Chapter Eight
Luc studied the beauty in front of him as she dropped into a graceful curtsey. Damn it all if that wasn’t the same minx who had been haunting him since her abrupt disappearance from the club. Heathcliff was right about her identity, but what was most confusing was why the daughter of a duke would deliberately seek out the dark shadows of his club, presenting herself as a courtesan. Her perceptive blue eyes flashed with intelligence, daring him to call her out.
He wouldn’t . . . yet.
He resisted the urge to tug on the collar of his stiff white shirt. The damn ton were circling him like vultures, all fighting for a delicious piece of gossip to take away and titter about with their friends. It reminded him anew of why he avoided these parties and these people like the black plague. Irritation rose within him as he considered his situation. It was Heathcliff’s idea, and he had no one to blame but himself for agreeing. Although a measure of his irritation melted in the heat of his curiosity directed toward the woman before him, he still didn’t feel at ease.
Heathcliff was too bloody comfortable with the situation; rather, he was too bloody amused. Which he made blatantly apparent when he stepped forward.
“I don’t believe I’ve had a proper introduction, my ladies. I’m Heathcliff Marston, Viscount Kilpatrick. You may call me whatever you wish.” His brogue made the scandalous words even more seductive, and Luc barely resisted rolling his eyes. The crowd whispered loudly behind them, conveying his rakish ways to the rest of the ballroom.
Delightful.
“A pleasure, Lord Kilpatrick.” Liliah gave another delicate curtsey, her expression amused.
Which pulled Luc up short.
What in damnation did she have to be amused about? They had figured out her identity, and any association she had with them would serve to scandalize her situation. Yet she didn’t seem concerned, and that was troubling, it was odd, it was . . . challenging. Either she was daft, or she had nothing to lose.
If she thought this was amusing, would she allow other liberties? The thought was delicious, and utterly impossible. She was an innocent—at least innocent enough. She wasn’t one to trifle with, at least without unnecessary risk. And that risk wasn’t simply the ire of a scorned woman, it was the social constraints of being forced to marry, of entering into the very convention that turned his heart cold.
Hell would need to freeze over first.
And it would have to be a damn solid freeze.
Heathcliff’s voice pulled his thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Lady Liliah, would you do me the honor of this next dance?”
Luc’s gaze shot to his friend. Clearly the man was daft. First, because they had shown up to a party, unannounced and probably uninvited—since Luc made it a point to toss out any invitation that dared cross his threshold. Second, because Heathcliff was to bloody prance around in the quadrille? Luc tried to remember the last time he’d seen his friend dance.
And failed to remember one instance.
This ought to be interesting.
“Of course.” Lady Liliah blushed prettily, even as her gaze lingered on Luc, causing a strange sensation to rise up within him before he determinedly tamped it down.
She placed her delicate hand in Heathcliff’s monstrous one and strolled off toward the dance floor. Luc scoffed silently at the reaction of the ton. As if Heathcliff had become Moses, the ballroom parted like the Red Sea. As the first notes of music hung in the air, the dancers took position. The men cast wary glances toward Heathcliff, while the women’s gazes lingered appreciatively. It was nauseating.
“Would you care to dance?”
Luc glanced behind him, watching as Meyer, the Baron of Scoffield, reached out and extended his hand toward the other lady beside him, whom Lucas had utterly dismissed the moment he’d made her acquaintance. Yet the intensity of the gaze between the two people caught his attention. It wasn’t the gaze of interest; it was the gaze of desperation.
He’d seen it hundreds of times before. When what you want is just out of reach. You can touch it, but cannot grasp it. Gamblers, men with broken hearts, women offering their love . . . only to have it rejected—it was the same for each one.
Something seemed off.
And he couldn’t help but wonder if the lady dancing with his friend was the keeper of many secrets.
Lucas watched as the couple danced past him. The woman ignored his presence, but the man studied him, as if taking his measure. It wasn’t the gaze of a man studying a competitor; it was the gaze of a man looking out for a friend.
And as they walked into the center of the room, Lucas’s mind filled with questions.
He only hoped that Heathcliff was having better luck finding answers than he.
Chapter Nine
Liliah could feel the gaze of the ton on her back like an open flame. Rather than focus on the attention she was receiving, she kept her focus on the man before her. His ready smile was a contradiction with the size of his frame. He should be formidable, yet wasn’t. It was his eyes, she decided. They crinkled just enough to put her at ease. He truly was a handsome man, but his appearance was easily glossed over when he stood beside the raw beauty of Luc. Heat simmered just below her skin and she glanced away to the other dancers.
“Ach, why are you grinning so?” Lord Kilpatrick asked, just as they passed one another in the quadrille. Liliah grasped hands with another partner, nodding to the gentleman before releasing his hand and grasping another’s and doing a turn. Across the circle, the viscount’s expression implied he was more than willing to patiently await his answer.
As the music continued, Liliah again found herself grasping the viscount’s hand. “You seem to be a keeper of secrets, my lady,” he whispered quickly before releasing her to her next partner.
Liliah wasn’t certain how to reply to such a statement, but was blessedly relieved from giving an immediate response as the dance continued. It was several turns later that she was once again with the viscount.
“Perhaps, or maybe you are assuming much where no foundation for truth lies,” she answered, then released his hand, taking another’s.
An amused smirk tipped his lips, and Liliah wondered how long he’d dance around the topic in which he was likely most interested: how she’d escaped.
It was ironic how they were dancing with their bodies and their words, as the flow of the music prevented a full conversation. As the final strains ended, Liliah curtseyed to her partners, and held her breath as the viscount came to escort her.
“My lady.” He offered his arm.
She could have walked away . . . but her curiosity was too strong—far stronger than her good sense—and she took his arm delicately.
She broached the topic boldly. “You wish to know how I escaped?”
The viscount gave her a sidelong glance. “Amongst other things.”
“What other things?” Liliah questioned as he took her for a turn about the outside perimeter of the ballroom. The hungry gaze of the ton followed them, but the interest was diminishing.
How fickle society was.
Not that she minded.
“I would think it would be quite obvious, my lord. I ran. However, it leads me to my first question: How were you aware of my identity?” Liliah studied his face, curious if she’d have any inkling if he attempted to lie.
“Running. Why didn’t I think of that?” he joked sarcastically, rolling his eyes. It wasn’t exactly gentlemanly behavior, but it suited him somehow. “I was more curious as to which exit you took, since they were all heavily guarded.”
“Ah, were you expecting trouble, then?” she asked, arching a brow.
The viscount shot her an approving gaze. “Perceptive, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “Perhaps, but apparently we weren’t vigilant enough.”
“If I speak of how I found entry, then I can’t come back.”
The viscount’s caramel-colored brows shot up. “So you’re planning to return? Why not use the front door?”
he teased.
“I was told that ladies of breeding weren’t welcome,” Liliah answered cautiously.
He halted his steps, regarding her shrewdly. “That is because ladies of breeding leave as ladies of the night, if they darken the halls.”
A shiver of fear trailed down her back, followed by a thrill of excitement. “I shall remember that, and remember to avoid the front door.”
“Which begs the question, why were you interested in our little soirée?” the viscount asked, resuming their leisurely walk.
Liliah shrugged slightly, using the gesture to stall and collect her thoughts. She wasn’t quite certain how much information she wished to divulge.
“Isn’t a lady allowed her secrets? Why, what mystery would I hold if I came clean on all accounts, my lord?” she asked with a cheeky grin.
“Then maybe you’ll answer the most pressing question from our perspective,” he said, flickering his gaze to her.
“Perhaps.”
“How did you even know the club existed?” His words were casual, as was his tone, but the way his shoulders froze momentarily gave away his level of curiosity.
Liliah debated, but figured that it wasn’t truly a secret she needed to keep. “A friend slipped, and then when that person refused me additional information, I asked a more . . . enamored friend . . . for further details. It wasn’t difficult from that point. You truly should be more careful about who is aware of your little club if you wish to remain so exclusive that even the dandies don’t speak of it,” she uttered quietly.
“I see.” The viscount nodded. “And you’ll give me no more information on the topic?”
“I have truly nothing to give. I’d rather think the largest liability you have is me.” She shrugged, biting back a grin when the viscount halted his steps abruptly.
His expression registered surprise before quickly being schooled into indifference. “Pardon?”
Liliah took a slow breath, measuring her words, knowing that this was the pivotal point at which she laid her wager on the table, hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff. “Of course, my silence would come at a price.” She faced him fully, tilting her head and offering a smile.
The viscount grinned slowly, amusement flickering across his expression. “And what price would that be? Surely the Duchy of Chatterwood isn’t destitute.”
She leaned in, waiting till he followed suit. “But, sir, there are some things that ladies cannot purchase . . . with their father’s money.” She leaned back, watching as confusion, then curiosity shifted across his face.
“I see. I wasn’t aware I made such an impression on you, my lady.”
“Are you certain I’m referring to you?” Liliah asked, embarrassed at her own brazen behavior, yet unrepentant nonetheless.
“I see.” His grin widened. “Isn’t this interesting?”
“And possible?” she questioned.
“Perhaps,” he answered enigmatically, tossing her previous response back at her.
The strains of the cotillion started, and the viscount shifted their position. “Would you do me the honor?”
“Two dances? You certainly wish to cause talk tonight, don’t you?” She smiled archly, even as her pulse raced with the excitement of their conversation.
“As I’m already causing talk, why not make it worthy?” he answered. Yet his gaze focused just over her head, as a wicked gleam illuminated his green eyes.
She was about to turn, but he led her toward the dance floor. As the music started, she hazarded a glance in the direction he had focused on earlier.
Luc’s heated gaze seared through her, and she wondered if maybe she had just made a deal with the devil.
After all, he was a fallen angel.
And no angel was more beautiful than the Earl of Heightfield.
Chapter Ten
Lucas edged around the dance floor, his gaze trained on his friend, his mind overworking as he considered Heathcliff’s curious expression a moment before as he was leading the lady in question back to the dance floor.
Two bloody dances.
He might as well have announced his interest in the Times.
Certainly the ton would not expect him to offer for her hand—no . . . there had been no waltz. That would have been the fatal error.
His gaze lowered and he noticed a fleeting brush of Heathcliff’s hand along Liliah’s waistline as they passed each other in the dance. Hot blood raced through his veins, and there was but one word that echoed in his mind.
Mine.
The possessive nature buried deep within caused all other emotions to recoil. It was only as he took a step forward that he came to his senses.
Marching out on the dance floor and stealing her away from his friend wasn’t going to solve any of their problems; it would simply add to them.
And he had quite enough problems at the moment.
So he bided his time, watching, waiting, and cursing himself a bloody fool for even reacting in such a way.
Hadn’t he been down that road once?
Caring for another only led to loss.
Marriage bred betrayal.
And beautiful eyes only told even prettier lies.
Forcing his gaze away, he studied the room. The buzz had died down and he wasn’t the center of the gossip at the moment, or it at least seemed that way. A footman passed, and Lucas lifted a glass of champagne from the silver tray, sipping the cool refreshment as he ambled toward the game rooms. Yet as he moved closer, his interest was redirected as he heard Liliah’s name mentioned as he passed a brood of dowagers, all cackling amongst themselves.
“Chatterwood is going to have forty fits—”
“If he ever leaves the faro table,” another woman chimed in, her gaze sliding to the gaming rooms and then back to her companion.
“True enough. Hadn’t you heard that she was betrothed to the Earl of Greywick’s son? Is that what you told me, Mary?”
Liliah betrothed? Somehow he doubted the validity of that claim, especially with the man in question utterly desperate for the other lady.
“Well, that is the talk from the duke. Heaven only knows if it’s accurate.” There were a few titters and Lucas’s interest waned. As he pushed off from the pillar, he heard his name.
“You didn’t miss Lord Heightfield’s entrance, did you?”
He suppressed a groan.
“Delicious, if I say so myself. But rather untouchable, if you gather my meaning. That’s a rake if there ever was one.”
Lucas gave his head a shake of amusement, and noted that the music had shifted to a waltz. He ambled around the edge of the pillar and made his way back toward the dance floor, the gambling rooms all but forgotten. It only took a moment to find her among the crowd, her hand regally set up on Heathcliff’s arm as they left the dance floor. Lucas sighed in relief, even as he told himself it was because Heathcliff had used sound judgment in not keeping the lady on the dance floor. Heathcliff met his gaze and nodded in acknowledgment. As Heathcliff guided Lady Liliah toward him, his gaze greedily took in her form, his memory all too accurately recalling the shape of her in his hands. Her expressive eyes met his in the most direct manner, and a faint blush tinted her porcelain skin. “My lady.” He bowed mockingly.
Her brow pinched slightly, yet she held her head high, nodding once. “My lord.” She emphasized the word, as if saying it out of courtesy, not respect.
Anger and frustration warred within him at the slight, yet it wasn’t unwarranted, he simply wasn’t used to being challenged by women. Nor did he appreciate the onslaught of emotion that she provoked within him.
Lucas was about to add to his insulting sins when the gentleman he’d met earlier all but interrupted. “Lady Liliah?” He held out his hand, and Lucas studied his face.
The man’s gaze was severe.
His lips were pressed into a firm line.
His expression resigned and painful.
Yet he took Liliah’s hand tenderly, his response at war with
everything readable on his visage.
Lucas stepped back, giving the couple room, and turned his attention to Liliah. The teasing light in her eyes was extinguished like a rain-soaked flame, and her shoulders caved in, as if defeated; with a longing in her expression, her gaze flickered to his, then shuttered as she followed the man’s lead.
“Interesting,” Lucas mumbled, studying their body language. On the dance floor, they kept more than a proper distance between their bodies, their expressions broken in various degrees. It was utterly pathetic and depressing at once.
Heathcliff came to stand beside him. “Odd.”
“Indeed,” Lucas replied.
Heathcliff shifted his weight to inch closer and leaned forward, whispering quietly. “Our lady friend is quite fascinating.”
Lucas tamped down the immediate affirmation, and settled for a simple nod. “Were you able to find out any pertinent information?”
Heathcliff gave a light scoff. “Indeed. And I do believe our greatest threat is not those who sneak in, but ladies who sneak out.”
Lucas tore his gaze from Liliah and turned to his friend, confused. “What can you mean by that?”
“I’ll explain later.” Heathcliff gave a pointed look to the crowded ballroom.
Lucas nodded, though he was curious to the point of distraction. He settled for keeping an eye on Liliah, studying the way she moved and the various expressions shifting across her face, when her back wasn’t turned as she danced. Of one thing he was certain: He wasn’t finished with her yet.
The idea both thrilled and terrified him, because things were never as they seemed, and it appeared that Lady Liliah had many secrets.
And if she kept many secrets, she also had much to lose.
He’d bet money she was taking a gamble with life.
But it was unfortunate that ladies weren’t taught that the house always wins.
Chapter Eleven
Liliah’s gaze lingered on Luc’s form at the edge of the ballroom. Closing her eyes, she imagined that he was her partner—not Meyer. Her body leaned into the music, and a faint smile touched her lips.
Falling from His Grace Page 6