“Why do I have an ominous feeling?” Meyer lamented, shaking his head.
“Because you know me well,” Liliah answered cheekily.
Meyer waited, his gaze suspicious.
“What do you know about the gentlemen who are involved with the management of the place we mentioned before?” Liliah asked in a roundabout way.
Meyer narrowed his eyes. “I’d say they were a loose interpretation of gentlemen, in the way of their morality. But titled men, powerful men . . . men I’d not wish to cross.” He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
Liliah tugged on her glove, straightening it. “Does one of them go by the name Luc?”
Meyer’s gaze darkened with concern. “Indeed. Why?”
“What is his full name? Or title, if he has one,” Liliah asked, her heart pounding with anticipation.
“He would be Lucas Mayfield, the eighth Earl of Heightfield. A dark history if there ever was one. Did you happen to meet the gentleman in question?” Meyer asked slowly, as if afraid to hear the answer.
Liliah bit back a grin. Lucas Mayfield, Earl of Heightfield. A name, she knew his name! It was a small victory, but it seemed quite large at the moment.
“Liliah?” Meyer asked, his tone concerned.
She nodded. “I’ve met him.”Kissed him, lay on a bed with his body—She forced her thoughts to halt as a blush crept up her neck and warmed her face violently.
“Do I dare askhowyou met him?” Meyer asked cautiously.
“No,” Liliah answered succinctly, her gaze lingering on the ground a moment before meeting Meyer’s puzzled and alarmed expression. “I’m quite certain you don’t wish to know.”
“I’m quite certain I don’t wish to know either, yet part of me wonders if I should at least be aware so that you aren’t left to your own devices.” Meyer muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting to Rebecca. “Are you aware?”
Rebecca nodded once. She was biting her lip as if trying to keep her silence as she watched Meyer.
Meyer’s gaze lifted heavenward as if petitioning the Almighty for aid in dealing with his situation. As he turned his attention back to Liliah, she noted that his gaze shifted to just over her shoulder. She was about to turn when Meyer met her gaze. “Liliah, I need you to be utterly honest with me.”
Liliah’s brows pinched as she nodded.
“Is there any way that the gentleman you met could be aware of your identity? For the love of Mary, tell me you wore a disguise.” Meyer’s gaze was worried and he shifted his attention over her shoulder once more.
“I wore a disguise.”
Meyer’s shoulders relaxed.
“But I think it’s also possible that he knows who I am,” Liliah finished.
Meyer’s expression sharpened as he studied her. “I suggest you skirt around the ballroom to the left, then seek out your father directly, just in case.” Meyer’s gaze was over her shoulder again, watching someone.
“Why?” Liliah asked, turning to follow Meyer’s gaze.
“Why don’t you just listen?” Meyer hissed, but it was too late.
Liliah’s eyes widened as she took in the dashing figure of Lucas Mayfield, Earl of Heightfield. His midnight-black evening kit seemed far darker than everyone else’s in the room, drawing attention to the way the cut of the cloth accented every line of his body. Liliah watched as he turned to his companion, and Liliah recognized him as the man who had attempted to escort her to the study. He was just as tall and broad as she remembered, even more so as the cut of his evening kit accented his wide shoulders.
“Friends of yours?” Rebecca asked softly.
Liliah nodded, unable to speak as she greedily took in the sight of Luc. It wasn’t love, but it certainly wassomething. Attraction, maybe? But it felt more . . . insistent. Was this what lust felt like?
“I’ve never seen them before,” Rebecca commented.
“That’s because they don’t attend the parties that are of the more proper variety,” Meyer commented dryly. “There must be some reason they came out of their self-exile. I can’t imagine what that might be.”
