Falling from His Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  Meyer tilted his head slightly. “Of course, but—”

  “And it is impossible for another gentleman to intercede?”

  “No—”

  “You certainly are slow, are you not?” Lucas was losing his patience. “Next waltz, save the chit from her tyrant and I’ll rescue you—will that suffice for a plan?” he enunciated through clenched teeth.

  “Of course,” Meyer replied readily, his expression shifting from surprise to appreciation. “Many thanks.”

  “Was that so difficult to cultivate, as far as plans? Dear Lord, and you are the future Earl of Greywick. God save us all.”

  Meyer reared back slightly, his brows pinched. “I take offence, sir.”

  “You should take notes, rather. Now, go and make sure you follow directions like a good lad.” Lucas pushed off from the pillar, watching with delight as the verbal barb hit its mark.

  Without waiting for a response, he left Meyer and wandered back toward the door, giving him a better view of Lady Liliah.

  Her color was high, as if just on the edge of mutiny, and Lucas bit back a grin. He doubted he’d have needed to spell out the plan to her like he had to Meyer. No. She’d have run headlong into the fray with her own twist to the plot.

  It was devious.

  It was delightful.

  It made him want her even more.

  Damn it.

  As if feeling his regard, she tilted her head ever so slightly, much like she had when he had found her in the balcony at the last ball. Glancing behind her, her intelligent gaze scanned the room before meeting his. Arching a brow, he waited for her response.

  Her father’s hand squeezed her wrist.

  She winced—but rather than turn away, she lifted her chin defiantly, meeting Lucas’s gaze with a boldness that made him painfully aroused.

  Her gaze shifted to her father, and she nodded once as the strains of the first waltz lilted through the air. She glanced back at Lucas, and he nodded once to her, a slow, intentional movement.

  I remember.

  And remember he did. The Duke of Chatterwood might make their tryst slightly more complicated to arrange, but as far as Lucas was concerned, that made it all the sweeter.

  May it never be said he didn’t rise to the challenge.

  Rather, he welcomed it.

  Meyer approached the duke, bowed politely, and offered his arm to Liliah.

  Lucas was too far away to hear the words, but the intention was clear. Liliah’s shoulders froze, even as her chin lifted in an almost rebellious tilt, yet she followed him out onto the dance floor. Lucas made his move. Maneuvering around the ballroom, he skirted the edge where the milling people met the open dance floor, and selected a location opposite the duke, who, with any luck, wouldn’t notice that Meyer would be replaced with another gentleman. As the dancers swirled around in a circular motion, Lucas spotted Meyer, and waited for his notice. As soon as he made eye contact, he nodded toward the farthest corner, and upon Meyer’s small nod, he stepped closer to the dancers. Meyer was quicker to catch on than before, and led Liliah closer to the edge of the dance floor, and as he held his arm out for Liliah to twirl, Lucas stepped in, grasping her hand and setting Meyer free.

  “Good evening,” Lucas said, grinning unrepentantly.

  Liliah’s expression widened with surprise. “Well, good evening!” she remarked, her beautiful face illuminated with delight, the frozen posture of her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “How unexpected, and in the best of ways.”

  “I do aim to please.” He spoke with double meaning.

  Liliah blushed slightly. “How fortuitous for me.”

  Lucas chuckled as he led them back into the throng of dancers. Yet he sobered as he glanced at her wrist. “Are you injured?”

  “Pardon?” Liliah asked.

  “Your wrist.”

  “Ah, you miss little, do you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I’m quite well. The injury is to my will, not my body. He fears my open defiance.”

  “I’m certainly glad I could accommodate it,” Lucas replied, arching a brow wickedly.

  “So am I.” Her smile broadened and a faint rose hue tinted her cheeks, and Lucas studied the color, enjoying immensely the fact that he was the cause of such a lovely reaction.

  Yet even as he thought it, he cursed himself for being so easily enamored. What was it about the chit that made him go soft? It was disconcerting at the least and damn terrifying at most.

  “What concerns you?” Liliah asked, pulling his attention from her lovely mouth to her curious expression.

  “Nothing of consequence.”

  “I doubt that,” she replied, almost too quietly to hear.

  Lucas changed topics, feeling the need to distract her as much as she distracted him. “You are utterly ravishing in your innocent gown, but may I say that I much prefer your earlier attire—when we first met.”

  Liliah’s eyes widened as she glanced around the swirling dancers, no doubt checking to make sure no one had overheard such a forward remark. Yet, rather than scold him, she arched a dark brow and grinned. “Why am I not surprised? Would it shock you then, to know the gown was borrowed?”

  “And no longer in your possession?” Lucas asked, then spun her in perfect time.

  Liliah’s full lips tipped in a crooked grin. “Ah, but that is for me to know—”

  “And for me to discover?” Lucas finished, flashing her his most flirtatious grin.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Ah, and here I thought you were bent on”—he leaned in close enough to whisper—“seduction.” Then retreated back to the normal expanse between dancers.

  Liliah’s color heightened. “What gave you the impression I’d changed my mind?” she dared.

  “Then why are we tarrying in a crowded ballroom, my lady?” Lucas allowed his hungry gaze to lower from her expressive eyes to the perfect bow of her lips. His gaze traced the line of her jaw to her neck and the graceful curves below. The heat in his body pulsed to his lower regions, demanding that he partake of the pleasures promised.

  “What do you have in mind, my lord?” Liliah asked, her expression brave, yet Lucas detected a hint of trepidation. It satisfied him to see her show some hesitancy before running headlong into ruin. Perhaps she had more sense than she cared to admit. Yet the folly was indeed to his advantage, his very tempting and desirous advantage.

  “Could you not visit Lady Rebecca?” he asked, hinting at something more.

  “Or I could simply . . . find you.”

  Lucas shook his head. “We’ve taken far more . . . elaborate . . . security measures. Besides, I do not mix business with pleasure, love.”

  “Love? My, we’re progressing quickly,” Liliah teased. “It might interest you to know that I have an appointment at the modiste’s tomorrow around two in the afternoon. Perhaps—”

  “Done,” Lucas answered, his body tight with anticipation.

  “Done,” she echoed.

  The music ended, but Lucas was loath to release her, yet he noted the arrival of Meyer, and so he stepped out of the way and gave a curt bow. He let his gaze linger on her form as Meyer held out his arm to her, wordlessly.

  As if noticing Meyer for the first time, she hesitated for a moment, then placed her delicate hand on his wrist. Lucas’s chest tightened with an unwelcome emotion as he watched them walk away.

  He swore he’d never feel that way again.

  He damned the feeling straight to the pit of hell.

  Because the last time he felt its surge, it had practically killed him.

  Jealousy—thou art a heartless bitch.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Liliah was wary on the carriage ride home, studying her father to determine if he realized that Lucas had taken Meyer’s place. For if he had noticed, her plans for tomorrow would be much harder to keep. Yet as the carriage rolled away down the London streets toward home, her father didn’t remark on anything; rather the silence kept her com
pany.

  It was well into the next day when she started to lose the wary edge to her emotions and the feeling shifted to a rather panicky sense of anticipation. Each moment ticked closer to the time she’d arrive at Bond Street and, consequently, her assignation with Lucas. She held no doubts that he meant to follow through on his word, and she was both terrified and delighted.

  Terrified because she truly didn’t know what to expect.

  Delighted because she truly thought it would be remarkable.

  “You do realize you’re still on the same page, Liliah,” Samantha remarked quietly, her gaze flickering to the library door as if to make sure their father wasn’t eavesdropping.

  Heaven knows he’d probably stoop to that level.

  Liliah sighed and turned the page. “Now I’m not.”

  Samantha huffed. “Indeed.” She edged closer, closing the distance on the couch and whispered, “Why are you so distracted?”

  Liliah bit her lip, wishing she could speak of it to her sister, but knowing she hadn’t the freedom. She wouldn’t dare put her sister in such a position, not with their father so demanding. “It is of little consequence. Simply pondering the future,” she answered honestly, albeit it a little cryptically.

  “I see.” Samantha nodded sagely. “If I could somehow. . . fix the situation, please know that I would.” Samantha’s warm hand touched Liliah’s knee through her muslin dress. Tears pricked her eyes as she met Samantha’s earnest gaze.

  “Thank you, yet I would not wish this on you, my dear. No. You”—Liliah reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand affectionately—“were made for love. Heaven owes us that, for we’ve been far too long in its absence.”

  Samantha nodded once, a lonely tear slipping down her cheek. “Indeed. Perhaps someday. Until then, I do have you.”

  “You have me. Always.” Liliah nodded, swearing the truth in her heart. The one silver lining in the whole disaster of marrying Meyer was the knowledge that he’d understand the need for Liliah’s involvement in her sister’s life, and would encourage meddling rather than discourage it. It wasn’t much of a silver lining, but she was determined to hold on to whatever she could grasp.

  “Now then.” Liliah changed the subject. “Are you ready for our appointment this afternoon? I’m only thankful that our father hasn’t restricted those outings.”

  “I hate the fittings,” Samantha grumbled, her hand sliding from her sister’s as she slouched in a rather unladylike manner against the couch cushions.

  “They aren’t too terrible.” Liliah gave a dramatic sigh. “Surely you want your gowns to fit well, not as if they were purchased for someone else?”

  “Indeed, yet it is simply tedious.”

  “I’m quite certain you’ll survive the experience,” Liliah teased her sister, then took a fortifying breath. “I’ll take along Sarah to accompany us on our trip. I have a few errands to run.” What Liliah didn’t mention was that she would be leaving Sarah with Samantha.

  “Oh, very well,” Samantha replied, not asking further questions. “I had better ready myself. What time is the appointment?”

  “Two, so we should make haste and leave in half an hour.” Liliah’s heart pounded with anticipation and anxiety. How was it possible for a half hour to seem like both an eternity and a moment?

  “I’ll have the carriage readied.” Liliah stood from her position on the couch and paused a moment before quitting the room, allowing the butterflies in her stomach to settle and the tingling in her spine to dissipate.

  As she strode down the hall, the flutter in her belly gathered momentum. Once the carriage was ordered, she retired to her room to make herself ready. As she studied her reflection in the mirror, she wondered if there would be any perceptible difference after she was ruined. The thought was certainly sobering, yet it didn’t change her resolve.

  No.

  She wanted this.

  Needed it.

  A knock sounded on her door and she jumped in response. As her heart pounded its frightened rhythm, she called out, “Yes?”

  Sarah peeked in, her expression sober. “The duke wishes to see you, my lady.”

  Liliah swallowed the fear that rose in her throat and nodded.

  “He is waiting in his study, my lady.” Sarah curtseyed and left, closing the door softly.

  Liliah smoothed her skirt and strode to the door, a million reasons for why her father wished an audience all fluttering through her mind. As she traveled the hall and descended the stairs, her footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The brass handle of her father’s study door was cold, hard, much like the man within. She pushed the handle slightly, opening the already slightly ajar door.

  “Liliah.” Her father spoke authoritatively. He stood from behind his desk and walked toward the fire burning low in the grate.

  “Yes.” Liliah raised her chin slightly, taking a deep breath as she waited.

  “The announcement has been sent to the Times, and will be published in tomorrow’s paper.” He turned from facing the fire and studied her, daring her to speak.

  Liliah’s heart pounded out a desperate rhythm; demanding she flee, react, do something other than just stand there like a lamb to the slaughter. Yet her feet wouldn’t move, so she simply waited for whatever came next.

  “The date has been set for three weeks hence. I’ve gone to St. George’s and procured a date for the wedding. I’m notifying you, since tomorrow night’s party at the Winharts’ will be the confirmation of the announcement.”

  She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t let him see her heartbreak—not only for herself but for Meyer, for Rebecca, for the future they were all sentenced to. She gave a slow nod. “Is there anything more?” she asked, cursing him to the depths of hell for his heartlessness.

  “No.” He narrowed his eyes, then smirked. “It is, however, pleasant to see you obey for once.”

  It was too much. Liliah opened her mouth, about to give the most scathing retort she could think of, yet she paused a moment before she let loose her anger.

  No.

  One false step and her afternoon plans were for naught.

  Her father would send men to guard her door once more, or worse, guard her and Samantha on her afternoon excursion.

  It wasn’t worth the risk.

  So Liliah held her tongue, allowing the silence to speak for her.

  “You’re dismissed.” Her father gave a gesture with his hand and then presented his back to her.

  Spinning on her heel, she turned and measured her steps out of the study, forcing herself to keep in control when what she wanted to do was run.

  Far away.

  As she entered her room, she allowed one tear to fall. As she wiped it away, she rang for her maid.

  By the time Sarah knocked, Liliah’s determination and anger had risen to the point of coloring her skin as she studied herself in the mirror. “Sarah, I require assistance. . .” Liliah walked across the room to a chest of drawers and withdrew a carefully wrapped package. Last year she had purchased some underthings from the French modiste, and as of yet hadn’t had the courage to wear them.

  Today that was going to change. She set the package on the bed and untied the red ribbon. The softest chemise lay folded on top of the small pile. The muslin was an ultrafine weave that took on the hue of the skin beneath it. The lace that curved around the edges was delicate, feminine, and quite scandalous. The rest of the underthings were equally sheer, soft, and wanton.

  “O-of course, my lady,” Sarah replied, her tone hesitant. Yet she didn’t make any other comments as she helped Liliah undress, and then put on a new day gown. Liliah had chosen a soft blue that highlighted the hue of her eyes, and was also easy to put on without assistance.

  She was quite proud of her forethought.

  And equally scandalized.

  Yet completely unrepentant.

  “Also, Sarah, I will require you to accompany Samantha and me to Bond Street. We are to leave in ten minutes’ time,” Li
liah said as she tugged on her gloves.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The last ten minutes seemed like an eternity to Liliah. Finally, Sarah, Samantha, and Liliah all entered the carriage and started down from Mayfair to Bond Street. Liliah found that she was quite unable to remain still. Her fingers shook slightly, and her toes had the strangest need to tap incessantly. Pulling her wits about her, she focused on the passing scenery. It was a common day in London. The smoky stench of coal fires hung in the air much like the ever-present clouds. The sunlight filtered through them, illuminating the Town, but it was dreary and dull. Thankfully there was no rain, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t rain within the hour.

  As they approached Bond Street, Liliah’s gaze scanned the lined-up carriages. Would she recognize Lucas’s? Likely not, as she had not seen it, yet that didn’t stop her from searching. As her carriage pulled up beside the modiste’s storefront, Liliah took a shallow breath. “Shall we?”

  Samantha arched a brow, clearly disenchanted with the idea of a fitting, but stepped from the carriage. The bell dinged as they walked into Whittlemen’s ladies’ shop. The scent of vanilla and scented soaps filtered through the air, perfuming the stale atmosphere.

  “My ladies.” The clerk curtseyed lower than necessary. “It is a pleasure to serve you today.” The woman was Mrs. Whittlemen’s usual assistant and, as such, was quite familiar with the duke’s daughters—and their available pin money.

  “We are ready for you, Lady Samantha.” She gestured to the back of the shop, then turned her attention to Liliah. “Is there something we can offer you, Lady Liliah, while you wait? Perhaps you’d care to see the new designs we’ve created?” the woman asked, her expression hopeful.

  Liliah demurred. “Thank you, but I have another errand to attend to while my sister is fitted.”

  Samantha glanced at her sister, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly to convey her displeasure at being left alone.

  “Sarah will stay with you,” Liliah added, trying to make it seem as if she was being helpful to her sister, being sensitive to her dislike of being alone—rather than the truth.

  “Of course, Lady Liliah.” The clerk nodded sagely, then turned to lead Samantha toward the back.