“I believe so, but only barely. My guess is that he’d lose his estate in the country, the one in Sussex.”
“Interesting.” Lucas twisted his lips. “Did Chatterwood place a bet?”
Ramsey shook his head. “You know he’s not a member, why ask such a question?”
“Just curious. Did anyone else place a substantial sum on the marriage going through?” Lucas prodded suspiciously.
“A few . . .” Ramsey paused. “I think it would be best if you saw the list for yourself. Perhaps tomorrow when all the bets are placed. Would that satisfy your curiosity?”
Lucas nodded. “And you are checking for validity of the funds that have been wagered, correct? No gentlemen’s pass, verify. Agreed?” Lucas switched gears into business mode.
“I’m quite aware that a gentleman’s word holds as much water as a fishing net. I’m double-checking, Lucas,” Ramsey replied with a hint of irritation.
“Well done.”
“Thanks for the confidence in my abilities,” Ramsey replied with sarcasm and strode away, back toward the betting books.
Lucas frowned as he considered this new information. It was common practice for the men of nobility to place gentlemen’s bets. How often had White’s taken bets on some of the most foolish things? On when the rain would fall, or if a servant would win in fisticuffs against another—yet occasionally, the betting took a different turn. Lucas had his suspicions in this case, yet he dared not speak of them, not till he had proof. He shouldn’t care, he should leave it alone—let the men bet and pay the betting fee and line his pockets. Yet he found he didn’t wish to simply walk away. Rather it gave him the perfect excuse. A prospect that brightened his spirits immensely.
Yet even as he considered it, he tried to ignore his better judgment, which was whispering danger. Because any further entanglement with Liliah would certainly be a threat to his sanity.
But if tasting her again meant he forfeited his sound mind—it was almost worth it.
Almost.
Because he’d rather forfeit his mind than his heart.
And that was the danger of which he was most afraid.
She was dangerously close already, and it had been just one night.
Heaven help him if he pursued more.
Yet the pursuit of more was the only rational thought in his mind, more of her skin, her flavor, her body in his bed, warming it.
As the night wore on, Lucas formulated a plan—one that was as selfish as it was selfless. If Heathcliff knew, he’d think Lucas had gone daft. Yet it was without a care that Lucas approached his friend as the party in Temptations came to a close.
Because if Lucas was going to pull it off, he needed help.
And if you couldn’t depend on your friends, then you were in poor shape indeed.
However, that didn’t justify your friends laughing at you, which is exactly how Heathcliff reacted.
“You’ve lost your bloody mind, and I can’t say I regret it. I always knew she’d be the death of you,” Heathcliff commented as he lounged on the settee in the study.
“Thank you for your encouragement.” Lucas sighed, his lack of sleep catching up with him and his sanity slowly slipping.
“So what part of this diabolically stupid plan do you wish me to play?” Heathcliff asked, his brogue emphasizing the words.
Lucas glared.
Heathcliff raised his hands in defense. “Forget not that you are basically going against the Duke of Chatterwood and the Earl of Greywick. I’d not be surprised if he found a way to get you tossed in the Tower of London.”
“We don’t use the Tower for torture any longer.” Lucas rolled his eyes.
“That wasn’t my point . . .” He let the words linger.
“We all have dirt on us, Heathcliff . . .” Lucas spoke meaningfully. “Some more than others.”
“True enough, though do not expect me to believe you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart—no, this is for the favors of a lady. But I’m quite surprised that you’d suggest that anyone dig into the sordid past of the duke, when you’re one of the few who know it well.” Heathcliff wiggled his eyebrows.
“Yes, well, there’s a time for all sins to come to light, is there not? I do believe that’s in the Bible somewhere.”
“And yes, you’re quite the authority on religion.” Heathcliff chuckled. “Although, that does remind me of a different question, since we’re on the topic of sin.”
Lucas arched an irritated brow.
“You’ve been quite tight-lipped on your promise of seduction. I can only assume that since you’re more . . . chivalrous?” He tilted his head. “I’m not quite sure that’s the word. Perhaps the more lustful side of you has come forth and the deed has already been done?” Heathcliff grinned wolfishly.
Lucas opened his mouth to give a heated retort, but withheld. There was no need to come to her aid, not here. “The agreement was satisfied.”
“Listen to you, going about and making sex sound sterile. Tell me, did you even enjoy the experience?” Heathcliff shook his head as if pitying his friend. “No, do not answer. I know full well that you did, because of your current plans. Rather . . .” Heathcliff stood from the settee and slowly approached Lucas, a calculating glint in his eye. “I’d wager that you were taken off guard, utterly disarmed, and fighting yourself even now because you both want her and fear her. Am I correct?” He waited, studying his friend.
“Damn you,” Lucas swore.
“Bloody hell, how the mighty have fallen.” Heathcliff chuckled, grinning wildly. “And Chatterwood’s daughter to boot. Well, if you wish to have her, all you need to do is publicize that she’s been ruined—you did thoroughly ruin her, did you not?”
“Quite thoroughly.” Lucas arched a brow, his body heating in response, desperately wanting to repeat the experience.
Again and again.
“Good man. I knew you’d remember how.” Heathcliff gave a wink.
“Don’t wink.” Lucas shook his head.
“Regardless, you can easily—”
“I don’t wish to marry the chit, I simply want to bed her—repeatedly.” Lucas sighed and walked toward the fire. “No commitment, no publicity, just—”
“Sex. Understood,” Heathcliff said. “Then, why do you wish to upset her marriage to this Meyer fellow? Didn’t you say it was more of a . . . platonic affair?”
Lucas shrugged. “Yes. Likely, or so she said, and my own assessment as well. He’s rather smitten with the daughter of Lord and Lady Grace.”
“Ah, a bloody Greek tragedy.”
“Indeed.” Lucas glanced over his shoulder at his friend.
“But that is my point.” Heathcliff came to stand beside Lucas. “Clearly there is no obligation for her to remain faithful to her husband in name only, so you would be free to take her as mistress. No one would be the wiser, and it certainly seems that since Lady Liliah was willing to run headlong into ruin before marriage, she’d be willing to participate in it after.”
Lucas studied the flames as they danced in the hearth. “You make a valid point. I’ll consider it.”
“There’s little to consider. Either you wish to make a chaotic mess with Chatterwood and Greywick, or you wish to let things take their natural progression and you swoop in to snatch up your mistress.”
Lucas nodded. “When have I ever taken the easy road?” He studied his friend.
“Never. Damn it. How I wish you would, just once in a while.” Heathcliff sighed. “Very well, I assume we’re going out tonight?”
“You would assume correctly.”
“Should I tell Ramsey?”
“No, he’ll hate the idea. Let him make love to his numbers.”
Heathcliff shook his head. “Don’t speak of it that way.”
“How well you know that our friend loves his work above all else.”
“Indeed, but I can remember a time that someone else did as well . . . now look at us?” Heathcliff spoke meaningfully
.
“Damn you,” Lucas retorted.
“As I said, how the mighty have fallen. Just be sure that you don’t take me down with you, old man.” Heathcliff slapped his friend on the back and strode from the study.
Lucas studied the fire a few more minutes, piecing the plan together in finer detail in this mind, then took his carriage home from the club.
One thing was for certain, he needed his rest—for tonight he planned on other activities.
Wicked, delightful, and erotic activities—and Lucas fell asleep with a grin.
Chapter Twenty-one
Liliah was loath to dress for the evening party at the Ganders’. It would be a small affair, and as such she had requested to decline the invitation. Yet her father held fast, requiring them to attend. It was as if he wished her and Meyer to be seen in every venue, at every opportunity, even if it had only been a few days since the announcement.
The idea of it was like a millstone around her neck, holding her down, oppressing her usual delight in life. So it was with great reluctance that Liliah entered the carriage with her father to attend the soirée. The idea that she’d no longer see Lucas only added to her disenchantment with life. Though he’d awakened her body in ways she’d never imagined, she rather found that the seduction was only a part of the reason she missed him. Lucas was a delight to converse with, and he withheld no honesty from his words—it was refreshing, and in a world where her friends were becoming more and more distant, he had been a welcome distraction and addition to her life. Yet that was over, and she didn’t resent his disappearance. It was their agreement, and she would honor her side of it. No matter how it hurt.
The Ganders’ estate was a white stone structure in Mayfair with a long gravel drive that was illuminated by Chinese lanterns. It was a lovely sight that momentarily lifted Liliah’s spirits. The great stone pillars held up the portico, which was reminiscent of Grecian architecture, and Liliah studied them as she took the white stone steps along with the other guests. Music from stringed instruments floated through the air, welcoming the ton into the ballroom. As Liliah glanced around, she was surprised that it was more heavily attended than she had anticipated. Normally the Ganders’ parties were of the smaller, more intimate variety. Of course, being the daughter of a duke, she was always invited. Whether the party be large or small—it was ever about who attended.
And she was of the notable variety.
Sure enough, she quickly spotted Meyer in his evening kit, and for once a smile illuminated his features. Her heart pinched in both sorrow and delight. Sorrow for how long it had been since she’d seen it, and delight because he had found his smile once more. Meyer was conversing with a dark-haired gentleman, but the crowd obstructed any more detail, and Liliah moved on in search of Rebecca. She’d resolved to make amends in their friendship, however impossible that might be. A footman passed with a tray of ratafia, and Liliah took a glass. Sipping the sweet concoction, she approached her dear friend Rebecca. Placing a hand on her shoulder, she waited for her friend to notice her presence.
“Hello,” Liliah offered when Rebecca met her gaze.
Rebecca smiled, her expression holding a twinge of sadness, yet her eyes were clear as she reached out and grasped Liliah’s hand. “Let us have a moment to speak.” She turned to the other ladies in the circle. “Please excuse me.” With a delicate curtsey, she tugged on Liliah’s hand and led them toward the refreshment table.
“Liliah, I owe you a sincere apology,” Rebecca began, then met her gaze with an earnest one of her own. “Yes, I’m heartbroken, but that is not your fault, and if anything, you’ve done your best to ease my pain—while I’ve done nothing to consider yours. For that I’m truly sorry.” Rebecca spoke tenderly.
Liliah blinked, never once considering her friend’s actions as needful of forgiveness, yet deeply touched that she’d offer herself in such a way. “Thank you, yet there is nothing to forgive,” Liliah replied emphatically.
“Indeed there is, but it is ever so kind of you to overlook it. You are my dearest friend, Liliah, and I don’t wish to lose you. Ever. Come what may.” Rebecca squeezed Liliah’s hand and Liliah returned the gesture.
“Nor I.”
Rebecca offered her friend a watery smile, then glanced toward Meyer. “Have you seen who Meyer is conversing with? I haven’t spoken to either gentleman tonight, but I’m assuming that it is of import to you.” Rebecca grinned mischievously.
“No, who is it?” Liliah asked, rising on tiptoe in an effort to see over the people in the way.
“It’s the gentleman that you danced with . . .” Her brow pinched as she thought of the name.
Liliah’s heart pounded, her body tingled with hope, and she gasped, about to speak his name.
“Viscount Kilpatrick! I knew I’d remember the name after a moment,” Rebecca finished.
Liliah’s heart sank, the glimmer of hope fading as quickly as it appeared. “That is certainly of note, but I do not expect that he is speaking of me in any capacity.”
“Oh? And what of the other gentleman? I must say, Meyer was quite concerned at his interest in you. He’s not of the worthy variety.” Rebecca spoke in hushed tones.
“Worthiness is in the eye of the beholder, my friend.”
Rebecca studied her carefully, then nodded wordlessly.
“Come, let us find something sweet, and then we can discuss the latest gossip, for certainly you have something of note that I’ve not heard yet!” Liliah turned the topic and was rewarded with a grin from her friend. The country dances had begun, and Liliah almost wished to partake, but instead was quite pleased to spend the time conversing with Rebecca. It had been weeks since she had enjoyed her artless company with such freedom, without the dark, oppressive cloud covering them.
Yet even while the future still loomed, Liliah found she was able to not let it overtake her with weariness; rather, with her friendship restored, she was hopeful that they would come up with some sort of solution.
Two great chandeliers gave yellow light to the room, illuminating it greatly compared to the candlelight that was employed last year. Even Rebecca remarked on the great expense the Ganders must have incurred for this improvement.
As each set came and went, Liliah knew that the dinner waltz was quickly approaching, and as such she expected her father would abandon whatever game he was participating in, to watch over her, make sure she accepted Meyer’s offer to dance.
For certain, he would offer.
As the strains of the ever-scandalous waltz began, Liliah glanced to her friend, and reached out to squeeze her hand. “If it helps, I won’t enjoy it.”
Rebecca chuckled, giving her head a delicate shake. “I know. And as horrible as it sounds, that does help.”
Liliah smiled, then rose from her seat. Meyer approached and bowed to the two ladies. “Lady Liliah”—and much more quietly—“Rebecca.” He caressed her name with his tone, and Liliah grinned at the obvious affection, and the way Rebecca’s color heightened.
Liliah took his arm and frowned slightly as Meyer gave her a daring grin. “What are you about, Meyer?” Liliah asked as he led them toward the center of the room.
He nodded over toward the left, where her father watched vigilantly.
“I see nothing amusing,” Liliah retorted.
“That is why it is called faith, Lady Liliah. To believe in what you cannot see, as if it exists,” he said cryptically. Liliah frowned as he glanced over her shoulder. “Just in time.”
Confused, Liliah watched as none other than Luc stepped around her person and tapped Meyer on the shoulder. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.
Meyer shook his head and stepped out of the way as Luc’s hand grasped her waist while his other tenderly took her hand. “Shall we?”
Liliah forced a blink as she stared at Luc, his devastatingly handsome features even more beautiful than in her dreams. “Of course,” she answered belatedly.
Her gaze flickered behind him to w
here her father watched from across the room, far enough away to do nothing to intercede, but close enough for her to read the fury on his features.
“Eyes on me, Liliah,” Luc coached as he led her into the dance.
Liliah focused on his crystal gaze, her body warming as if he were a fire. “I didn’t expect you . . .” she whispered.
“Ah, which is why it was delightful to use the element of surprise.” Luc grinned wolfishly. “And your friend was quick to accept my interruption.”
“That is not surprising at all. Rather he will be free to ask Rebecca to dance.”
“Exactly.” Lucas nodded over her shoulder and turned her just enough for her to notice that indeed, Meyer had wasted little time in stealing Rebecca for the waltz.
“This is not going to go over well.” A slight tingle of fear crawled up her back. “Yet I find that I care not.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Luc teased. “So tell me, Lady Liliah—”
“I thought we had moved past my courtesy title,” Liliah interrupted archly.
“Ah, but to protect your reputation—”
Liliah arched a brow bravely.
“Your reputation isn’t always a reflection of the truth, Liliah. And while circumstances may have changed, your reputation need not,” Luc whispered softly.
“I see. Then you are quite the champion this evening,” Liliah remarked with a smile.
“I have my moments. Do not expect them often,” Luc flirted.
“As you wish.”
His hand grasped her in a firmer hold, his fingers slowly flexing against her waist as a wicked gleam illuminated his blue eyes. His thumb drew a lazy circle in her wrist as he held her, and Liliah’s heart pounded an excited rhythm. She pulled her lips into her teeth, silencing a slight mew of pleasure.
“Dear Lord, Liliah, I won’t be held responsible for my actions should you continue that exceedingly pleased expression. And indeed, your reputation won’t survive such an event.”
Liliah released her lips and nodded, but grasped his hand tightly, and with the slightest of movements, twisted her hip just enough for him to discern the movement.
Falling from His Grace Page 12