Twice Fallen (19 page)

Damien wasn’t sure how to answer such a casual question. He’d left London on a restive whim, but that was not new since his return to England. “I was restless,” he admitted, setting his teacup aside and rubbing his jaw.

“I am sure the crowded streets of London are a far cry from what you had become accustomed to, so Rolthven would be a pleasant compromise. This is your home.”

“Actually, it is
your
home.”

Colton’s brows shot up. “Last I knew you also spent your boyhood here; otherwise someone who looks remarkably like you bedeviled me when we were children.”

Perhaps that was the problem. That his new lodgings in London were without the stamp of his past; that he was displaced in a family where both his brothers were settled and married. Yet the idea of moving into his apartments at either the ducal mansion in London or here in the country did not hold much appeal. Especially when someone like Charles or Alfred Sharpe might decide to drop in uninvited…

His devious lifestyle did not lend itself well to a family environment. Neutrally, he said with a small grin, “I believe that might have been me, and I take exception to being accused of bedeviling
you
.”

“I took exception to being exasperated at every turn by my younger brother, so we are even, then.” Colton chose a scone studded with currants, setting it on a small plate. He poured tea for himself with remarkable equanimity in a man used to hovering servants. “Is the restlessness due to a specific cause?”

“I’m not sure.” Damien knew that as indifferent as he was to gossip, Colton had to remember his inquiries about Lily and obviously Brianna had heard some gossip.

It was like the eve of a battle, when a man knew something was going to happen, but not what it was going to be.

He repeated quietly, “I’m not sure.”

I

“Lily.” The insistent hand on her arm made her glance up, and she took in a swift breath as she registered the familiar voice of her former fiancé, his blond hair as impeccable as ever, his chiseled features set at the moment. “Can I have a brief word?”

“Here?” she asked in disbelief, because really, even with the milling crowd anxious to escape the autumn cloudburst, it was hardly a private venue. Not to mention his wife was in attendance. She’d noticed the unfriendly Lady Sebring earlier, resplendent in the famous family pearls, her haughty gaze sweeping over the company and her smile reserved for only the dearest of her friends.

Which Lily was decidedly not.

The air smelled like perfume, stale champagne, and rain. Arthur Kerr said tightly, “Just for a moment. Please.”

“What will your wife think?” Even as she caustically
asked the question she allowed him to tug her across the lobby of the theater, the red carpeting thick underfoot, the hum of voices loud as they wound their way through the groups of people. Thankfully the duchess had been at the forefront of the press of departing patrons. Lily had still been waiting for her cloak.

“It might not matter what Penelope thinks.” Drawing her into a relatively sheltered spot by the now deserted drinks table, he turned, his stare penetrating. “Lily, have you told anyone?”

She was admittedly confused by his agitated demeanor. Normally he stayed scrupulously away from her in any kind of public place. “What?”

“About
me
.”

Had he not been so pale, so resolute, she might have pretended to not know what he meant, but, once she’d struggled past their initial rift four years ago, the bitterness had eased into a more enlightened acceptance. With complete honesty she was able to say, “No one except my brother Jonathan, and he would never repeat it. He understandably wanted to know why our father would allow you to ruin my reputation and not demand either a marriage or satisfaction.”

Arthur briefly looked away, his posture tense. “I suppose that is a reasonable question to have, isn’t it?”

This evening he wore superbly tailored dark evening clothes with a silver embroidered waistcoat. The hint of melancholy in his expression emphasized his extraordinary good looks. Lily murmured, “Trust me, Jonathan gave me his word and he would never break it. I’ve told no one else.”

“I didn’t think it was you,” he murmured, loosening
the grip on her arm as if he suddenly realized how tightly he was holding her. “Take my word, I
knew
you wouldn’t, but… something has happened, and I had to ask.”

…
are you being blackmailed
?…

Damien’s question had puzzled her because she had no real secrets. But Arthur certainly did, and it was easy to come to the conclusion that one might have something to do with the other.

“Arthur…” she started to say, but was interrupted.

Rudely interrupted.

“What is
this
?” The tone of the voice jarring into their conversation was so full of venom, Lily actually stepped back. Arthur dropped her hand as if she were something poisonous, his features blanching.

“Nothing,” he informed his wife woodenly as she swept up, the diaphanous skirts of her fashionable ivory gown brushing the floor, her face livid with outrage. Behind her the crowd was a blur, but no doubt they were watching. Inwardly, Lily had to cringe.

If she could have sprouted wings and flown off, she would have.

“Nothing? You just dragged off this… this…” Penelope Kerr sputtered, no doubt searching for the most insulting word possible.

“Careful.” To his credit, Arthur’s voice held a steely tone. “Do not insult Lady Lillian. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“
She
doesn’t deserve it? You’d humiliate me like this in front of all of London?” The question was shrill and much too loud, and heads turned, some of the conversations around them stilling. His wife’s face held twin blotches of mottled red on her cheeks.

Lily fought the urge to turn and run, as that would
just add fuel to the fire. If she had nothing else, she hoped she still possessed her dignity.
This is absolutely the last thing I need.…

“Humiliate you, no. Never on purpose, and I hardly think all of London is here.” Arthur’s voice was reasonable, his demeanor settling into contrived calm. “Come, my dear, I think if anyone is going to humiliate you, it is yourself. You’ve had too much champagne. Shall we go wait for our carriage?”

Lily received such a lethal look of hatred from the current Lady Sebring she said a prayer of thankfulness that this was a public venue, even if the scene was mortifying. If ever she could have been stabbed through the heart with a single glance, it would have happened at that moment.

Penelope Kerr shook off her husband’s hand and hissed out, “No. I’m not finished.”

Lily went pale. She was sure the blood drained from her face as she braced herself for the upcoming open warfare. Lady Sebring had the avenging look of a woman who didn’t care for a possible scandal, and perhaps, in her shoes, Lily wouldn’t either.

“Here you are.”

The smoothness of the male voice made her glance up in surprise as Lily felt a warm hand cup her elbow. Damien Northfield smiled down at her with affable good nature even though she was sure he was neither affable nor particularly easygoing. His elegant clothing suited him, and his dark eyes held a telltale glint of amusement and sympathy.

So the spy was not quite as impervious as he seemed.
Lily recovered enough to murmur, “I thought you were bringing the carriage around, my lord.”

“Deuced slow in this weather.” Damien nodded toward Arthur, his fingers curling possessively around her arm. “Sebring. Hope you enjoyed the performance.”

It was with some satisfaction that did not speak well for her character that Lily noticed the man she had once imagined she’d marry flinch and look away. Arthur straightened and said in a level tone, “I did indeed. Please excuse us.”

His victories were usually personal, certainly uncelebrated and unremarked except at the highest levels of British military intelligence.

But, as Damien deliberately tucked Lily’s hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her toward the doors of the theater, he found he was enjoying his role as knight errant. What he didn’t enjoy was the slight tremble of Lily’s fingers on his sleeve.

“That was expeditious,” she said so low he could barely hear it. “Thank you.”

“Let Sebring deal with his wife.” Damien smiled at an acquaintance with a nod, a small part of him wondering if he’d lost his mind. He hadn’t thought it over; he’d just seen the pending confrontation, noted Lily’s tension and distress in her stiff posture, and a primitive protective reflex had surfaced. “And no thanks are needed.”

“She hates me.” The woman at his side walked with her skirts brushing his boots, her profile remote. “It’s so odd. I don’t think I’ve ever been hated before, and she has no cause.”

He doubted the issue was quite that simple. “Her husband wanted to marry you.”

Lily flashed him a look. She was striking this evening in pale green with matching ribbons woven through her shining hair, her ivory shoulders bare. “Her husband
declined
to marry me.”

Damien said nothing, because there were too many people around, not to mention the Dowager Duchess of Eddington leveling a look his way that might melt a lesser man into a puddle of fear.

So instead of responding he relinquished Lily to her chaperone’s care and gallantly bowed. “Your Grace.”

“Well handled, my lord.” The older woman spoke with cool inflection. “You have my gratitude, and I am sure Lady Lillian feels the same. Who would want to dredge up a long-past incident solely for the benefit of a public scene? Very
outré
if you ask me.”

It was neatly done and the disparaging sniff entirely for the avid listeners, making Lady Sebring sound like a shrewish wife—which from what Damien had witnessed he wasn’t sure she didn’t deserve. A few of the women nearby twittered behind their gloved hands.

And God bless the British aristocracy, Damien thought in amusement, for being able to always outface any embarrassment, even if it involved an angry wife confronting her husband’s former love in the lobby of the King’s Opera House.

But the question remained that if Sebring had known his wife might react in such a way, why had he risked it? What was so urgent?

The blackmail was the obvious answer, which meant it involved Lily.

He’d suspected that all along, but it still puzzled him.

“It’s always lovely to see you, Lord Damien,” Lily said formally, her tone just a bit stiff. At that moment the ducal carriage was called and he simply smiled and inclined his head as they ducked into the rain, watching the departure with thoughtful contemplation as a footman assisted both women into the elegant equipage under the dripping awning.

Lily had been at first relieved to see him, but it had faded almost immediately, replaced by a certain cold dismissal that he felt he didn’t deserve and certainly did not understand.

But he would understand it, he thought with cynical conviction, because that was what he excelled at, what drove him, what gave him a name for dealing with secrets. He sought out the truth and it didn’t matter to him if it was ugly—often it was—or shameful, or even dangerous. As a weapon, truth was invaluable.

More and more he was convinced Lily might know something that would help him, and the note he’d gotten earlier in the day from Charles was like fire to dry tinder.

Young men ruined, suspicious suicides, a missing servant… any progress?

In a word, no.

It was time to do something devious.

There was a moment when she didn’t understand what was happening, when the gloved hand over her mouth translated to a bad dream, her foggy mind not quite registering the circumstances. Lily blinked, tried to roll over, was unable to move, and then as more awareness seeped through her senses, panic kicked in and she screamed.

It did not go far. A muffled sound was the best she could do, and though she twisted, whoever had crept into her bedroom held her easily in place and proceeded to deftly secure her wrists somehow with one hand, while keeping his other over her mouth.

“I won’t hurt you.” The words were low and accented with a Welsh brogue. “But someone does need to speak with you, miss. Quiet now, or the whole house will come running. I can be gone in the blink of an eye. Think of the scandal if you claim there was a strange man in your bedchamber. Can’t afford that, can ye? What if they decided you invited me? I give you my word that you’ll come to no harm.”

Of all the threats he could have used, that one was the most effective, though the word of a strange man didn’t hold much weight.

This does not happen in Mayfair
, her mind protested when he hefted her over his shoulder, her nightdress rumpled above her knees and her bottom definitely up in the air, her abductor’s grip like steel. Unspeaking, he carried her toward the door and out into the hall, the house dark and quiet. That moment of indecision had been fateful, as if she’d wanted to scream right now, a squeak would probably be all she could manage, her ability to breathe compromised by his shoulder pressing into her diaphragm.

Her mind whirled, her captor’s reassurance hardly enough to keep her fear at bay, but sure enough he held her securely as he began to negotiate the stairs, his grip firm but gentle, and he did manage it all without even breathing hard, taking her out through the servants’ entrance, the narrow hallways unfamiliar, especially in the dark.

A closed carriage waited. The door creaked open and she was deposited on the seat in a flurry of loose hair and disheveled nightdress, before her captor muttered something, slammed the door, and then they lurched away.

She didn’t know him. Heart pounding and the interior too dark to really make out his features, she shrank back and tried to stifle a whimper of fear because she refused to give her abductor the satisfaction.