He knew they had arrived, for Ramsey had been ever vigilant while overseeing the guest list as each gentleman presented his invitation in order to gain entrance to the event. Ramsey had taken pains to study each man’s attire so that he could give a report to Lucas. However, above it all, on the balcony, it was a bloody blur of people and Lucas couldn’t distinguish one man from another. For once he wasn’t a supporter of the masquerade idea and the anonymity it created.
Irritated with his inability to narrow down his search, he pushed away from the banister, his fists aching from the release of tension. He reached beside him and lifted the cold metal of his silver mask. He set it over his face, the metal an icy chill against his skin, and he secured it behind his head. It was a new mask, one he had never donned before, in hopes that it would lend him additional privacy. His hands ceased their ache as he squeezed his hands open and closed several times. He then pulled out his gold pocket watch, checking the time. It had been over two hours since the party started, so surely now the men would be well into their cups, causing lips and information to flow freely.
Lucas strode toward the back stairwell, adjusting his mask slightly as he took the stairs. The dark hall was lit by a few sputtering candles, only the amount necessary to illuminate the path, but not light enough to encourage exploration by any straggling club members. To clarify, they always made a distinguished path for the members for entry and exit from the main ballroom, for at times they already arrived foxed and only became more so as the evening progressed.
He skirted the ballroom via the hall and entered through one of the side entrances that was the least populated. The last thing he wanted was to gain attention. He passed a table of whist and a table of faro on the left before lifting a glass of champagne from a passing footman. He took a tiny sip, more to simply appear at ease rather than from thirst. He scanned the gentlemen before him, searching for the details that Ramsey had described to him: Chatterwood was wearing a thick, solid silver mask with little adornment. He was also wearing a sapphire cravat pin. Greywick’s mask was far more ornate than most, and the jewels embellishing the nose piece would make him easy to spot. Lucas suspected that once he found one gentleman, he would find the other in close proximity.
The scent of rose petals was far more fragrant below than when he was observing from above, and as he breathed in the scent, his mind wandered to Liliah. The scent was deeply sensual, and anything along that vein always led back to her. He didn’t even try to fight the overwhelming desire to have her, rather he used it to add fresh strength to his search.
He walked among several men speaking about horseflesh and an upcoming race. He noted Lark milling about another gambling table and he assumed that Lord Kribe was nearby, even possibly Lord Warrington. It was well circulated that Kribe had found a new mistress after Lark had shifted protectors. Lark gave him a seductive smile, then turned back to the table. Lucas read nothing into it, she was a woman always on the lookout for another green pasture to graze, and he did not fault her. It was also a boon to realize that she hadn’t recognized him, for if she had she would have given him an amused grin rather than a seductive look. She had learned long ago he wasn’t interested—at least in her.
Truth be told, he was quite convinced he had sworn off the fairer sex altogether, yet here he was, going to war over one.
War and women, how did they so often go hand in hand?
Bloody mess, the lot of it.
Yet none of it had him retracing his steps or questioning his motives; rather he simply acknowledged his accursed state of falling for Liliah, and moved forward.
A reflection shimmered in the corner of his eye and he halted his steps and pretended to study a gambling table. After a moment, he turned to study from where the bright reflection had come. Sure enough, a very smooth and reflective mask was seen in a congregation of several men in close conversation. The mask was thick, not dainty and thin in design like most, and Lucas suspected it to be Chatterwood. He studied the men in conversation. One was wearing a rather common mask, the other he was unable to see because the gentleman’s back was to Lucas. Yet Lucas could see the silver color of the man’s hair, and he suspected it to be Greywick.
Lucas glanced to the table, then feigned disinterest. He then made a wide arc around the conversing gentlemen and selected another point of view to study the men. The man whose back had been to Lucas, was now in full view. The line of gems down the bridge of the nose of the mask confirmed it was Greywick, and Lucas bit back a grin of victory. Sipping his champagne, he slowly ambled toward the men, closing the distance enough to overhear their conversation. Blessedly, a faro table was nearby, and Lucas stood behind a few of the gentlemen playing, his gaze on the table but his attention focused on the men speaking a few paces behind him. Their tone was low, and amidst the ambient noise of the ballroom, the conversation was hard to decipher, but Lucas listened intently, recognizing Chatterwood’s voice and Greywick’s as well. Once he caught their tones, it was easier to listen.
“I’m assuming you’ve drawn up the settlement for the betrothal?” Greywick asked, and Lucas clenched his teeth. To ask such a thing wasn’t abnormal but wasn’t in good taste either.
“Just yesterday, as we discussed,” Chatterwood remarked. “And I’m assuming you’ve addressed the other matters we discussed?”
Lucas listened carefully, wishing they would give more detail on the other matters . . .
“If everything goes according to plan, you need not worry,” Greywick answered.
“I was under the assumption that it was already taken care of.” Chatterwood’s tone was clipped, irritated, and cold.
Lucas shifted his feet to try to appear less tense as he listened.
“And lay all my cards on the table? I think not, there’s no rush. And as long as everything goes to plan, there’s no reason for concern . . . unless you foresee some sort of . . . problem?” Greywick replied with the tone of a man assured of winning a gamble.
Chatterwood didn’t reply right away, and Lucas resisted the urge to turn and see if the duke stalked off. “There will be no problems,” he finally ground out.
“Good, good. Then see, ol’ chap! There’s nothing to be concerned over! This is why I knew you simply must accept the invitation. Let us celebrate and be merry together!” Greywick was clearly at ease, judging by his jubilant tone. Lucas doubted Chatterwood had the same enthusiasm.
“I rather hate it here, and I don’t understand why I let you drag me into such a situation. I know Heightfield is here, and while I damn the man to hell, a gambling hell isn’t exactly the place I had in mind for him.” Chatterwood gave a small chuckle, likely impressed at his turn of phrase.
Lucas rolled his eyes.
“I’ve not seen him here often, he rather keeps to himself.”
“Unless he’s chasing after my daughter,” Chatterwood remarked bitterly.
Greywick’s tone was inquiring. “I thought you addressed that particular problem?”
“I did. But that doesn’t mean I trust him to leave her alone as he should.”
“Do . . . we need to make arrangements to move up the event?” Greywick asked significantly.
Lucas awaited Chatterwood’s response with great anticipation. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he listened.
“It will appear rushed.”
“I care not, and neither should you . . . I’m of the persuasion that there are more important matters that we don’t wish to be widely circulated. A hasty wedding isn’t the most scandalous thing, is it?” Greywick’s tone was taunting.
“Indeed it is not,” Chatterwood answered after a moment’s pause. “Very well, the more rapidly I’m rid of her, the sooner I can be rid of the next daughter.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve already secured her a match, so I’m done with both of them. A bloody miserable business, not having an heir and having to marry off daughters. I rather regret—” He didn’t complete his thought.
Greywick chuckled. “My, ho
w the brandy has loosened your tongue, Chatterwood. But it is all of no consequence. Let us drink to a swift alliance, and a swifter conclusion to our situations. It shouldn’t take more than three days.”
Lucas turned to leave, but did so in an unhurried manner so that he could allow his gaze to rake over the men speaking. As expected, Greywick was rather joyful, his lips spread in a winning grin. The Duke of Chatterwood’s expression was far more sober, his eyes narrowed behind his mask.
Lucas ambled away, listening as he went, just to ensure that they didn’t harbor suspicions of his eavesdropping.
To the random passerby, their conversation wouldn’t hold any interest. But to Lucas, it had been a wealth of information.
Especially the plan to secure a special license, which meant that Lucas had to secure one first. Good thing he had a favor he could call in at Doctors’ Commons.
Three days.
He had three bloody days.
As he quit the room, he signaled for a footman. He sent the man off to fetch his carriage.
Because if Chatterwood was here . . .
His blood burned with the anticipation of sneaking into the duke’s residence to find Liliah.
It was likely a foolish errand, since she was of the persuasion that their tryst had concluded.
But things change.
People change.
And she deserved to know that she was no longer fighting for her future alone.
Rather, her future had a new name.
His.
Chapter Thirty-five
Liliah was just saying good night to her sister when a prickling sensation traveled up her spine. As she closed her sister’s door, she glanced down the hall at the flickering candlelight. Nothing seemed amiss, yet the sensation lingered. With silent steps, she started down the hall toward her room, glancing back after every few steps. The highly polished wood floor creaked as she passed over the threshold of her chamber, casting one more furtive glance up and down the hall before closing the door. On a whim, she locked it. Sarah had already helped her ready herself for bed, and she was looking forward to a sedate few moments reading in bed. She slipped between the covers, the slightly chilly sheets a contrast to her cozy room heated by the fire, and a grin teased her lips as she snuggled deep. She reached over to the nightstand to pick up her book when the doorknob rattled softly.
Gasping, she held her breath and watched the handle start to turn, even though she’d locked it! In a moment, she was out of bed and lifting the fire poker from its place beside the fire, arming herself against whoever dared to interrupt her peace.
She released her tight breath and willed strength to her fearful heart, assuring herself that it was simply Samantha, yet unable to convince herself.
The door swung open and Liliah lifted the poker behind her to increase the power of her swing, then she froze.
Her jaw dropped, and she sincerely thought that she was hallucinating.
It was impossible.
It was improbable.
It was a sure sign she had lost her mind.
She had heard that love made people crazy, but she had never expected it to be such a literal application. Good Lord.
Her hallucination offered a cautious smile as his familiar blue eyes shifted from her to the weapon in her hand, then back. “Liliah, love. Would you mind putting that down?” He closed the door silently, tucking something into his coat pocket.
Liliah’s brows pinched in confusion.
“The fire poker, unless . . . unless you wish me to leave?” he asked, his tone immediately sobering as if never having thought of that option before.
This shook her from her confusion, and she set the poker beside the fire. Was it truly Lucas, then? How the devil had he gotten past the footmen?
“Thank you.” He tugged on his shirt cuffs, something that she’d seen him do several times when he was slightly uncomfortable. The sight made a smile tip her lips, and she decided that she didn’t care of if she was hallucinating—it was still Luc.
And he was here with her.
But that begged the question—rather, many questions. But of first importance—“Why?” she asked, so much longing, pain, and hurt crushed into her chest at once. The bitterness of missing him, the sweetness of seeing him again, turned over and over in her heart a hundred different ways.
“It’s quite simple, actually.” He took a few tentative steps into the room, his warm gaze lingering over every part of her.
“I’m waiting,” Liliah replied, forcing a brave calm.
At her words, he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Who would have thought that of the two of us, you would be more stubborn? Not I.”
Liliah’s brow pinched again as she wondered at his words.
“No, rather, of the two of us, you were willing to say good-bye, end everything—no strings attached.” He circled around her and reaching up, placed a warm hand at her neck, moving it downward to her hand before releasing her and moving to caress her shoulders as he passed behind her.
Liliah closed her eyes at the extreme pleasure of his touch, simple as it was. “Oh?” she said unremarkably.
“Yes. It was rather humbling to realize that it wasn’t that you needed me, rather . . . that I needed you. I, who had convinced myself that I needed nothing, or no one, was utterly held prisoner by a person who was willing to set me free.” He came to stand before her, his hands at his sides as he met her gaze. He gave a small, woeful smile. “And I find that being set free doesn’t suit me.”
Liliah’s breath caught as she considered the implications of his words, refusing to think about the repercussions that they could create.
“So, I suppose the most important question is one only you can answer.” He reached out and brushed his fingertips against her lips as he cupped her cheek tenderly.
“And what is that?” she asked, her tone braver than she felt.
He visibly swallowed, revealing the weight of the question before it was ever voiced. “Do you want me?”
Liliah’s lips widened into an uncontainable grin as she nodded, utterly beyond words. Luc didn’t hesitate a moment before he met her lips in a searing kiss that settled deep within her bones, sealing the bond between them. His lips branded her, his hands mapped every curve, and she allowed herself the luxury of lacing her fingers through his dark mane, the texture delightful, sensual, and erotic all at once. Her breathing came in gasps and she was disappointed when he didn’t initiate more; instead he gentled the kisses and then leaned his forehead against hers, his hands at her shoulders, his breath coming in the same excited gasps as her own.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured.
Liliah couldn’t resist the invitation. “Actually, I didn’t say anything . . .”
“Minx.” He chuckled and leaned back, tracing his hands from her shoulders to her waist and holding her. “So, it would seem we need to make a plan, since the only person you’ll be marrying is me.”
Liliah arched a brow. “Again with assuming my answers.”
“I’m not above kidnapping,” Lucas replied with a teasing tone.
“Is that a threat?” Liliah asked, giggling.
Lucas leaned forward, kissing her all too willing lips ever so softly. “It’s more of a promise.”
“Then how could I refuse?” she murmured in reply between kisses. “Provided you ask rather than assume.”
Lucas gave a soft laugh and leaned back. “Life will ever be interesting, will it not? Very well.” He took both of her hands within his and knelt. “Lady Liliah Durary, make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife?”
Liliah nodded, tears prickling her eyes.
Lucas moved to stand, then paused, tilting his head in a teasing manner. “I need to hear the words.”
Liliah laughed, keeping her tone soft so as to not create curiosity should a servant walk by her door. “Yes.”
“Ah, she speaks!” he teased, then stood and pulled her into his arms as he kissed h
er with a fierce passion.
Liliah pulled back, studying his almost drunken expression. “What made you change? I had quite given up on you before I even dared hope, and now I find I’m quite frustrated to have endured such heartache. I missed you, Luc.”
“Forgive me, love. Just as you are stubborn, so am I, and it took a while for me to come to grips with what had transpired. I’m sure it’s not easily forgivable, but I’m willing to work off my debt.” He leaned forward and nipped playfully at her earlobe.
“I’m sure we can make some sort of arrangement.” Yet as she spoke the words, her emotions sobered as she considered the mountain still to climb that was before them both. “How are we to move forward?”
Lucas leaned back, his expression sober as well, having likely sensed the change in her mood. “There is much to discuss. I trust we will not be interrupted as you are ready for bed?”
Liliah nodded. “Which begs an altogether different question—”
“One question at a time, love.” He nodded and took a seat at her writing desk, quite far away from her.
“Why the distance?” Liliah asked as she moved to take a seat by the fire, her body chilled from the emotional rush and the subsequent absence of her lover’s embrace.
“Because you’re entirely too tempting to my senses and I need to be thinking clearly as we converse about plans,” he replied honestly.
Liliah’s lips tipped in a crooked grin, but she didn’t reply.
“Now, I have some information, and am missing a bit more, but before we dive into that, I need to tell you about my past.”
Liliah frowned. “I’ve heard the titter about . . . Catherine, was it? I don’t fault you for anything, Luc.”
“I thank you, but I rather need to tell you the information that the public doesn’t know.” He took a deep breath.
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