Must Love Dukes (4 page)

She spun, keeping her back to the door so that the open buttons would not be visible. He froze. They stood staring at one another for what felt like an eternity. He appeared not to know what to do, and as it happened, neither did she. However, the longer she stood there in a staring contest, the more likely they were to be found by another servant.

Was exposing one’s back to an unknown butler in London the worst crime in history?

She took a slow step sideways for the door. His eyes widened. He took a step forward. Lillian inhaled a shallow breath. It was now or never, and never was not an option. Another moment ticked by before she turned and flung the door open, fleeing into the cool morning air.

With the last rebellious fiber of her body, she flung her corset high into the air in farewell and looked back over her bare shoulder at the scandalized butler before hitching up her skirts and running toward the open garden gate.

***

Devon woke in his bed just as he did every morning. He swung his legs over to find the floor with his feet. It was only then that his mind caught up with his body.

He had not been alone last night.

As the memories began to fall into place in his mind, he turned to find the bed empty at his back. The rumpled indentation marking the place where someone had slept beside him was all that remained. She was gone. He glanced around for a note or some token from her, feeling like a disappointed light skirt as he did so. Rolling his eyes at his own sentimentality, he got to his feet.

It was then he saw the edge of lace peeking out from under his pillow. Perhaps she had left some memento for him. His chest tightened at the idea. Pulling it free, he let the thin silk slide across his fingers. The smell of rosewater filled his lungs.

“Lily,” he mumbled. Only a single cream-colored stocking remained as evidence Lily even existed. A grim smile curled his lips.

Lily had been the perfect distraction to his sour mood. He could not remember a time when he had enjoyed anyone as much. He never brought a lady back to his residence, wherever that may be, but somehow Lily had slipped past his guarded exterior. Even in his drink-fogged head, he could remember laughing with her and seeing her intense blue eyes bright with excitement. Then, the night with her had come.

Devon sighed, remembering the feel of her lips, her reaction to his kisses, and the curves of her body pressed against his. Now, she was gone. She had vanished like the memory of a dream that would not quite remain within his grasp. How could he find her?

Dragging a hand through his hair, he staggered across the room, gathering his discarded clothing as he went. His head felt as if it had been trampled by a coach and eight. He would have to get Cook to fix some of her special tonic. That and a cup of coffee, and he might survive the day. How late was it, anyway? The sun was up. He began digging in his pockets for his new pocket watch and came up empty-handed. His gaze turned to the rug under his feet, but the watch was not there, either. Stooping to look under the bed, all he saw was the dark floor. He could remember its weight in his pocket last night, yet it was no longer there.

His watch was gone. “What bloody time is it, then?” His voice echoed off the walls of his bedchamber.

For a moment he stood thinking through the possibilities of where it could be. His mind steadily avoided one obvious conclusion at least three times before settling there with some resentment. Lily had stolen it. And now she was gone.

“That little thief!” he grumbled, gazing once again at the empty bed where she had lain only hours earlier. Had that been her plan from the beginning? Something akin to hurt unfurled inside Devon. He brushed the emotion away, concentrating on how she had accomplished this feat.

No one took advantage of him, and certainly not a woman such as Lily Whitby. Had she known he was going to the Stag and Doe? Had she spied him there in recent weeks? Perhaps she had followed him all the way from the shop where he purchased the damned watch. He was dressed before his thoughts were even in order. With his headache forgotten, Devon strode out the door. Lily would rue the day she tangled with the Mad Duke of Thornwood.

***

The laughter was still bubbling up in her throat as Lillian turned the corner onto a street already bustling with early morning activity. What a reckless trollop she was turning into. The cool air whipped through her loose blond hair. She breathed in great gulps. This must be the feeling of rebellion. My, but she could see its appeal. Yet rebellion did not seem to encompass what she was experiencing.

“Freedom.” The word tripped from her tongue with an answering smile. A hack was rumbling down the street toward her. Throwing up a hand, she watched as it slowed to a stop beside her and the driver jumped down.

“The Cross Keys Inn, north of the city, to reach the stage coach before it leaves in two hours, if you please.”

“Ma’am,” the driver offered in response as he opened the door to the conveyance. Then he tipped his hat and raked his eyes over her in an assessing manner that made her all too aware of her attire.

As she climbed up, she looked back in the driver’s direction to add, “Make all haste.” She really should try to pull herself together before arriving at the inn filled with travelers.

Settling onto the carriage seat as the door closed, she was thankful for every turn of the wheels that took her farther from Devon’s home. It was done, the ordeal concluded. And now she was alone, as always. Her lingering smile faded as she watched the buildings move past the window.

There was no reason to ever think about last night again—except that she could not tear her mind away from it. There was a certain soreness between her legs, and the memories of his hands on her skin remained like ink on paper. What had she done?

She hadn’t even used her real name. Shameful. Miss Lillian Phillips. Was that so very difficult to say? It was a good thing she
had
used a false name, now that she’d had relations with him. She gave the empty carriage a satisfied huff. Devon would never find her now.

Only, a wave of grief washed through her, filling the place where relief should be. She had lied to him. She told herself last night that if her name was false and no one found out, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. None of it was real. Why then did everything that passed between them feel so real?

In any other circumstance, she would go immediately and apologize. Yet that was the one thing she could never do. No. She had deceived Devon and stolen from him. Stolen! She ran a shaky hand over the pearl necklace at her throat. She should have found another way. She should have discussed it with Devon last night. She should have done anything but what she did.

She was unsure what had been in those drinks at the Stag and Doe, or how she had let things go so far with a man she did not even know. Devon Grey. She knew little of him aside from his name, for goodness’ sake. What had she been thinking?

An incident such as this would obviously not happen at another point in the future. She would never see him again. No one knew she had even gone to London, and no one would ever find out. She made a vow there on the carriage seat that she would take this secret to her grave. She alone would know of her actions. She alone would remember the feel of his hands on her body and his lips on hers. He would forever be her private thought.

On lonely nights when the moon stretched long shadows across her bedchamber floor, she would think of him. She knew now what it was to desire. She knew the taste of a man and the uncontrolled pleasure that could be found in a man’s skilled hands. She knew what it felt like to sleep curled within strong arms.

The memories of him were enough to last a lifetime. They would have to be, for she would never allow it to happen again.

She set the memories aside to pull her hair into its customary tightly knotted style at the back of her neck and buttoned her dress as high as she could reach at her back. That would have to do for now. Hopefully she would have time to change back into her black mourning dress at the inn before the coach left for Whitby.

She pulled the pocket watch from her reticule and opened it. She had an hour and forty minutes. The steady tick-tick-tick reminded her of why she had traveled so far, why she had abandoned her morals and allowed life to sweep her away like yesterday’s ashes.

Her situation could be worse. With none of her family around Bixley Manor, she was free to live her life as she pleased. She would spend the rest of her days eating only the foods that she liked, reading only the books that she liked, walking to only the destinations she liked… Her mind grew quiet around the thought that she would be doing all of those things alone. Forever.

Nevertheless, she would not have to bend to the wishes of any man. Of that she was quite certain. Perhaps spinsterhood would be just the thing. With a nod of agreement, she looked down at the open pocket watch held in her tight grasp. It was the only piece of any man that she would ever need.

Yet, as she gazed down into the sapphire eyes of the fox engraved into its surface, it seemed to be mocking her. “I know your secrets,” she could almost hear the fox say. “It was only last night that you were in the arms of my true owner. Thief! You were not so independent then.”

“Hush now,” Lillian spoke clearly to the small golden fox. She could not dwell on last night just now.

Jostling and bumping down the road, the carriage tossed Lillian across the thinly padded seat. The chain of the pocket watch slipped through her fingers as they rounded a corner. Tightening her grip, she braced her arm on the window of the carriage. The sun caught the watch face, filling the carriage with dancing circles of light. Happy, twirling, rainbow-filled circles.

Surely it was a sign of good things to come. A promise. The backs of her eyes stung with unshed tears but this moment was no time to allow them to fall. Sniffing, she snapped the pocket watch closed, shutting the door on her emotions and the source of lighted dots in the carriage.

Slowly, the stone buildings of London grew sparse as they left the city behind. The morning sun streamed in the carriage window beside her as Lillian gazed out across a field of grazing sheep. Stone walls lined the pasture land as if squares had been drawn in chalk across the vast green of the earth.

Her eyes grew hazy as the scenery streamed past and she became aware of her own reflection in the window. Touching her mother’s pearls visible at her throat, she began to feel more confident. It was as if generations of feminine strength passed into her fingertips as they slid over the strand. Bump, bump, bump under her fingers, her courage rising with every pass of her hand.

With the pearls at her throat, the watch held securely in her grasp, and her secret held safe in her heart forevermore, she faced forward into her future.

***

After a trip to the Stag and Doe tavern to no avail, Devon slowed his steps before the Bond Street shop. He would rather be pecked to death by waterfowl than return to Habersham’s Antiquities and Fine Artifacts that afternoon. Unfortunately, that was the only way he would ever discover where to find Miss Lily Whitby. She had taken something from him and he wanted it back. After all, he didn’t know the time, thanks to the damned chit.

Certainly it had nothing to do with being bested by a mysterious woman with whom he had shared an amazing night. She had stolen from him! From him, Thornwood! No one in their right mind would dare do such a thing. He was the Mad Duke after all, or so all of London society said. Grimacing over the source of his so-called madness, he entered the shop prepared to deal with the nosy shopkeeper once again.

His booted feet landed heavily on the floor in long, angry strides. The small bell on the door was still tinkling in the background as he approached the jewelry display case at the rear of the shop.

“Good afternoon, my lord. You have returned,” the shopkeeper intoned as he laid aside the necklace he had been polishing. He pushed his glasses up from where they hung on the end of his long nose as he asked, “Was the watch not to your liking?”

Good afternoon…how late was it? Was it not still morning? “Afternoon,” Devon conceded. “I find myself in need of another watch.”

“Another watch, my lord? What drama has befallen you today?” the man asked with an edge of eagerness to his voice.

Devon had endured enough. His patience snapped. He wanted answers, not more questions. “You may call me Thornwood or Your Grace, thank you. I would like to purchase another watch.”

“Your Gr…” The man seemed to choke on the words, flushing a brilliant red. “Certainly, Your Grace. Anything for you, Your Grace.”

That was more like it. Perhaps his title did have its uses on occasion. “I would like to see that watch there, and this one as well.” He pointed at the display case before him. It was hard to believe he was revisiting this process only a day after he found a watch he was quite fond of. All because of her!

The shopkeeper retrieved the watches and laid them out on a piece of velvet for inspection. His mouth, unlike yesterday, was silent.

“This one will do.” Devon indicated the watch on the right, with small scrollwork etched into gold around its white face.

“Very well, Your Grace.” The man gave an excessive bow from behind the counter before wrapping the package with care.

Devon methodically rapped one long finger on the glass surface before him. There was no discreet way of asking if the man knew of Lily but to ask it. As much as Devon disliked the idea of the shopkeeper knowing anything of his private affairs, he alone might hold the knowledge of the whereabouts of one Lily Whitby, seductress and thief.

Resigned to the fate of conversing with the man who had proved quite annoying yesterday, Devon heaved a sigh before uttering a word. There was nothing for it; he must ask. “Was there a woman in blue in your shop after I was here yesterday?”

“Why yes, Your Grace,” the shopkeeper returned, a frown forming on his face.

“Does she come here often?” Devon leaned in, anticipating the answers he sought.