Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid (Scottish Scoundrels: Ensnared Hearts Book 2)

by Julie Johnstone

  The man slowly sat, and Nash released him. “My wife is on a mission,” Carrington said. “That’s what her society does. They task themselves with preventing rogues from ruining unsuspecting women.”

  Nash frowned. That sounded as if it could be dangerous. “Do you not worry for her? Should you not be with her?”

  “She no longer goes on any dangerous missions without me. It was a vow she made to me once I learned about the society.”

  Nash blew out a relieved breath. He couldn’t even think of Lilias in danger. “Very wise of you to require such a vow. I imagine the other ladies did not care for that.” He was thinking specifically of Lilias, but of course, he would not say so.

  “I don’t think they loved that my wife would not be joining them, but they’ve not voiced any displeasure to me.”

  Nash leaned forward, his pulse ticking upward. “Do you mean to say the other women in the society—What did you call it?”

  “The Society of Ladies Against Rogues. Or SLAR, as they refer to it.”

  Nash nodded. “Do the other women still go on dangerous missions?”

  “They do. They need a good man to take them in hand, but ye’d be surprised how hard some women can be to control.”

  No, he wouldn’t. He knew Lilias and how independent she was. “Surely they don’t go alone?”

  “I go when I can, but take tonight, for example… I had an engagement to attend, so Lady Lilias went down to Satan’s Den on a search and rescue mission without me.”

  “Satan’s Den?” Nash couldn’t breathe. It was one of the oldest, most notorious gambling and pleasure dens in one of the most notorious rookeries, St. Giles. “You cannot be serious. You cannot be sitting here telling me that you allowed Lady Lilias to go to such a dangerous place alone.”

  “I cannot control a woman who is not any relation of mine.”

  “I’ll kill you if anything has happened to her,” Nash said, rising, losing his grip on his control, which had been rapidly slipping. He was already considering the quickest way to get to the rookery.

  “Nothing happened,” Carrington said.

  “How would you know?” Nash roared.

  Carrington studied Nash for a long, silent minute. “She sent word that all went well before I came here. Mission accomplished. But it’s interesting to hear that ye would wish to kill me if she was injured.”

  Nash slumped down into his chair. He’d been played by Carrington. He finished the last bit of his drink and stared at Carrington, waiting to hear what the man had really come here to say.

  His friend’s gaze softened in understanding and pity. “Ye should tell her how ye feel about her.”

  “No.” There was really no point denying it now. “She is betrothed to my friend, and regardless of what your wife might think”—whatever excuse for her betrothal his mind tried to torture him with—“I’ve reason enough to believe she wants to be.” Nash had bloody well practically orchestrated the deed, though he’d not been behind her being ruined. That had been chance. Though, what if she’d not been found on the terrace kissing Owen? Would she still have accepted his offer?

  Yes, you bloody fool.

  She’d been the one to kiss Owen, after all. Owen had told him so.

  “I’ll tell ye from personal experience that what we men believe a woman is thinking and feeling is rarely correct. They are wonderfully mysterious.”

  “Lilias is not my mystery to solve. She is Owen’s.” Carrington looked as if he wanted to protest so Nash played the only card he could to ensure the man did not interfere. “I want my life debt, and I want it in the form of you not telling your wife what it is you think you know about how I feel. I feel nothing.” That was the second time he’d claimed those exact three words in his life. When he’d written them to Lilias, he had meant he felt empty when she was not near him. He meant the same thing now.

  “Ye—”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Nash said, wagging his finger at his friend. “No questions. No arguments. Only compliance. That is the heart of a life debt, yes?”

  Carrington’s eyes drew to slits. “Aye. Damn it. My wife will likely sleep in another bedchamber for at least a sennight when I refuse to speak of tonight.”

  Nash rose. He had to get away from his friend before Carrington tried to change Nash’s mind. “I’m certain you’ll work it out.” He pushed his chair back and paused, considering the problem of Lilias and the missions. “SLAR?” he asked, pitching his voice low. “You said it was a secret society?”

  Carrington nodded.

  Nash could not stand by and do nothing, say nothing, while Lilias went on dangerous missions. “Do you think Owen knows about the society?”

  Carrington shook his head. “I know he does not. Only husbands are supposed to know, and I just broke my vow telling ye.”

  “You have to tell him,” Nash bit out.

  “Sorry, my friend. I’m doubting myself now that I told ye. Ye I trust to keep this secret. I do not know Owen well enough to say he will do the same, and Guin would kill me.”

  Nash nodded. He’d have to tell Owen tonight, but think of a way not to implicate Carrington. The thought of any harm coming to Lilias chilled Nash.

  Guinevere scrambled to her knees when the door to her and Asher’s bedchamber opened and Asher strode in. “Well?” she said excitedly. “Did you find him?”

  “Aye.” Asher sat on the bed, and Guinevere scooted up behind her husband and slipped her arms around his waist. “Did you tell him of Lilias’s dangerous missions but not tell him how we always have Merckle following out of sight but close behind?” Guinevere did not like keeping it a secret that, upon learning about the society, her husband had insisted on employing a man to guard all the women from a distance, and she’d had to concede after Asher had made such a convincing and descriptive argument of what could happen to the women in places like the rookery. It was then that she’d realized how naive they’d all been.

  “I told him, as ye verra prettily requested, and I omitted the part about Merckle as we agreed,” Asher said, his response disappointingly short.

  “How did he react?” she asked, nearly bursting to know. Their plan—hers and Asher’s—had been to discover how Greybourne felt about Lilias, and if he cared for her, which Guinevere was now convinced he did, she would tell Lilias. Guinevere was certain Lilias was wedding Owen due to pressure from her mother, though Lilias had not said as much. She had not said much of anything, actually, which was not like Lilias at all. Just as Asher’s lack of response was unlike him. “Darling, did you hear me?”

  One of Asher’s boots dropped to the floor, followed a moment later by the other. “I heard ye.”

  Guinevere frowned at her husband’s broad back. “Do you think he might start following her?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “What do you mean?” she demanded, becoming a trifle irritated. When Asher did not answer her, she scooted around him, into his lap, and threaded her arms around his neck. “You are acting very oddly.”

  A strained look came to her husband’s face. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

  She kissed him on the lips to show him she loved him, even with his evasiveness. “Does Greybourne care for Lilias or not?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “Asher!” Guinevere said, her irritation spiking. “Whatever are you about?”

  Her husband let out a long sigh. “A life debt. I’m about a life debt, which Greybourne has called in this verra night.”

  “And that means?”

  “It means that whatever was said between me and Greybourne tonight will stay between the two of us.”

  Guinevere scoffed. “Darling, that’s all you had to say.” She giggled when her husband looked astonished.

  “Ye’re not vexed with me?”

  “Of course not, darling. By Greybourne demanding this life debt from you—you really must explain that—it tells me everything I need to know without you saying a word. Greybourne would not have demand
ed such a thing if he did not care for Lilias and wanted to ensure you said nothing to me so I’d say nothing to her!”

  Asher’s response was to seal his mouth over hers for a long, drugging kiss. When they broke apart, he said, “Ye are the most brilliant person I have ever known. One of the most devious, as well,” he added, kissing her again.

  “So you will not interfere?” It was her turn to kiss her husband, but she started at his neck and worked her way upward to his lips in a fashion she knew he loved.

  When she drew back, he said, “With what?” in a thick voice.

  “With my helping the two of them come together.”

  “Guin,” Asher said, nuzzling her neck, “what do ye have in mind?”

  “Well, I cannot very well tell Lilias what I think since I have no proof, and you won’t give it to me with Greybourne’s own words, but I can make sure she goes out on missions, and you could happen to mention them to Greybourne so he feels inclined to follow her. Then, perchance, fate will take over.”

  “Ye’re playing with fire, Wife.”

  “Then it is a good thing,” she murmured, slipping her night rail off her shoulders, “that I have you to keep me from getting burned.”

  Chapter Seven

  Nash knew it was a mistake coming to Serafina’s home the moment she opened the door. Still, he pushed himself forward with the rendezvous his sometimes partner in pleasure had requested with the note she’d sent him. He was determined to purge Lilias from his mind, if not once and for all, then, God willing, for an hour of mindless coupling.

  Serafina was a widow Nash knew from Scotland who had a home in London as well. She was extremely wealthy in her own right, with a castle near his family’s there, and could do and live as she pleased. That was not necessarily a good thing, though, as the woman liked to indulge in drink and pleasure just as much as, if not more than, most men Nash knew.

  She straddled him, her night rail bunching up on her thighs. “Yer mind is not here, Greybourne.”

  If she only knew what an understatement that was. His mind was on Lilias. He’d gone straight from the Orcus Society to Owen’s, only to be informed by Owen’s butler that he had left that very night for the Cotswolds. It seemed Owen’s father had taken a bad fall, and Owen’s presence was required at his country home immediately.

  Serafina’s hand slipped to Nash’s crotch and settled there. She frowned. “Yer desire is not here, either.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, grasping her by the waist and hoisting her up and to the floor. He stood and reached for his overcoat in one swift motion. He was aware Serafina was pouting at him as he put on his overcoat, and when he was done, he faced her, trying to think what to say so her feelings would not be injured.

  They’d been intimate several times before in Scotland. Serafina knew not to expect any sort of commitment from him, and she’d assured him she wanted none herself. She had been wed once, and she vowed once was enough for her. But she had made one stipulation, and that was that he be honest with her.

  She stared at him and asked him bluntly, “Why did ye come here tonight, Greybourne? It’s clearly not because ye were longing to be with me.”

  He tugged a hand through his hair. “I was hoping to forget,” he admitted. “And there have been times you’ve been able to make me do that.” Though the moments had been brief.

  Forgetting Lilias seemed to be an impossibility. He wasn’t certain why. He’d thought about it through the years but had been unable to come up with an answer. Was it because she’d been the only person he’d ever come close to telling about his brother? Was it because he’d seen in her eyes that she thought him better than he really was and it had given him hope that he could be that man? Was it because they’d never joined so he was left to wonder what it would have been like? Was it because he knew she was unlike any woman he’d ever met or would ever meet again?

  Of course it was the bloody last one. He knew it. He just didn’t damn well care to dwell on it. It could be one of the other reasons, as well—or all of them. Who damn well cared? The result was the same.

  He didn’t want any woman but Lilias—not truly. And he could not have her. So what now? He was getting older. He needed to produce an heir, of which his mother had reminded him when he first returned to England. And for an heir, he needed a wife. The prospect left him cold.

  Another ducal duty.

  “Greybourne, did ye hear me?” Serafina demanded, her tone slightly exasperated.

  He snapped his gaze away from the wall he had not even realized he’d been staring at. Serafina’s green eyes were narrowed, and she was twisting a strand of her red hair around one of her fingers. “No, I’m sorry,” he admitted. “What did you say?”

  She placed a hand on his chest and glanced up at him, her gaze earnest. “I said, as long as I’ve known ye, yer mind has never been totally with me, but I have never seen ye like this. Am I to assume ye have encountered the woman Lilias? The one who truly holds yer desire? Does she live here in London?”

  His jaw slipped open. “How do you know her name?” he asked, not bothering to deny the statement.

  “Ye muttered it in yer sleep the one time ye stayed the night with me.”

  Good Christ. He talked in his sleep? That was a devil of a thing to discover. Thank God he’d never stayed the night with any other woman.

  Serafina gave him a knowing look. “So, does she live in London?”

  He nodded. Serafina lived her life with utter discretion, and he trusted she wouldn’t speak of Lilias or of him to anyone. Besides, she was not part of the same social circle. Her husband had not been of the ton but a businessman who had a large share in one of the railroad companies. And the fact that her husband had not had a title and had worked for what he had kept the doors to the ton firmly shut to them. It was rubbish, but it was the way of things.

  “Have the two of ye never—”

  “No.” He cut her off. He didn’t need Serafina’s help putting images in his head of him and Lilias flesh to flesh. He tortured himself quite regularly with images his own mind provided. “She’s not the sort of lady to be intimate without entanglements.”

  “Then why not get entangled?” Serafina asked. “Ye clearly wish to.”

  He scrubbed a hand across his face and made a move for the door. “It’s not that simple. She belongs to someone else.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry, Greybourne. But it’s good to be the sort of man who does not take what belongs to another.”

  That’s what he kept telling himself.

  “Goodbye, Greybourne. I’ll miss ye.”

  He frowned. That sounded like an end to whatever had been between them. He wished he felt something, but he didn’t. “‘Goodbye’ as in this is the end of our time together?” he asked for clarification.

  She nodded, came to stand before him, and pressed onto her tiptoes. “Aye. I do not like to take what belongs to another, either.”

  “What the devil do you mean by that? I don’t belong to anyone.”

  “Silly, foolish man,” she said while opening her bedchamber door. “Of course ye do. Yer heart belongs to her, whether ye wish to acknowledge it or not.”

  Her words stilled him completely. It was like light flooded his mind. Damnation. He couldn’t deny the truth. It had never been about mere desire or worshipping her. It was much more. It was that dangerous emotion that drove a man to do unwise, dishonorable things just to be with the woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand. Love. It was more imperative than ever to keep a distance between himself and Lilias. Too much time near her and he wouldn’t trust himself not to weaken, to say something he ought not say, to do something he damn well should not do, and that would be unforgivable.

  Lilias almost ran Nash over with her horse and gig. It happened so fast she did not even have time to scream, but as the realization hit her, she began to shake. In her defense, it was very late, the fog swirled heavily, and she was exceedingly tired. Besides that, he’d dashed out in
front of them. Nash was lucky that the light from the street lamp hit him directly or she most definitely would have killed him. Now that would have been a true Gothic romance.

  Heroine runs over hero who didn’t love her. In the unwritten tragic book that was her one-sided love story starring Nash, she’d be cast as a scorned murderess. Her heart thudded at the thought.

  “What the devil are you doing out and about at this hour?” Nash roared, swallowing the distance between him and her very agitated horse. The horse reared, and Lilias’s heart skipped several beats in fear for Nash’s life—again—but he sidestepped the beast, grabbed the reins, and stilled the animal.

  He looked magnificent, as usual, the rogue. He had on another kilt that showed his legs—heavens, they were lovely—and his cravat was undone, as well as the top of his shirt being yanked open. She could see a light dusting of hair on his chest, and her fingers tingled with the desire to touch him, and as the mist turned to a soft rain, a drop of water landed on his nose which made her want to wipe it off or even lick it. Heat flushed her at the thought.

  She’d imagined when she might see him again at a ball, and she had planned to look much better than she likely did at this moment. She likely looked a mess. At least the foldable head of her gig was up or she would have looked utterly bedraggled, seeing as how she’d been to the rookery and back tonight in sporadic rain. Twice. She’d driven in the drizzle the first time to rescue a witless lady from the rogue who’d lured her there, intent on seduction, and then Lilias had been called out again unexpectedly by Frederica. It seemed a very damning scandalous confessions manuscript by a Society mistress was about to be published. One of the titillating chapters in the book happened to be about a marquess, Lord Quattlebom, who was having an affair not only with said mistress but with a young unwed lady, a Lady Katherine. Lady Katherine and Frederica were friends, and she had cried to Frederica about her problem. Frederica had taken it upon herself to accept the mission and go out alone to confront the mistress who had written the manuscript. There were strict rules against going on missions without anyone knowing and about accepting missions without a vote from the other SLAR members, but Frederica had broken those rules.