Lily (15 page)

“Well? What is it now?” Devon demanded when the taut silence resumed. Lily was twisting her fingers, pink-faced, looking as if she wanted to disappear under the carpet.

The lieutenant got hold of himself. “My lord, this girl has just told us a story, and I—I’m obliged to ask you to confirm it.”

Devon’s hands clenched inside his coat pockets; it seemed as if a bomb had exploded in his chest. But he thought his voice sounded miraculously casual. “Indeed? And what has she told you?”

Something in his tone made Lily jerk her head up.
Dear God, he thinks I’ve told them.
Without warning, her eyes filled with tears. She bent her head to hide them, and wondered at the dull pain that made her throat ache. How could he think it, even for a second? How could he?

Von Rebhan went back to twisting his mustache. “She tells us, sir, that she spent all of last night, beginning around ten o’clock, in your guest house on the grounds. with you.” He cleared his throat violently. “She says you were together there until a little after dawn. And she says there are no, ah, wounds whatsoever on your … person.” He looked at Devon directly, in defiance of the faint flush on his cheeks. “Is she telling the truth?”

Lily risked another upward glance. Now Devon’s face was a mystery; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. She felt her own face grow hotter and looked back down at her feet. For her the tension was all but unbearable. What was he thinking? How would he answer?

After an eternity he spoke, in a cold, quiet tone that chilled her. “Yes, she’s telling the truth. But let me warn you, gentlemen: If I ever learn that this piece of information has reached the ears of anyone beyond the four walls of this room, I’ll see to it that your jobs in the Customs Service are terminated and that you find no others in Cornwall for the rest of your lives. You may take that as a threat if you wish. I mean it as a promise. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, certainly, my lord, absolutely, without question,” babbled Polcraven. Devon shot him a look of contempt—for he had no doubt that the story would be all over Fowey by nightfall.

Von Rebhan’s reaction was more complicated; Devon could almost hear the debate going on in the man’s head as he tried to separate truth from fiction. But presently he appeared to come to a decision. “Given what you and the woman have told us, it seems there’s no point now in pursuing the investigation. I know of no practical reason why the—subject that has just been discussed should become known to anyone beyond ourselves. As a gentleman—and I’m sure I speak for Mr. Polcraven as well in this regard—I’m obliged to respect your personal business, sir, and I can tell you that any reports I submit will be vague enough in this crucial regard to insure that your privacy is not breached.”

“Right, right,” muttered Polcraven.

“Then I can take it the matter is closed?”

After the slightest hesitation, Von Rebhan answered, “Yes, my lord. I doubt that we’ll be troubling you again.”

“Fine. Then I’ll bid you good afternoon.” Devon inclined his head in dismissal and watched them go, his relief barely hidden.

When Lily started to trail out after them, he called her name, quietly.

She stopped. “I’ve—I’ll—come back, but Mrs. Howe has given me a task and I’ve already—”

“Come in and close the door.”

She breathed a deep, silent sigh and did as she was told. With her back pressed against the closed door, she watched him across the width of the room and wondered who would speak first. He did.

“Why did you do it?”

Then the words came tumbling out. “I know I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry if I’ve caused you more trouble, but I knew they didn’t believe you and it was all I could think of to do. I know I’ve embarrassed you. I apologize. I don’t believe they will tell anyone, though, not after what you said to them. So you needn’t worry about anyone finding out, I don’t think. Really, I don’t think they’ll speak of it, you made it so clear—”

“Lily, do you think I’m angry with you?”

She folded her hands together to keep from fidgeting. “I don’t know. Yes, I think you might be. Are you?”

“No, of course not. You’ve saved my hide—why would I be angry?”

“Oh.” She felt ridiculously glad. “But I’ve embarrassed you.”

“Is that what you think?” Perhaps she really was that naive. “I wanted Von Rebhan to think you had, to explain why I didn’t tell him the same story you did right from the beginning. But we live in a wicked world, my dear; no one in my acquaintance, with the possible exception of my mother, will be scandalized when they hear that I’ve been trifling with one of my housemaids.”

“Oh—I see. Yes, of course.”

Belatedly he realized that that was not quite what he should have said. Her cheeks were a bright pink, as if he’d slapped her, and she was staring in a frozen way at something over his shoulder. By God, she was prickly! Apologizing seemed excessive, though; he wasn’t sure what he’d done anyway. Instead he asked her a question. “What about you, Lily?”

She made herself look at him. “Me? What do you mean?”

“If your young man should learn of this, what will he think? Will he be angry?”

“I expect so,” she said faintly. “Yes, he would be.”

Devon scowled. The answer didn’t please him. “Then I’m doubly grateful to you, for risking his displeasure for my sake. I’d like to repay you. Come here. Come.”

She came, reluctantly. He was holding out his hand. She wanted to go away, to be alone. Instead, with deep unwillingness, she put her hand in his.

He held it lightly, wondering at how work-rough it was, the nails chipped and short, and rubbed a soft forefinger in circles around the injured palm. “Whatever Howe’s got you doing,” he said gruffly, “I want it to stop.” Before she could say anything to that, he asked, “What sort of reward would you like?”

She looked up, startled. “I want no reward. I think you should lie down now.”

“But where’s the incentive? We’ve already established that you won’t lie with me.” As disheveled and weary-looking as she was, she was still beautiful. Her eyes were still extraordinary. And she had the softest mouth.

“You’re feverish.”

“It’s true, I am. Burning hot.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her close, but she squirmed away immediately. He let out an involuntary grunt of pain.

Hiding her concern with a stern look, Lily took hold of his arm and tried to lead him toward the bed. “Meaning no disrespect, that serves you right,” she scolded. But halfway there he snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her close again. “I see you’re not quite as sick as I thought,” she observed, a little shakily, standing still this time so she wouldn’t hurt him.

“Not true. I’m in desperate pain and there’s only one remedy.”

“I wonder what it could be. Come to bed now, you’ll only—”

“Not until I find the cure. Ah, I found it. It’s here.” He touched her mouth with his fingertips. “Right here.”

“Devon, Mr. Darkw—”

“Shh, I’m taking the cure.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips, wondering a bit at his own playfulness. That was all he intended, just to tease her a little, and to touch her. But she sighed, and the soft, surprised sound of it beguiled him. He had almost forgotten how sweet she was. The kiss deepened in the most natural way, and the pure pleasure of it was enchanting—for the time it lasted, he really felt cured. But then it was over, and reason returned, and they stepped away from each other self-consciously.

“You’re strong enough to find the bed yourself, I see,” said Lily, out of breath. She backed away toward the door. “I’ll bring your supper up in a little while. Go to sleep.”

“Wait, Lily, you can’t leave yet.”

“I am leaving.”

“Dammit! Oh, hell.” Now that he wasn’t kissing her, he felt terrible. He hobbled over to the bed and sat down gingerly, holding his bad arm against his chest. “Where the devil are you off to?”

“I still have a job, you know.” He just stared at her, waiting, and she finally explained, although she hated it. “Mrs. Howe has set me a task. I have to finish it.”

“I don’t want you doing this ‘task.’ “

“If I don’t finish, she’ll only give me another.”

“What is it she’s got you doing, Lily?”

She looked away, then back. “Something—what difference does it make? Something I’ve got to do.” Why couldn’t she tell him? It made no sense to keep this secret. But to tell would be to admit that she needed help, because she was beaten.

“Is it a punishment?” Her face fascinated him; fleeting, complex emotions paraded across it too swiftly for him to read. When she wouldn’t speak, he had his answer. And now he could even guess what she was being punished for. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

She moved one shoulder. “As much as you, I suppose.”

“No, I doubt that. Have you eaten anything?”

She didn’t answer.

His eyes narrowed grimly. “Go to bed.”

She laughed, but she wasn’t amused. “I’ve told you—”

“And I’ve told you that you work for me, not my housekeeper. Since I don’t need you right now, I’m ordering you to go to bed. Immediately.”

She thought of it, going to bed. Of lying down in her dark, quiet room and going to sleep. Right now. She closed her eyes and shuddered.

“Go.”

“But—”

“Go.”

“But—she—” How to explain it? “If you could—” No, she wouldn’t ask that. She hid her clenched hands behind her apron, tense with indecision.

Devon reached up for the bell rope and yanked on it. “I’m sending for her,” he said shortly. “I’ll explain to her what I want. And what I want is for you to wait on me exclusively for the next few days.”

“Oh, but she’ll think—”

“I don’t give a damn what she thinks.”

But I do.
But obviously that carried no weight with him. He thought he was being generous.

“Go to bed, Lily,” he said again, kindly this time. “I don’t want to see you again before dark.”

“All right,” she conceded after a long pause, “I’ll go. But I’ll come back in an hour or so—” she kept talking over his impatient snort—“to bring you something to eat. Yes, I
will.
Now go to bed yourself. Sir.” For the briefest moment they both smiled.

Then she was gone. And Devon cursed himself for not thinking of telling her to go to sleep in
his
bed.

“W
HY IS IT THAT
sick people are called patients, I wonder, when it’s their nurses who must have all the patience?”

“Ha ha,” said Devon, not smiling.

“Are you going to drink this or not?”

“Not. It smells like boiled dung.”

“It’s a special kind of chamomile infusion; it’s supposed to be calming.”

“I’m sure it calms down dung beetles.”

Lily clucked her tongue and set the cup on the bedside table with a clatter, sloshing tea over the side. “You’re impossible. This is good for you—Cabby Dartaway showed me how to make it.”

“That explains it. Cabby Dartaway’s a witch.”

“A witch! What nonsense. She’s also the one who taught me how to make the poultice you said eased the pain so much in your shoulder.”

“That thing that smelled like a dead ferret?”

“No,” she demurred, pressing down a smile, “that was the comfrey roots. You’re thinking of the wilted burdock leaves. You said they smelled like pond scum in late July.”

“Worse.”

“Yes, well, it’s your own fault. If you’d had a doctor in the first place, I wouldn’t have to play witch’s apprentice. I think it’s time you stopped complaining and said a prayer of thanks because you’re still alive.”

“Is that what you think?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Yes, it is.”

It was almost impossible to intimidate her anymore. In fact, he’d given up trying. He found it infinitely more interesting to try to provoke her and then see how she would react. But her patience seemed limitless; she really was the perfect nurse. She could be stern, but more often she used a disarming gentleness to manage him. And, he had to admit, there had been times in the last four days when he’d needed managing.

“I’ll leave you, then, so you can have a nap.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“You would be if you’d drunk your tea.”

“But since I didn’t, you may as well stay.”

“But I have to go downstairs and speak to Mrs. Belt about your supper.”

“Ring for a servant and send a message.”

“I—I’d rather not trouble anyone; I’d rather go myself.”

“I’d rather you stayed.”

Lily shook her head, torn between exasperation and amusement, knowing that these tests of will to which he constantly subjected her were designed to nettle her in hopes of provoking some unsuitable response. This one was especially irksome, but she doubted that he would understand why. He could have no idea—and certainly no interest in—how her reputation had degenerated below-stairs, where among the servants it was commonly believed that she was sleeping with him.

“Very well,” she said equably, not rising to his bait, “I’ll ring for Dorcas and speak to her in the hall.” She reached for the bell pull on the wall above his opposite shoulder. At the moment she did so, he put his big hands on her waist and gave her a squeeze. She glanced down and saw the wolfish gleam in his eyes. Once such a liberty would have shocked her; but now that it or something like it happened daily—
hourly,
lately, as his strength returned—it only stirred her to the mildest annoyance. And sometimes not even that. “Thank you, I don’t really require assistance,” she murmured as she tugged on the rope the appropriate number of times to summon the kitchen maid.

“Sure?”

She sent him a quelling frown. But a part of her was beginning to suspect that there was really very little she wouldn’t do to kindle and sustain that rare flicker of good humor in his cool blue-green eyes. She removed his hands from her waist matter-of-factly and folded her arms. “Shall I read to you? We’ve only a few hours left of Mr. Fielding’s book, I should think, before we finish it.”

“You read very well for an uneducated housemaid, Lily.”

“Thank you. I do think Mr. Allworthy’s sister Bridget is going to save the day, don’t you?” she rushed on, anxious not to dwell on that particular subject. “If anyone can convince him that Tom is good and Blifil is a bounder, it’s she, don’t you think? How is your shoulder now? Is it still aching? If you won’t take the tea, I suppose I could make you a Cromwell.”