A Scot in the Dark

Chapter 9

GUARDIAN? OR GUARD-DOG?

No one in his life had ever frustrated Alec as much as Miss Lillian Hargrove.

He watched her walk away in her ridiculous dress, the bronze and gold and silver fabric flouncing around her with every step, hound and hare bobbing high above her head, and he burned with anger and embarrassment and frustration and a keen desire to leave her there in Eversley House, and return to Scotland.

A desire almost as strong as the one that urged him to chase after her.

He cursed under his breath. He’d hurt her. He shouldn’t have told her that he’d seen the dress.

He should have told her he only wanted the best for her. That he only wanted to protect her. That he would protect her, dammit. That it was all he’d wanted to do since the moment the damn letter had arrived in Scotland, summoning him to her side. He wasn’t a monster, after all. He recognized duty, and he would serve it.

And the more he was with her, the more he wished to serve it.

Perhaps he would have said all that if they hadn’t been here, in a packed ballroom, the focus of the aristocracy’s attention. If he hadn’t been keenly aware of his too-tight clothing, of his own too-big size, of his inability to be genteel or refined in any way.

If he hadn’t been blindsided by the arrival of Margaret mere moments earlier. Lady Margaret, now Countess Rowley. More beautiful now than she’d been twenty years earlier, when she’d been Peg, the older sister to his schoolmate, and he’d wanted her beyond reason.

When he’d had her, and believed she’d be his forever.

Marry me.

Alec cursed in the dim light, her long-ago laughter punctuating the memory of her approach tonight, as though she owned him even now, even as she was married to a fancy British earl—just as she’d always desired. The way she’d come too close and reminded him of how close they’d once been.

Of the way she’d left, his heart in her hand, crushed.

Women dream of men like you, darling.

But for a night. Not a lifetime.

King hadn’t warned him that she’d be there. Alec supposed he should have expected it. The ball was one of the first of the season, and the first hosted by the future Duke and Duchess of Lyne since the birth of their first child. Even if King weren’t brother-in-law to the infamous Talbot sisters, all of London would have been in curious attendance.

But he still could have mentioned Peg would be there.

Alec pushed away the cacophonous memories of a broken heart and a broken spirit, leaving only the memory of Lillian’s righteous fury.

He should have been able to manage that fury. To temper it.

And perhaps he would have done, if not for the shock and sting of seeing Peg. Of remembering her. And then Lily had called him a brute and a beast, and he’d remembered the same words on another set of beautiful lips. Another time. Another woman. Another encounter that ended with him left alone, imperfect.

And then, Lily, hurt, lashing out. Your reputation precedes you.

Shit.

It wasn’t an excuse for his behavior. He should have protected Lily—ironically, protecting her was the only thing he seemed unable to do, despite it being the singular requirement of guardianship.

Perhaps he’d be more successful at it if she weren’t so beautiful. If those grey eyes didn’t seem to see everything, if she weren’t so willing to tell him when he was out of line. When he was behaving abominably. If she weren’t so strong and independent and willing to fight for herself.

If she weren’t so damn perfect, perhaps he could be a better man when he was with her.

She’d called him a beast, and he was. Somehow, she made him one. Or, perhaps, she simply saw the truth, and left him there, at the center of the ballroom, feeling like one.

The orchestra stopped and the couples around him—doing their best to both stare at and ignore him—began to dissipate as the musicians prepared for the next set. The movement away from the dance unstuck him, and he turned away, committed to a single goal—finding a decent drink.

Crossing the ballroom, Alec ducked through a doorway into a dimly lit corridor that he vaguely remembered led to a series of salons. If he had to guess, he’d imagine there was scotch stored somewhere nearby.

Once he’d found it, he would seek out Lillian, who was no doubt hiding in the ladies’ salon, wishing she’d donned an appropriate garment and hopefully regretting the fact that she’d left him in the middle of a ballroom as couples continued to dance around him.

Likely not regretting that at all, as it was his fault that she’d run.

He’d deserved the embarrassment.

And she deserved his apology.

She’d get it. In the form of one of the men on his list. He’d seek one out and deliver him to her—for a waltz and a refreshment. They could take a turn about the room or whatever ridiculous courtship England required.

He wouldn’t turn her about the room if he were courting her.

He’d take her into the darkness on the terrace beyond the ballroom—down into the gardens where the light from the ball was gone and the stars above were all they could see, and he’d kiss her until she wanted nothing but to marry him. Until she couldn’t remember any words but Yes.

Then he’d lay her down on the cool earth, strip her bare, and feast on her with nothing but the sky as witness.

After which, he’d take her to Scotland and marry her. Immediately.

And she would regret it. Forever.

He ran a hand over his face at the thought, the idea of his hands on her—of them soiling her perfection—making him wish he was anywhere but here.

Christ.

He had to get her married. If it killed him, he would do the right thing and get her married.

But first, he needed a drink.

He opened the first door he came to, entering a dark room, leaving the door open to allow some semblance of the already diffused light in. He squinted into the darkness, making out a sideboard at the far end of what he imagined was some kind of study, a decanter beckoning him into the night.

He headed for it, grateful for the quiet, momentary distance from the ball, the aristocracy, and London in general. Both the Marquess and the Marchioness of Eversley had spent their childhood mere miles from the Scottish border, so Alec was confident that whatever the amber liquid in the decanter was, it was whisky as it should be.

He poured two fingers and drank, wrapped in the familiar rich flavor. Satisfaction flooded through him. King was a good friend, stocking the house with Alec’s whisky—distilled and bottled on Stuart land. Alec would have to tell Lillian about Scotland’s superior whisky at some point—yet another thing her England could not claim.

He leaned back against the sideboard and exhaled, enjoying the shadows that hid him from view. It was so rare that he felt invisible in London, and the moment was warm and welcome and as close to perfect as England could be.

And then she entered the room, and he was reminded of how imperfect England was. Of how it had destroyed him, and threatened to destroy her.

Of how much safer and happier she would be in Scotland, far from this place with its judging eyes and its inane rules. For a moment, he imagined Lily in the wilds of his country. He wanted to see her on the banks of the Oban. On the cliffs high above the Firth of Forth. In fields of heather that spread like purple fire as far as the eye could see.

Scotland would suit her.

The thought came with a longing that ripped him from fantasy and returned him to the moment.

He should have said something immediately. Should have announced himself. And he might have, if she hadn’t immediately moved to the window at the opposite end of the room. Whether it was moonlight or the residual glow of the ballroom in the back gardens, she was cast in a light that made her ethereal and so beautiful that his breath caught in his chest.

She raised her hand to the glass window, three long, delicate fingers trailing down the pane, and she let out a long, lush breath, one that filled the room with emotion—frustration. Sadness, and something much more powerful. Longing.

Alec’s breath returned with force at the last, at the familiarity of it.

Because, in that moment, he longed, too.

The thought shook him. He was her guardian. She was his ward.

She was a grown woman. Ward on a technicality.

It did not matter. She remained his ward. She remained under his protection. And he might have been terrible at protecting her until this moment—he might have failed at protecting her reputation and her emotions—but he could damn well protect her from himself.

And, besides, he did not care for beautiful women. They were pretty promises that too quickly became lies.

The thought returned him to the present, and he made to move, to talk to her and apologize and start anew. To convince her that he would play his role perfectly, and that they would find her the life she wished. A proper man. A loving family. A future that was filled with home and hearth and happiness, as she deserved. Whatever she wished.

But before he could speak up from his place in the darkness, the door to the room closed with a soft snick, startling them both, directing their attention to the shadowy figure just inside the room. “Hello, Lily.”

Hawkins.

Alec had an instant desire to destroy the man for risking being found alone with Lillian. For once more tempting the fates of scandal with a dark room and an unmarried woman.

It did not escape him that he’d been alone with her moments earlier, but it was different. There was no time to parse the double standard of the situation, however, as Hawkins was moving toward Lily with a speed Alec did not like. He straightened in the darkness, ready to approach and tear the man limb from limb, but she spoke before he could move.

“Derek.” Alec hated Hawkins then, as his given name swirled through the darkness, soft and lovely on her lips. “Why are you here?”

“It’s London in season. Of course I am here,” Hawkins said. “I am everywhere.” He waved a hand. “Like ether.”

Alec rolled his eyes.

“Sesily said you’re here with a rich widow. For the money.”

Good girl. Disdain was precisely what she should be feeling.

“Sesily Talbot is nothing. Cheap as the rest of her family.”

What an unmitigated ass the man was.

“I just met her family. They seem quite expensive. And wonderfully honest. Unlike others.”

“All that glitters is not gold, sweet Lily.”

“It seems to me that Sesily is made of stronger stuff than gold. She’s judged harshly by the ton in large part due to her brief courtship with you, and yet she remains tall in the face of their scorn. I wish I was as strong as she.” The accusation came next. “She refused to be ruined by you.”

“I did not ruin you,” he said.

“Of course you did. Without care.” The accusation was not angry, or hurt. It came on a thread of honesty that Alec at once admired and loathed. She should be hurt. And angry.

At him.

“Poor Lovely Lily . . .” Hawkins said, reaching for her, running a finger down her cheek, down the skin that Alec thought must be impossibly soft. “You . . . you were the mirror that reflected my genius.”

Lily closed her eyes at the man’s touch. Or perhaps his words. Either way, Alec hated the longing on her face, mixed with pain. He decided then and there to destroy Derek Hawkins. For touching her. For hurting her.

He would leave him broken here, in this dark room. He’d have to apologize to the Marchioness of Eversley, he imagined, and purchase a replacement carpet, but surely she would understand that the world was better off without this loathsome eel in it.

Before Alec could do anything, however, Lily spoke. “You promised me you wouldn’t tell anyone about the painting. You told me it was for you and you alone.”

“And it was at the start, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.” Lily’s words came sharp and steel.

“Whyever not?” Hawkins said with a laugh. “Oh, Lily. Don’t be so pedestrian. You were my muse. I am sorry that you misjudged the role. You were the conduit for my art. The vessel through which the world will see the truth of my timeless influence. The portrait is my Madonna and Child. My Creation of Man. For centuries to come, people will see it and they will whisper my name with breathless awe.” He paused for effect, then practiced the whisper in question. “Derek Hawkins.”

What utter rubbish. If Alec didn’t loathe the man already, he certainly would now.

“And what of my name?” Lillian asked.

“Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what happens to you. This is for art. For all time. You are a sacrifice to beauty. To truth. To eternity. What would you have me do, Lily? Hide it away?”

“Yes!”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“It would make you decent!” she cried. “Noble! The man I—”

Alec stiffened, hearing the rest of the sentence as clearly as if she’d said it.

The man I love.

“This is the noblest act I could commit, darling.”

There was a long silence, during which Alec could virtually feel Lily’s disappointment. And when she finally spoke, saying small and soft, “I thought you loved me,” Alec thought his heart might explode in his chest.

“Perhaps I did in my own way, sweetheart. But marrying you—impossible. I’m the greatest artist of our time. Of all time. And you are beautiful . . . but . . . as I said . . . your beauty exists as a vessel for my talent. The whole world will soon see how much.”

He set his hand to her cheek. “Darling, I never pushed you away. I was happy to have you. I would have you still. That is why I followed you here.”

The bastard.

Alec stiffened as Lily snapped her gaze to Hawkins’s. “Still?”

The artist leaned close, and Alec held back a roar of fury at the nearness, until the pompous prick whispered, “Still. Now.” There was no mistaking the sexual promise in the words. “You would like that, would you not?”

That was it. Alec went for him.

Except Lily got there first.

It felt exceedingly good to punch a man in the nose.

She knew she shouldn’t do it. She knew it wouldn’t solve her problem. Knew, too, that it would do nothing but anger Derek and likely make him more committed to her ruination.

It would only increase her shame—her shame for her feelings, for her behavior, for the consequences of it.

But there was only so much a woman could be expected to take. And once he’d resurrected the shame—along with all the pain and sadness and doubt that he’d settled upon her—she hadn’t been able to help herself.

“Ow!” Derek’s reached up to check the state of his handsome, exceedingly straight nose. “You hit me!”

“You deserved it,” she said, shaking out her hand, doing her best to ignore the sting of it. It was the first time she’d ever punched a thing, and it hurt, frankly. More than she would have imagined.

“You little bitch! You will regret that!”

“Not as much as you will regret using such language with her,” came a low Scottish burr from the darkness.

Lily let out a surprised squeak as she spun to find Alec crossing the room, six and a half feet of massive, muscular fury with a single goal—to finish the job that Lily had started.

His fist was significantly larger than hers, and packed an impressive wallop. She should not have enjoyed the sound of bone meeting flesh but, she confessed, it was rather thrilling.

As was the way Hawkins dropped to the floor like a sack of grain.

And the way Alec followed him down to lift him up with the strength of one massive arm and hit him a second time. And a third.

It was when he pulled back for the fourth blow that his coat split in two, right down the back seam. In the sound of the rending, Lily found her voice. “Stop!”

Alec froze, as though she held him on a string. He looked back over his shoulder. “Do ye want him?”

She shook her head, confused by both the question and his brogue, thickened with fury. “What?”

“Do ye. Want him,” he repeated. “To husband.”

“What?” This time it was Derek who sputtered the reply.

Alec returned his attention to his victim. “I did not give you permission to speak.” He looked back to Lily. “If you want him, he is yours.”

She believed him. There was no question in her mind that if she announced that she wanted to be Mrs. Derek Hawkins, Alec would make it so. They would be married before sunup. She’d get the man she’d mooned over for months. The one she’d cried herself to sleep for more times than she could count.

Alec would give him to her.

A week ago, perhaps she’d have wanted it.

But now . . .

“No,” she whispered.

“With conviction, lass.”

“No,” she said, more firmly. “You are terribly committed to getting me married, Your Grace, if you think to marry me to him.”

“I won’t marry her!” Derek declared. “You cannot make me!”

Alec glared at him. “Once again, I am nae interested in hearing you speak.”

Lily met Derek’s gaze. “For the record, as he is the Duke of Warnick, I think he absolutely could make you marry me, Mr. Hawkins,” she enunciated his lack of title, knowing it made him mad with jealousy, before returning her attention to Alec. “But what His Grace cannot do is make me marry you. Or anyone, for that matter.”

She thought for a moment that she saw his lips twitch at the words. At the way she stood up for herself. She wondered if he was slightly proud of her.

She was rather proud of herself, honestly.

“I would nae dream of forcing you into marriage, Miss Hargrove,” he replied.

“We both know that’s not true,” she retorted. “But I’m not interested in the current option.”

“And thank God for that,” Alec retorted.

“You’d be lucky to have me,” Derek spat.

Alec immediately looked back at him. “It speaks again.” He raised his fist and struck Derek once more. “Next time, I’ll take out teeth.”

A thrill went through her at his unhesitating response. At the way he instantly protected her. She liked it far too much.

If she wasn’t careful, Alec would be as dangerous as Derek had been.

More so.

“That’s enough, Your Grace,” Lillian said. “You’ve done your damage.” Alec stood, bringing Derek to his feet at the same time. When he did not immediately let Derek go, Lily said, “Release him.”

Not without a final word. Alec leaned down, terrifying the other man, enjoying the horror on his idiot face. “I told you I would destroy you, did I not? And that was before you touched her. Before you insulted her.”

He released his grip, dropping Derek to the ground, sending him scurrying backward like a beetle, reaching for his bloodied nose. “You broke my nose. I am an actor!”

Alec reached into his own pocket, withdrawing his handkerchief to wipe the blood from his knuckles. “If you come near her again, I shall do more than break your nose. I shall make it impossible for you to walk the boards of your damn stage. And I shall do so without hesitation. And with exceeding pleasure.”

“It won’t change anything,” Derek sniped. “The moment the world sees my painting, they’ll see the truth.” He looked at Lily. “No one will have you honorably, and the only companionship you’ll be able to find is your brutal duke and a handful of men who want you for just that—companionship.”

The shame came again. Hot and angry and desperate. And somehow, in all of it, all she wished was that Alec had not heard it.

She wished him to think more of her.

But he did not, of course. Hadn’t he said the same to her not an hour earlier in the center of the ballroom?

Sell when you can.

He did not see the similarity, apparently, as he went after Derek again, lifting him by the collar until the man she’d once loved dangled above the floor. Lily’s eyes went wide as Hawkins grasped at Alec’s wrists ineffectively. “Give me one decent reason not to kill you right now.”

Hawkins squeaked his protest.

“Let him go,” Lily said.

“Why?” Alec did not look to her.

“Because I am ruined anyway. With or without his murder on my conscience,” she said. “And because I asked you to.”

He did look at her then, the moon casting the slopes and angles of his handsome face in beautiful light. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, even now, his coat in tatters, his eyes flashing fire.

Especially now.

“Because I asked you to,” she repeated, her gaze on his.

He put Derek down.

Derek rolled his shoulders back, smoothing his coat sleeves, apparently unaware that his face and cravat were bloodstained. By Alec.

For Lily’s honor.

No one had ever cared for her honor before. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.

She liked it.

But she had no time to like it. Instead, she turned to Derek. “Remember this when you wake in the morning, and you are able to see the sun. Remember I gave you something you refused me.”

“I never threatened your life.”

She took a deep breath. “That is precisely what you did.”

“Lillian,” Alec said, and Lily held up a hand at the caution in the word. At his disapproval. He might be her guardian, but she would not allow him to manage her. She stepped around him, coming to face this man she’d once loved, this man who she’d once believed hung the moon beyond.

“I cannot salvage the opinion of those around me, the opinion Society shares. The opinion that will be solidified when you exhibit the portrait.” She paused. Took a deep breath. And added, “I cannot ever be rid of the shame I feel for the whole debacle.” She looked at Alec then. Acknowledged that he was right. That his plan was the best one. “I cannot ever outrun it.”

Understanding flared in his beautiful brown eyes, and she waited for triumph to follow with the realization of what she would do.

She would find a man. And she would marry.

Because there was no other option.

“Get out, Derek.”

He insisted the last word. “A lesser man would display the painting tonight to punish you. To punish your brute of a guardian. But I am a greater mind. More evolved than any the world has ever known. And so I bestow upon you my benevolence . . .” He paused in that way that Derek did. The way that he always had when she posed for him. She’d used to hang on those pauses, certain they predicated utter brilliance. Now she knew the truth—all that came out of Derek Hawkins’s mouth was sewage. “Consider it a gift, little Lily. For the . . . inspiration.” The way the word oozed from him made Lily want to retch with regret. “In your week, you might consider making your beast less savage.”

Alec stilled, looking down at her hand and then to Derek. “The only thing stopping me from tearing you limb from limb is her benevolence, you pompous gnat. Get out.”

The words were barely restrained, terrifying enough to send Hawkins running for the door.

Lily watched the door for a long moment after Derek left, eventually speaking to it, unable to look at Alec. “Tell me. If he’d painted a nude man, would London be so scandalized?” When Alec did not speak, Lily answered the question herself. “Of course not.”

“Lillian,” he whispered, and for a fleeting moment, she regretted refusing him the use of her nickname. After all, if anyone should use it, was it not the man who fought for her without hesitation? Without her deserving it?

She took a deep breath. “My reputation is ruined, because I am a woman, and we are not our own. We belong to the world. Our bodies, our minds.”

“You don’t belong to anyone. That’s the point. If you did, this would not be such a scandal.”

She raised a brow. “I belong to you, do I not?”

“No.”

Her lips twisted at the instant reply. “Of course not. You never wanted me.”

No one ever wants me. Not in any way that matters.

It was his turn to shake his head. “That isnae what I meant.”

“That doesn’t make it less true.”

He watched her for a long moment. “It doesna matter what is true. Only what you believe.”

She nodded at her own words on his lips. “Then we are in agreement. I am not interested in laying blame, Your Grace. I am simply interested in leaving this room and deciding which lucky gentleman I must charm into saddling himself with me as wife.”

He swore again, and she took it as her cue to leave, turning on her heel and heading to the door where Derek had exited minutes earlier. Once there, she turned back to find Alec still as stone in a wash of moonlight, his coat in tatters, along with a tear in one thigh of his trousers. Set against the dainty furniture in the little sitting room, he looked like something out of a scandalous novel—a criminal, sneaking into a proper home to pillage his spoils.

And, somehow, at the same time, he looked rather perfect.

What if he did want her?

She put the thought away.

“Let me captain this ship, Alec. I might dash it upon the rocks and send myself into the depths, but at least I did it myself.”

Before he could reply, she turned away and yanked open the door, coming face-to-face with Countess Rowley, who seemed in no way surprised to discover Lily inside the dark room. Indeed, Lady Rowley simply smiled a secret smile and leaned in. “Is Alec within, darling?”

Lily was set back by the familiarity in the question. “Alec?”

The countess clarified. “Your guardian.”

Lily gave a little humorless huff of laughter at the descriptor and opened the door farther, revealing Alec beyond.

Lady Rowley’s gaze lit in predatory glee. “I knew it. I just witnessed your former lover exit this corridor looking as though he’d been taken to task by a devastating brute. And I knew it was my devastating brute.” Lily went stick-straight at the words. She hated the sound of them in the countess’s pretty, breathless voice. Hated the possession inherent in them. But most of all, she hated the descriptor, disparaging and sexual, like he was a bear to be tamed rather than a man.

“Alec, you heroic beast,” Lady Rowley purred, “I was hoping I’d find you somewhere dark, darling. To resume our acquaintance.”

There was no question of the meaning of the countess’s words.

They were lovers.

Lily ignored the pang of disappointment that surged, telling herself that any disappointment was because she had thought better of his taste in lovers.

It had nothing to do with the idea that he had a lover, full stop.

Lily looked over her shoulder to Alec, who was looking directly at Lady Rowley, with an intensity Lily had never experienced. And she could not stop the emotion that flooded her. Betrayal.

“Darling.” The countess sighed. “Look at you, coat in tatters, still as big and broad and strong as ever. My goodness, I’ve missed you.”

Lily closed the door before she could hear the answer. She did not wish to hear the answer. Let him spend the rest of the evening with his paramour. Let her tend to his bruised knuckles and ego. Lily wanted out of this room. Out of this house. Out of this damn world with its rules that meant different things for different people.

And she meant to get out, without him.

This was not the first time she’d been alone, after all. Lillian Hargrove had made a life of being alone. And the arrival of a massive Scotsman would not change that.

By the time she reached the entrance to the ballroom, she was nearly deafened by the cacophonous chatter within. No one was dancing, despite the orchestra playing a perfect quadrille. Instead, all of London stood in little huddled groups, bowed heads and fluttering fans and gleeful sotto voce. Despite the fact that this was an event designed to underscore the social differences between people, gossip remained the great unifier.

Lily was no fool. She knew the subject of the chatter. Knew, too, that she would soon be a part of it.

Even before Sesily Talbot approached, clutched her hands, and spoke, low and quiet. “Good Lord! When I said that you and Warnick should make Hawkins the villain, I did not mean that you should beat him almost to death!”

“It wasn’t almost to death,” Lily said.

“He crossed the room with a swollen cheek, a split lip, and an eye that would make a fighter wince.” Sesily paused. “Not that I didn’t enjoy the portrait he made.”

Lily couldn’t help but smile at that. “I imagine you did.”

“He deserved it and more,” Sesily agreed before adding, “Was it very exciting to watch Warnick go at him? He’s a glorious brute of a man.”

Lily was coming to hate the word. “He’s not a brute.”

“Indeed not,” Sesily immediately corrected herself. “He cares for you a great deal, obviously.”

She didn’t like the way Sesily’s words made her feel, full of confusion and something akin to sick. She settled on, “Everyone saw Derek?”

“It was marvelous,” Sesily said with glee.

“I suppose I’m at the center of another scandal.”

“Pish.” Sesily waved the words away. “It’s the same scandal. You’ve nothing on the Talbot sisters. But I shall acknowledge this, you certainly know how to enter a ballroom.” Sesily looked to Lily’s dress. “And how to dress for it.”

Lily didn’t find it amusing. Instead, she found it terribly defeating. Regret coursed through her, and she desperately wanted to be anywhere but here. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Listen to me,” Sesily said with firm conviction, squeezing Lily’s hands tightly and forcing her to meet her eyes. “You do not let them win. Not ever. There is nothing in the world they like more than tearing a woman down for having too much courage. And there is nothing in the world that makes them angrier than not being able to break her.”

Lily looked to the woman, an Amazon set down in the heart of London. Beautiful in her too tight, red dress—a dress that no doubt made other women green with envy. She was everything Lily was not. Confident. Sure of her place. Happy with it, even.

Lily wondered what that might be like.

Perhaps it was all of that confidence that made Lily so willing to talk. Bold enough to say something she probably shouldn’t have said. “Derek asked me to be his mistress again.”

“Derek is a troll.”

Lily laughed, because it was either that or cry. “He is, rather.”

“An arrogant, addlepated, pinpricked troll.”

Lily’s eyes went wide at the creative insult. “One with a great deal of power to ruin me, it seems.”

Sesily took her hands again, and there was comfort in the warmth and firmness of her grip. “We shall survive it.”

The we set Lily back. “We shall?”

“Of course,” Sesily said with a shrug. “It is what friends do. Help each other survive.”

Friends.

She’d never had a friend. But she’d read about them. She shook her head. “Why would you be so kind to me?”

Shadow passed over Sesily’s face, there, then gone. “Because I know what it feels like to have them all loathe you. And I’ve seen them chase another away. Women like us must stay together, Lovely Lily.”

Lily wanted to ask more, but there was no time to do so, as Alec chose that moment to reappear from the hallway beyond, coat shredded, trousers in tatters, gloves stained red with Derek’s blood.

“Cor! He looks like a prizefighter. Or worse,” Sesily said, her gaze locked on him as he approached and took Lily’s elbow in hand. “Oh, the female half of the ton wishes to be you, tonight, Lillian Hargrove.”

Lily couldn’t imagine why, as Alec looked as though he wished to murder someone. As though he had already murdered someone.

“We leave now,” Alec growled, ignoring Sesily, and Lily knew better than to argue with the glittering anger in his brown eyes, or the firm set of his square jaw.

Sesily leaned in to kiss Lily on her cheek, and took the moment to whisper, “Be careful. In my experience, men who look like that are ready for one of two things: kissing or killing. And he’s already attempted the latter.”