Twice Fallen (2 page)

Lily could no longer contain the impulse, easing up to take a quick glimpse over the top of the settee. It was a large, long room, and she was in the shadows at the far end. The beleaguered but as of yet unidentified lord was no doubt busy enough fending off his determined seductress and certainly Lady Piedmont’s attention was focused on her quarry, so she doubted they would see her.

Sure enough there was the very lovely Lady Piedmont, who might not be in the first bloom of youth but could still put most ingenues to shame with her flame-red hair and generous figure, and a well-dressed man whose hands at the moment shackled her wrists, obviously to keep her from her pursuit to unfasten his clothing. The lady in question was still pressed up suggestively
against him, his back to one of the bookcases. Were it a reluctant young lady being accosted by a male, Lily would have grabbed a handy weapon such as the heavy Chinese vase sitting on the table to her right and come to her rescue, but from what she could see, the object of Lady Piedmont’s desire was tall and wide-shouldered and looked entirely capable of taking care of himself.

“I’m flattered,” he said with a hint of humor, “at your interest, but our mutual absence from the ballroom will be noted. I think it is more than prudent for you to return as soon as possible.”

“Prudence has never been my main virtue.”

Lily could believe that, especially the way the woman was plastered up against him. Virtue didn’t apply. The word
shameless
came to mind.

“Do you really want to become the target for a barrage of backhanded whispers?”

No
, Lily thought from firsthand experience,
trust me, you don’t
.

“Can we discuss this.…later, then? Some place more discreet?”

“No.”

“Darling, I—”

“No.” His tone was gentle, maybe even indulgent, but there was an undercurrent that implacably supported his denial.

“Why not?” There was a definite pout in the question, but at least it indicated she finally understood he meant his refusal.

“For myriad reasons.”

Then and there Lily felt a flicker of admiration. After all, it wasn’t as if most men in society didn’t indulge
themselves in casual affairs, but his rejection wasn’t tempered with a variety of explanations. He didn’t bother to offer his reasons. No was no.

Good for him.

Then he dropped Lady Piedmont’s wrists and instead scooped her up bodily despite her outraged gasp, somehow deftly opened the door and deposited her outside, before stepping back inside, closing it quickly, and turning the key in the lock.

Lily ducked back down before he turned, hearing him mutter, “By the devil, there had better be brandy in here somewhere.”

There was. The tray with the decanter and glasses was on a small polished desk very close to where she sat wondering how fate could be so wily as to contrive to conjure a scenario in which she, who meticulously strived to avoid any situation that might be even mildly indiscreet, suddenly found herself locked in a room with a strange gentleman.

Her reputation could not survive another scandal.

If there had been a way to decamp out the window, or maybe scamper under a convenient chair, she would have taken it, but he moved purposefully in her direction and her breath caught in her throat.

Damnation
, as her older brother, Jonathan, might say. This was awkward.

Then again, it wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong except exactly what her unwanted companion claimed to do—seek a bit of a reprieve from the ball. It was not
her
fault he’d attracted the importunate Lady Piedmont.

There was nothing to do but brazen it out.

The faint elusive hint of violets when he’d first entered had been the initial clue someone else was in the room. The sweet scent was more subtle than the overwhelming gardenia perfume Lady Piedmont wore, but definitely there, and in a library full of the smell of dusty leather and gently decaying paper, out of place.

Then had come the subtle rustle of silk as she moved, giving away her location, which happened to be a settee in a small grouping by the tall windows at the back of the room, where he imagined if one sat in the daylight for a quiet afternoon read, they would have a lovely view of the garden.

Just the spot he would have chosen. Already, Lord Damien Northfield thought, he was intrigued by the mysterious lady he imagined was in a slight state of panic over her inevitable discovery. That he could tell also, for while the sound of the orchestra in the ballroom still came faintly, her quickened breathing was audible to someone who had spent a great deal of the Peninsular War using all five of his senses to keep himself alive.

Smell and sound were all well and good, but sight, touch, and taste were usually the most interesting. This beginning held promise.…

He could understand why she might not have announced her presence when he arrived with the rabid Lady Piedmont on his heels, but the real question was why was she hiding in the library in the first place?

As he needed that brandy, and he was interested in the answer to that question, he limped down the length of the room, his damned leg aching every step of the way. The wound was healed, but the physicians had been very frank about his injury, and they had been absolutely correct.
He was never going to walk normally again. It was, in short, a damned nuisance. Damien said in a neutral voice, without even glancing at the settee, “Good evening.”

There was a short silence, punctuated only by the clink as he removed the top of the decanter, and then the splash as he poured some of the liquor into a small crystal snifter.

“You knew I was here?”

Add her soft voice to his impressions. Damien liked the lilt and cadence of her question. The mysterious lady spoke in a lovely contralto, carefully modulated, and though it was tempting to turn around and see what she looked like, he denied himself, taking a sip from his glass. The brandy, he was happy to discover, was the best France had to offer and very smooth. “Yes.”

She sat up. He knew it because of the sound of her feet touching the floor and the slight—almost inaudible—creak of the springs of the settee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t
you
?” The brandy was heady and he swirled the liquid once before taking a second sip and slowly turning around.

His first impression was that his quiet spy was striking. No, not beautiful, at least not like Lady Piedmont with her generous breasts and flaming hair, but… different. Pretty. Memorable even. Her hair was a rich color that in the insufficient light looked light brown with a few golden glints, and her figure was slender, not overly voluptuous, which was pleasing enough, and her skin pale and smooth. Her gown wasn’t beribboned and festooned with lace, but instead simple and yet fashionable,
the neckline emphasizing the gentle curves of her breasts, the rose color offsetting the creaminess of her complexion.

She had a very defiant tilt to her shapely chin.

It must be a personal flaw in his intellectual composition, but he found that militant air fascinating.

“I was here first.”

It was a valid argument, so he shrugged, but he was
watching
her
.
Would he ever shed the habit? God, he hoped so. He was always watching. It was not an option in the existence he’d just left and he was uneasily settling into this new one. But he didn’t wish to go through his entire life vigilant and on guard.

Actually, he was lucky to even
be
alive.

“Yes, you were.” Damien took another drink. He’d done countless interrogations, and word had it he was very, very good at it. In fact, he knew he was. “Since there is no one to introduce us, and you just witnessed a rather personal scene, I think informality is in order.” He bowed slightly. “Lord Damien Northfield, at your service.”

There was a perceptible hesitation, and then she said in a cool tone, “Lady Lillian Bourne.”

He hadn’t been back in society long enough to really know any of the current gossip, not that he cared all that much about the generally superficial sins of the aristocracy anyway after so many bloody years in Portugal and Spain, but there was something in her voice that told him she thought the name might mean something to him.

It did actually. It belonged to her. Lillian. He liked it. It was elegant, and yet not too prim.

“May I offer my apologies for what you overheard?”
It was the least he could do, for if she was an unmarried young lady—and he would stake his life on it—that hadn’t been the most appropriate of dialogue.

“It seems to me you were not the one being improper, my lord.”

Lovely
and
intelligent. The dry note in her observation was duly noted. “I was doing my best to dissuade her,” he agreed with a slight, hopefully disarming smile.

“She’s very beautiful.”

He was a little surprised at the directness. “Yes.” He swirled the liquid in the glass again, took a sip, and then expounded, “But unabashed pursuit is not appealing to me. I’ve been hunted enough.”

The lighting was dim, but he caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes. She said, “That is an interesting statement. Are we still discussing eager women throwing themselves into your arms?”

“No.”

“I thought not.”

Anyone else might simply inquire as to why she wasn’t in the ballroom dancing her dainty feet off, but he rarely took a straightforward path to directly gain information. His methods were much more subtle. “Though I confess I am no longer accustomed to the workings of the
ton
.”

Lady Lillian, he discovered then, was not predictable. He anticipated she’d either comment she’d heard of him, or ask him why he’d been absent from the exalted circle he mentioned, but she did neither. Instead she rose in a flurry of rose silk and violet perfume.

“I need to get back to the ball and cannot be seen leaving the same room as you. As unlikely as it would be
that anyone would be observing the library, will you still please do me the favor of waiting a decent interval before rejoining the party?”

And here the evening had just taken on a warm new glow and she wished to leave.

Fortunately he was a master at negotiation.

His smile was affable. “Of course.” He paused. “If you will tell me why you prefer this dark library to the festivities.”

“You set
conditions
on being a gentleman?”

Damien didn’t blink an eye. “Absolutely. I think you will find I set conditions on everything.”

Strategy was a simple matter usually.
Judge your opponent and react accordingly
.

“I will find?” she repeated delicately, and truthfully, he found the phrasing odd himself.

Damien Northfield, who once might have been more important to the campaign on the Iberian Peninsula than even the Duke of Wellington, was not sure how to respond.

“Should we meet again,” he equivocated and watched her give a nod and move gracefully toward the door.

He liked the sway of her hips.

He also admired the curve of her spine, and the soft color of her hair in the lamplight.

Oh, yes
, he vowed silently,
we will meet again
.

For she had not answered his question.

S

And she had no idea how to feel about it.

Even as she reached for the ornate key left in the lock, she tried to recall what she knew of him. It wasn’t much actually, she realized. His brother was the Duke of Rolthven, but other than knowing he’d been in the war to the bitter end and wounded in the last battle, hence his pronounced limp, she couldn’t really say she’d heard much about him.

That alone was interesting.

Lord Damien was a stranger.

Tall, his chestnut hair thick and just slightly wavy from what she could see without adequate lamplight, his mouth curved in a faintly sardonic smile. His features were classically modeled in angles, the line of his nose straight, his mouth sensual, and while he was undeniably
handsome, oddly enough that was not what first struck her. It was more the intensity of his dark eyes.

And here she’d thought she had met every eligible bachelor in society, thanks to the formidable—some would say terrifying—Dowager Duchess of Eddington. In retrospect, it was one matter to fall under the surveillance of her discerning eye, and quite another to become her special project. Her older brother, Jonathan, was entirely to blame for that, as he’d married the dowager’s granddaughter and brought Lillian’s notoriety and unwed state into focus. Now she was left to suffer with having one very determined aristocratic matron trying to repair her damaged reputation and marry her off. She wished the duchess luck. It wasn’t going to be an easy task and certainly wouldn’t be helped by her prolonged absence this evening.