Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)
Lily lay curled beneath Wesley’s heavy form, dazed and trembling. A deafening blast had sounded, but her mind refused to place it. The footman was motionless above her, and she could scarcely think, let alone move.
With effort, she pushed against his weight, trying to dislodge him.
Moments later, the burden was lifted away, and a rush of cool air touched her skin. She fell back with a soft gasp, grateful for the release.
“Lily, are you hurt?”
It was Brendan. He hovered above her, his hands brushing over her arms and shoulders with urgent care.
“My throat is sore, and my knees are rather battered,” she whispered.
“And I may have twisted my wrist. I … I cannot seem to catch my breath, and I have never felt such terror, but I am rather thrilled that …” She lifted her hands slightly before letting them fall again, adrift in the shock of it all.
Now is not the time to ramble, Lily Billy.
“What happened?” she breathed, her voice shaking.
Brendan gathered her gently into his arms, enveloping her in warmth and strength. The embrace undid her. After the cruel grip of Wesley, Brendan’s presence felt like sanctuary.
“And what are you doing here?” she murmured.
He said nothing at first, only buried his face against her shoulder and held her as if he never intended to let go.
Then, at last, he raised his head.
“What the devil, Michaels?”
The butler replied in his usual dry fashion. “I was protecting the baroness.”
“With a rifle?” Brendan asked, incredulous. “What if you had missed?”
Lily heard Michaels click his tongue. Still cradled in Brendan’s arms, she did not look around. She had no desire to leave the safety of him. Not yet.
“I imagine your runner informed you that my father was a gamekeeper,” Michaels replied. “I know my way around a rifle. Besides, her ladyship is nearly a head shorter than the footman. My odds were solid.”
There was a soft thud behind her. Perhaps he had nudged something aside.
Rifle. Her thoughts reeled. Michaels had shot Wesley.
Brendan’s cheek came to rest once more against her temple.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“It is my pleasure, milord. Shall I send someone for Briggs?”
“Yes.” Brendan’s arms tightened around her again, not with panic, but possessive relief. And this time, Lily leaned into it freely. His grip no longer frightened her. Her hand slid around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat.
She became aware of his breath at her temple, then the light press of his lips in her hair. Gentle. Reverent.
He tipped her chin and kissed her—soft, slow, as though promising he would never let her come to harm again.
Lily sighed, all her fear dissolving into stillness. Her heart fluttered like petals caught in spring wind.
When he rose, he carried her as if she weighed nothing, striding from the small drawing room with careful purpose.
“John,” Brendan said over his shoulder, “find a sheet to cover the body until the coroner arrives. Then meet us in the drawing room at the top of the stairs.”
Ridley House was rapidly running out of suitable rooms, Lily mused in a hazy sort of way as she nestled into her husband’s chest, his familiar warmth anchoring her to the present.
Brendan carried her down the corridor, up the stairs, and into the larger drawing room on the next floor.
Without a word, he crossed to the windows overlooking the quiet street and sank into the faded navy settee, keeping her gathered close against him.
His cheek came to rest atop her head, and he simply held her.
Lily did not mind the silence. Not in the least.
She floated somewhere between exhaustion and wonder, her mind too muddled to piece together all that had just occurred.
Perhaps it was the shock of the assault, the breathless terror of nearly being strangled, or the dizzying relief that she was still here, in Brendan’s arms. Whatever the cause, she refused to dwell on the horror.
For now, she let herself simply feel the miracle of being alive, safe, and cherished.
They sat without speaking while her pulse slowed and her chest eased, her thoughts gradually aligning into order. At last, she stirred.
“Michaels shot Wesley?” she asked softly.
“He did.”
“Is he … ?” She trailed off, uncertain how to phrase the question.
Brendan nodded once.
Lily stilled. A ripple of revulsion passed through her, her stomach twisting. She had been beneath the footman, beneath the lifeless weight of the man who had threatened her life. The lassitude that had dulled her mind since the moment she hit the floor began to fade.
“That is … horrifying.”
“I have never been so afraid,” Brendan said, his voice low. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
She pressed her cheek to his chest again, comforted by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Would that have been such a terrible thing?”
His arms tightened around her. “A very terrible thing, Lily Ridley.”
“Why—?”
A discreet cough from the doorway interrupted her.
“I have sent for Briggs,” Michaels said calmly, “and I have arranged to notify her ladyship’s family of what has occurred. Shall I bring a restorative for Lady Filminster? Perhaps a cordial for the nerves?”
Brendan did not move, still wrapped around her protectively. “No. Lady Filminster does not imbibe.”
“Some sweetened tea, then? Or coffee, perhaps?”
Lily stirred slightly. “Coffee? I have never tried it. Is it truly any good? It costs a fortune. I remember seeing the accounts at home. Papa pays an outrageous sum for it. He is not one to spend frivolously.”
Brendan chuckled and raised his head. “Coffee, then. But, Michaels, with plenty of milk and sugar.”
The butler’s steps receded down the hall.
“I would not advise developing a taste for it,” Brendan said, his tone warm with affection. “You are spirited enough as it is.”
Lily smiled, then gave a small squirm. “I believe I should like to sit up now.”
Brendan shifted carefully, easing her from his lap and settling her beside him. She smoothed her dress, straightening folds and tugs, trying to collect her thoughts. Brendan said nothing. He only reached for her hand and held it gently between both of his.
Michaels returned with the tray before Lily had quite gathered her wits. Brendan poured a cup, adding the generous amount of milk and sugar he had requested.
Lily blinked as he stirred the contents. “So much sugar?”
“To help clear the fog after your shock. And coffee is terribly bitter.” He extended the cup to her with a reassuring look.
Leaning forward, she accepted it, lifting the delicate porcelain to her lips for a tentative sip. “How strange it tastes.”
“It might be wiser to take tea,” he said with a faint smile. “Coffee can have peculiar effects on one’s energy.”
Lily nodded, uncertain whether that was a gentle jest at her expense. She certainly did not wish to chatter any more than she already had.
“Why did you come ba—”
“Lily!”
She turned to see her brother entering the drawing room at a run. His face was flushed, glistening with perspiration, his hair disheveled and cravat half undone.
“Aidan? How did you arrive so quickly?”
“Ran here … as soon as we heard the news … Left our parents … to take the carriage … Terrifying … to hear you had been attacked. I …” Her brother raked his hands through his damp hair before crossing the room to drop on a knee by her side.
Taking her hands up in his, and shaking his head as he sought words, he exhaled sharply.
“This is my fault! If I had taken care of you that night, instead of abandoning you to carouse with my friends …”
Lily frowned, pulling him closer and lifting her arms to hug him. “It is not, Aidan. I am well. Gracious! You must have run like the wind to arrive here so quickly.”
“I should never have left you alone.”
“But you did, and now I am married. Life goes on.”
Aidan groaned. “Until it does not.”
“I am safe. See, you are speaking with me at this very moment. The entire matter is settled.”
Aidan pulled away. Her brother was so tall that even lowered to one knee, they were practically eye level. From this close, she could see his pupils were dilated. “Is it over? Was the footman the one who committed the murder?”
Brendan cleared his throat. “No, I am afraid not. He claims he was paid to conceal the identity of the killer. At least we know now that it was nobody in the household.”
Aidan jumped to his feet. “How do we know it is true?”
Her husband must have felt uncomfortable with her brother towering over them.
He rose up, walking into the cleared space in the middle of the room.
The drawing room had plenty of the large, wooden furnishings of the rest of Ridley House, carefully placed around the perimeter of the room.
They were surrounded by the exceptional strapwork of very fine pieces, even if their home was as gloomy as a cave.
But Lily had heard that the King preferred to arrange his furniture in a different manner.
Perhaps when they renovated Ridley House, they would rearrange the furniture into the informal groupings of the royal household.
Brendan’s voice called her back to the more pressing subject at hand. “I suppose we shall search his things to find evidence of the payoff.”
Aidan’s nostrils flared. “If it is true, then there is still a killer out there. Someone who might harm my sister!”
“We will keep our guards to patrol the house—”
“What?”
Brendan glanced over at Lily, who had straightened in dismay. She did not want to be followed around the house now that they knew Wesley had been the one on their staff working in collaboration with the true perpetrator.