Dangerous Weakness (8 page)

Lily looked toward Henry Winston, one of Cambridge’s leading scholars on the Slavic nations who spoke to someone with his back to her.

Andrew led her in that direction.

“Andrew, come set this fusty man straight,” Georgiana called across the room. He shrugged at Lily, gestured her forward, and turned to answer his wife’s summons.

Lily took a step toward Winston. The man’s companion turned, and she looked up into the penetrating black eyes of Konstantin Volkov. His lip curled in a cynical mockery of a smile.

“Miss Thornton,” he said, “It has been far too long since we spoke.”

Lily froze in place.

“You know our Miss Thornton?” Winston asked.

“I know her very well,” Volkov said, his tone implying all the intimacy Lily hated. “We met in St. Petersburg. Miss Thornton loves Russia and all things there. Don’t you, Miss Thornton?” the swine went on.

“All things there.” Does he know Papa left?
The pulse in her throat pounded.

“When last we met, we discussed your”—Volkov hesitated—“health. I trust you are well?” He looked at her as if she were a very tasty rabbit cowering before his vulpine jaws.

Lily opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened again to say, “You will excuse me please, gentlemen.”

She walked swiftly to the hallway, leaned against one wall, and gasped for breath.

Oh God. He has gotten to me.

The lights faded into darkness, and Lily slipped to the floor in a dead faint.

Chapter 12

“Where is the bastard?” Richard demanded.

“Not so loud, you’ll wake her,” his sister cautioned.

“Andrew, where is he?” he asked more quietly.

“Gone. Did you expect us to thrash him, bind him, and toss him in the dungeon? We had neither the means nor the authority to detain a foreign national. He had done nothing,” his brother-in-law answered.

“Lily collapsed in a dead faint, and I’m supposed to believe he did nothing?”

“She walked out into the hallway and fainted. Volkov—along with the rest of our visitors—expressed concern and left politely. Why didn’t you warn us about him?” Andrew demanded.

Richard forced his expression into bland control. “Volkov is a Russian agent we have watched. We have Lily protected. How could I expect him to find his way into my sister’s drawing room? Why did you invite him?”

“We didn’t invite him,” Georgiana told him. “Our gatherings are informal. He came with Winston. Shall we warn him away—or warn Winston in any case?”

Richard gave it a moment’s thought. “I think not,” he replied. “Invite Roger Heaton. I’ll make sure he attends every one of your salons.”

He looked closely at his sister. “Better yet, cancel your gatherings. Should you be entertaining in your interesting condition?”

“Don’t be a snob, Richard. I’m with child, not languishing with ague. Our gatherings continue,” she replied tartly.

“In that case, invite Jamie while you’re at it.”

“Jamie?” Georgiana laughed. “Academic conversation is hardly his bailiwick.”

“No, but he knows what to do in a crisis,” Richard said. A slight smile failed to light his eyes. “Besides, he loves your chef’s brilliant pastries.”

Andrew agreed. “Jamie is a good man to have at our back. Why do you think Volkov came?”

“To frighten Lily, to remind her of his threats. My men can handle him.” If they noticed his use of her Christian name, they didn’t mention it.

“Apparently your watchers lost track of him today,” Andrew scoffed. “Are you sure of them?”

Richard glared down his nose at his friend. “My men know their duty and do it well,” he said.
But they are damn well going to account for this lapse.

Andrew knew better than to contradict his brother-in-law directly. “Do let us know what you expect of us mere mortals in the meantime. We live to serve.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“I’ll see her now,” Richard said.

“You will not,” his sister retorted. “She’s resting. With luck she’s asleep.”

“I said I would see her, not molest her.”

Georgiana gave in. She opened the bedroom door on silent hinges to reveal Lily lying still under a coverlet by the light of a single candle.

Too pale. She looks frail.

He reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face, remembered his good sense, and pulled back. Lily didn’t stir.

Leaning close, he could smell roses and the subtler scent of woman. The urge to protect gutted him.
Too frail. Lily Thornton strides through life, a force of nature, she does not faint.

“Miss Thornton,” he whispered to his sister who stood just behind him, determined to keep this discussion formal, “doesn’t strike me as a female who makes a habit of swooning. Odd, don’t you think?” He turned to look carefully at Georgiana, robust and rosy in spite of advanced pregnancy, her second.

“He gave her a fright,” Georgiana whispered back. “She also told me she had missed her tea. That could have made her prone to fainting.”

Would she even tell me if she thought Lily was increasing?

“Is that all?” he probed.

His sister gave an unladylike shrug and a shrewd look. “That’s all Lily shared with me,” she said.

He stood for several long moments watching the woman on the bed, breathing her in, willing her to be well. When he finally turned, his sister and her husband eyed him keenly.

Georgiana shut the door behind him. “The best thing we can do is let her sleep,” she said.

“That dotty aunt of hers offers no protection,” Richard growled. “I doubt if she even knows about the threats.”

“You have a guard on her house?” Andrew asked.

“On the whole of Gilbert Street, but we can’t watch her everywhere. She would be safer at Sudbury House.” The Duke of Sudbury’s mansion in Mayfair boasted a thick stone wall and sufficient beefy footmen to guard every door.

“Mother would eat her alive,” Georgiana said, “assuming she didn’t cut you to pieces for moving a single young woman—and one she would consider of less than desirable lineage at that—into the sacred family compound.”

Richard did not often have what he considered a foolish thought, but moving Lily Thornton into his mother’s house qualified as one of his rare ones.

Lily drives me to insanity. So does my mother.

“Can you keep her here?” He looked at Andrew.
She should be housed in a home with a competent male in charge. That aunt of hers is worthless.

Andrew appeared to consider the consequences. Georgiana didn’t wait. “We could if she permitted it, which she will not do. Lily values her independence fiercely. I admire that in her.”

“Increase your guard,” Andrew said. “Assign an escort.”

“She’s been eluding Roger Heaton for a week. I’ll have to try another,” he said
.

“She’ll hate that,” Georgiana said.

“She won’t know. An escort will serve. Miss Thornton will have to put up with it.”

Miss Thornton what?

Outrage pulled Lily from the dejection that had weighed her down since her humiliating collapse in the Mallets’ hallway. Young men she had considered admirers spied for Glenaire. Disappointment piled on discouragement.

She had felt his presence by the bed. She knew when he leaned in close. For moments, she felt safe and protected, but then she heard his voice—his toplofty, commanding voice.

Damn his arrogant hide.

She sat abruptly and began to look for her slippers, grateful for the sound of retreating footsteps.

I’ll go home as soon as the high and mighty Glenaire leaves. I’ll go home and—. And what Lily? Wait for Volkov to attack? Drat them all!
She scooped up one slipper and began fastening the ties around her calf.

What difference does it make, Lily? You aren’t exactly marriage material in your current state. Go home and stay there. Let them all cool their heels in Gilbert Street.

Her resolution lasted ten days before boredom drove her to accept Walter Stewart’s escort to view Sir George Beaumont’s collection of Flemish paintings. Soon she shopped with Roger Heaton, ate ices with Stewart, and attended theatre with Heaton, on alternating occasions. Neither man ever positioned himself farther than ten feet from her. Neither mentioned orders. Neither acted particularly lover-like either, to her relief. Once or twice the even less lover-like Jamie Heyworth escorted her.

At the end of a month, over ice at Gunther’s, she lost patience with the pretense.

“Has Glenaire had news of my father?” she blurted to Heaton, her escort du jour. She had no sympathy with his stricken look nor respect for his inarticulate reply.

“Come, come. You know we should have heard by now. What does the marquess say?”

“We continue to hope that no news means all is well. Repairs can drag on,” Heaton said.

Lily knew that to be true. Once they had put up on Malta for four months waiting for repairs so they could complete a journey to Rome. Her mother had been alive then, and the time had been happily spent. Not this time.

“Waiting batters one’s spirits,” she sighed.

“I know. Your desire to see your father is natural,” Heaton said.

Do you know how frightened I am? Has he told you what Volkov threatens?

Every passing week put her in greater jeopardy of discovery. Discovery of her condition by the gossips would ruin her socially. Discovery by Glenaire would destroy her life.

They finished their ices in awkward silence. Heaton helped her to her feet and walked her to their waiting carriage.

“Don’t worry about your father, Miss Thornton,” he told her. “If you know we are watching for Volkov, then you know we will take care of you.” He said it with smug confidence. Lily didn’t share it.

“Thank you, Mr. Heaton. You’re doing your best, I am sure.” Her escort preened.

Glenaire assumes his good intentions are enough also.
If Papa suffers, I hope the marquess finds the well-known end point on the road of good intentions. I hope he rests in hell.

That thought steeled her nerves all the way home. When the pompous young man handed her from the carriage in front of her Aunt’s townhouse, a worse thought struck her.

If Glenaire’s efforts don’t bear fruit soon, I may be forced to leave London before Papa arrives. Where will I go then?

Chapter 13

Convivial company spilled out of Richard’s sister’s house and out into the street shouting their good nights and continuing their obscure academic arguments in pairs and threes as they dispersed to the their own homes. Lily wasn’t among them.

The hour loomed late, too late for a newcomer, but Richard believed he had timed his arrival perfectly. He waved the butler aside and climbed the stairs.

“You’re late, brother,” Georgiana said. She made no effort to hide her amusement at his appearance. Richard never attended her salons. “Did you have an earlier engagement?”

His eyes found Lily and held. Her color appeared better; she sat straight, not as weary as before. He traced the slope of her neck and followed the garland of forget-me-not and ivy embroidered on the neckline of her muslin dress with his eyes. He felt his body react to the sight and frowned at Lily.
That dress is too damned transparent by far
.

“Stop glowering at my guests!” his sister snapped. “Sit before you frighten us all.”

Get a grip, man. Stewart does his duty. All is well.

“Sit down and stop towering over us,” Georgiana went on.

He spotted a sturdy chair, half hidden by the bookshelves. No footman leapt to assist.
Typical. Georgiana’s household management has gone ramshackle since she married Andrew Mallet
.

He pushed it toward the group clustered by the open window and peered at Stewart.
Does he have to lean so close to her?

“As you see, Mr. Stewart obeys his orders,” Lily pointed out tartly. She smiled at the younger man. “And he held his own against Professor Appleton on the importance of our presence in Malta.”

Walter Stewart colored; he did not speak.

“Good work, Stewart,” Richard grumbled. He sounded grudging even to his own ears. “The hour grows late, and you have committee work tomorrow. I will see Miss Thornton home.”

Stewart hesitated momentarily, glancing at Lily and back at Richard.

I said leave, damn it.
Richard held Stewart’s eyes until the man looked away and rose to make a courteous goodbye to his hosts.

“Well, at least one member of the Foreign Office has manners,” Georgiana drawled, bringing a grin to her husband’s face. “That was not well done of you.”

“What? He managed his assignment to escort Miss Thornton. I relieved him.”

“His assignment? Am I furniture? A report? A piece of baggage to be transported?” Lily said hotly. She looked angry; he liked Lily angry. Anger gave her color; her chest heaved. He liked it very much indeed.

Enough Richard!
He pulled his eyes from her heaving anger. “Nonsense,” he said, looking at his brother-in-law but addressing Lily. “You know the danger. The Foreign Office is responsible for Miss Thornton’s protection.”
A fact that may surprise the foreign secretary.

“Checking up on us, Richard?” Andrew asked.

“Most affairs have guest lists. Your salon is, as you said, informal. I wanted to be sure Volkov didn’t slither in again.”

“Roger Heaton told me you had word Volkov has left London,” Lily said.

Roger Heaton talks too much.

“But not England,” he told her.
I wasn’t going to tell you he merely went to Portsmouth, sniffing about the docks and taverns for information.

The confusion in her eyes stabbed him. “He made no attempt to travel to Russia,” he said.

“Or Copenhagen?” she asked softly.

“No, not that either.” He wished he could wipe the worry from her face.

“Why didn’t you just come earlier? You could have helped Stewart defend the concessions we won at the Congress of Vienna,” Andrew said.

“Vienna settled everything—and nothing. There is nothing to discuss with amateurs. I had another engagement as your wife suggested.”

“Do tell,” Georgiana prodded.

“If you must know, I attended a dinner party with the Duke and Duchess of Lisle.”

“Sarah Wharton’s parents?” He sister laughed. “Are we to wish you happy?”

“Not yet,” he said, glancing at Lily.

“Mother must be impatient,” Georgiana said.

Richard grunted. “She will have to wait. I know my duty to the estate.”

“London watches you avidly,” his brother-in-law said.

“London will have to wait also. It’s time for me to escort Miss Thornton home.”

She looked like she might object.

Don’t be a fool, Lily.

She didn’t object until they descended to the Mallets’ front door and he gestured to the door of his waiting carriage.

“No, thank you. I prefer to walk, my lord. I’ll bid you good night here.” She turned to go.

Richard directed his coachman to wait in Russell Square and caught up with her in two strides.
Stubborn woman.

He winged his arm at her, but she hesitated before taking it.

“I suppose I have no choice,” she said when she reached accept his arm, her tiny hand white on his black jacket. She walked in silence.

“You are well?” he asked.

“Quite,” she replied.

They crossed to Bedford Square.

“The overly warm weather doesn’t bother you?”

She shook her head.

Her hand, he realized, trembled where it lay on his arm. A fierce desire to protect seized him. He placed his other hand over it.

“My lord?”

“You trembled.”

In the distance, his carriage turned away from them. They walked into the narrow confines of Gilbert Street, draped in darkness. Her home lay four doors down.

“I did not,” she protested. “Even if I did—”

A shaft of yellow light from a window lit her face. She looked up, momentarily inarticulate.

Can she see desire on my face?

“—what concern is it of yours?” she finished in a whisper.

“Your well-being is very much my concern, Lily. Very much indeed.”
It shouldn’t be, but it is.
He searched her face in the dim shaft of light. He saw confusion in her eyes; he watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips.

Fascination with that mouth held him even while he used his free hand to pull her around into shadow.

She had ample time to protest when he lowered his mouth toward hers. Ample time. She did not.

One kiss. One taste before I tie myself to Sarah Wharton.
He clamped down on his raging desire.
One gentle salute, a farewell.

Lily froze momentarily but didn’t pull away. At his persistent urging, she opened her lips slightly and allowed him access. For a long moment, the taste of her satisfied him. When her hand crept up his neck and into his hair, however, the need for more overwhelmed him. He pulled her closer, tasted deeply, and slipped his hand to her breast.

Lily wrenched herself away at that with a groan.

“What do you think you’re doing? What, dear God, do you think I am.” She turned on her heels and walked toward her house.

“Lily, wait—” he said, catching up in two long strides. He grabbed her arm to turn her. She tried to shake him off.
Damn it, Lily, you seemed willing enough.

“Wait for what? For you to bring my father home? For you to maul me again? Leave me be.”

He dropped his hand.

“Go to Lady Sarah,” she went on. “Make your addresses. London will fall at your feet. Just leave. Me. Alone.”

He had no answer for that. No apology either.
What does this confounded woman do to send my wits begging?
For a brief moment, he considered offering for her again.
She will only throw it back in your face.

Instead, he bit back an angry retort and handed her to the door. She didn’t look back when the servant let her in and closed the door behind her.

He stood on the pavement staring at the closed door.
She’s right, though. Nothing good can come of this. Offer for Lady Sarah Wharton and be done with it
.

Lily stood in her darkened bedroom and pulled the curtain aside. Richard still stood outside her house watching the door as if she might emerge from it. He shook his head.

He walked across the street and moved unerringly to the gap between one set of townhouses and the next. A man stepped out of the shadow and leaned forward for a word.

As if satisfied, Richard strode down Gilbert toward Bedford Square.

She sat on her bed in the gloom and weighed her options.

Papa could be marooned in Copenhagen for months. He is probably making free with the libraries there. He probably assumes I manage fine on my own. He probably feels no need to hurry.

There would be no rescue by her father; Lily’s luck had run out.

Three months. I can’t wait any longer.