For the Love of Lila (11 page)

She matched his urgency at each degree, sliding her arms around his back. He pulled her to his body, her breasts warm and soft against his chest. Clothing suddenly became an intolerable restriction, but he remembered they sat in full public view—in front of her cousin’s home. With tapering baby kisses, he pulled away from her mouth, their faces still close.

“In another world...” she whispered. “Or another time...”

He didn’t dare answer. At this moment, anything he could say would not be wise.

She broke away from him and leapt down from the box before he knew what she was about. The night air chilled the side of his body that had been flush with hers. As she ran up the steps and sounded the door knocker, he wanted to yell to her to stop.

Of course, he didn’t. Nor did he get out and unload her luggage. He sat and watched while she waited, a selfish demon within him willing that no one answer.

Seconds added up to minutes, and he began to wonder if his wish might be granted. But she knocked again, and this time the door opened.

Instead of the liveried butler he anticipated, a middle-aged woman stepped into the frame. She wore a plain brown dress rather than a uniform, and her brow furrowed while Lila spoke. He wondered who she could be—apparently not a servant but not Felicity, either. And the scowl she wore as she listened to Lila lacked any sign of hospitality.

He shifted on the box to get a better view. Was the woman a housekeeper who refused to accept Lila’s identity–or perhaps could not understand her accent? But Lila spoke French rather well. Uncertain whether or not to intercede, he climbed down to the street and stood back, observing from beside the horses.

As the discussion continued, the woman in the door got more animated, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. Her tone rose into a scold, though he could not quite piece together the scattered French that reached his ears. He had just made up his mind to go forward when the woman slammed the door shut, leaving Lila alone on the step.

He hurried up the walk and took her by the arm. “What on earth is the matter? Who was that harridan?”

She skimmed his gaze, her face devoid of emotion, then looked down at her feet. “The landlady.”

“The landlady? Your cousin’s landlady?” He glanced up at the building facade, and comprehension broke on him. “This is a boarding house.” So much for Felicity’s being well able to accommodate a houseguest.

“Actually, she is my cousin’s
former
landlady.” Lila’s voice was quiet, flat. “Felicity has moved.”

A burning sensation erupted in his stomach. He looked back at her, but she still didn’t lift her gaze. “How can that be? Your cousin relocated without informing you?”

“Not purposely, to be sure! You and I left London earlier than I had planned, if you recall—likely before a letter telling me of her move could reach me.” At last she looked at him, biting her lip. “She may have left before
my
last correspondence as well.”

“Good Lord! Then she doesn’t know to expect you!”

“
May
not know,” she corrected.

He answered the daft distinction with a mute stare. Then another horror occurred to him. “She is still residing in Paris, is she not?”

He thought he detected a quiver in her lip, barely perceptible, before she twisted her mouth into a grimace. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Did the landlady refuse to give you a forwarding address?”

“She claims Felicity did not leave one. Apparently, the two parted on ill terms.”

The burning in his gut flared. “What was the problem—a financial dispute?”

“I don’t know. I had trouble understanding that woman’s shrieking.” She drew in a deep breath and sighed. “There is no need to worry. I shall make inquiries among the neighbors. Someone will know where Felicity’s gone. I will have to wait until morning, of course. I am afraid I shall have to trouble you to help me find a hotel.”

“Yes.” The realization gave him a certain sense of relief. Now he would have another night with her, perhaps more if they couldn’t locate her cousin—or, better yet, if he could convince her to return to England instead of staying with a relative in the midst of some sort of difficulty. But how would they retain their anonymity in Paris? Thinking aloud, he said, “I always stay at D’Anjou–but we cannot appear there together, since the staff know me, and sometimes my associates call. In fact, we may have trouble going unnoticed at any decent hotel. Paris is a common destination for British travelers.”

“There is no need to jeopardize your reputation further,” she said. “You have done far too much of that on my account already. I will stay at another hotel.”

“You cannot stay at another hotel. You have no companion, not even a maid. Any unsavory character who spots you alone could pay you an unannounced visit.”

She frowned. “I could enter D’Anjou separately from you and procure my room myself.”

“That would scarcely be any better. You would still be seen alone. Lila, don’t you realize how dangerous sleeping in a hired room is anytime? One never knows how many people possess the key, not that any rogue worth his salt requires a key.”

Her face blanched, satisfying him that he’d made his point.

“Never mind. I shall smuggle you into my room.”

“You what?” She looked at him with such huge, stunned eyes that he nearly laughed.
He
had finally managed to shock
her
. If the idea of again sharing a bedroom added to his diversion, he didn’t like to admit it.

Smothering his amusement, he said, “All the rooms at D’Anjou have terraces. You can easily slip in undetected.”

“Tristan, this plan is scarcely appropriate—”

“Nor is there any alternative to it. Besides, you were never so missish before.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You do recall our first night on the road?”

“But that was before...” her words trailed off. “That was unplanned.”

“So is this.” Amusement stole up on him again. You are not frightened of staying with me, are you?”

“Of course I’m not frightened. But, unlike you, I fail to find the situation entertaining.” She pulled her spencer more tightly around her. “Shall we go then? The hour’s late.”

Bravado, he thought, but she was right not to show her wariness, and he was equally wrong to show his amusement. “Perhaps we had best.”

She spun around and flounced back to the carriage, her movements as resolute—and feminine—as could be.

Only as he watched her hips sway did he recall his own wariness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lila shivered on a second-floor balcony, huddling against the glass on one of a pair of French doors. The cold had progressed with the night, and her nerves had drained what body heat she had to spare. She had been waiting a good quarter-hour while a maid tidied and stoked up the fire in the room Tristan had procured. Through the crevice between the doors, she could hear bits of the girl’s muffled French, followed each time by Tristan’s laughter.

He was
dallying
, while
she
froze to death on little more than a ledge!

She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering and looked down one end of the street. At any other time, the view would have charmed her. Facades of townhouses and store fronts nestled around the stretch of cobblestones, creating a feel of coziness. As she gazed on, a phaeton drove past, the horse’s hoof beats echoing throughout the deserted block.

A click from behind her made her start. She spun around to see Tristan open the door, his eyes solemn and lips pressed into a thin line. All trace of the amusement that he’d shared with the maid had departed along with the girl.

He nodded for her to enter and took her elbow as she bridged the threshold. As soon as she had stepped inside, he let go and crossed to the hearth. While she surveyed the two narrow beds, single armchair and washstand that comprised the furnishings, he leaned on the mantel, arms folded over his chest.

The crackling fire cast licks of light up his side, emphasizing the muscular contours of his calf and thigh. She felt a longing that unsettled her, a profound urge to cuddle up to him and sponge up his body heat. In his arms, she would feel so snug, so wonderful...

“This is a bad turn, Lila,” he broke into her reverie. He let his arms drop and paced a few steps toward her. “The more I think about your cousin’s move, the less I like it. Judging by the landlady’s displeasure, Felicity probably left owing money. If such is the case, she is in no position to be of aid to you. More likely, you will end up lending her money.”

She sat down on one of the beds. “I confess that I’ve thought of that as well, but perhaps the landlady rather than my cousin is at fault. Perhaps she...she keeps her tenants in squalid conditions, charging them an unfair—”

“The building appeared well maintained.”

She looked down at the mattress, absently smoothing the counterpane. “Well, we won’t know for certain until we speak to Felicity.”

“And who knows when that will be.”

“Tomorrow, hopefully, after we question the neighbors.” The doubt she heard in her own voice dismayed her.

“Assuming she left on better terms with them than with her landlady.”

“Goodness, Tristan, must you be so negative?” At last, she met his gaze. She could not hold it, however, aware that the whole truth would have given him yet more grounds for cynicism.

She stared down at her lap, hoping she would never have to admit that the address she had for Felicity dated back from over two years ago. Neither her father nor her uncle had allowed correspondence between the cousins. She had only obtained the direction at all by discovering it in her father’s desk after his death. Felicity could have moved any time since then.

Tristan sat down in an armchair at the foot of the bed. “I suggest that you return to London with me next week.”

Her gaze leapt to meet his, and she could feel her heartbeat quicken at the idea of extending her time with him.
Foolish heart.
She moistened her lips. “Relocating to Paris is part of a plan I’ve spent years conceiving. My current priority is to put as much distance as possible between myself and the constraints I have suffered. Removing myself from English society is part of my...my liberation.”

He lowered his head and squeezed his brow between thumb and fingers. “Lila, being in a foreign country will only add to the difficulties you will face as a woman living on her own. And you must see that your cousin will be of no service to you.”

“She can offer me a social introduction, new acquaintances, a complete new start.”

“You could easily have all that in London. My sister Hester lives in town and enjoys an extensive social life. I am sure she would be happy to introduce you to a variety of people.”

His sister. Again, she felt a temptation she shouldn’t have. She would have liked to meet Hester, to see what resemblance the woman bore to her brother and whether she shared his noble character. Then again, he had described his siblings and implied that none were much like him. And going to London did not fit in with the scheme she had laid out for herself.

“You are very kind, and I am sure your sister is as well, but I have other plans.”

He stood and walked back to face the fire. “I don’t leave Paris until early next week. See if you feel the same in a few days. If you change your mind, you will know where to find me.”

He might still be just across the room, she thought, if they didn’t find Felicity by then.
No!
If they didn’t locate her cousin tomorrow, she would have to obtain her own lodgings. Living alone might be dangerous, but living with Tristan put her in jeopardy, too—in jeopardy of compromising her plans, ignoring the philosophy she had spent her life developing, even...even other things she wouldn’t allow herself to name.

“Tristan, I need to close my trust.”

He turned around, his mouth set in a frown. “Really, Lila, if you are thinking—”

“Could you see about getting me the money tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” His look changed to one of surprise. “You do realize it will take weeks to transfer the funds to Paris?”

Her stomach sank, but she supposed she might be able to stretch what savings she had for a fortnight or so, longer if she found Felicity and could share expenses. “But you can set the process into motion?”

He gave her a penetrating stare. “I would much prefer you to return to London and make the transaction in person.”

Unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, she cast her gaze back down at the bed. “You had best post a letter tomorrow.”

A long silence ensued. When she heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor, she looked up to see him taking his jacket from a hook near the door.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, stuffing his arms into the sleeves.

“Tristan?”

Finally, reaching for the door knob, he said, “I am going downstairs for a drink.”

She watched him open the door and look up and down the hall. “You won’t be gone two hours this time, will you?”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Why? Will you miss me?”

She could think of no way to answer.

Lip curling, he stepped outside and closed the door. The sound of his footsteps faded as he moved down the hall. Suddenly, she remembered the flirting maid and leapt up, rushing for the door. But she could scarcely call after him, even if she weren’t hiding from the proprietors and staff of the hotel. If he wanted to pursue an accommodating serving girl, she had no right to interfere—no reason, in fact. After all, she could not offer to take the girl’s place.

Jealousy churned inside her while she readied herself for bed. That blasted maid. She knew she should not have cared...but she did. Glancing at the pocket watch Tristan had left on the washstand, she could hardly credit he had been gone a mere twenty minutes. She blew out the candles and lay in the firelight, drawing on all her will to keep from counting the seconds.

When she heard footsteps approaching in the hall, she held her breath. Suddenly, she recalled what Tristan had said about hotel room keys and ear shot through her. She propped herself up on her elbows and listened as something turned in the lock.