Hint of Desire (8 page)

Will stood there
, looking befuddled, but Divers clearly caught his meaning. He shifted from one foot to another restlessly, his dusty boots tapping against the cobbles.

“Well, Worthington’s
– the dead one, that is – his brother had just come from London when they found him . . . and naturally . . . well she’s a bitty, little thing, probably won’t survive the birth. Probably be a girl, anyway.”

C
learly Jack Divers was not comfortable with this subject, and Arthur sensed he had gotten most of the useful information from the two.

“I’ll inquire if my guest is the Countess of Worthington. Surely she’d have no reason to hide the fact.
” Arthur did not miss the quick glance that shot between the two men. “Perhaps she is still in shock from the apparent attack and has thus been silent.”

He turned to leave, feeling no need to discourse any further
. The implications of her identity began to coalesce. She had been married. Her husband was dead. She was a widow, a widow in need of rescue. But, she’d lied to him. He tapped his fingers against his leg. What reason had she to lie? Her injuries? No, they must have been from the same attack that had killed her husband. Whatever the true story, neither her wounds nor her distress had been contrived.

Divers called after him, clearly at a loss with the
duke’s sudden departure. “So your lady’s . . . increasing?”

Arthur shot one last look over his shoulder
, as he stalked towards the house. “No, she is not . . . any longer.” He uttered the final words at a mutter.

Lily huddled among the bedclothes. She’d managed to make it back to her room after nearly collapsing on the stairs, and now lay curled up and shaking. Thankfully, Simon was still sleeping, and neither Nanny nor Sally, the nursery maid, had appeared.

She had missed her chance
. Somehow she should have made her escape in the last day, regardless of her own health. She could not risk being caught, leaving Simon alone . . . A cold wave washed over her.

Lily
jumped from the bed, not caring that her hair tumbled about her shoulders or that her bare toes peeked beneath her nightdress. She searched the wardrobe quickly, looking for anything she could possibly wear. Why hadn’t she pressed the maids to bring her some proper attire? With no other option in sight, she grabbed the heavy quilt off the foot of the bed and wrapped herself in it. She snatched together an armful of linens and lifted the still sleeping baby from the cradle.

She
grasped the baby close to her chest and turned to slip out of the room before Nanny returned. No matter how well meaning, Nanny would only point out all the pitfalls of attempting to traverse the country on foot, wrapped only in a blanket and a thin nightdress, a helpless babe in her arms.

So great was her
panic, she didn’t even see Westlake before she bowled into him. He stood in the doorway, watching her flurry with those too cool, all-seeing eyes. She clenched the baby to keep from trembling. She could see in his face that he knew the truth.

“Going somewhere,
my Lady . . . Worthington, is it?”

Lily qu
ivered as the low timbre of his voice enveloped her. She was aware of his eyes moving over her, as if they actually touched her. When they paused on her bare toes, Lily barely refrained from withdrawing them back under the folds of the blanket.

Forcing herself to
assume a calm she didn’t feel, Lily turned and lowered Simon back into his crib. She took a moment to smooth his blanket and gaze at his tiny perfect features. She must be strong for him.

“No,
” she said at last, “why would I be going someplace?”

Westlake
stepped towards her.

She stepped back.

His gaze swept over her again, very slowly, before coming to settle on her face.

This time
she met his continued stare without relenting. She had realized what a tool silence was for him, and she refused to be his pawn. She forced her shaking hands to be still beneath the folds of the blanket and resolved that he must never suspect the power he held over her.

Westlake
waited another moment for her to say more. When she didn’t, he stroked his scar once before returning his hand to his side. He paced into the room and took up his favorite spot by the window. The bright sunlight flooded behind him, revealing him in silhouette and blinding Lily.

“Why indeed would you be going anywhere
. . . Lady Worthington? Elizabeth Worthington?” His tone was bitingly cold.

Lily
shook her head.

Westlake
continued to stare. She felt like an insect pinned to the paper.

“It’s Lily
. Lily Elizabeth Worthington,” she whispered. She backed towards the bed and hovered on the very edge. Her legs shook.

As if sensing she had nothing else to say
, Westlake finally continued, “Or do you wish to return to your own home? Marclyffe, isn’t it?”

Why didn’t he show some emotion
? Any emotion? Lily collapsed back on the bed as her legs gave out. Her lower lip was trembling, but she could do nothing to arrest it. Even the thought of returning to Marclyffe left her stomach churning and her mouth sour. All she could do was remain still, her eyes large and damp, and pray that he would soon get to the point. She lowered her eyes and stared at her hemline.

“
Can you tell me what happened, what brought you here? Why you felt the need to keep your identity a secret? It was deliberate, wasn’t it?”

Drawing in a deep breath Lily lifted her face, attempting to meet his gaze
. The sunlight blinded her. She knew how he must look, though, after the stories he would no doubt have been told. She huddled in on herself and waited for his anger. She shivered in fear at what he might do now, for she had experienced men’s brutality.

Unwelcome tears threatened to flow and for a moment she fought them back, as she always had with Worthington
. Then, as deep tremors shook her, Lily felt the tears leak out. She worked the edge of the blanket between her fingers, desperate to regain control. This was even worse than she had imagined. He might send her back. She didn’t know why his quiet rage and disapproval felt so corrosive. She had withstood far worse without betraying any emotion.

He didn’t move
. She huddled on the bed, tears streaming down her face, soaking the fine linen covers of the pillows. She gasped for air, trying to subdue the emotions that overwhelmed her. Another wave of tears broke forth. The dam had burst and there was no containment.

Still he stood, his gaze never leaving her.

She turned away and buried her face in the pillows, releasing all the misery of her tarnished soul. Sob after sob swept through her, wracking her.

Finally, there were no more tears
. She was empty.

S
he raised her swollen eyes to look at him, she saw that his head was bowed, his own eyes were closed, and a look that spoke of pain was stamped across his features. Her gaze traced the scar, which stood white on his clenched jaw. Their eyes caught and held, and she was lost in whatever passed between them.

He took a step towards the bed
. Her breath caught.

He caught her chin between his rough fingers and
tilted it up towards him, considering. She could feel his burning gaze fastened on her lower lip, and she licked it nervously, unsure of the sensations flickering to life deep in her belly.

Then h
e straightened, and drawing back a half a foot, met her eyes again. Lily sensed the calculation in his mind as he gazed at her. He seemed to be searching for her very soul.

Westlake
opened his lips to speak, then paused. “You are the Countess of Worthington, aren’t you?” Although his question was little different than it had been only moments before, his speech was more careful, smoother, and Lily felt the desire to obey his unspoken demand that she confide everything, to gain release from the burden of her secrets. Her heart raced as she tried to make sense of his lack of anger, his coolness, so different than anything she had known. What was his purpose?

W
ords failed her, and all she could manage was a slight nod of confirmation. He took that as enough for the moment. She could not read the torrent of thoughts that altered his previously reserved expression.

“Why did you not tell me who you were?
” The question was quiet, but filled with an underlying firmness.

She turned
away from him. How could she trust him when so much was at stake?

“
I didn’t know who you were. I was frightened. I’ve never been so afraid and confused. I could not believe I was safe.” She waited for his reply, but the silence only grew.

She
pressed her eyelids shut and wished she knew what to say, how to explain without telling him all. She must remember that cold pitch of voice he used to such avail, and remember he was not the gentle Arthur of her youth.

She heard him give a deep sigh as he considered her words.

“What happened that night to put you in such a state? What led you to such unreasonable fear?”

She wanted so much to believe in him
. He did not sound like an inquisitor. He did not sound cruel and they had held a secret between them once before.

She
raised her eyes to meet his. “There is not much I can say. It is mostly a blur. I really don’t know how I got there. I remember walking and running through the woods. I didn’t have a real destination in mind. I only wanted to get away.” She chewed on her lip. “I certainly never meant to meet you.”

He smiled wryly
, the first hint of emotion to cross his face. “That I can believe.”

He kept his gaze focused on her face and the look on his face
drew the words out of her, like a line reeling in a trout.

“The last thing I really remember is being at the top of the cliffs looking down at Worthington.
” She hoped that was the right place to begin her story. How much did he know? How much had he been told? “I could tell he was dead, and all I wanted to do was run.”

“You
’d been attacked, then? The doctor mentioned your injuries.”

Lily felt relief flow through her
. He knew and did not judge. Feeling the tension ease away, she rested her cheek in his palm.

“Yes
. I didn’t know what to do but run. All I could think about was the baby and the need to get away to safety. I didn’t even know in which direction safety might lie.”

“It must have been horrible to see your husband killed
. How did you manage to get away?”

Lily
jerked in confusion. “Get away?” The tremor returned to her voice as she spoke.

“From the attackers.
”

Suddenly his voice was
fierce, and Lily had to fight the urge to cower from him.

“Where were the servants
? Your assailants must have come upon you in the house, after you’d retired for the night. That would explain the state of your dress when I found you.”

Lily continued to stare
. She could feel the knot of tension and stress forming again. She swallowed hard and fought the sudden wave of nausea rising within her.

Westlake
rose abruptly and began to stride back and forth. The gentle man of moments before seemed to vanish, and in his place stood the duke, preparing for battle.

“You’ll have to speak to the magistrate
. We’ll start a search for these men. They can’t be allowed to escape their crimes. Can you identify them? Do you know why they were after Worthington? Was it an attempted kidnapping gone wrong? What had Worthington done? I’d always heard unsavory rumors about the man. We didn’t mingle. I hadn’t returned to Blythemoor for many years. He rarely came to Town. Barely knew he was married.”

Westlake
picked up his pace as he continued his monologue, never giving Lily a chance to answer his questions. He was obviously lost in his own plans, and for the moment seemed to have forgotten her, something for which she was supremely grateful.

For
a moment she’d thought he had realized she had no choice and had understood her actions. A huge weight had been lifted:  Someone – Arthur, her Arthur – knew the truth, and did not condemn her. But he hadn’t known the truth.

Westlake
thought someone else had attacked Worthington and his lady, and driven Worthington over the cliff. Could she let that story live? Who could gainsay it? The temptation was great. Even if the servants suspected the truth, they would not dare speak against her. A glimmer of hope lay balanced against her innate candor. She felt as though she were riding to the hunt, so quick were the ups and downs of her emotions.

Lily
realized that Westlake was still striding back and forth, declaiming. The text was a budget of the punishments that would be meted out against the malefactors. And she knew then, she could never confess the truth. He shone with a fierce need for justice. This was not gentle prince, but a warrior ready to cut into the fray, unmindful of all but his target.