Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (9 page)

“No, now you are just a silly woman. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“These are my choices, Fanny. Let them be.”

“And if I believe that you are making a terrible mistake?”

“Then I will be the one to suffer the consequences.”

Fanny sighed. “You always do.”

They sat in silence, a cloud overhanging the room.

Looking up, Fanny brightened. “I just realized one good turn from this mess.”

“Pray tell?”

“You will never have to go through losing your innocence again.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“No, Lillian. It means from now on, no more pain, only pleasure.”

“And who do you suppose I am going to bed, Fanny? Mr. Stanley?”

“He’s not half bad, once you get the uniform off.”

“Oh,” Lillian groaned, yanking the pillow atop her eyes. “I did not need to know that, Fanny. Now I will never be able to get the image out of my head.”

T
he guard led Lillian and her footman to the warden’s small quarters on the prison grounds where Dillon was housed. She was going to use Fanny’s old trick of keeping her chin up, hoping that it would come off as cheerfulness. She needed to put an optimistic shine on her bad news. But how to do that when the idea of Dillon’s life depending on Sir Patrick did not imbue confidence? When she had this terrible sinking feeling roiling in her middle?

At the guard’s knock, the door opened, and they were led through the musty-smelling hallways to Dillon’s room.

“Lillian!” Dillon jumped up from the secretary, where he had been drafting a missive. A wide smile brightened his features, but he was looking thinner, more haggard. Older than his five-and-twenty years.

He clutched her hand and bussed her cheek. “I’m so thrilled that you’ve come.” His voice quivered slightly, and she realized that he was trying to present a brave front, for her sake. Dear Dillon.

The footman set the basket upon the table by the hearth.

“You may wait in the usual place, Gillman.”

“I will be just outside the front door, my lady.” The young man bowed. “Please call if you require anything.”

“Thank you, Gillman.”

The guard sent Dillon a knowing look and then closed the door with a wink. Lillian blushed deeply, grasping what the guards thought she and Dillon did on these visits.

“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked, apprehension lacing his tone.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” She looked away.

“You’re wearing too much face paint, for one. You’re as white as a ghost.” He skimmed his bare finger down the bridge of her nose. “Your nose is shiny and your eyes are red. You’ve been crying.”

She swallowed. “Oh, Dillon, I could never hide a thing from you.”

He gently gripped her arm. “Tell me what’s troubling you. It can’t be worse than the promise of a Newgate frisk or hornpipe.”

Reminded of the dreaded hangman’s noose, her failure loomed large.

“I brought scones and some of Cook’s strawberry jam…” she offered. “Let us sit—”

“If there is bad news, I would have it now, Lillian.” He frowned. “It’s not Kane again, is it? I asked
Father to look after you and even sent Russell a letter instructing him to have a care for your person.”

“They have been wonderful, thank you. I appreciate your concern. But I am worried for you, here in this dreadful place.”

“Well, in less than two weeks I will no longer require John Newman’s lodgings.” His blue gaze perked up. “Have you heard from Redford yet? I assume that he will wish to question me. I have an empty calendar these days, so finding time will certainly not be an issue.”

“Well, Dillon.” She swallowed. “Mr. Redford’s schedule is another matter entirely. He is quite occupied—”

“But you are quite right,” a deep voice rumbled from behind her, sending a familiar ripple through her middle. “He does need to question you.”

Dillon looked up, his eyes bright.

Lillian blinked, shocked beyond speech.

Nicholas Redford stood in the doorway to Dillon’s room, fully clothed and yet just as overwhelming as when he was as bare as a Greek god just hours before. Her pulse quickened, and awareness of him made her skin swim with warmth. He showed no ill effects from the wild night—still handsome, brawny and dripping with galling confidence. He carried a cane in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other. Warden John Newman stood beside him, a similar bottle in the crook of his arm.

“Excellent show!” Dillon grinned. “And you even brought the tipple!”

“I imagined that you might be a bit thirsty.”

“I’m parched as hell, if you please.”

“Mr. Nicholas Redford at your service, my lord.”
He bowed. “I’m the new investigator Lady Janus retained to see you freed.”

Redford stepped near, and part of her could not believe that he was actually standing before Dillon, saying that he was going to take the case. Was she dreaming? Had her mind finally cracked? Had she had a taste of Fanny’s tainted Cognac? Why did she have to look like such a carriage-wreck this morning?

“Thank the heavens. Now we don’t have to rely on the cabbage-headed Sir Patrick. I was beginning to think that my goose was going to be cooked.”

Redford waved a hand. “I will not interfere with Sir Patrick, milord. My role is simply to ensure that in the short time frame of the proceedings, no rock has been left unturned.”

Lillian was thrilled, but stricken. Just a few hours ago this man had been lying between her legs, and his insults rang fresh in her ears. She had been hoping never to see him again and yet here he was, jumping into the fray to make things right. She did not know whether to leap for joy or run out of the room crying.

Warden Newman scratched his craggy cheek. “You might actually have a shot at avoiding the Lord of the Manor of Tyburn, milord. This one’s worse than a kissing jack at a ball. He’ll never give up until he gets what he wants.”

Redford set the bottle on the table. “And foremost in my plans is seeing an innocent man freed.”

Dillon stared at him a long moment. His gaze glistened, and he blinked rapidly. Whipping a linen from his pocket, he wiped his eyes. “So sorry. I just…” Sniffing, he folded the cloth into squares, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “It’s just, well, besides
Lillian…” His gaze met hers and his lopsided grin quivered. “Well, most people try to pretend, but besides Lillian, no one has truly believed me. Until now.”

Lillian’s heart swelled. At that moment it was all worth it. Every despicable act that she had done was redeemed just to see the hope rising in Dillon’s gaze. She had proven that Dillon was not the man Dagwood presented him to be, and Redford knew it. Soon, hopefully, so would the rest of London.

She squeezed his hand. “Everything is going to be all right now, Dillon. If anyone can maintain your innocence, Mr. Redford can.”

“Well,” Redford shrugged, “I cannot perform miracles. But if the evidence is out there, and I do believe it is, then we will find it.”

Tears burned the back of Lillian’s eyes, but there was nothing left to shed. “I told you justice was not blind, Dillon. You just needed a little faith.”

“You’ve always been the one of our twosome with faith in your pockets, Lillian. Me, I usually just relied on you,” Dillon remarked, stuffing the linen into his coat. “And as usual, it is to my benefit.”

“Lady Janus?” Redford studied her.

Her heart lurched.

“Do you like puzzles?” he asked in that deep voice that made her inside tremble.

She dared not meet his gaze. “As much as the next person, I suppose.”

“I assure you, not nearly as much as the person standing next to you. And you are a puzzle, indeed.”

Peering at him through her lashes, she could not decipher his meaning or the strange look in his eyes. Suddenly, she could not wait to depart. “I’m sure
that you two have much to discuss, so if you will excuse me.”

Dillon squeezed her arm. “Thank you, Lillian. You are the most capital girl on the face of the earth.”

Her smile was wooden. “I will try to come see you on the morrow.” Her cheeks warmed, and she lowered her voice. “Oh, by the by, Fanny sends her regards.”

“How is darling Fanny?” Dillon asked loudly.

“Miss Figbottom?” the dratted Redford asked in a falsely innocent tone. “The famous actress, perchance?”

Dillon looked up. “One and the same. She’s bang up to the mark, our Fanny. She and Lillian are like two peas in a pod. Sisters could not be closer.”

“Oh, really?” Redford’s gaze was infuriatingly interested. “And how is it that you know each other, Lady Janus?”

“I introduced them,” Dillon explained. “About two years ago—”

“No use boring Mr. Redford and the good warden with stale tales, Dillon.” Lillian glared meaningfully at Dillon. “I am sure that they have much more interesting matters—”

“Oh, no, I
really
wish to hear this,” interjected the blasted investigator.

“Perhaps I will share it another time,” Dillon replied. Apparently the euphoria of feeling like the world was not ending had loosened Dillon’s lips, but thankfully, now he was recovered. “Say, in about two or three weeks.”

“Yes, when we are finished celebrating your release.” Lillian kissed Dillon on the cheek and nod
ded to the men. “You have much to discuss. I bid you my leave.”

Keeping her eyes trained on the scraped floorboards, she stepped to the door, making certain to stay as far as possible from Redford. “Good-day, gentlemen.” To her shame, she almost fled.

She was down the hallway and almost to the main entry when she heard Redford’s booming call. “Lady Janus!”

She did not stop but motioned to the guard to open the door.

“Lady Janus!”

Redford arrived to stop the door midswing. He held the edge in his gloved hand, blocking her exit.

He loomed over her, and she realized that it would be easier to ignore a rampant carriage than it would be to ignore him. She stood stiffly, not about to let him see how much he unsettled her. Yet her faithless cheeks flamed. “Yes?”

“I was wondering. How do you fare this day, my lady?” His voice rippled through her middle, bringing fresh memory of his touch, his heat and him inside of her.

Her mouth went dry.

“I, myself, am a bit fagged. Not enough sleep, I suppose.”

She stood frozen, trying very hard to concentrate on the sliver of courtyard outside, which she could see through the partially open door. His nearness caused her heart to dance. Dash her weakness!

“Did
you
sleep well this night?”

His infuriating needling made her want to kick up a row. She hated that he felt at liberty to toy with
her. Loathed how he must see her. Despised that she gave a fig about his regard.

“Why do you ask?” She raised a brow. “Do I look weary?”

“Actually,” he drawled, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose, “I was just thinking how tantalizing you look this morning.”

Liar.

“I am well rested, if that is what you mean, Mr. Redford. I had a most uneventful night. So much so, in fact, that I can hardly recall it. If you will excuse me, I am a very important person with many vital things to do.”

Catching her jibe, his lip quirked slightly, and he considered her a moment longer. Then he slowly opened the door, allowing her passage. “I look forward to calling upon you this afternoon, my lady.”

She started. “What? Why?”

“For your help, of course. With Beaumont’s defense.”

Alarm shot through her.

“With the trial less than two weeks away,” he continued, “I will need to know everything about Beaumont and those around him, including you.”

Was this a ruse? A cruel trick of some sort to get her on her back once again? Did he consider bedding her a bonus to his fee? She burned with mortification, then realized she had to tell him about Kane. There was validity to his request. But that did not mean that she trusted him. Not by a hair.

“Will you be in residence?” he inquired.

Finally, she faced him, fluttering her eyelashes. “Oh, but Mr. Redford. Will you be able to suffer my feminine wiles? All of that eyelash batting and hip sashaying might be a bit overwhelming.”

“I think I can handle it.”

Ooh, how she wished to wipe the smirk from his face.

“Perhaps, but you
cannot handle me.
” She strode out the door, confident that she had gotten her message across. She refused to be the brunt of his jest, the foil for his barbs…. Oh, dear. Her belly flipped at the inadvertent innuendo. She was going to have to be very careful around Nicholas Redford. Very careful, indeed.

Nick watched her from the doorway, wondering how the blazes he was going to deal with the exasperating Lady Janus. Something about her pricked his senses, and usually not in a gentlemanly fashion. Toying with her had not exactly been a kind turn. But tying and trussing him the night before had not been precisely hospitable.

After leaving Miss Figbottom’s house, he had been furious, raging, in fact, over the women’s chicanery. But in the darkest hours of the night, when his anger had cooled, he could not escape the evidence. No man could live with a fiery woman like Lady Janus and keep his hands off of her. Which meant that Beaumont was uninterested in females and would likely not have been drawn into an affair with Lady Langham. The facts raised too many questions leading to only one answer: Beaumont might be guiltless. A pawn, perhaps, in a greater game. This deduction had left him deeply troubled.

He had fought the possibility that Lady Janus might somehow have been justified in her transgressions. But in the end, he’d had to accept the fact that she had taken the absolutely perfect course for opening his eyes about Beaumont’s innocence. She had completed her charge with results. He, how
ever, had not, and he was sore as hell for it this morning.

She had turned him from enraged martyr to willing lieutenant in a few short hours. She had played him flawlessly; he could not in good conscience let a guiltless man swing if he had the means to stop it. Lady Janus and her tricks, his wounded dignity, his aching body: None of it signified if a man’s life hung in the balance.

Lady Janus had done what she’d needed to do to save a wronged friend. Nick could scarcely believe that she had handed him her innocence to prove her point. One had to admire her loyalty, and her gumption. Moreover, he was not too much of a bastard to admit that it had been a hell of a wild night. One he would never forget as long as he lived.

Watching her shapely rump gently sashaying down the pathway, he recognized that he hungered for her still. He itched to have her and finish the job she’d started. And soon. Problem was, she was an innocent. Hell, he might have busted her maidenhead, but she was no lightskirt waiting to be flipped. Her reticence, her blushes, they all made sense now. And he had considered himself a first-rate investigator!

John Newman stepped beside him, sneering, “I’d love to split the beard of that lassie.”

Fury hotter than fired iron flashed through Nick. His hand was around the man’s throat in an instant, smashing the warden up against the wall. “Shut yer foul trap!”