Page 52

Lily had brought light and laughter into Ridley House, scattering the old gloom like morning sun upon shuttered rooms. She had become everything he had not known he was missing, an embodiment of hope.

If she were harmed because of his failure to protect her, Brendan would never forgive himself.

It was time to act.

Deliberately. Without delay. Before the shadows crept any closer to the one person who now mattered more than his own life.

Lily gradually awakened, a soft smile playing on her lips as she stretched her limbs beneath the fine linen sheets. Her entire body hummed with contentment. Her plans to distract Brendan from Lady Slight had gone rather better than expected. In fact, if she were any judge, they were well on their way to falling in love and making their union a genuine match.

She rolled to her side, reaching for him, only to meet cool, empty bedding. The spot beside her was long vacated.

He had left?

A spark of unease flickered to life in her belly as she sat up. Pale morning light filtered through the drawn curtains, casting softened gold across the room’s muted furnishings. Judging by the angle of the sun and the hush in the corridor beyond, it was still quite early. Perhaps he had simply gone to his chamber to prepare for the day?

Slipping from the bed, her bare feet met the plush pile of the Aubusson carpet with a muffled thud. She found her night rail discarded over the back of a chair, the silk now cool to the touch. Pulling it on, she padded quickly across the room and knocked once at the connecting door before pushing it open.

Brendan’s room was dim, the curtains only partially drawn. It was tidy and undisturbed, bed made, clothing hung—no indication of recent use. Lily bit her lip. It was the first morning of their marriage. After such a night, she had envisioned a long, languorous morning with her husband by her side.

Perhaps he is eating breakfast?

Sighing, she returned to her room and rang for the maid. The soft tinkle of the bell was followed by quick footsteps in the corridor. Her ablutions were brief, and soon, her hair had been arranged in a loose knot, her morning gown of soft muslin fitted over her stays. Within a quarter-hour, she was ready to seek out her errant husband.

She flung open the door and promptly stumbled back with a yelp. A hulking figure stood in the hallway, half shrouded in gloom.

“Do not be concerned, milady. I am here to protect you.”

Her heart pounded, but she steadied herself and squinted into the shadowed corridor. The man was large and broad-shouldered, clad in a battered overcoat with frayed cuffs. He bore the air of someone more accustomed to alleyways than drawing rooms, and his expression, though lacking menace, resembled a grotesque leering from a gothic arch, intended to ward off mischief.

“Who are you?”

The man cleared his throat, as though unused to conversation. “You may call me John.”

Lily raised a brow. “John?”

“That is correct, milady.”

Something in his tone, or perhaps the sight of him, dislodged a distant memory. She tilted her head, studying him. “One of the Johns who protected Lady Saunton last year?”

“Uh … yes.”

“You are not pretending to be a footman this time?”

“No, milady.”

She clasped her hands before her, the muslin tight at her wrists as she tapped her fingers thoughtfully. “Lord Filminster hired you to protect me?”

“Aye, ’e had Lord Saunton ‘ire us in this mornin’ an’ told us to make sure you was safe.”

“Us?”

“Me mate … John … ’e’s downstairs. We’ll be takin’ turns watchin’.”

“And you are to follow me around? In my own home?”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Why? Did something happen?”