Twice Fallen (20 page)

“Oh, aye,” he said softly, his voice a whisper in the gloom of the carriage, “I can see his interest in ye, I can.”

Had she been able to ask what the devil he meant by that cryptic statement she would have, but it was difficult to put a coherent thought together.

So instead Lily attempted to give her best glare even though she doubted he could really see anything except for the rigid set of her shoulders and maybe the pale gleam of her face. Then she realized she actually could do something and kicked out, her toe colliding with his knee hard enough to make him jerk and utter a curse. It hurt her as well, but if nothing else, there was one small measure of satisfaction in his oath and his hand coming to rub the affronted spot.

“Was it really necessary to tie my hands?” she sputtered out, almost more furious than afraid.

“Aye, it was, for I was warned you have a bit of spirit. Beware, my lady, or I’ll tie your pretty ankles together as well,” her abductor muttered, shifting his body so he was out of reach. “I like ’em wild, but not violent, if you get my meaning.”

She didn’t get his meaning at all, but at least he didn’t seem to be vicious himself—had she thought about it more perhaps she would not have kicked a man who held
her helpless in a carriage. Not to mention she shivered now in her nightdress, some from the chill of the evening, and some from fright.

Then he did something entirely unexpected. He slid off his cloak and cautiously leaned forward to drape it around her. “Sorry. Should have thought of the cold. I was just tryin’ to get in and out as quietly as possible.”

To say she was bewildered at that moment was putting it too mildly, and when they reached their destination a short time later, she was no more enlightened, especially when she was hauled out of the carriage like so much baggage, the cloak pulled over her face so she couldn’t see anything at all, though she had the impression her captor climbed a set of steps, and even had the audacity to smack her lightly on the bottom when she squirmed. “Quiet, miss.”

Then they were inside somewhere, the pounding of her heart making it difficult to hear anything else, until there was a creak of a door opening. She caught a hint of tobacco that reminded her of her father’s study, felt the warmth of the room with gratitude, still slung over her captor’s brawny shoulder and carried down what was no doubt a hallway, for his steps echoed on the polished floor. Finally she was deposited on something soft and comfortable.

The cloak was pulled from over her head and in the dim glow of banked embers in a marble fireplace a young man executed a cheeky bow, his eyes gleaming. He was deceptively slender, especially as he had carried her so easily, and had jet-black hair. “My apologies for my method of delivery.”

Lily sat up and did her best to shake her hair out of
eyes, her frantic gaze sweeping across the room. It was some sort of sitting room, not particularly illuminated except for the dying fire, and she was on a brocade chair, her bare feet resting on a patterned rug.

“I believe all I said was could you persuade the lady to accompany you so we could meet privately. I am not denying she’s here, so you completed the task effectively, but we are no longer fighting a war, Alfred. Remind me to be more specific next time.”

The voice was familiar with its cool, slightly cynical overtones, and a wave of relief replaced her fear, followed almost immediately by bewildered outrage. It was dark enough she hadn’t noticed the figure that stood in the shadows until he stepped forward. Casual in an open-necked white shirt, dark breeches, and boots, his face lit to saturnine angles and hollows by the inadequate light, Damien Northfield smiled briefly.

“You!” she said, but it was impossible to be as scathing as she wished as comprehension of just who had orchestrated the kidnapping flooded through her.

And maybe something else. A glimmer of excitement perhaps?

“Alfred, if you will liberate the lady, I will get her either a glass of wine or a cup of tea, though the latter might not be hot. The housekeeper left some time ago.”

“What
is
this?” Lily demanded, finally finding her voice, grateful that the bonds around her wrists were swiftly severed, though the wicked knife the man called Alfred so casually produced gave her pause.

“An opportunity for a conversation I think we need to pursue.”

“By abducting me from my home?” It was all so incomprehensible
that she wasn’t quite sure if she was just dreaming. “Couldn’t you call with another bouquet of violets, my lord? Are you mad?”

“You brought her violets?” Northfield’s partner in crime looked amused, sheathing the knife back in his boot. “Really? This becomes more interesting by every passing minute, sir.”

Sir
?

Damien shot him a glance. “I will manage this situation from here.”

“Yes, my lord, of course. I suppose I should take that hint and with it my leave.” A moment later the door shut without a sound behind Alfred’s departing form, his silent exit explaining a great deal about how he’d entered her home and made it to her bedroom undetected. The man moved as light-footedly as a prowling cat.

The real question was, of course, why did she find herself clad in only her nightdress in the middle of the night, detained by no less than the younger brother of the Duke of Rolthven?

Unfortunately, as Lily modestly jerked at the hem to arrange the skirts of her nightdress, she thought she could guess at the answer.

This was about Arthur. She knew it as sure as she knew she sat there in her state of undress, her hair loose and tangled, after being spirited away from her bedroom.

Would that fateful night haunt her forever?

“My lord, I repeat, have you lost your mind?” she demanded.

This gamble was probably as damned foolish as any he’d ever made, and there had been that time back in the infamous
Hundred Days when he’d infiltrated French troops and pretended to be an aide to a colonel in the Grenadier guards, bluffed his way through the line with forged papers, and then pilfered battle plans by simply asking for them and then riding away.

It had taken quite a bit of nerve and his French accent was only marginally passable, so he was sure he’d sounded like either a drunkard, or a man with a bad cold, but the ploy had worked, and that was all that mattered.

And yet he wasn’t sure he’d been as daunted by that stroll into the enemy camp as he was now with a very flustered, angry—rightfully so—young woman who he had to admit looked absolutely enchanting even if her night rail was a bit virginal for his taste, with lace around the sleeves and hem, and a bow at the prim bodice.

Mild equivocation seemed the best reaction. “Lost my mind? No doubt. And you never answered me, Lady Lillian. Tea or wine?”

She looked quite fetchingly furious, her face flushed and her hair tumbled around her slim shoulders. He waited for her response, lighting a small lamp with efficient movements, not wanting her to feel threatened, but to at least have a sense of vulnerability.

He’d hate himself for that later, but right now he wanted answers. “Tepid tea it is,” he remarked, moving toward the cart when she didn’t speak.

“I’d prefer wine.” Her voice was sulky.

At least it was dark enough he could hide his wry smile. Had he suggested wine, she would have chosen tea, no doubt. There was a small sideboard beyond the tea cart and he moved to splash claret into a goblet, turning around and still wondering how to play this hand.

Or why he’d chosen to play it in the first place. Yes, for the sake of Charles’s nephew and for the disappearance of the young valet, and even for Sebring, he wanted to solve this puzzle, but was having Lily brought to him in the middle of the night necessary—or did he simply want to be alone with her?

If the answer was both, he could live with that. His conscience was much more elastic than before the war. If it was just the latter… maybe he was more jaded than he thought.

It came down to the fact he was an expert in life-threatening decisions and definitely a novice in life-altering motivations.

He moved toward the chair, very aware of her tension, and even more aware of the state of her undress as he handed her the glass of wine. “I’m sorry for the abduction, but I very much need your help.”

That surprised her. He could see it in her eyes, and in the tremble of her fingers as she raised the glass to her mouth. Lily took a sip and then cleared her throat, her eyes still flashing indignant fury. “Nothing could be so urgent you had to resort to such barbaric tactics.”

“A man could die. Or I should say
another
man could die.”

That stopped her, as he had calculated it would. Shock blanked her features. “You… you’re being melodramatic,” she finally stammered.

“Am I?” He poured himself a glass and took a sip. “How often do the younger brothers of upright peers of the realm abduct young ladies from their beds? It seems like quite a drastic measure to me, but I deemed it necessary. We need to be able to speak frankly and alone, and
that is impossible during the normal course of the day. Even if I were to take you for another stroll on the terrace—and this discussion will no doubt take more time than we would be allowed—we could be watched and even overheard.”

And
, he added silently,
I would not get to see you so delectably disheveled and flustered, not to mention so adorably affronted.

Lily stared at him. “I suppose there is a sort of convoluted logic to that, though may I mention that if anyone found us here alone together, I would be ruined.” She stopped and then added on a breath, “For the second time.”

“Ah, but no one will find you, and I implicitly trust Alfred to deliver you back to your bed as deftly as he took you from it.”

“Hopefully not trussed like a chicken.”

He had to laugh at that mutter, though this was not all a laughing matter. “I apologize for that.” Any amusement faded. His own wineglass was cupped in his fingers, the liquid inside ruby red in the lamplight. “Lily, are you still having an affair with Sebring?” he asked. It wasn’t his business, but then again, Arthur Kerr had asked for his assistance, and damn all if a part of him wasn’t interested on a personal level.

Lady Sebring certainly seemed to think they were.

Her lashes fluttered downward and then rose as Lily lifted her chin and looked back at him steadily. “Having an affair? No. But may I inquire as why you wish so urgently to know? Does the answer matter to you personally?”

That was equitable, he supposed, as he’d just asked an
extremely personal question. “I don’t think the issue is
my
personal life, but I do have an interest in Lord Sebring’s. He and I are old friends. We were at Cambridge together. I would appreciate it if you’d just be honest with me.”

“Are you jealous?”

There was an edge to her tone that stopped him, and not just that, but an insidious feeling that there was something he was missing. She didn’t look at him like she wanted him to say he
was
jealous.

She wasn’t looking at him at all now, but staring into the fire.

What the devil
?

He said carefully, “I thought it was long over between the two of you, but obviously his wife has cause to think otherwise.” And if so, considering that Arthur did not want to lose the support of his powerful father-in-law, he could be blackmailed over the liaison if he were still seeing Lily.

Touching her, seducing her… bloody hell, Damien thought. He hated the idea of it.

“This is what you dragged me from my bed to discuss?” There was a look of disillusionment on her lovely face. “Arthur’s possible infidelities? I cannot see how that could be life or death to anyone, my lord, and, it isn’t a subject I would know anything about. If you
are
jealous, it is misplaced and you are as blind as his wife.”

“Jealous?” he started to deny, but it was more reflexive than anything, because he actually might
be
jealous… but then he registered her averted profile.

Hell and blast
.

Blind? It struck him then, arresting his arm in the act
of lifting his glass to his mouth, the truth like a brilliant flash of light, the realization his perspective had been skewed all along because of his attraction to Lily, causing the entire situation to shift, focus, become all too clear.

Usually he thought of himself as a worldly man. Certainly he’d seen just about everything during the war, or if he hadn’t, he could say he’d seen more than enough.

It was more her expression than anything. Not wounded precisely; if he had to guess, four years had taken some of the sting away from her split with Arthur, but definitely guarded, distrustful even, and there was an air of innocence shattered.

He understood in crystal clarity the botched elopement, her refusal to discuss it, her air of wariness in general when it came to men.…

At the moment he wasn’t sure if he wanted to still help his old friend, or slam his fist into Sebring’s jaw.

A log in the fireplace snapped, breaking the moment.

“L

His voice was quiet. Soft. The tone of it was even, but then again she doubted Lord Damien Northfield was ever not in control. She really didn’t wish to look at him, because truly, he was so very normal and unruffled and blasted unaffected under any circumstances, and besides, she was afraid—quite afraid—of what he was going to say next.

Against her will she glanced up, not willing to meet his gaze, but not able to quite resist either.

He stood by the fireplace, his figure limed by the glow and his face in shadow. “I didn’t realize.”

It was much too ambiguous a statement to respond to, but she had the sinking feeling he
did
realize now because he was staring at her, his mouth a tight line. She knew she shouldn’t feel foolish and humiliated, but yet it was still there.

“Neither did I,” she admitted, her voice low. That was, of course, the very heart of the matter. She certainly had never expected that soul-wrenching revelation from Arthur on the night of their elopement. Even now, with four years of contemplation behind her, she didn’t truly understand.