Heathcliff was always up for a challenge, and today he was going to get a fresh one.
Of all the stupid, misbegotten, and utterly reckless things to do. He had been so careful, only to have every coherent thought filter out of his mind as soon as her hands encouraged his instincts to claim her irrevocably. He’d had every intention of withdrawing, but as she called his name, his body sang in return and he lost control before he even realized, and then it was too good, too erotically enticing to regret. Even now as he called himself utterly deserving of his scoundrel status, he gloried in the idea that he had christened her body with his seed, that even now she carried some piece of himself with her. It was the baseness of his nature, yet undeniable.
And just as dangerous.
Because he didn’t want to simply walk away.
And if she allowed him to bed her again—for after his actions this afternoon, that was uncertain—it would be too easy to reason that he’d already allowed himself the pleasure once, what would it matter if he didn’t withdraw? Wasn’t the damage likely done?
He was wicked to his core, and still couldn’t find a shred of regret.
Perhaps this was why Catherine had acted the way she did. His body clenched and cooled to a frigid degree as he thought her name. He might be a scoundrel and rogue of every sort, but Catherine was the devil in a dress. Of course she was also put in a difficult position, but that position was one of her own choosing, of her own manipulations, and of her own deceit. While married, he fully expected loyalty from her till death did them part. That misunderstanding was utterly communicated not long into the marriage. And after spending the afternoon in Chatterwood’s study, he wondered anew what had tempted Catherine to make the choices she had. Perhaps the duke was just as calculating and opportunistic as Catherine. Maybe that was how the duke had won the hand of Liliah’s mother. Or it maybe it could have simply been a worthy alliance. Heaven only knew, but it was unfortunate nonetheless for the poor woman.
Much like it had been unfortunate for Lucas.
But while Liliah’s mother had surely been powerless against her husband, Lucas had been anything but powerless against his wife, Catherine.
Rather, he learned the game.
Played it well.
Then when the chessboard was situated perfectly: checkmate. After all, a woman without a protector is not only ruined, she is in constant peril. Lucas knew that the duke didn’t value her enough to create the scandal that would surely follow should he claim the child. So the duke waited, and at the perfect moment, he took away her future, the one she had so callously calculated.
It was the fatal mistake that had sealed Catherine’s demise and secured Lucas’s future.
Alone.
Very few people knew the truth of it—the duke being one of those people. It was easier to let the stories circulate, even when the evidence was quickly noted and dismissed by the authorities. Suspicions lingered, and Lucas was happy to allow those suspicions latitude and the privacy and solitude it afforded.
As the carriage pulled up to Lord Barrot’s house, he quickly stepped down and left his morbid thoughts in the carriage. The butler swung open the door without a word, and Lucas saw staff bustling about as they decorated for tomorrow’s party. It was to be another masquerade, but it was to be of the silver variety. Everything would be chilled, cold, icy, and every patron would wear a silver mask to hide their identity—if they wished. The courtesans were all outfitted with silver gowns—at least the ones that the club employed—and the guest list was overflowing.
It would be a night for the dark ton to remember.
Lucas passed Lord Barrot’s office door, and took the next right, seeking out his own office. As he pushed open the door, he both welcomed and grew frustrated at the sight of Heathcliff behind the desk.
“Comfortable?” Lucas asked, arching a brow.
“No. I bloody hate it here, but you’re off chasing a duke’s daughter and leaving the damn work to me,” Heathcliff replied with a smirk.
Lucas glared for a moment, then closed the door.
“What? No reply? My, I do believe you’re losing your edge, Lucas,” Heathcliff remarked, chuckling.
“Shut up.” Lucas strode to the desk and studied the papers spread across it. “What is this?”
Heathcliff sighed. “Orders for the kitchens, special requests by the selected guests, and here”—he gestured to a large drawing—“is the proposed arrangement of the ballroom. It was suggested to have more faro tables on the right side, which meant we needed to shift the design. I had no complaint since—”
“The house wins.” Lucas chuckled.
Heathcliff nodded sagely. “Fairly.”
“Always. And you’ll be happy to know that after my appointment with the duke there are no pistols at dawn . . . at least tomorrow.”
“Am I to guess at your meaning?” Heathcliff asked, shuffling several stacks of papers and then folding his hands, regarding his friend.
“Yes and no. I . . . am in a bit of a quandary,” Lucas hedged.
“What did you do now?” Heathcliff chuckled lewdly, assuming much and yet still probably not enough.
“First, what do you know of Greywick’s alliance with the duke?”
Heathcliff narrowed his eyes a moment, then gave a shrug, accepting his friend’s change in subject matter. “I’m simply aware of Greywick’s bet on the books, and that he is a long-standing ally in the House of Lords. Same as what you know.”
Lucas nodded. “Greywick, is he any relation to Catherine?”
Heathcliff blinked, his brows raised in surprise. “Do I need to offer some sort of blood sacrifice after you mentioned her name?” he asked in a thick brogue. “Ye canna speak of the devil so lightly.” He shuddered.
“I wasn’t speaking lightly. I was speaking directly.” Lucas shook his head, but understood his friend’s sentiment. After all, Heathcliff had heard of it, Lucas had survived it.
“It’s been an age since you’ve even spoke her name. Are ye dying?” Heathcliff frowned.
“No, and will you just answer the damn question?”
Heathcliff studied him a moment more, then replied, “I’m not sure. But I can find out. Why?”
“Because I have some suspicions. Also, I haven’t been keeping up on the new proceedings in the House of Lords. Are you more knowledgeable than I?”
“You’re talking to the wrong friend. You need to ask Ramsey that question. He’d be able to tell you far quicker than I,” Heathcliff answered.
“True, true.” Lucas nodded.
“Now back to the first question . . .” Heathcliff leaned over his elbows as he glanced up at Lucas expectantly. “What kind of ‘situation’ did you create?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’m not sure I wish to tell you any more.” Lucas strode away from the desk to the sideboard to pour a liberal portion of brandy.
“Drinking will only loosen your tongue,” Heathcliff called after him.
Lucas chuckled. “My tongue is by far the least dangerous part of my body.”
A moment passed before Heathcliff burst into laughter. “Pour me a glass, I expect I’ll need it after this story.”
“I don’t find it quite as humorous as you, my friend,” Lucas replied and poured a second glass of the amber liquid.
He carried the glasses back to Heathcliff and lifted his in a toast. Heathcliff took his glass and lifted it too. Lucas grinned devilishly, clinked his friend’s glass, then waited till Heathcliff was taking a sip. “Hell has frozen over. I may not end up being the last of my line.”
As expected, Heathcliff choked, sputtered, and smacked the desk with his hand as brandy trickled down his nose and into his beard. Lucas chuckled at the sight and took a celebratory sip of his brandy.
“Say wha’ now?” Heathcliff spoke after he recovered.
Lucas shrugged. “Which part has you confused?”
Heathcliff studied him. “All o’ it. I tho’ she simply wanted a tumble, not a
n heir and spare.” Heathcliff tossed his hand in a bewildered gesture.
Lucas shook his head. “I said nothing of a spare, and that wasn’t in the agreement.” He took another sip of brandy.
“You simply tossed that in? Like an extra roll from the bakery?” Heathcliff all but shouted, his expression bewildered.
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t exactly pondering that at the time.”
Heathcliff chuckled lightly. “I expect not. So this . . . event . . . wasn’t planned? I tho’ you were careful the first time.”
“I was. I’m referring to a more recent event, and I’m not aware if it will be fruitful or . . . not.” Lucas frowned slightly, then took another sip thoughtfully.
“You’re taking this remarkably well. You are dying, aren’t you?” Heathcliff asked.
“No. I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer my presence for many years more.”
“Your presence and a smaller version, likely as not.” Heathcliff took a tentative sip. “Does the lady know?”
That was the rub that made Lucas rather uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how Liliah took the news. He surely hadn’t lingered, and he was regretting his hasty retreat now, even if it was prudent for him to leave as quickly as he did. Her expression had given nothing away, rather he had the impression that she wasn’t fully aware of the implications, even after his swift explanation.
“Lucas?” Heathcliff reminded him.
Lucas gave a curt nod. “As much as I was able to explain under the circumstances.”
Heathcliff gave him a reproving frown. “So you were able to sow the seed, but not be bothered to explain the deed, eh? I would expect more, Lucas. Yet . . .” Heathcliff’s expression was thoughtful. “I do not think you to be in danger.”
“Danger?” Lucas repeated, confused. He had been expecting his friend to give him a solid set-down, not alleviate the guilt.
“Yes, of the lass trying to bring you up to scratch. After all, this actually works out neatly for her, should she care to use it well.” Heathcliff nodded once, as if impressed with his own brilliance.
Lucas decided he must be having an off day, since he wasn’t following the trajectory of Heathcliff’s thoughts—amongst other mishaps.
“You had mentioned the details of her betrothal . . .” Heathcliff let the words linger.
Understanding bolted through Lucas’s mind, and he was surprised he hadn’t seen it from the start.
He had been rather distracted at the time, and as such he gave liberal license to the inner workings of his mind. Yet now, it had become quite clear.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
And he suspected that it could as easily work against him, as for him.
“Finally catching on?” Heathcliff asked, raising his glass in a toast.
“Yes, it’s an intriguing idea,” Lucas replied, mulling it over in his mind.
“True enough, and, you scoundrel, it leaves you quite free and unattached,” Heathcliff added.
“It would seem so.”
“Yet you don’t seem as encouraged by the prospect as I anticipated,” Heathcliff noted.
Lucas shifted his weight and glanced down to his almost empty glass. “I’m contemplating it.”
“You should be bloody celebrating it!” Heathcliff remarked, his tone frustrated.
“But you’re forgetting that this grand idea can also be used in another way, and I’m trying to ascertain if that is likely.” Lucas speared Heathcliff with a glance.
Heathcliff shook his head. “As I see it, should the world be inflicted with one of your progeny, it is much better for the lady in question to allow others to believe it is the heir of Greywick. You said yourself that they are to be married soon, and even I am aware that the timelines match up enough to give the babe credit as Meyer’s child—all without having to bed the lass when he’s enamored with another. It quite sews up the problem neatly, if I say so myself. And it gives Lady Liliah relief from the pressure to produce an heir. Heaven knows Lord Greywick will be a pain in the arse concerning a probable heir to his title; this creates a solution to every problem—you lucky dog. And you haven’t the need to own up to any action. You’ll be free to continue on in your merry debauchery of ruining ladies of quality.”
“Lady,” Lucas amended, glaring at his friend. “Singular.”
“Ah, that’s right, you’re quite the monk. Though I do find it splendidly funny that the one time you decide to engage in congress with a woman, you find the one who makes you forget reason. It’s amusing, I tell you.”
“I’m laughing . . . on the inside,” Lucas remarked. Yet he considered Heathcliff’s explanation of the situation. Honestly, he couldn’t have solved more problems if he tried, yet something about it rubbed wrong.
He couldn’t quite place it, and as he examined it he saw more merit in the idea. If Liliah wished to continue their tryst after her marriage to Meyer, it would be simple, and he need not become entangled.
“Cheers!” Heathcliff strode toward Lucas with the decanter of brandy and splashed a generous amount into his cup. “Let us celebrate! You’ve neatly dodged every obstacle, and that deserves a commendation!” Heathcliff lifted his own glass and took a long sip.
Lucas followed suit, not quite celebratory—but warming up to the idea of having no consequences for his actions.
After all, for one who appreciated control, it was a delightful relief to find out that his lack of it would produce no unforeseen consequences.
He simply had to make sure that Liliah and Meyer married when they had planned.
Yet where did that leave the situation with the duke? Was Greywick still planning on blackmailing him to keep the information concerning Catherine a secret? Was that even worth looking into anymore?
He refused to answer the probing questions of his heart and instead celebrated his good fortune with his friend.
His thoughts would catch up with him soon enough.
And he suspected it would happen the moment he saw Liliah tonight at the ball.
He took another long drink of brandy, pushing the thoughts further away from his mind.
He’d deal with them—and her—later.
Yet even as he resolved to do just that, he knew that the lie he was telling was to no one—but himself.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Liliah paced her room, her thoughts a jumbled mess of confusion, hurt, elation, and fear—all warring within her. It was a fruitless battle, since each emotion was equally intense. It was a blessing her father hadn’t summoned her, and as Sarah had readied her for the Morrison rout, she had allowed her thoughts to wander and grow till they became their own creature. After she dismissed Sarah, she had begun pacing and hadn’t stopped.
Thirty minutes before they were to depart, and she hadn’t sorted even one minute detail from the mess of emotions swelling within. She had to pull it together.
She glanced to the mirror and paused.
How was it that she didn’t recognize the woman in the reflection? A month ago, she had been so certain of who she was, what she wanted, and how she was going to go about it. Now, she saw the confusion swirling in her gaze, and she wondered if others would notice as well.
What had started as an experiment in pleasure had resulted in a consequence of substance, and she wondered how long she’d need to wait to find out if Lucas’s warnings had validity?
Not enough time.
Yet, even if she had enough time, would that change anything?
No. She thought not.
She hated the weakness she felt, but she straightened her shoulders, knowing deep within, regardless with how difficult it would be, she would rise to the occasion. It was a stretch, uncomfortable and risky, yet what choice did she have?
Her hand involuntarily caressed her flat stomach, and she both marveled and feared the implications it could create.
Lucas was not going to want her simply because of a child.
He had made his position abundantl
y clear, and rightfully so. She hadn’t asked for his heart, nor expected it.
Nor had she expected to lose hers, yet that is exactly what happened. Was this how Meyer and Rebecca experienced every day? To love and know it could never come to fruition? What torture! Yet at least in Liliah’s case, she knew her feelings were one-sided. Luc surely enjoyed her company, her body, and even her mind, but she didn’t delude herself into expecting him to create a firm attachment.
That would be folly of the worst sort.
Of the most painful variety, since expectation on that front would only lead to disappointment.
Liliah resumed pacing, fortifying her heart with determination and the stubborn will her father so often had tried to break. There had to be some sort of silver lining.
She froze as she considered an idea.
And as she considered the facets of such a plan, she realized its merit.
It was the only solution.
Oddly enough, their indiscretion could prove to benefit them all.
As long as her father never suspected, and she had the inclination that he already did.
For it to work, she’d have to end the tryst with Luc. Even the thought of good-bye created a deep ache in her heart, but continuing in the same manner as they were would only lead to more pain in the future. And, if she were to pass off any potential child of Luc’s as Meyer’s, then she had to commit fully to the idea.
As did Meyer.
It was a plan contingent on a great many things, but it could work.
Resolute, Liliah squared her shoulders and studied herself in the mirror once more, recognizing the light in her eyes as a fierceness that faded when she let fear control her heart.
No more.
Growing into the woman she’d become meant putting folly behind her once and for all.
Whereas before she was fearful of potentially carrying Luc’s child, she now prayed she did.
Falling from His Grace Page 17