Chapter 3
“Where on earth have you been?” Lady Brimsey stood in the entrance hall of Brimsey House with her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
Lord Brimsey hovered behind her, his coat discarded, his cravat loosened, and a glass of something amber clutched in his fist.
Lily closed the front door behind her and leaned against it. “I went to see the Duke of Thornwaite.”
Lady Brimsey’s hand flew to her throat. “You did what?”
“I went to find out whether he was responsible for generating the scandal that appeared in the gossip sheets tonight.” Lily pulled her gloves free one finger at a time. “He was not.”
“You went to a bachelor’s residence.” Lord Brimsey set his glass down with a deliberateness that suggested he was exercising considerable restraint. “Alone. At midnight. While a scandal sheet connecting you to that very man was circulating through every drawing room in London.”
“And I came back with an answer, Papa. Which is more than anyone else accomplished tonight.”
Lady Brimsey sank onto the hall bench and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “This will undo everything. Everything Sophia and Edward worked to rebuild. The debts, the disgrace, all of it clawed back inch by inch, and now this.”
“Mama, nothing is coming apart.”
“You do not know that.” Her mother’s eyes glistened. “A rumor is a living thing, Lily. It grows. It feeds on silence and denial alike, and by morning, every household that matters will have a copy of that wretched sheet on their breakfast table.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. The footman opened it to a messenger boy clutching a stack of notes. Lord Brimsey rifled through them in silence, his expression tightening with each one. He paused on the last, a single folded sheet sealed with blue wax, and held it out to Lily.
Lady Lily, I regret to inform you that I will be unable to make our planned call on Thursday. A prior engagement has arisen that requires my attention. I wish you and your family well.
Lord Wilfrey
Lily folded the note and set it on the hall table.
“Lord Wilfrey has canceled his call.”
Lady Brimsey pressed the handkerchief harder against her mouth.
Edward brought her to Brimsey House, where Sophia and her parents were waiting.
Lady Brimsey rushed to the entrance hall the moment the door opened, her handkerchief clutched to her chest, and Lord Brimsey stood behind her with his jaw set and his eyes bright.
Sophia drew Lily into the parlor while their parents conferred with Edward in the hall.
“Tell me everything.” Sophia settled into the chair near the fire. “What did Thornwaite say when he read the news?”
“He was angry. Not at me. At the pamphlet itself. He said someone had used his name as a weapon.”
“He is right. What else?”
Lily pulled at a thread on her glove. “He suggested an engagement for the ton’s eyes. One we would dissolve eventually.”
Sophia’s brows rose, but she did not gasp or clutch her chest. She simply watched Lily with the same steady gaze of an older sister.
“And you refused.”
“Of course I refused.”
“The premise is practical, sister.” Sophia leaned forward.
“If Society believes you are engaged to Hugo, the scandal sheet becomes an announcement rather than an accusation. Wilfrey has already withdrawn. By tomorrow, every eligible gentleman who was considering a call will calculate the same cost.”
The words settled in Lily’s chest like stones dropped into still water.
“Edward and I will speak with Mr. Colborne first thing tomorrow about the forgery,” Sophia continued. “But in the meantime, you need a shield.”
They left shortly after. Lily stood at the window and watched their carriage pull away, and Sophia’s words circled through her mind like birds finding a roost. A shield.
She had never needed one before. She had moved through the world with her intellect and her family name and the assumption that both would be sufficient, and the discovery that they were not left a hollow place beneath her ribs that she could not fill with logic.
Lord and Lady Brimsey retired, her mother’s quiet weeping audible through the door until Lord Brimsey’s murmured reassurances eased her into silence.
Lily sat on the edge of her bed without undressing. She thought about the Duke. The way his voice had dropped when he said those last words. The certainty in his tone, as if protecting her were not a question but a fact already decided.
He was arrogant. He was insufferable. But he had not lied to her. And when she had thrown his reputation back in his face, he had not flinched or retreated behind wounded pride.
That, more than anything, kept her awake long after the house had fallen silent.
The knock came at half past ten the following morning.
The Duke of Thornwaite stood in the center of the parlor with his hands clasped behind his back.
His coat was dark blue, his cravat tied in a precise knot, and his fair hair was combed back from his face.
He looked nothing like the disheveled, cream-smeared libertine she had confronted the night before. He looked like a Duke.
“Lord Brimsey. Lady Brimsey.” He bowed to each in turn, then inclined his head toward Lily. “Lady Lily.”
“Your Grace.” Lord Brimsey gestured to a chair. “Please.”
The Duke remained standing. “I will be direct. A forged publication has linked my name to your daughter’s in a manner designed to cause her harm.
I had nothing to do with it, and I intend to discover who did.
In the meantime, I am here to propose a solution.
A formal announcement of our engagement.
Temporary and private in its true nature, but public in its effect. ”
Lord Brimsey’s expression did not change. “And when the engagement ends?”
“It ends quietly. A mutual dissolution, attributed to incompatibility. Lady Lily’s reputation remains intact, and she is free to pursue whatever match she chooses.”
Silence filled the room. Lily watched her parents exchange a glance, the wordless communication of thirty years of marriage.
“Lily.” Lord Brimsey turned to her. “What do you think?”
Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to refuse. But Lord Wilfrey’s note sat on the hall table. Her mother had cried. And Sophia had used the word shield.
“I agree.” The words tasted like vinegar. “On the condition that the Duke and I will discuss privately.”
Lord Brimsey looked between them. “Lily, I am not certain that…”
“Papa. I can handle myself around the Duke.”
Her parents left the room with visible reluctance, Lord Brimsey pausing at the door to fix Hugo with a look that carried the weight of every father who had ever entrusted his daughter to a man he did not fully trust.
The door closed behind them.
“Rules,” Lily said. “First. No touching beyond what is required for public appearances.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt, which was a small mercy. If she could not control anything else about this evening, she could control this.
“Noted.”
“Second. No emotional entanglements. This is a transaction, nothing more.”
His mouth twitched. “I shall endeavor to contain myself.”
She ignored the twitching. If she acknowledged it, she would have to acknowledge the warmth that climbed her neck every time he looked at her with a blend of amusement and attention, and she was not prepared to acknowledge anything of the sort. Not tonight. Not with this man.
“Third. No dalliances. No mistresses, no widows, and no women with whipped cream. For the duration of this engagement, you will conduct yourself as a man who is spoken for.”
The amusement dimmed. Something more considerate replaced it.
“You are asking me to be faithful.”
“I am asking you to be convincing.”
“If I agree to this, I will honor it. Not because I lack options, but because I gave you my word.” He held her gaze. “I do not break it.”
His sincerity caught her off guard. She had expected a joke, a deflection. Instead, he stood before her with his jaw set and his eyes steady, and she felt the ground shift beneath her feet.
She recovered. “Good. Because I intend to use this arrangement to secure a proper match. Lord Wilfrey may have retreated, but once my reputation is restored, I expect him to reconsider.”
Hugo’s brows drew together. “Wilfrey.”
“Yes.”
“You want me to help you make a match with Lord Wilfrey?”
“I want you to restore my reputation so that Lord Wilfrey, or any suitable gentleman, will consider a courtship.”
“What is it about Wilfrey that appeals to you? His conversation? His fortune? The way he folds his handkerchief into a perfect square before placing it in his breast pocket?”
“He enjoys travel. He has planned an expedition to the Mediterranean. He speaks to me as though I have a mind worth engaging, and he would allow me to be more than a simpering wife whose sole purpose is to produce heirs and plan supper menus.”
“He is spectacularly dull.”
“That is your opinion.”
“It is the opinion of everyone who has spent more than ten minutes in his company.” Hugo took a step towards her. “The man collects botanical specimens. He pressed a fern at Lady Fairall’s garden party and called it the highlight of his Season.”
“He has intellectual curiosity. You might try it sometime.”
“I have plenty of curiosity.” Another step. His voice dropped so that it was nearly inaudible. “I simply direct it toward more interesting subjects.”
“Such as whipped cream and women of questionable judgment?”
“Such as women who storm into a rake’s house at midnight and demand answers with fire in their eyes and not a shred of fear in their voice.” His gaze held hers. “That is far more interesting than any fern.”
The air between them thinned. Lily became aware of the distance closing, of the way his presence filled the space between them, warm, encompassing, and impossible to ignore.
He was taller than Wilfrey. Broader. And he smelled of sandalwood again, that same rich scent that had followed her into her sleepless night.
“Lord Wilfrey is a good man.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “He is decent and honorable, and he would never have a woman put whipped cream on his face.”
“No. He would arrive with a pressed fern and a lecture on soil composition.” Hugo’s gaze moved over her face with an unhurried thoroughness that made her skin prickle. “And you would spend the rest of your life pretending that was enough.”
Her pulse kicked. She took a step back.
“Are we agreed on the terms, Your Grace?”
He watched her for a long moment. Then he inclined his head.
“We are agreed. Although I feel compelled to observe that of the three rules you have laid out, you will be the first to break one.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The no-touching rule.” He closed the distance she had just created, and the warmth of him reached her before his words did. “You will break it yourself.”
“That is the most absurd thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Is it?”
He did not touch her. He did not need to. He simply stood close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest, could see the amber flecks in his eyes, could count the pulse beating at the base of his throat.
His voice dropped low and rough, stripped of its usual polish. “Because your breath has quickened, Lady Lily. And you have not stepped back.”
She had not. She was standing exactly where she was, rooted to the carpet, her lungs tight and her skin prickling with something that was not anger, no matter how fiercely she wanted it to be.
He leaned closer. His lips stopped a breath from her ear.
“I will honor every one of your rules.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and it moved through her like a current. “But when you break them, and you will, I want you to remember that I never asked you to.”
He straightened. The smirk settled across his features with the effortless grace of a man sliding on a well-fitted coat. He bowed, turned, and walked out of the parlor without looking back.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Lily stood alone in the center of the room. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she could feel it in her throat.
She pressed her palms flat against her stomach and drew a slow, controlled breath.
He was arrogant and presumptuous and entirely too sure of himself, and the heat that still clung to her skin where his breath had touched it meant nothing.
Nothing at all.