luc would seek her out filtered through her mind. Yet she dismissed it quickly. Why would he? While she assumed he was at least marginally attracted to her, she didn’t delude herself into thinking he had any real connection to her. But, sadly, that was exactly what she needed. An escape, an encounter, and Luc would be a prime candidate to fulfill those needs.
And after her experience last night, those were, indeed, needs.
Sarah knocked gently, and entered at Liliah’s welcome. Her hazel eyes carefully studied her mistress. “How are you this morning, my lady?”
Liliah smiled at Sarah’s gentle inquiry. “Well enough for the late night we had.”
Falling from His Grace Page 4