Falling from His Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  “Escaping.” Meyer breathed the word, a cold laugh escaping his lips. “I know the feeling.”

  Liliah opened her eyes and studied her friend. “I shan’t take it personally.” She arched a brow, trying to lighten the utterly depressing mood surrounding them like a rain cloud.

  Meyer studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Who were you imagining me to be?”

  Her gaze flickered to the perimeter of the ballroom, giving away her answer before her lips uttered a word.

  Meyer scoffed slightly, and as Liliah focused back on her dance partner, she waited.

  “Do I dare ask which one? Or both . . . no . . .” Meyer’s brow pinched as he considered the options. “Heightfield, am I right?” An amused grin tipped his lips even as his gaze grew wary.

  “I refuse to answer,” Liliah replied cheekily, keeping the conversation lighthearted.

  When her heart was anything but.

  “Minx, it’s in your eyes. I see it clear as day. The question is . . . why the sudden interest? You have some nefarious plot afoot, and I am at a loss as to what it is.” Meyer’s gaze narrowed.

  “I’ll leave it to you to uncover my schemes,” Liliah teased, thanking heaven as the music ended.

  Meyer released her abruptly as soon as it was polite, but it was his voice that stopped her short. “Did your father—”

  “Yes,” Liliah answered quickly, in a clipped tone. She didn’t want to revisit the earlier conversation with her father, let alone speak of it out loud. The weight of the world settled back on her shoulders.

  “One of two.” Meyer whispered the words.

  “An announcement,” Liliah echoed in the same tone.

  Meyer took her arm and escorted her to the refreshment table with slow, purposeful steps. Rebecca was nowhere to be seen, as Liliah searched for her friend.

  “She left.” Meyer answered her unspoken question as he offered her a glass of Madeira, then took one for himself.

  Taking the beverage, she sipped it thoughtfully. “I do not blame her.”

  “I told her as much,” Meyer replied tightly. “Damn, I hate how helpless I am. At the mercy of my father’s will, and Rebecca—” He snapped his mouth shut as if barely stopping from spilling a secret.

  Liliah tilted her head. “What have you two been keeping from me?” she asked quietly.

  Meyer’s guilty gaze was all the confirmation she needed. “Nothing that would change our current malady.” His gaze fell to his drink. Closing his eyes, he lifted it to his lips. As he lowered the glass, he sighed, his lips forming that now familiar grim line. “I’ll come find you for the last waltz.” With a curt nod, he left her by the refreshment table.

  The air escaped her lungs in a rush as she thought over the implications. Not only was her best friend hiding something, but the nail in the coffin of her and Meyer’s betrothal was to be secured tonight.

  Two waltzes.

  They might as well leave the ballroom married.

  All that was left was the announcement in the Times, and the reading of the banns.

  Time was sifting away like sand in an hourglass.

  And soon it would be too late.

  There had to be a way out.

  If only she could find it.

  If only.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucas circled the ballroom a second time, scanning the crowd for Liliah. His gaze narrowed at the stricken expression on her face a moment before she all but darted from the crowded ballroom, heading toward the darker hall. Frowning, he searched for the reason for her abrupt departure. Meyer’s visage was strained, and Lucas questioned if perhaps Meyer had upset Liliah. Yet his expression was just as distraught. Meyer didn’t strike him as a severe type of fellow, yet in a short span of time he’d seen him do little more than scowl.

  He stepped around the milling people, heading toward the hall where Liliah had disappeared. The gears of his mind worked tirelessly with each step. Perhaps the titter about Meyer and Lady Liliah held some validity. True, many marriage arrangements were based not on emotion but on practicalities of wealth and position It was simply how things were done, was it not? Why would it create an issue of this magnitude? Clearly they were friends; was that not more than most marriages had with which to begin? Granted, even the thought of marriage had Lucas’s stomach clenching with dread, but he had the good sense to realize that others didn’t have his same visceral reaction to matrimony.

  Except maybe Meyer.

  And Liliah.

  Which still was utterly confusing, and he found himself anxious to solve the mystery.

  He skirted around the edge of the ballroom, avoiding Meyer, and picked up his pace to where the shadows ran into the light of the ballroom. The darkness beckoned him, and he focused on the line between illumination and shadow. As he crossed the threshold, his whole being relaxed and a smile curved his lips.

  Odd how the dark had become his sanctuary.

  Odd how he felt more at home there than he ever had in the light.

  As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he scanned the small alcove. Sure enough, Lady Liliah had her back turned as she walked out onto what appeared to be a deserted balcony. Shoulders straight, he allowed his gaze to seductively outline her silhouette. Delicate curves were simply hinted at by her gown, but he was all too aware of the luscious figure hidden within the fabric. His hands burned to touch her, to feel her lips caress his. As he stealthily strode toward her, he was about to offer a greeting when she paused against the balcony wall. Bracing against it with her arms, she dropped her head, defeated.

  Lucas halted his progress, studying her in the starlight.

  She stilled, then angled her head like a bird listening for a predator.

  Lucas grinned at the mental picture, and its accuracy.

  “Sneaking up on ladies?” Liliah glanced over her shoulder, her tone wry.

  “Only ones that are suspect.” He shrugged and strode forward, pausing to lean his shoulders against a nearby pillar.

  “Am I suspect?” Liliah turned to face him. Half of her face was more deeply shadowed than the other, and he found it difficult to read her expression.

  “Yes, and I must say I’ve learned a few interesting details about you this evening, yet none of it makes sense.”

  “Ah, well, if it helps at all, you’re not the only one who is unable to make sense of it all.” A ghost of a smile faded across her lips.

  “If you’re looking for pity, I must warn you that you’ll find none in me.”

  Liliah tilted her head. “Then it is a good thing I wasn’t expecting, nor searching for, pity. Do I strike you as the type of woman needing your sympathy?” She stood fully and stepped toward him. “No. And while I’m indeed searching for something from you . . .” She let the words linger in the darkness. “It most certainly is not pity.”

  Lucas watched her slow approach, each step filled with purpose till she paused an arm’s length away. “And what are you searching for? I must say I’m insatiably curious, a character flaw that has both served me well, and . . . not,” he replied in a careless tone.

  “I do not find that disclosure surprising, my lord.”

  After a moment, Lucas asked again. “But, my lady, you still haven’t answered my question.”

  She was close enough for him to see her shadowed tongue dart out and lick her lower lip. The gesture was utterly seductive, yet he instinctively knew it wasn’t meant as such.

  It was a gesture of indecision.

  And damn it all if every shred of his curiosity smoldered further.

  “I propose . . .” Liliah glanced behind them, assuring herself of their privacy.

  If anyone should find them, it would go very badly indeed . . . for her.

  He’d never be brought up to scratch, and she’d be a ruined woman.

  Yet the gentleman within had died long ago, so he simply waited for her to continue.

  “You need me to remain silent, and to keep my distance from your club,
is that right?” She changed tactics.

  Would he be forever in warfare with women?

  “Yes and no. While it would not be . . . convenient for you to disclose information about the club, I can just as easily turn your blackmail on its ear, and threaten to ruin you.” He hitched a shoulder in a blasé manner.

  Liliah’s lips bent into a grin. “Odd you should mention that . . .” She glanced to the floor.

  Lucas narrowed his eyes. “I’m listening.” He shouldn’t be, he should be leaving her in the darkness, finding his damn friend and heading back to the club.

  Yet he was rooted to his spot.

  Why would the daughter of a duke resort to such extreme measures?

  He had to know.

  “If I’m to be relegated to a platonic marriage for all my days, then I want to at least taste pleasure before my future is decided.” She lifted a delicate shoulder, her gaze flickering up to meet his.

  “What a lovely picture you paint, yet I find it hard to believe that a betrothal to your acquaintance would be platonic. Unless the gentleman prefers his own kind?” He arched a brow, stepping forward, lazily reaching out and tracing a single finger up her arm.

  “For learning much, you have seen little,” Liliah replied, her tone soft. Her body gave a delicate shudder.

  And his body hardened painfully.

  He needed to step back, regroup, retreat—yet he had never done such before.

  And against his better judgment, he took a small step forward.

  “Meaning?” he asked.

  “You’ve ascertained that I’m all but betrothed to a friend, true, but that certainly isn’t the trial of which I’m speaking. It goes deeper. Lord Heightfield, what do you know of loyalty?” she whispered, leaning into his touch as his hand cupped her shoulder possessively.

  “Not much.”

  She sighed, only it wasn’t a sigh of pleasure but of impatience. “You misunderstand. Loyalty to friends. You must understand that idea, for do you not have a friendship with Viscount Kilpatrick?”

  Lucas paused, nodding once. “Continue.”

  “Would you steal away the one thing he lived for, simply because it was expected of you?”

  Lucas released her shoulder and took a step back. “No.” Frowning, he tried to follow her train of thought.

  “Then you’ll understand why my potential marriage to Meyer will never be more than a scrap of paper.” Liliah breathed.

  The gears in his mind clicked into place. “Lady Rebecca.”

  “Indeed.”

  The evening’s events suddenly shifted, adding up into a scene that caused him to wince slightly. Indeed it was unfortunate, he could see that.

  But it still was not his problem.

  “And why am I part of this melodrama? What do I have to gain from . . . assisting you?”

  Pleasure, satisfying my curiosity, feeding my lust.

  “My silence, and my word to never darken your door,” she answered, leveling her shoulders as her chin lowered in a regal regard.

  It wasn’t enough. It shouldn’t tempt him.

  He could easily leave the ballroom, never think of her again . . . yet part of him took pause in the tenacious nature he’d uncovered in Lady Liliah Durary.

  He had the sneaking suspicion that while not dangerous, she could easily be a pain in the arse.

  And he needed to eliminate problems, not add to them.

  His gaze raked over her.

  Bedding her wouldn’t be a challenge.

  He even doubted if her inexperience would be dull; rather she would probably be a quick learner.

  His body responded enthusiastically, and damn it all, he was going to have to linger in the darkness before he could walk out into the light.

  “I’m not sure—” he began, but halted his refusal as soon as a shadowed figure walked toward their cozy balcony.

  “Lady Liliah?” Meyer’s voice called warily.

  “Do you need something from the lady?” Lucas ambled toward the gentleman, purposely leaving off the courtesy title.

  “Meyer—”

  Lucas lifted a hand to silence Liliah, and studied the man before him. “I don’t think she will be needing your escort. Not this night.” He arched a brow in a challenging manner, knowing Meyer would allow him to escort her back to the ballroom, away from the shadows that whispered secrets of ruin; especially since Meyer would surely follow close behind.

  Then turned to face his ill-thought-out fate.

  Lady Liliah met his gaze. Apprehension shifted to acceptance, then illuminated into victory.

  And in that moment, as Lucas took her arm and led her out into the light of the ballroom, he was certain of two things.

  He was a bloody idiot.

  And Liliah Durary was about to be thoroughly ruined—in more ways than one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Liliah forced a calm she didn’t feel as she walked into the bright ballroom on the arm of one of the most notorious rakes in all of London.

  Her father would be furious.

  Her reputation would be questioned.

  And she didn’t care a fig.

  As the strains of the waltz played, amazement and delicious anticipation filled her when Lucas led her onto the dance floor. His warm hand possessively settled on her hip, spanning her curves deliciously. And even through her gloved hand, she could feel his warmth radiate against her palm. With graceful movements, he led them into the throng of dancers. The sound of whispers filtered through the music of the string quartet. A wicked gleam illuminated his eyes, and Liliah didn’t shrink back, but firmly held his gaze.

  It was far different to dance with Lucas than with Meyer. Her body was drawn to his, so much so that she had to make a conscious effort to maintain a proper distance.

  And when his hand pressed into her back, pulling her in closer, she willingly obeyed.

  Little did he know he was already beginning the seduction.

  Or maybe he did know, but it mattered not. It was delicious. It was sinful. It was everything she had hoped it would be.

  And it was only a dance.

  Heavens, she might not survive the act!

  Of course, there were worse ways to die.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Luc asked, a smoldering grin turning her insides to jelly.

  “Thank you,” she uttered, settling on the words of primary importance.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been thanked for a tryst before it’s taken place,” he whispered quietly, his expression amused.

  “Ah, but I wasn’t thanking you for that, just yet.” Her face heated, and she glanced behind him, for the first time seeing the amount of attention their dancing had drawn.

  “Then why the thanks?” Luc asked, pulling her focus back to him.

  He led her effortlessly, and she allowed herself to enjoy the dance, when all the other times she had dreaded it. “Because this dance was to have been with Meyer, as an announcement of sorts. You quite neatly allowed us to dodge it. I’m quite certain there will be hell to pay—”

  “And here I thought gently bred ladies didn’t swear.” He tsk-tsked.

  “And here I thought that men with a reputation of your caliber wouldn’t be so offended by a small slip,” she replied, grinning.

  “Well played, continue.” His full lips cracked a smile.

  “Our fathers will not be amused. Let us leave it at that.”

  Lucas nodded. “So it is not just your father who wishes the union?”

  Liliah twirled, then stepped back into Luc’s embrace, her body relaxing slightly, as if she had found home. She brushed off the sensation and focused on her words. “No, it’s quite a stubborn endeavor on the part of both our fathers. What Meyer and I cannot fathom is why, especially when the titles of both our families are amply wealthy.” She shrugged. Was there any more powerful reason than money? She couldn’t think of one.

  “It is curious,” Luc replied. His gaze trailed along her face, then dipped lower as
he studied her unabashedly. Her skin flushed where his gaze traveled, as if he were touching her, not simply looking.

  “You’re deceptively attractive, Lady Liliah,” he replied after a moment. “Innocent, yet . . . not.”

  The music ended, and he slowly released her from their dance. “It has certainly been a pleasure.” With a slow bow, he took her hand and kissed it softly, then turned on his heel and strode into the crowd. They parted as he walked toward the viscount, and without a backward glance, the two men quit the ballroom.

  Liliah’s breathing slowly returned to normal as her heart ceased its pounding rhythm.

  She had done it.

  He’d agreed.

  And while it was possible for him to go back on his word, she rather trusted that he wouldn’t.

  Such a realization sent her heart to pounding once more, but the heat in her veins chilled immediately as the crowd parted.

  This time it wasn’t in admiration of a rake’s reputation.

  It was in the fear of a furious father.

  Apparently her father wasn’t at the faro table any longer.

  Without a word, he simply raised his arm, his expression daring her to refuse him.

  Liliah placed her hand on his arm and kept her eyes straight ahead while the whispers surrounded them as they made an exit from the ballroom. The music played behind them, but all she could hear was the silence.

  The calm before the storm.

  She only hoped the price she was paying was going to be worth it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hours later as he swirled what was left of the brandy in his glass, he waited for the verdict from his friend. Heathcliff had listened to the whole sordid disaster silently, which was exceedingly out of character for the man. It was making Lucas twitch.

  “You’ll have to repeat that last part again.” Heathcliff set his brandy down on the table beside the hearth. His expression was an odd juxtaposition of amusement and hesitancy.

  “I’m an idiot.” Lucas shot back the rest of his brandy, setting the crystal glass down on the sideboard with too much force, making a loud clank.

  “Well, I’ve known that for years. What I’m referring to—”

  “Yes. I said yes. As if I needed to add another person’s problems to the list of my own.”