Twice Fallen (8 page)

He should have known Colton wouldn’t let the subject go so easily.

“It hurts now and again.” Damien affected a shrug. He was crippled to an extent, but the minor inconvenience and discomfort was a reminder he was lucky to be alive—lucky to still have his leg at all, and he refused to dwell on it other than as a symbol of triumph rather than misery. His family’s concern was touching, but really, unnecessary. There was a far more intriguing topic than his leg. “I’m out of touch with society. Tell me, what do you know of the Bourne family?”

Colton was not exactly attuned to the latest gossip and he had never cared for it in the first place, but by necessity he spent a lot of time in London and men talked every bit as much as women. Though it did no young lady’s reputation any favors to be found locked in a room with a gentleman who was not her husband, it seemed to Damien—and he’d been thinking about it quite a lot—that Lady Lillian’s reaction to the situation had been a bit extreme. There was also the reference to society not considering her innocent. With her beauty she should have been married off several years ago, and he admitted to some curiosity over what had happened.

He was also having some difficulty putting out of his mind how she looked clad only in flimsy linen trimmed with lace, her slender arms bare, the top curves of her creamy breasts exposed, her dainty calves and ankles visible.… He’d done his best to conceal his purely male reaction and thought he’d succeeded, but that did not
mean the image of her scantily dressed body wasn’t all too memorable. She was definitely shaped to his tastes, graceful and feminine.

Even more entrancing than her undeniable physical appeal, she had two traits he very much admired. Courage—he’d felt the way she’d clung to his hand when they entered that extremely narrow dark passageway—and intelligence. Empty-headed females, no matter how beautiful, bored him.

“The Earl of Augustine’s family?” Colton frowned. “The American? I only know him in passing, actually. He very recently married Eddington’s daughter.”

“So his sister mentioned.”

“Which one? There are three of them, I believe.”

“Lady Lillian.” Damien did his best to sound neutral, and he did neutral very well. “We met last evening.”

“Oh?” Colton lifted his brows a fraction.

“At Pondsworth’s rather tedious rout. At least she could carry on a sensible conversation, but maybe that is just her age. A bit past it for a debutante, isn’t she?”

His brother was silent for a moment. “I’m trying to remember. Something happened… I recall only because she and Brianna made their bow at the same time. I believe Augustine’s sister eloped with Viscount Sebring, and as it turned out, he didn’t marry her after all. There was a scandal and she retired from society.”

That certainly would account for her panic and willingness to resort to a drastic solution to avoid being caught in another very compromising position. “I know Sebring,” Damien said slowly, thinking back. “That all seems rather unlike him unless he’s changed considerably. We were at Cambridge together and good friends.
I’ve always thought him a decent sort. Because of the war I haven’t seen him in years, but it still seems out of character for the man I once knew.”

“I’m not privy to the details.” Colton’s gaze was speculative. “Shall I ask Brianna if she knows more? You seem quite interested.”

Damien wasn’t sure how to answer the question.

That of itself was interesting.

A

The clink of china came softly, the candles flickered in the candelabra, and they were already past the fish course. The paneled formal dining room was lit by a fire against the cool fall breeze, the flames warm and cozy, if cozy was possible in a room of its size. Once dinner was over, Lily had plans to escape to her room, where Miss Austen’s latest work sat by her favorite chair, at this time only half-read. She couldn’t wait to finish it.

“I understand you aren’t accompanying us out tonight.”

She glanced up as the plate of duck with roasted figs was slid in front of her by a footman. James sat across the table, the flickering light doing nice things to the planes of his face. “No,” she informed him. “I’m staying in, and if you have plans to scold me for it, don’t bother.” Lily took a sliver of duck and put it in her mouth. It was delicious, succulent and savory, yet sweet from the figs. She chewed and swallowed it before she added, “It is like a rare glimpse of freedom when one finds herself under the hawklike supervision of the Dowager Duchess of Eddington to have a relaxing night free of societal interaction,
and especially so after today’s somewhat grueling tea.”

“Lily, please,” her younger sister Carole said in remonstrance. “I thought it was lovely.”

“That is because you were not seated next to an aging baronet,” she said, doing her best to adopt a teasing tone.

Lily
had
been seated next to Sir George Hardcourt, who was at least two decades her senior and was already twice widowed. Yes, he was by all accounts wealthy, not unattractive, and while a bit on the dull side, still considered a tolerably good catch, but it had been all she could do to make the requisite small talk, choke down a sweet biscuit, and swallow several cups of tea while glancing as covertly as possible every few minutes at the clock.

Surely the duchess didn’t think that Sir George, no matter that he was quite openly in the market for a third wife, would make a suitable husband.

“No, I wasn’t,” Carole admitted, blushing. She’d sat next to her Lord Davenport, who was both young and attentive, and truly, Lily was delighted her sisters were enjoying such success this season.

“There, you see.” Lily took a sip of wine, in her mind the argument settled. It was one matter to sit and flirtatiously enjoy the attentions of a man you liked, and another to suffer through an hour and a half of meaningless conversation with someone old enough to be her father who eyed her as if sizing up a prize mare.

She and Carole might have attended the same tea, but they hadn’t quite had an identical experience.

“I understand,” James said from across the table, his smile slight. “One traumatizing event a day is more than enough.”

He
did
understand her and always had despite his admonishments at the ball, acknowledging that she needed time to herself. That was one lovely aspect to their relationship. He was six years older but they had still spent a great deal of time together as children, and now with Jonathan in the countryside with his new wife for the next few weeks, James had become responsible. Lily couldn’t tell if he minded officially squiring them to functions or not, but surely it cut into his personal life—which she hadn’t given much consideration to before their interesting exchange last evening. She’d just assumed her cousin followed the usual pursuits of young men from aristocratic families, and actually, though he’d always been discreet, she rather thought he had.

But now she had the impression he was being downright
secretive
.

Interesting.

“I agree.” She took another bite of duck, which was actually all the more delicious now that she knew her family was not going to argue her absence from the evening’s festivities.

After dinner was over, Lily started to rise and join her sisters as they went upstairs to change but she hesitated, reminding herself she was just going to put on her dressing gown and settle down with her book anyway, and waited as the decanter of port was brought to the table. When the footman exited the room, she cleared her throat. “Do you mind if I stay a moment?”

“Of course not.” James sat back down, but there might have been just a slight glimmer of wariness in his eyes. “Would you like a glass?”

Ladies didn’t usually join the gentlemen for their
afterdinner port, but then again, they didn’t sip brandy while locked in libraries either. “I think I would. Yes, thank you.”

Her cousin obligingly went to the sideboard and got a glass, pouring her a measure. Then James lifted his brows in polite inquiry, reclining in his chair, his posture relaxed. “I’m rather glad you decided to join me. Port after dinner is a lonely business when you are the only one present. What is it you wish to discuss with me?”

“Isn’t this when you loudly debate politics and tell bawdy jokes?” She smiled back, not quite willing to be so direct, so quickly. “I’ve never been invited before, but that is what we ladies assume transpires.”

“Ah, you see how very dull it would be for me to argue Liverpool’s policies all alone, and bawdy jokes are much less amusing when told to oneself. I would much rather discuss what has you so preoccupied. You’ve been very quiet this evening. Is something amiss?”

“Other than the duchess’s misguided matchmaking this afternoon? Sir George as a possible candidate? Truly?”

“In Her Grace’s defense, he’s a good sort, and considering he asked me about you the other day at Tattersall’s, I suspect the seating arrangement was by his request. I believe he referred to you as the ‘lovely Lady Lily.’ ”

It hadn’t really occurred to her the duchess might just be obliging her guest. Grudgingly, she said, “I suppose then I can forgive her. I was afraid she was getting discouraged enough she was starting to think the best I could do was a man two decades my senior who would be willing to overlook my less-than-pristine reputation to obtain a young wife.”

“I’m certain she thinks no such thing. It isn’t your lack of prospects that bothers her, but rather the array of possibilities.” James grimaced. “She gets a certain gleam in her eye when she accompanies you to social events, which I admit as a bachelor fills me with terror. Luckily, since I am your cousin, I am not the focus of her attention. I imagine her like a general, with chart and diagrams, and lists of bloodlines and bank accounts. You’ll make a brilliant match. I’ve no doubt of it. She won’t have it otherwise.”

“I’m glad you find it all so amusing. I could delicately hint that you could use some help in selecting a wife,” she said tartly.

“Lillian Bourne, don’t you dare.”

“Can you tell me what you know about Damien Northfield?”

That stopped him, the glass of port suspended in his fingers, his blue eyes registering surprise. She was a bit surprised too, for she hadn’t meant to blurt it out that way. However, this was James. If she could ask anyone and be assured it would stay just between the two of them, he was the one.

The grandiose dining room was quiet, the footmen having departed with the dishes and salvers. James finally said slowly, “Northfield? Rolthven’s younger brother? He’s a few years older than I am. He left for Spain and he has only recently returned to England even though the war has been over for some time. He was severely wounded at Waterloo as I understand it.”

Lord Damien’s pronounced limp certainly indicated that was true. “I see,” she murmured, remembering the faltering moment on those steep, dust-covered stairs.

“Why do you ask?” James asked simply, his long fingers toying with the stem of his glass, watching her intently.

“He and I have met,” she said wryly, “and under the most unusual circumstances possible. Last evening, to be precise. It was why I was absent from the ball for so long.”

“Oh?”

The port was warming as she sipped it and recounted the series of events, but omitting the part where she’d removed her gown, for she was sure James would take exception to that in a protective male fashion. He listened with a faint hint of amusement in his eyes, especially at the beginning when she explained how Damien Northfield had been cornered by Lady Piedmont. But all humor vanished when she went on about the broken key, the intractable window, and their final decision to go through the cellars.

“At least he was resourceful,” he muttered, his glass empty now. “But, I cannot believe you agreed to the passageway. Nothing terrifies you more.”

“I had to.” She felt a bit better for being able to tell someone what had happened. “I am uninterested in being the one who constantly brings scandal to our family.”

He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “That’s hardly true. One error in judgment is hardly constant disgrace. You made a single mistake and I still blame Sebring for it anyway. The only reason I was worried last night was for
your
sake, not the Bourne family. I think I can say fairly that we all feel that way.”

James hardly knew the whole truth about her elopement, and she wasn’t interested in enlightening him either,
though the loyalty was touching. She asked quietly, “Surely you will cross paths with Lord Damien. Can you please discreetly thank him for me for his assistance? I must admit in my rush to return to the ball without being noticed, I just hurried away. He was gallant and I was too flustered to be gracious about it.”

There, that should do it. Surely the reason she couldn’t stop thinking about Damien Northfield was that she’d dashed off without acknowledging his assistance.

Wasn’t it?

“I’ll tell him,” James said quietly, but his gaze was speculative.

Damien might have returned from war, but he didn’t go home.

Duty was one matter, but he declined to stay at the ducal mansion in Mayfair. After all those years of quietly pursuing the French in his own way, frequently behind enemy lines, sometimes hundreds of miles into occupied territory, catching very little sleep, always on his guard, Damien found it disconcerting to be in such a busy household. There were not only servants around every corner, but now that his younger brother, Robert, his lovely wife, Rebecca, and their twin daughters also had a suite in the family wing, the sounds of children laughing and playing were pleasant, but distractingly different than his normal life.

Perhaps he should refer to it as his
former
life.

A part of him wondered if he would ever quite acclimate to civilian existence.

“You took your time.”

He registered the voice with unerring recognition and
couldn’t help but break into a grin after the first startled moment. “My apologies,” he said in a moderate tone that conveyed no emotion. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. You worked quickly.”