Her Secret Fantasy (4 page)

Gabriel shook his head at him, looking half annoyed and half amused. Derek knew the look well.

“Oh, come on!” he protested, laughing. “Honestly, if I were you, I would want to make sure that everything still
worked
properly, if you take my meaning.”

Gabriel’s stern, elder-brother look turned to a scowl.

“Ah, never mind.” Derek waved him off and rose to get himself another drink. “But I’m not going to let you sit around in here and rot all by yourself. You know what I shall do? I’ll hire some gorgeous wench with no morals to take care of you. Now that would be amusing! An obliging little nurse to cater to your every whim. I am a most kind and thoughtful brother, am I not?”

Gabriel gave him a formidable stare from across the room and did not smile.

Derek laughed but did not press the issue. He took another swallow of liquor. “Killjoy.”

“Derek, I nearly died,” Gabriel said. “I
did
die, as a matter of fact. For several minutes, I tell you, I was gone—”

“Gabriel, that’s impossible! How many times have we been through this?”

“The army surgeon told me that I didn’t have a pulse!”

“Well, he must’ve been mistaken!”

“No, he wasn’t. For God’s sake, I saw you all around my body from several feet up in the air—”

“No, you didn’t! Obviously, it was a dream.”

“This was no dream.”

“Whatever it was, I don’t want to hear about it anymore. It gives me the gooseflesh, damn it. Dead is dead.”

“Says who?”

“Oh, I don’t know—natural law? The fact you seem to be missing here, brother, is that you
didn’t
die. You lived. I know you’ve got a long road back to regaining your full strength, but sooner or later, I’d like to see you really live again.”

“I know you would, Derek.” Gabriel sighed. “But coming back from the dead, well, it makes a man rethink his life a bit.”

Derek dropped his gaze, pressed with worry not just for his brother’s health but dashed well for his sanity, and not knowing what to say. He stared at the floor, then looked at his brother again. “You’re going to be all right, Gabriel.”

“Of course I will. So will you.”

“Me?” he asked in surprise. “You’re the one who’s wounded.”

“Right.” Gabriel gave him a shrewd look.

Derek dropped his gaze, feeling restless and uneasy in the silence that followed. What the hell was his brother trying to say? He was fine.

He was perfectly fine.

Or at least he would be when he was back where he belonged. With his troops. At the war.

Back in Hell.

CHAPTER

         
THREE
         

A
fter two months in London, Lily’s quest to snare a rich husband was moving along nicely according to plan.

Through Mrs. Clearwell’s selective introductions, the great Balfour name had won her many an entrée into some of London’s grandest homes, where, throughout the Season—at balls, at dinners, at concerts and routs—she had been presented to countless eligible bachelors, most of them rich and many blue-blooded, even a few titles in the mix. She had made it her policy to treat each one with cool reserve while she studied them surreptitiously to discover whether they fit her two main criteria for a husband: rich and stupid.

To be sure, there was no shortage of such men in Town, like those witless dandies forever lurking in the bow window at White’s or admiring themselves in every mirror that they passed.

Unfortunately, in the meanwhile, the truth was, she had begun to have trouble reconciling herself to marrying a less-than-intelligent man. Taking advantage of an amiable blockhead with a large inheritance didn’t seem fair, really. Beneath her. Grandfather would not have approved.

She felt bad about having nothing to give in return, only taking a man’s fortune to save herself and her kin.

Perhaps such vain, idle fools deserved to be taken advantage of, but on the other hand, she did not know if she could endure waking up and having to face one every day for the rest of her life.

Perhaps, she reasoned, a lack of brains could be exchanged for some better flaw, something more tolerable. Indeed, she believed she might have found the perfect solution…

In any case, over the passing weeks, she had methodically winnowed down her list of possible mates until she was left with one.

“Oh, look!” Mrs. Clearwell exclaimed, gesturing forward into the crowd at the masked ball. “There is Mr. Lundy now!”

At first Lily did not see him, or rather did not recognize her suitor in his costume.

The thronged ballroom swirled with a fantastical array of mythical birds and animals, ghouls and grim reapers, numerous walking allegories, and more classical gods and goddesses than she could count. Even the footmen had been made to dress as harlequins in motley suits of gaudy gold and purple satin with jingle-belled foolscaps to match.

One of them presently glided up to the ladies with a silver tray, offering them confections that glittered with colored sugar.

“Ah, how quaint!” Mrs. Clearwell, disguised as Hera, helped herself to a miniature candy shaped like a pear.

Lily chose one of the tiny apples and thanked the servant with a nod; then she looked askance at her godmother. “Are you sure it was Edward you saw?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“But where?”

Mrs. Clearwell laughed. “You don’t see him?”

“No,” Lily said in confusion, searching the crowd for her big, brawny beau.

“Look again, my dear. I shan’t ruin the surprise!”

“Hm.” Lily scanned the ballroom again, determined to keep her demeanor outwardly cheerful, but in actuality, her mood was a bit off this evening. She was glad of the pale pink half-mask she wore, for it helped conceal her indifference to…all of this.

What the deuce was wrong with her tonight? All the curious sights and sounds and tastes of the night’s flamboyant gala had been fashioned to delight, yet somehow she could not shake a strange sense of detachment.

The best that she could figure, she must be growing homesick, especially after spotting the garden folly on their hosts’ moonlit grounds from the long, winding drive up to the mansion. This was the longest she had ever been away from gloomy, creaky Balfour Manor, and when she had seen the garden folly near the ornamental lake, it had brought back a lonely pang of nostalgia.

“Well?” Mrs. Clearwell prodded. “Don’t you see your prince charming yet?”

“One moment, I will find him,” she replied, ignoring the irony in her godmother’s tone. She wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, but in strictest truth, Lily was in no great hurry to visit with her suitor.

A few sinister-looking monks went skulking past, no doubt inspired by one of those horrid novels Cousin Pamela adored. She spotted one turbaned Saracen warlord and a nearly complete crew of pirates, young men getting drunk nearby while the orchestra played.

Then, all of a sudden, Lily spotted her suitor ahead—and nearly choked on her candy. “Oh, dear God,” she uttered, her steps faltering.

Mrs. Clearwell laughed heartily, for they were not yet within earshot of her towering beau. “What’s the matter, dear? Don’t you like your Edward’s costume?”

“Oh, God, it’s monstrous!” Lily whispered, aghast. “Oh,
why
didn’t he ask me first? What do you suppose he is?”

“The Minotaur, obviously.”

“Ugh, yes, so it would seem.” Lily blanched, took a large gulp of champagne, and braced herself to go and greet her suitor. Clearly, if she married this man, she’d have her work cut out for her.

She couldn’t help staring at Edward as she and Mrs. Clearwell approached.

Ed Lundy’s costume as the legendary Minotaur was apt. Perhaps a little too apt. He already possessed the monster’s hulking size and thick, bull-like neck all on his own, but between the wide, gleaming horns that bracketed the sides of his painted head and the makeshift brass ring that he wore in his nose, the likeness was slightly terrifying.

He had not yet seen her as he loomed ahead, half-man, half-bull—or possibly half-mountain. He swigged a gulp from his tankard of ale and made half an effort to suppress his loud burp as the ladies joined him. Lily struggled to hide her revulsion, but Mrs. Clearwell failed.

Edward bowed to them, offering a few gruff niceties, and Lily refused to be daunted. So what if he was a bit vulgar at times? After her mother’s oppressive propriety, a part of her reveled in the big ex-soldier’s unapologetic crudity. Besides, there would be time to work on his manners after they were wed.

To be sure, big, boorish Edward would never have been fine enough for her mother, but he suited Lily’s purposes extremely well. Having started near the bottom of the East India Company’s private armies, years ago near Bombay, he had saved the life of visiting British dignitary Lord Fallow in the midst of a bloody raid by Pindari bandits.

After Edward saved him from certain torture and death, Lord Fallow had repaid Edward’s act of courage by helping him to advance in life through his steady patronage, and over the course of twenty years he had ascended into the highest ranks of the East India Company. But although he had grown rich in the process, Edward still found himself rejected by most of Society on account of his low birth.

Well, Lord Fallow had no intention of seeing his favorite shut out. Upon his recent retirement from public life, the earl had pushed through Edward’s appointment to some important parliamentary committee so powerful that now everyone had to accept him.

He had been thrust into Society but now that he was in, God knew he needed all the help he could get to show him how to go about. What better ally could he hope for, Lily reasoned, than a bride whose aristocratic lineage was sufficient to impress the most arrogant nobs of London?

Of course, the ton would think that she was throwing herself away on Edward Lundy, but Lily had secrets to hide, and with her great family sliding into financial decline, to her it seemed a match made in Heaven.

Edward had money and Lily had class. He wasn’t stupid, but he was very rich, and as a lowborn man on the rise, he needed a pedigreed bride, just as she needed him—a fair exchange. Because of that Lily found herself able to trust him—at least more than she could have trusted the silky, highborn rakehells who trawled the ballrooms of London looking for young ladies to corrupt.

Experience had taught her all too well to despise such men. Edward might be lowborn, but he treated Lily like a jewel, or like some sort of fragile porcelain figurine. Perhaps just a little in awe of her because of her loftier status and the aura of cool dignity that her mother had ingrained in her so well, he kept a reverent and respectful distance, and this pleased Lily very well. He did not touch her, and she did not want to be touched.

As he complimented her on the sparkly pink gown that was part of her fairy-queen costume, Lily noticed the knot of guests nearby casting haughty looks in their direction.

Edward followed her glance and took note, glaring them into silence. They obeyed the silent warning, hastily turning away, and Lily was pleased. Some in the ton might make fun of Edward when they thought he wasn’t listening, but few dared openly cross the ruthless, self-made millionaire. When his Cockney came out and his military background showed, everyone knew they had better stand clear, for this bull would not hesitate to put his head down and charge.

Nevertheless, though Edward was as thick-skinned as his bullish disguise suggested, Lily knew every social cut he received had to hurt to some degree. He was fiercely determined to make these people respect him, and marrying her was simply part of his strategy.

For her part, she hated seeing the great raw fellow targeted as an object of sport by people born to wealth and privilege, people who had no idea what it meant to be poor. It infuriated her and made her all the more determined to help Edward gain acceptance. It was the least she could do in exchange for his gold.

He looked at her ruefully as the now-cowering aristocrats slunk away. She gave him a wry smile in answer.

Almost at once, the silence turned awkward. Edward dropped his head and looked away, then he beckoned to a footman, who leaped to fetch him another tall tankard of ale. Lily didn’t ask how many he had already drunk before she had arrived, but she noted that his eyes were fairly red. Edward liked his drink.

“Nice party, isn’t it?” she inquired in a tentative voice.

“Right, er, yes. Very nice.”

A pause.

“Glad to see the weather held. I thought it might rain.”

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Edward cleared his throat, Lily looked at the ceiling, and while they waited for the footman to return, their stilted conversation petered out entirely.

Edward cracked his knuckles, scanning the ballroom with a dark look, his big horns gleaming, and suddenly Lily wondered if something was bothering him. She recalled him saying that his committee was to have held some sort of important hearing today. Perhaps it had gone badly.

Chasing off a twinge of intense curiosity, she eyed him askance, but obviously it was improper for a young lady to display an interest in worldly affairs.

She dropped her gaze, unable to invent any new topic of discussion. As the excruciating silence stretched, she sent Mrs. Clearwell a pleading look—the bubbly woman was never at a loss for words, after all—but this time her sponsor let her flounder, smiling sweetly.

The silence dragged.

Oh, this was intolerable!

She longed to escape into the dark tranquillity of the garden. How lovely it would be to visit the garden folly right now!

Of course, it was not the sort of thing she could possibly invite Edward to do with her. He would no doubt misinterpret her intentions, and that was the last thing she desired.

At least he showed no signs of requesting a dance. The last time they had attempted it, he had blithely flung and thrown and hurled her around the dance floor like a rag-doll. She had been lucky to come out of it with no broken bones.

At last, the footman brought the fresh tankard of ale and Edward immediately began guzzling it. In moments he would need another, at this rate. Goodness, Lily thought, watching him in trepidation, maybe something really was bothering him tonight.

At that moment, praise Heaven, a distraction arrived in the form of Edward’s large, eccentric mother.

Mrs. Lundy sailed into their midst and saved the day with her usual garrulousness. “Oh, don’t you look
beautiful,
my dear, dear Miss Balfour! Isn’t she lovely, Edward? Oh, you are so fair! Good Lud, if I were half as pretty as you when I was young, I should have run positively wild! Goodness, why must it be so hot in here? Mrs. Clearwell, it’s so much cooler on the terrace.” While the big jolly nabob lady patted her face and fleshy throat with a handkerchief, beaming, though slightly out of breath with the exertions of her usual rapid speech and animated nature, Lily could not help gazing in wonder at her costume.