Twice Fallen (12 page)

“No need to apologize.” Damien hadn’t even realized that it bothered him. Dancing hadn’t been high on the list of priorities in his life and he had never thought of his injured leg as anything but a nuisance.

Until now. He really could not even offer Lily a simple dance.

He went on. “But I’m afraid a waltz executed with any finesse is beyond my ability. So while your suggestion is intriguing, a dance with the lovely Lillian is out of the question.”

“I suppose that is true.” Robert studiously sipped champagne and frowned.

“I dislike that expression on your face,” Damien observed. “It means you are thinking, and even worse, thinking about the female of our species, and quite frankly, it makes me nervous.”

Robert grinned over the rim of his glass. “It
is
one of my favorite subjects of reflection. Ask my wife.”

“In the context of
your
life, that contemplation is fine. Leave my private affairs out of it.”

“I am not sure I knew you had private affairs, but it is enlightening to hear you do, brother. Perhaps instead of a waltz, you could simply go over and speak with her.”

“Are you matchmaking? If so, I don’t need your helpful suggestions.”

“No?” his brother drawled.

“No.” The one word was firm and definite.

“Well, you should form your own plan, then, for the lady appears to have noticed you as well. She is headed in this direction.”

Had Damien not been rigidly trained to conceal any reaction unless the situation warranted it, he would have looked. But he merely stayed where he was with one shoulder against the ballroom wall, his demeanor diffident.

“Lord Damien.”

He straightened and turned with a polite smile. “Lady Lillian.”

She was only a few paces away, the topaz gown flowing around her, just a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “I… I… Good evening.”

“Good evening,” he said neutrally, wondering why the slight falter. “Have you met my brother Robert?”

“Indeed, we have been introduced.” Robert bent over
her hand with the smooth charm that had served him so well before his marriage, when he had been one of England’s most noted rakehells. “But it has been far too long. May I say you are dazzling this evening, my lady.”

“Thank you.” The slip in her composure was gone and she spoke with calm dignity.

“If you will excuse me, I believe I asked Aunt Beatrice for the next dance and if I do not show up promptly, I will never hear the end of it.” Robert released her hand and smiled.

It was an obvious enough ploy and Damien watched him slip back into the crowd with amusement over the lack of subtlety.

“I did not mean to interrupt.”

Damien lifted a brow. “Not at all. I would much rather converse with a beautiful lady than my stodgy brother, trust me.”

“Stodgy?” Lillian said incredulously. “Robert Northfield? I rather think most people would disagree with you, my lord.”

“You’d be surprised what a respectable marriage and fatherhood will do to a formerly disreputable rogue,” he murmured, doing his best to not let his gaze drift down to where her décolletage showed a tantalizing hint of the valley between her breasts. Her gown was not scandalous in the least, but perhaps because she was not an innocent young miss, it was a bit more daring than what most of the unmarried young ladies were wearing and he… noticed.

Definitely noticed.

“Is that so?” Her blue eyes held a hint of laughter. “Spoken as the only unmarried brother out of three?”

What else did she know about him? He had to wonder if she’d also been asking questions about her partner in their little misadventure with the library door. “Let’s just say having the concentrated attention of my entire family on my unwedded state is a bit of an annoyance. Fighting the French was an easier proposition.”

“You are speaking to the woman who currently holds the attention of the Dowager Duchess of Eddington,” Lillian said dryly. “At the end of the evening there will a summary of how many times I was asked to dance, what comments were made about my gown, and a recounting of what events I’ve been invited to in the next few weeks, not to mention a reminder that the season will not last forever.”

He liked her candor.
And the shape of her lips, and the way the length of her lashes throws shadows on her delicate cheekbones, and
…

“Thank the heavens for that last bit.” Damien hesitated, but his limp was no secret to her after his near fall on the stairs the other evening as they made their inventive escape, so he said simply, “I cannot ask you to dance, but maybe a few minutes of fresh air on the terrace?”

It was a starlit night with just a few wayward wispy clouds and a scythe of a moon, and though maybe she shouldn’t have stepped outside with him, they were in plain enough view of the crowded ballroom and it was a relief to escape.

“I wondered if you’d spoken yet with my cousin James,” Lily said in way of explanation for her forward behavior in approaching him in the first place. She wasn’t vain enough to think the entire ballroom was focused on
her every movement—they certainly weren’t, and besides, it was quite crowded—but it probably would be noted she’d come over to talk to him.

Lord Damien shook his head. “No. Why?”

“I asked him to thank you for me for your aid the other evening, should you run into each other.”

“Thank me?” He actually looked surprised.

“You did provide an unorthodox but effective rescue.” She tried to keep from blushing when she recalled how she’d taken off her gown in front of him, but felt the warm rush of blood into her neck and face anyway.

“There’s no need for any gratitude. I believe I was the one who intruded on your privacy, with Lady Piedmont barging in as well, and then locked the door at her departure, the cause and effect bringing on the possible catastrophe. Entirely my fault.”

“You are just being gallant.”

“Not at all.”

He was more handsome than she remembered, or else it had just been the lighting in the library. There was an elegant cast to his features, and his thick hair was deliciously wavy in places, curling against his cravat.

And those dark eyes. So penetrating… as if he could look right through her and scrutinize her soul.

What does he see
?

The lilt of the music came through the open doors and she listened to the crescendo, enjoying it much more out of the crowd. She said lightly, “The point is there
was
no catastrophe, due to your fast thinking, and I hurried away without expressing my gratitude. I felt decidedly ungracious when I realized it later.”

His lashes lowered a little and the intenseness of his
regard made her want to fidget, though she stood by the balustrade and kept the most serene expression possible on her face. “Tell me, did you jilt Sebring, or was it the other way around?”

The personal nature of the question made her stiffen, but then again, she’d told him outright the other evening she couldn’t afford social disgrace again, and no doubt he had been curious as to why. He’d hear it sooner or later anyway, but it bothered her more than it usually did to think he’d been told the tawdry story of her failed elopement.

She barely knew him.
Why do I care what he thinks of me
?

Very carefully, Lily said, “That is between the two of us.”

“Fair enough.” He inclined his head, tall in the filtered light, his lean body shifted just enough to one side so she knew his leg pained him. It was curious, but while she’d been crippled socially, he had been physically, and she had to wonder if that was why she’d experienced a sense of camaraderie with him so quickly.

“The question isn’t unreasonable,” she said with as little emotion as possible in her voice, “but without explaining in detail, the answer isn’t simple.”

“Perhaps I phrased it poorly, for what I meant to say was that I find it hard to believe he would change his mind.”

There was a strange little flutter in the pit of her stomach. “If that was a compliment, thank you.”

“It was indeed.”

“That was all four years ago. Arthur is a married man, and I see no reason to dwell on the past.”

“A sound attitude.” His smile was remote, brief, detached. “I’ve been trying to decide since my return to England exactly how to do just that, but with very little success so far.”

She rested a gloved hand on the balustrade and gazed out over the garden. “I am sure war is not easy to forget. I can’t imagine.”

“I wouldn’t even want you to try to do so.”

The temptation was there to ask him about his leg since they were on the subject, but she had just declined to explain to him, and though she doubted he was the type to be sensitive on the subject, maybe his disability did bother him. Men could be the oddest creatures when it came to pride.

She had that same flaw also. It had cost her to rejoin the higher circles of the beau monde with her head held high. Thanks to the duchess, she’d been invited to almost all the notable social affairs, but her welcome was usually lukewarm at best, and it stung each time.

The British aristocracy was not known for its forgiving nature.

Lily opened her mouth to say something innocuous then, a change in subject from the uncomfortable topics of disgrace or war, when he touched her, his hand closing over her wrist, and he tugged her back into the darker recess of the shadowed corner of the terrace, away from the doors, saying softly, “Shhh.”

H

Edgar Kinkannon.

The man who resided at the address on the drawing Charles had sent him.

How convenient the gentleman in question—who upon inquiry wasn’t much of a gentleman at all—had just ventured out onto the terrace. He was alone, but Damien recognized easily that studied nonchalance, the casual air, the assessing and seemingly unconcerned sweep of his gaze.…

Not all thieves were spies, but
all
spies were thieves, if one counted information as property, especially when put in valuable documents. It was easy enough to recognize a man on his way to an assignation, having done the same many times himself, and Damien had no desire to be recognized at this point, so he turned to Lillian just enough so his face was averted, and leaned forward to
whisper in her ear. “You can return the favor of the other evening by doing as I ask.”

He very lightly set his hand at her waist, his posture loverlike, his mouth brushing her slender neck, making her take in a sharp inhale over the liberty, but the pose effectively hiding his identity in their shadowed corner. “Just pretend we are out here to have a moment alone and please watch and see which direction he goes.”

The lovely Lillian was a quick study. Under the circumstances she could easily have been outraged, but she instead nodded almost imperceptibly. She smelled delicious, Damien noted, like spring flowers, light and sweet, and her skin was delicately smooth. Unbidden, the image of her supple body clad only in her chemise came to mind, and for a moment he wished Kinkannon would do him a favor and linger, but unfortunately, the man was not so thoughtful. Damien heard the rap of footsteps on the stone steps and then nothing but the light flutter of the leaves on a nearby ornamental tree brushed by the evening breeze.

She said very quietly, “He took the path to the right.”

With some reluctance Damien lifted his head, evaluated again just how much he wanted to help Charles on this little matter, but then decided he shouldn’t keep her outside any longer anyway for the sake of propriety, and offered his arm. “Thank you. Allow me to escort you back inside.”

Her fingers touched his sleeve and she said under her breath, “On the provision you might in the future provide an explanation.”

Damien smiled at the touch of asperity in her tone.
Whatever had happened between her and Sebring, she was not a woman to be lightly dismissed. “I certainly should, shouldn’t I? I’ll call on you, Lady Lillian.”

Had he really just said that?

Her startled glance told him he had, but this wasn’t the time to linger. Making sure their public entrance back into the ballroom was noted, he politely excused himself in the hearing of others, and made his way through the crowd toward the front entrance.

Then took an abrupt turn in the main hallway.

If he hurried, he might not miss the meeting. It wasn’t too difficult to determine the layout of the house, and he found the conservatory, which opened, of course, to the gardens. The glassed room was redolent with the scent of hothouse flowers and damp soil, and not lit, so he had to inch along the rows of plants set up on shelves. There was no way to tell where exactly his quarry had been headed, but if it were up to him, he’d choose the back where a small vegetable garden joined the floral beds, certainly not frequented at this time in the evening, and never by guests.

Unfortunately, he and Mr. Kinkannon did not share the same crafty views on furtive meetings.

The vegetable garden was empty, the starlit landscape of plebian plants undisturbed, and Damien stood there for a moment, weighing his options. He was unconvinced his particular level of professional expertise was suited to the task at hand. It should be simple.

So…
think simple
.

That was not his first impulse. Complicated was more his bent. He tended to walk around a problem, expecting to pit his wits against a formidable opponent. The need
to circle first was paramount, like sending out a scout to find the perimeter of the enemy lines.

This was a much more straightforward matter.

So where would there be cover but not damp? Privacy but without the inconvenience of soiling his boots in garden dirt?

Kinkannon was in the arbor, he discovered, waiting with an impatience that was evident even in the filtered starlight, his fingers drumming against his thigh. The man was stocky, but not given over to fat, his fair hair brushed back in a fashionable style, and really, had Damien not known Charles’s suspicions—and Charles was rarely wrong—he would not have guessed him an amateur blackmailer that fastened upon susceptible victims of society who cringed at the idea of their sins being exposed.