“You should play.” Prudence pointed to the Broadwood Grand in the corner of the parlor.
“Oh.” Alice looked toward the beautiful piano with a covetous gaze. She had always loved to play. “Oh, yes! And Lily, you and Lockhart should dance.”
Before Lily could find a way out of that, Prudence grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her skin. “Not tonight, dearest. Now go.”
Alice slipped off and Prudence faced Lily. “Thisis exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“Dancing with your sister’s intended?” Prudence tilted her head as if that proved any accusation that could ever be made.
Lily threw her hands up, but she kept her tone soft so no one else would be drawn into this ridiculous argument. Well, she wished it was entirely ridiculous. Prudence was closer to the mark than she knew. “Aliceis the one who asked me to dance with her fiancé. It wasn’t and would never be my idea.” She clenched her teeth. “As I said before supper, myonlydesire in being here is to protect my sister fromanyonewho might threaten her well-being.”
Prudence folded her arms. “That isn’t your duty.”
“Oh, yes, it is. It always has been.” Lily didn’t wait for a response, but stepped away toward the set of double doors that led from the parlor to a small terrace.
She sucked in the cool night air, trying to calm herself. It was impossible, though. She would not be calm when she was here, that was evident. There was too much at stake, too much to hide. Too much to hate herself over.
She heard the terrace doors reopen and close behind her and pivoted, expecting to see Prudence coming out to continue to harangue her. The truth was far worse. It was Lockhart who stood there, bathed in moonlight, watching her for a moment before he stepped forward.
“Mrs. Manning, are you well?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, turning away from him, praying he would not come closer. But he did. She caught a whiff of that wonderful, masculine scent of him and her knees weakened a little. What would he taste like tonight if she kissed him? Would he still feel like Ares, or something different?
“Forgive me, but I don’t think you are,” he said. “You appear upset. Aside from a handful of times when you’ve been away from the group with Miss Westinghouse, you’vebeenupset since your arrival. Please, won’t you let me be of some assistance?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. He looked so sincere in his desire to fix things that for a moment, she considered confessing. Telling him who she was and why she was feeling this way and trying to find some way for them to work it out together. But that was the way of a fool. It would only make things worse, that was certain.
So she folded her arms instead. “Please, my lord, don’t press this.”
“How can I not?” He moved closer. “Especially ifIhave any part in your pain.”
“You?” she sputtered. “Why would you think that?”
He shrugged. “I have eyes in my head. I have sense, though some might debate that.”
She stared at him a fraction of a moment more and then shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do, Lockhart.”
She turned away from him, back toward the house.
“Wait,” she heard him say, but she didn’t stop. She slipped back into the parlor, past the talking guests and her glaring stepmother, and left without another word.
She had to get upstairs where no one would bother her. And she had to somehow get a handle on her emotions. Because at present she was heading down a hill that could only result in a huge crash and destruction.
And not just for her.
CHAPTER8
George stood in a parlor the next morning with troubling thoughts passing through his mind. Thoughts of a woman, but not his fiancée. No, he couldn’t stop thinking of Lily Manning.
The woman vexed him, that was certain. He wanted to tell himself that it was just because of her unexplained reactions to him, and thatwaspart of the issue. But the other was…something else. He couldn’t stop thinking of her broken expression on the terrace the night before when she’d all but begged him to leave her be. He couldn’t stop thinking of her smile, the one she easily bestowed on every person in this house but him.
He couldn’t stop thinking of the fact that his erotic dreams, the ones that had starred the woman from the Donville Masquerade over the last week, now always transformed into her.
He truly was a bastard.
“Brooding, are we?”
