Scoundrel (43 page)

“Yes?” The question sounded more like an invitation. She pulled her head away, exposing more of her slender throat. “What is it?”

He could hear her breaths come in quick gasps, felt the rise and fall of her breasts beneath him, and knew the bodice barely covered them. His mouth moved lower. “I wanted this to be right, Lily.”

“Then your plan is working.” She arched her back again and he slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, pressing erotic kisses across the exposed parts of her breasts. “The buttons,” she whispered. “Undo them.”

He heard his frustrated groan and made himself lift his head away from temptation. He wanted to look into her eyes when he made his pledge. “No, not before I say…” A movement from the edge of his vision distracted him. He watched her hand flutter across her chest, moving downward to work at the top button of her gown. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate. “I’m trying to say that I love you, damn it.”

This time his groan became one of disgust. He’d said it all wrong. He’d stared at her chest and told her breasts that he loved her. She hated it when men stared at her chest. He’d even uttered a curse. He cursed himself.

“I love you, too, Miles.” He lifted his head and looked up at her. She gave him an enchanting smile of warmth and innocence. “Now will you undo my buttons?”

He wanted to tell her there was more, that he wanted to say the words as they were meant to be said. He’d practiced them inside his head for hours. He just couldn’t recall them at the moment.

Instead he used his body to tell her what was in his heart. He cherished her, lingered over her endlessly, filled with an emotion that went beyond the needs of his body to the needs of his soul.

Alone, he woke up the next morning.

His hand searched for her beneath the sheets, but he couldn’t find even her lingering warmth. He was scowling before he even opened his eyes. She should know better than to sneak off this morning. He wanted to tell her that she was the center of his life, damn it. Damn it!

His gaze went to the window and he realized with a start that it was late morning. He never slept past dawn. The reason for this unusual occurrence made his scowl fade. Last night he’d gone to sleep at peace with himself for the first time since he’d met Lily. Not just at peace with himself, but at peace with his life. He’d held a beautiful Tiger Lily in his arms, knowing that her love for him would never wither or fade, that she would be the most radiant force in his life for as long as he drew breath. He wanted to hold her right now, this minute. He released a long sigh and rolled from the bed. He should have known she wouldn’t be where he expected, no more than she ever did what he expected. It was part of the reason he loved her.

Jack brushed his hand over one shoulder to wave away a bothersome fly. The shouts of street vendors were almost lost in the din of carriages and carts that clattered along Bond Street. From his perch atop the duke’s carriage, Jack surveyed the street with a half-interested eye as he waited for the duchess to conclude her business at Mr. Milton’s engraving shop. The morning was unusually warm, and he shrugged the light cloak he wore onto the seat beside him. He glanced again toward the windows of Milton’s shop. Posters and samples of the engraver’s products filled the shop windows. He couldn’t see the duchess or tell if she might be anywhere close to the conclusion of her business.

A sudden shout from the alleyway next to the shop drew Jack’s attention. He watched as a printing clerk ran toward the carriage, his apron stained with black ink, a harried look on his face. Jack’s hand moved toward the knife he kept tucked in his waistband.

“Ho! Are you the duchess’s man?” the clerk called out.

Jack nodded, gripped by the sure knowledge that something was wrong.

“The duchess felt faint and she stepped out the back door for a breath of fresh air, but now she’s taken sick for sure.” He jerked his thumb over one shoulder. “She’s back here, heaving up her breakfast.”

Jack leaped down from the carriage and ran toward the alleyway.

“Around that corner,” the clerk called out. He pointed down the brick alleyway then fell into step behind Jack.

Just as Jack slowed down to round the corner of the building, he felt something large and solid strike the back of his head. Then he didn’t feel anything at all. He crumpled to the ground in a heap.

“These are very nice, Mr. Milton.” Lily returned the sample invitations to Mr. Milton, then brushed a few stray specks of paper dust from her lavender gown. “How soon can the actual invitations be ready?”

“This afternoon, Your Grace.” Mr. Milton gestured toward a green curtain that covered the doorway behind the counter. Lily could hear the muffled, rhythmic sounds of a printing press on the other side. The sharp, caustic smell of ink permeated the shop. “Time is so short that I took the chance you would approve the design,” he went on. “My assistants are printing your invitations as we speak.”

“I appreciate your efforts on such short notice, Mr. Milton.”

“I am only too happy to oblige,” Mr. Milton said. He gave her a humble bow, then stepped around the counter to stand before a wall fitted with shallow, tilted shelves. Envelopes in every size and shape filled one section of the shelves. He reached for a crisp white envelope lined with gold foil. “This envelope will match the invitation’s gold border, Your Grace. Shall I add the appropriate number of envelopes to your order?”

Lily nodded. “You may send the envelopes and invitations to my residence this afternoon. You have the direction.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Mr. Milton bowed again, then he escorted her to the door of his shop.

Lily stepped outside, still smiling over the results of the printer’s efforts and her own. With that task accomplished, she could return home to her husband. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed to leave the warm cocoon of their bed that morning. Remmington held her even in his sleep. His hands caressed her whenever she moved, in what could only be an unconscious awareness of her body. The comers of her mouth turned up when she thought of the look on his face when he told her he loved her, when he literally
swore
that he loved her. She found it somehow endearing. As if to make up for his terse declaration, he’d murmured love words to her for hours, a few coherent, most not. Lily loved every one of them. She couldn’t wait to hear what he would tell her this morning.

Lost in those thoughts, a moment passed before she realized her carriage no longer waited before the engraving shop. She looked up and down the street, but saw no sign of Jack or the sleek black chaise with the Remmington coat of arms emblazoned on the doors. A battered maroon traveling coach stood where her carriage should have been, and its driver started toward her. He wore a tan greatcoat that swirled around an expensive pair of top boots, and he tipped his wide-brimmed beaver hat.

“Good morning, Your Grace. My employer begs a moment of your time, if you wouldn’t mind stepping over to his coach.”

Lily took an immediate dislike to the man. Something in his demeanor set off warning bells in her head. She searched the street again for Jack.

“Your driver had to leave,” he said, as if he read her thoughts. “If you will step over to the coach, Lord Gordon can explain everything.”

“You work for Lord Gordon?” Lily felt a surge of relief when the driver nodded. She chewed on her lower lip, then followed the driver to the coach. The door opened, and Harry gave her a quick wave from inside. His usual cheerful smile was absent this morning, a solemn expression in his blue eyes.

“I hope we didn’t startle you, Lily. I’ve just come from Lord Holybrook’s, and I have urgent news.” He rubbed his forehead, the look on his face harried, as if he were reluctant to divulge the information. “I went out there to get Lord Holybrook’s opinion on a set of scrolls I’d just purchased, but a crisis struck before I arrived.”

He opened his mouth as if to continue, but released a deep sigh instead. He shook his head, his eyes downcast. “I’m afraid there is no easy way to tell you this. It’s your friend, Miss Stanhope. She developed a sudden fever last night and she’s taken a turn for the worse. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Miss Stanhope’s condition is dire. The physician does not hold much hope for a recovery. Lady Bainbridge says she’s asked for you often, and she knows you will want to be with her before it’s too late.”

Lily’s eyes grew round and wide with shock, not over the news of Sophie’s fever, but over the fact that Harry would tell her such an outrageous lie. She’d received a note from Sophie two days before, saying her injuries were healing nicely. She and Lady Bainbridge planned to arrive in London that afternoon.

“I know this comes as a shock,” Harry went on, “but I didn’t know how else to break the news. You must return to Holybrook House with me immediately. I sent your driver to find Remmington to tell him that I will escort you to Basildon and the reason for our haste.” Harry held out one hand to motion her forward. “Quickly, Lily. We must hurry.”

Lily took one step toward the carriage, then stopped. She clapped one hand to her forehead. “The invitations! I must give Mr. Milton special instructions before I leave.”

“This is no time to worry about invitations,” Harry said. “Your friend is on her deathbed.”

Lily backed away before he could grasp her wrist to pull her inside. “It will only take a moment. My father will be furious if I do not tell him the arrangements I made. His ball is less than a week away. The invitations must go out tomorrow.”

Harry hesitated, then he nodded toward his driver. “Very well, but take Lando with you. He will make certain the engraver does not delay you any longer than necessary.”

“I won’t be but a moment,” she promised. She turned and walked briskly to Mr. Milton’s shop door, aware of Lando’s shadow right behind her. Her heart beat faster and faster as she neared the doorway, and she knew he could sense her fear. She hoped he would mistake her frightened expression for worry over Sophies health. Her life might depend on as much.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The bell over the door jangled and Mr. Milton appeared at the back of the shop. Lily walked to the counter where the samples of her invitations still sat in a neat pile. She turned them over before Lando came up behind her.

“I must leave Town unexpectedly,” she told Mr. Milton in a clipped voice. “You must deliver the samples to my father at Crofford House, rather than my husband’s town house.” She reached for a quill pen that stood next to Mr. Milton’s order register, then she dipped the quill in the inkwell and began to write on the back of her invitation. “You must also send this note along with the samples so he will know my preferences.”

“But, Your Grace—”

“I do not have time to argue, my dear man. I am in a great hurry and cannot delay.” She could feel Lando staring over her shoulder. Just to make certain, she glanced at him. Lando stood less then a pace away, intent on the words she wrote. She could see his lips moving as he read the message. She jerked her gaze back to the note and the words swam together in a dizzy haze. Only one image remained clear; the newly healed scar across Lando’s left temple, one she felt certain was the result of a blow with a very old, very heavy candlestick.

Somehow she managed to initial the bottom of the note. The task forced her to school her concentration, to remember that she must act innocent and unsuspecting. She handed the note to Mr. Milton. Amazingly, her voice didn’t quaver. “Please read it back to me, Mr. Milton. I want to be certain my writing is legible.”

Mr. Milton scanned the note and shook his head, but he complied with the request. “Half pound paper. Almond in color. Remmington coat of arms on the envelope. Red wax seals. Yellow ribbon inserted in the seals. Lord Crofford will approve the final designs. Gold embossing on the coat of arms.” Mr. Milton glanced up from the note and gave her a helpless look of bewilderment.

Lily spoke in a firm tone of voice, before he could make any further objections. “See that my father receives this note with the samples, Mr. Milton.”

The engraver hesitated a moment, then he bowed to her wishes. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Lily turned and walked slowly from the shop, aware of each moment that passed, amazed that she could appear almost calm in front of Mr. Milton. Lando kept one hand concealed inside his greatcoat, and she worried that he carried a pistol. It took her only a moment to decide that it would be foolish to ask Mr. Milton to help her escape this man. She knew Lando was capable of murder, that he would very likely shoot Mr. Milton before he could come to her rescue.

Her hand shook as she reached for the shop’s doorlatch. Was Jack dead already? A sudden pain shot through her when she realized he must be. Jack would never leave her, no matter what harebrained excuse Harry gave him. Only one thought drove her past that pain. They would kill her, too. If she went willingly into Harry’s coach, she felt certain she would never leave it alive.

There wasn’t time to wonder why Harry would want her dead. Time was too precious a commodity. She had only one opportunity to escape, one hope that Lando wouldn’t be bold enough to shoot her in broad daylight in the middle of Bond Street. The street teemed with people. All she had to do was open her mouth and scream. Someone would come to her rescue.

She’d barely opened her mouth when Lando’s hand clamped down on her arm. Only a startled whimper of pain escaped her lips when something sharp poked her ribs.