“Brilliant.” Lucas stifled a yawn. Dear Lord, he should have slept in his bed last night! With the added security this evening, he’d need to be exceptionally vigilant.
After Lucas refreshed his clothing, he gave a quick nod of gratitude to Duff and left for the dining room. Graves, his longtime butler, nodded as Lucas approached. “Everything is as expected.”
Lucas nodded once, then heaved a sigh of deep satisfaction.Familiarity, control, expectation.They were beautiful words, ones that registered a loyalty deep in his very soul. Just like every morning, he walked to his place setting and took a seat. His glass was filled with water, his teacup with tea—two sugars, no milk—and a silver spoon rested upon his saucer. He lifted it and stirred the tea, watching as the steam swirled around his fingertips, warming them. Coddled eggs and three rashers of bacon sat upon a single piece of buttered toast, like every morning. He draped his napkin over his lap and proceeded to break his fast, his mind already spinning with what needed to be accomplished before that evening.
No less than ten minutes later, he was striding back to his study. He had taken a carriage home from the Barrots’ residence, the location of their club, Temptations. The Barrots were long-standing friends who cared little for society’s approval, and deeply adored a good party. They were the souls of discretion, and were the closest thing to family that Lucas had. It was brilliant to have the club at a residence rather than an actual hall. They could control the security, the members, and keep their privacy so much easier than if they had tried to establish the gambling hell somewhere else. As he opened the door to his study, he noted that while he had been breaking his fast, the room had been tidied, the fire built back up, and the used brandy glasses replaced with clean ones.
Damn, he loved efficiency.
He studied the lists of things that needed attending to before the party, and willed himself to have the same efficiency as his staff.
With half the sleep.
But it was true what they said: No rest for the wicked.
And tonight was going to be very wicked indeed.
Chapter Three
Liliah studied the slip of paper in her hand, telling herself to be brave. Because right now, she truly didn’t feel that bravado. The hired hack swayed back and forth as the horses brought her closer and closer to her destination, and with each step she questioned her sanity.
For pity’s sake, she wasn’t even sure this was the correct address!
But desperation was the mother of invention, or stupidity. Perhaps both. And she was certainly feeling both, especially since she’d procured her information from Spencer Holloway. But he was the only friend of Meyer’s who would not only talk but also most likely would have the information needed. All it took was a little batting of her eyes, a slight pop of her hip, and a warm smile, the rest was history.
And now she felt as if she were going to possibly be history as well. Well, at least if she perished, her father and Lord Greywick couldn’t insist Meyer marry her.
She shook her head, astonished at her own melodrama. This was no way to go upon an adventure! Indeed not. Steeling herself against the unknown, she glanced outside at the passing dark London streets. She had expected to be taken to a lesser part of town, yet as the hack continued she noted that they were only several streets away from Mayfair—in a highly affluent residential district. Curiosity melted away her fear and she watched as the road continued to grow increasingly crowded. Thankful she had instructed the hack to drive past the address and then pull over after a few blocks, she watched in earnest as her carriage meandered around a few parked hacks, their drivers all waiting.
But for whom?
Light spilled onto the street from a house just ahead. Its size seemed overstated, and there were footmen at the entrance, speaking with the occupants of each carriage before it pulled up to the residence. Interest piqued, Liliah watched as a carriage was allowed entrance and paused before the stairs. Two men stepped out and up the stairs, another footman speaking with them.
But what solidified her suspicions?
The men wore masks.
It appeared as if Spencer had given her the correct address after all! She shifted to the inside of the carriage, lest anyone see her even through the darkness, and waited as the hack passed several houses before pulling over.
It was now or never.
But she couldn’t very well go through the front door. She glanced out the window again. Certainly there was a servants’ entrance. If she could gain entrance through there, then maybe she could find a room where she could change, don her mask, and blend in. Absentmindedly, she stroked the small carpetbag beside her, thankful for her foresight in bringing it along.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the carriage door, careful to keep her head down, her hat in place. Without a word, lest she give away her disguise, she handed the driver a few coins along with written instructions to wait for her return—with a promised bonus if he remained.
The driver eyed her curiously, as if not fully believing the story she’d initially given him.
But the lure of money must have been enough, and he gave a grunt with a swift nod and seemed to settle in.
Without wasting a moment, Liliah walked into the shadows, keeping a wary eye out. To anyone looking, she’d appear as a young lad. With her leggings and boots, she looked nothing like the daughter of a duke. Her golden hair was pinned tightly against her head, a hat hiding the gold beauty. Her hands felt cold as she gripped the carpetbag tighter, taking quick steps toward the house that promised escape—for just a night. An alleyway appeared ahead, and she studied the distance between the house and alley. It was indeed close enough that it could lead to the back of the residence. She paused, her gaze lingering on the dark cobbled alley. A slight breeze tossed a piece of discarded parchment across the cobble, giving a ghostlike appearance as it danced. One tentative step at a time, she slowly made her way into the darkness, sighing with relief when the path took a bend toward the house. Stepping quicker, she watched as several lads unloaded boxes from a cart and carried their contents through an open door.
“Hurry, lads!” a man called, and Liliah saw her chance. Rushing forward, she kept her head down and walked up to the door, hoping the light spilling into the narrow street didn’t give away her disguise.
“I’m late, excuse me.” She spoke in her lowest timbre, brushing past the man.
“Ach, you’re going to be sorry, lad,” he mumbled, but didn’t stop her progress. Rushing inside, she kept her head down as she wove around servants, all rushing to and fro.
“Did ye get the champagne? The lord insisted it be served at eleven!” a woman shouted as she passed Liliah, her accent slightly Scottish.
