Twice Fallen (3 page)

The lock was stiff and ruined her grand departure as she struggled to turn the key.

Then disaster struck.

Not a small disaster either, a
large
one.

The key broke off in her hand. It was big, ornate, and obviously antique, and even as she held up the handle and gazed in dismay at the twisted metal, she realized that no doubt hundreds of years of use had compromised the shaft to the point where right now, at this point in all those centuries, it chose
this moment
to snap off in the lock.

Slowly, she turned around—saying an inner curse no lady would utter aloud—and instead spoke as calmly as possible. “I think we are locked in.”

“Oh?” At the distant end of the room, still standing there, negligently sipping his brandy, Lord Damien’s expression
was too shadowed for her to interpret. “That’s inconvenient.”

Inconvenient
? Maybe only inconvenient to him, but she really could not afford to be found in a barred room with an unattached male—and how the devil would they explain
why
the door was locked without mentioning Lady Piedmont’s advances anyway?
Or
their presence together in the private library of their host for that matter.

“The key broke.”

“Yes, I heard the snap. It causes a bit of a problem. I can easily pick a lock. But one cannot make the tumblers cooperate with a bit of metal lodged in them.”

The calm tone of his voice caused her to think about lifting up the heavy volume of sonnets sitting on a nearby table and hurling it at his head. Instead she quelled the surge of panic and asked with admirable composure, “How are we supposed to get out of this room?”

“A good question. The windows, I suppose, though I must say it appears to have started to rain.”

What
?

Sure enough, when Lily dashed forward and flung back the draperies, the leaden skies from earlier in the evening had decided to pelt down an early-fall deluge, water sluicing down the glass.

Her inarticulate sound of dismay was both loud and heartfelt. Even without the barrier of a thorny row of roses under the window, she could hardly jump out and return to the ball soaking wet. Especially if anyone had observed her leaving in the first place; her murmured excuse for her departure a need for the ladies’ retiring room.

Taking in a steadying breath, she turned, her hands clenching into fists in her skirts. “We need to do something.”

“I find it curious you phrase it that way.” Damien Northfield still stood by the drinks table, his pose nonchalant. The dark elegance of his clothing suited him, for he was every inch the refined English gentleman.

Except for those eyes. There was a certain watchful intelligence there that gave her pause. Perhaps even a hint of danger. She asked, “What way?”

“We.” His smile was slight, just a glimmer of amusement. “You did not demand to know what
I
was going to do to solve our little dilemma. Most women would.”

“I am not most women.”

“Yes, I am getting that impression.”

Was that derision or humor in his tone? She’d have to think about it later. Lily did not relish explaining to him why it would be so very unfortunate if they were caught together. “Lord Damien, I truly must get back.”

“Let me take a look at the door.” He set aside his snifter—after draining it—and walked toward the other end of the room, taking a long tin instrument out of some sort of sheath in his boot in a deft motion. Then he knelt and in one motion slid it inside the mechanism. When after a few minutes he shook his head, she believed him, for he seemed entirely too proficient in what he was attempting to do to fail if it was possible to get the door open.

“Maybe the rain is letting up,” she suggested, a little desperate, but the steady sound of the water lashing at the window indicated just the opposite.

The duchess was going to have her head on a platter.

“I am not sure I agree.” His tone was dry. “The window I do believe I can manage whenever you wish to exit, but right now seems a poor time. Give it a few minutes for the deluge to lessen.”

A few minutes? She did not have a few minutes. Before long she would be missed, if she wasn’t already. She could claim a sudden illness. Lily detested lying, but there was also the issue of disappointing the duchess, so how to handle this was a delicate matter.

“Here.”

She glanced up to find that Lord Damien was offering her a small glass of a substance that looked exactly like what he was drinking. He arched a brow. “Brandy is an acquired taste, but I highly recommend it for stressful situations such as being locked in a library with a man you do not know. There is no sherry, I’m afraid.”

The evening was deteriorating at a rapid pace already and she doubted it was going to get better soon. She took the glass. God knew she’d done more reckless things in her lifetime. The first sip made her cough and it burned every inch the way down. Lily sank back onto the settee she’d reclined on earlier and thought she saw a flicker of relief cross her companion’s face as he selected a nearby chair. It hadn’t occurred to her that his leg might pain him so much politely standing before she was seated was tasking, but maybe it was. His limp was certainly quite pronounced.

How did a person make small talk in such a situation? She had no idea. Of course he didn’t comprehend her dilemma, and she wasn’t going to enlighten him. Instead she blurted out, “How were you wounded?”

Damien leaned back negligently, his legs crossed at the ankle, a replenished drink in his hand, which helped his aching thigh. He liked an ordered world, which might account for why he was such a valuable spy.

No,
had
been a valuable spy. It was time to adjust to the change. Now he was just Lord Damien Northfield, formerly the heir apparent to the impressive title of Duke of Rolthven, but since the birth of his nephew not nearly as prestigious in society. Not that he cared; he preferred it this way, but at the moment, what puzzled him was the open panic in the very blue and
very
lovely eyes of the young lady sitting across from him, clutching her brandy.

And puzzles were, after all, his specialty.

“I’m not quite sure,” he said, doing his best to seem nonchalant. He’d almost lost the leg… dear God, it had been close, and if he hadn’t struggled to consciousness just in time to stop them, the surgeons would have taken it off. “To the best of my knowledge, the French were on the run by the time it happened, but quite frankly, in the melee, for all I know an Englishman wounded me. Battles are confusing sometimes. The bullet hit an artery. I knew I was wounded but not how badly until I fell.”

And the blood, the air acrid with smoke, men yelling, and the wounded moaning on the field, horses down…

Not quite the thing to mention to a well-bred young lady.

Lillian Bourne glanced at the window again. Nothing had changed. It was still raining quite hard. She lifted the glass in her hand to her mouth in a graceful movement, and grimaced as she swallowed. Her voice was slightly hoarse. “I suppose in an abstract way we who have not
experienced it glamorize war when the reality is quite different.”

Very insightful. He murmured, “Take my word for it; it is anything but glamorous.”

She turned to look directly at him. “You answered my question and I should extend you the same courtesy. I’m in the library for the same reason you gave Lady Piedmont. I wanted some solitude.”

Damien studied his glass for a moment. “Why? I admit I am out of touch, but I thought most young ladies like to dance and enjoy the social aspects of this kind of affair.”

“I am not that young.”

There was that lift of her chin again. He didn’t know why he found it so charming. No, he thought, taking his time—her comment invited it—looking her over, she wasn’t a simpering young lady fresh from the schoolroom. Yet she was hardly on the shelf either, no more than two and twenty if he ventured a guess. Luscious breasts under the bodice of her fashionable gown, that shining rich hair, those fine-boned features, not to mention her beautiful eyes…

“Why haven’t you married?”

Reposed against the velvet of the settee, a vision of feminine elegance in rose silk, she smiled, but it was a cynical curve of her soft lips. “Are you always so forthright, Lord Damien?”

That was an interesting question. It halted him in the act of taking a drink of the brandy in his glass. He admitted softly, “Actually, I am never forthright. My talents lie in other disciplines and few of them involve full disclosure.”

“I have heard you were a spy for Wellington.”

He just took another sip. The war was over. “What does it matter what I’ve done in the service of our country?”

There was a slight adversarial edge to her regard. “I didn’t realize the comment would offend you.”

“Neither did I,” he replied honestly.

She seemed to reconsider the conversation. “Can I rephrase?”

“Feel free.”

“With your superior skills in evading potential disaster, how will we get out of this less than perfect situation?”

Her beauty aside, he might actually like this straightforward young woman. “I can see any number of solutions.”

“Oh? As far as I can tell it is still pouring rain outside. And might I mention I need to return to the ball as quickly as possible—without anyone realizing I’ve been here alone with you—before the dowager duchess realizes I have been gone too long?”

That statement clarified her anxiety a bit. “The dowager duchess?”

“Of Eddington.”

His brother, Colton, was a duke, and truly there were not so many peers in the exalted circles of British society that Damien didn’t recognize the name easily. “I take it she’s sponsoring you?”

“My brother married her granddaughter. If there are a number of solutions to get us out of this, tell me what they are.”

It wasn’t as if her blunt approach put him off; he was
just not used to it. Lady Lillian, it seemed, did not allow much latitude for doubt over her position. She wanted a viable answer to their dilemma.

Damien gently cleared his throat. “You can go out the window and reenter the ballroom soaking wet.”

“That option has occurred to me, thank you, but seems a choice only if there is no other way. Can you not come up with another idea?”

“I can go out that window and be the one to ruin my evening kit. I can then summon help to dismantle the lock and open the door. I am more than willing, but the trouble is, you will still have to come up with a plausible explanation for why you are locked in here and how I knew it.”

“Once again, that’s obvious enough.”

“Or we can use the secret passage.”

Finally he got a glimmer of respect. The lovely Lillian sat up straighter. “What? Where?”

“By the fireplace.” He idly pointed. “They were often put in libraries in houses built during the period this one was constructed because it was a logical place to store important documents. I suppose I was just being a bit dramatic. If you closely examine the paneling you can see it well enough, but at first glance it isn’t obvious. There have been times in English history, I am afraid, when if your political views were unpopular enough a person might want to have a quick way to gather any books or papers that might be considered inflammatory and exit the house as quickly as possible, but not necessarily through the front door.”

“How do you know this house has one?”

He was sorely tempted to act as if it was through his
superior powers of deduction, but after a moment he shrugged. “Pondsworth is a friend of mine. He showed it to me once. It is part of the reason I chose this spot to hide from Lady Piedmont. Unfortunately, she is a bit more fleet of foot than I anticipated.”

For the first time, his companion actually laughed, though the moment passed quickly.

Lady Lillian was very pretty when she smiled. Actually, she was very pretty when she frowned also.

“Where does the passage go?” Clearly she was intrigued.

“Unfortunately, to the cellars. And if I recall, it is extremely dusty and narrow. Your lovely gown would not escape the journey unscathed.”

“Oh.” His companion looked disillusioned. “Not much of a solution, then, is it? And I have to say I am not at all fond of dark, closed spaces.”

“I didn’t say any of the options were ideal, just that they existed.”

She seemed to remember her drink and tried it again, very cautiously, making a slight grimace and coughing lightly. “What would you do if you were in my predicament? At the least I am going to get caught out in a lie because where I said I was going is quite the opposite direction from here, and at the worst, I will be discovered locked in with you.”

Obviously she had no idea how quickly he could disappear if need be. It had saved his life more than once or twice.

But this wasn’t war, he reminded himself. This was just a frivolous social gathering. Neutrally, he said, “I don’t think anyone else besides ourselves will seek the
library this evening, but should they, I will gladly take the cobwebs and the cellars, so you needn’t worry we’ll be discovered together.” Damien considered a moment. “I’d settle for the drenching if I were you. Perhaps intimate that you stepped outside for a bit of fresh air and were caught in the downpour. We’ve never even been introduced, so our mutual disappearance from the gathering won’t be connected, and quite frankly, I am not anxious to see Lady Piedmont again this evening. I believe I will just summon my carriage and return home. No one will see us together and it will all appear very innocent.”