“Someone is watching us.” Dread churned my stomach, every fear realized. She put a hand to her mouth, stood, and disappeared into the house. Anxiety settled in my gut, and I inhaled a deep breath. I lifted the sheet from the ground where it landed and readKneeling at the Altar of Achillesby Mr.Lillian.My mother mentioned Lady Tapper’s daughter’s name was Lillian. Was it the spinster daughter or another member of the household? Regardless of who she was, my world was flipped upside down. If she told someone, I could simply deny it. It was her word against mine. I was a duke, and although I had never used my title to intimidate someone, I might have to start.
Everything inside me screamed no at the prospect. Several deep breaths later, I willed myself to calm down and think. I needed Colt—my anchor in a sea of chaos— but he was gone.
“How could you be so foolish?” Gavin grabbed his robe and pulled the belt tight. The tone of his condemnation was touched with panic.
Sodomy was punishable by law; thus, I ignored his snappy accusation. While I would weather the storm because of my title, as a commoner, Gavin wouldn’t. “Rest assured, I’ll send word if something becomes of this.”
“You had better.” He left in silent rebuke.
Uncertainty continued to dog me, and I vacillated between panic and fury. I strode across the garden, folding the paper as I went. What to do. What to do. She had lost the page, and the gentlemanly thing would be to return it. That would give me a reason to speak with her. But what would I say?
Bile rose in my throat as another realization dawned. At this very moment, my mother was next door. Frenzied laughter hit me. I shook my head to clear it. Disaster wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what I would face if she found out the truth. There had to be a way out of this. There just had to be.
Colt. I needed to talk to Colt. He would have the answer. At least I prayed he would.
Chapter Two
Lady Lillian Tapper
I entered T.J. Moran’s publishing house with a leather briefcase tucked under my arm. A man in a tweed suit sat typing at a large desk, the click, click, click of the keys making a steady rhythm. What I had seen in the garden that afternoon rattled me. The sight of the two men was burned into my consciousness. It was appalling, and yet I wished they hadn’t seen me so I could have observed more of the tantalizing view. Now, I was more nervous than usual as I approached the man at the desk.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice coming out small and timid. After a year of writing my gothic novel, I was ready to present it for publishing.
The clerk, a somewhat intimidating man with wavy auburn hair, didn’t look up from his task. Perhaps he hadn’t heard me enter. I cleared my throat and put more force behind my voice.
“Excuse me.”
He glanced up, wide brow furrowed, then nodded. “You are late.”
“No, Sir, I, no I’m not.” The accusation in his direct gaze sent my heart pounding, and it took every bit of willpower I had to not run from the office. “I’m Mr. Lillian. Well, Mr. Lillian is my pen name. I have an appointment with Mr. Moran.”
“You’re not the secretary from the agency?” He scowled and leaned back in his chair. He scanned my body with a critical eye, shocking me with his boldness. “You look like a secretary.”
His unflattering remark cut deep, but it wasn’t unexpected. People often judged me unfairly. It was tragic that women were judged by their appearance and not their talents.
“No, Sir, I’m not. I’m a writer. I’m here to see Mr. Moran. I have an appointment.” I tried to keep the smile on my lips, but it was difficult. Shoulders back, I stood my ground. I couldn't let uncertainty stop me from taking this opportunity.
“Sit.” He motioned to the seat in front of the desk.
“You wish for me to sit?”
He stared at me as if I were an imbecile. As uncomfortable as I was about the upcoming interview, I acted like one, repeating his words.
“Let me see what you have.” He lifted his hand, pointing to my briefcase.
