Pausing, Heathcliff turned, giving his friend an impatient glare. “Yes?”
Lucas ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’ll go to Ramsey and speak with him . . . but I need you to watch someone for me.”
“Did someone get in?” Heathcliff took a wary step toward his friend.
Lucas blew out a breath. “Possibly. Though it’s not what you’re thinking. She’s in the second room on the right. I’m not finishing questioning her.”
Heathcliff’s face split into a wolfish grin. “Is that what we’re calling it? I can’t remember the last time you actually ‘questioned’ a woman.” He waggled his eyebrows and started down the hall.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing of the sort, just don’t let her out of your sight, there’s something she’s hiding.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and started down the hall, but damn it all if his ears didn’t capture the soft sound of the door opening. And he sure as hell couldn’t ignore the way his body all too clearly remembered her taste, her soft acceptance of his attention, the way rosewater clung to her skin.
Pushing the memories aside, he made his way to Lord Barrot’s office, determined to focus on the problem at hand.
Only then did he realize he hadn’t a clue what exactly that problem was.
Bloody hell.
Chapter Five
Liliah listened carefully for the sound of Luc’s voice, inching her way toward the door. The voices were too far away for her to make out the words, but just as she was about to open the door, she heard footsteps. Rushing back to the bed, she held her breath.
She should be trying to escape, she should be putting on her mask and hiding—yet she traced the outline of her lips, reliving her first kiss. Surely he had heard the mad pounding of her heart, felt the slight tremble of her hands, but all she wanted to do was taste his kiss once more, reliving the maddening sensation of his body pressed against hers and the delightful pleasure it evoked.
The door handle turned, and Liliah held her breath.
Only it wasn’t Luc.
The man’s smile widened, then froze. “Please tell me you’re not who I think you are . . .”
Closing her eyes, she wished she’d have donned the mask after Luc left, but it was too late. “That depends on who you think I am.” Liliah forced a confident smile, standing from the bed and tilting her head. Dear Lord, she hoped she was playing the part well enough!
The imposing man practically filled the door, and he finished stepping through it, then closed it softly—the gentleness a complete contradiction to his size. “Perhaps I’m mistaken.” He answered too quickly, raising her doubts. “Won’t you come with me? Lord Heightfield wishes to”—he coughed—“question you.” He bit back a grin. “Don’t forget your mask . . . my lady.” He winked and opened the door.
Drat.
Liliah sighed and walked over to her discarded mask, lifting it and carefully placing it back over her face. With a hesitant step, she followed the man into the hall. The hall opened onto a balcony and she glanced over the edge as they walked by, taking in the view. Away from home, practically compromised by a man she barely knew, and following another stranger toward a dark stairway weren’t exactly the most ladylike or safe behaviors. The full weight of her predicament weighed on her shoulders. Escape was necessary, especially if the man in front of her knew her identity.
The last thing she needed was for word to get back to her father. Perhaps if she disappeared now, then no one could prove her attendance? It was worth an attempt.
They took the stairs and turned left down a shadowed hall. Voices filtered through the closed door as they approached.
“One moment.” The man spoke quietly, opening the door and slipping inside.
Seconds later she was running down the hall and taking the door that she had used to slip from the ballroom when Luc initially suspected her. That first plan had worked brilliantly—and she only prayed her next plan would work equally well. She took the stairs swiftly, her feet going as fast as possible. Not knowing just how much time she had until she was missed, she burst through the door that led to the servants’ hall, and almost collided with a woman carrying a basket of bread.
“Oh!” the woman gasped, lifting the basket high so that Liliah didn’t unsettle its contents. Without pause, Liliah set her sights on the open back door, slowing only enough to not gain attention. She nodded to a few servants that passed, who gave her questioning glances but said nothing. Thankfully the door was unguarded, and she slipped out into the night. Running down the alley, she prayed that no one lurked about, and heaved a large sigh of relief when the hack came into view. The driver’s snores reached her ears, and she broke into a wild grin. She pounded on the carriage twice, and the driver jerked awake and spun toward the noise. Liliah nodded once, stepped into the carriage, and closed the door, biting her lip as the carriage slowly pulled away into the dark night. She likely startled the driver with her change in attire, but at least she wore the mask to lend her some privacy. She accepted her left-behind carpetbag as a total loss, but she counted it a worthy price for the escapade of the evening.
A hysterical giggle started deep in her belly, transforming into a laugh born out of fear and adrenaline. What a fantastic adventure! Her heart pounded with residual fear, yet she relived each moment with utter joy. Especially the stolen moments with Luc.
Her heart pinched at the thought that she’d never know his kiss again, nor would she likely be able to return to the club. It was a pity, she rather liked her time there—with him. It was a beautiful thing, to be wanted, to experience passion. It gave her a new understanding of Rebecca and Meyer, and it brought her own future into sharper focus. As the carriage rolled on toward home, she grew increasingly contemplative. After experiencing passion, she wasn’t willing to give it up so easily. One kiss, a few stolen moments weren’t enough. Not when she was facing a very platonic marriage just over the horizon. Yet she didn’t see a way to steal any more moments, nor did she want them with just anyone. It was a problem, one that had no ready answer.
The hack pulled up a block away from her home, and Liliah slipped into the dark, giving the driver the promised payment, thankfully stowed away carefully in her slipper. As she wound her way around her home to the servants’ entrance, she quietly tiptoed inside, up the stairs, and down the hall before collapsing—fully clothed—on her bed.
Perhaps tomorrow she’d think of another brilliant plan.
Lord knows she needed one.
Chapter Six
