Deceived by a Lord (A Lord's Kiss Book 4) Page 3
“I mean, I saw you yesterday, in the garden, with that rake of a duke.”
Tilly clutched the book to her chest. “I wasn’t…I didn’t…”
“What you didn’t do is behave properly, or protect your virtue.” Prudence’s lips stretched into a grimace of disgust. “I saw you put your hands on Lord James and kiss him like some common wharfside doxy.”
Tilly shook her head, eyes wide with horror. It hadn’t been like that. She’d kissed him because he was sweet and sincere.
“Don’t tell Mother,” she whispered. The last thing she wanted was for her father to confront James and demand marriage. Honor might compel him to wed her, but he would hate her. He’d think she was like all those women he’d spoken of.
“We’ll see about telling Mother.” Prudence looked down her nose at Tilly. “Perhaps if you find a way to pay me back the fifty pounds you lost Erwin, I’ll decide not to inform her.”
Fifty pounds? Where on earth would Tilly get fifty pounds, and what had Prudence’s husband to do with any of it? “I don’t understand.”
Prudence rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. You’ve always been very simple. It’s sweet, really. Endearing, I’m sure. At least, it was when you were still virtuous. Now you’re just simple and ruined.”
“I am not ruined,” Tilly hissed. “It was one kiss. Nothing more.” Except it was more. It was the most perfect kiss ever shared. “No one needs to know.”
Prudence came farther into the room. “Well, I know, and Lord James knows, and he’s sure to tell Erwin the next time they meet, to claim his winnings.”
“What winnings?” Tilly snapped. Why did Prudence keep going on about money?
“From their wager,” Prudence said, shrugging. “Lord James said he’d seen you on the swing and wished to, ah, sample you. Erwin, honorable as he is, spoke in your defense. He said you would never permit yourself to be kissed.” Prudence’s voice took on a long-suffering note. “I tried to stop him from taking Lord James’s wager. I knew you couldn’t be trusted not to kiss the first man who got you alone.”
Tilly gaped at her sister. Was that why James hadn’t called? She looked back out into the darkening street. The elegant coach was gone. Pain knifed into her as she recalled how Lord James hadn’t even glanced toward their house. He’d acted as if she didn’t exist.
“Oh dear.” Prudence drew near in a rustle of silk.
Tilly squeezed her eyes shut and wished Prudence far away.
“Don’t tell me you’re upset,” Prudence said. She touched Tilly’s shoulder.
Tilly jerked away.
“Tilly, it was only a kiss. I won’t tell Mother, really. Don’t worry.” Prudence patted her awkwardly. “I can’t believe you came to care for him so quickly. I’m sorry you did. I tried to warn you that he’s a terrible rogue.”
It was true, Prudence had said as much.
“What was I thinking?” Tilly whispered.
“You’re young and silly,” Prudence said. “That’s why I’m here, to help you this season. I’ll see you don’t end up with the wrong gentleman.”
Tilly nodded. Her sister sounded so unusually kind, Tilly risked a glance. Prudence watched her with a look of grave concern.
“I’ll tell Mother you aren’t feeling well and won’t join us for dinner, shall I?” Prudence asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Tilly choked out.
Prudence offered a smile before she turned away. She hummed to herself as she crossed the room.
Tilly watched her sister disappear into the hall. She closed the book and dropped it to the floor beside her so she could pull up her knees. Arms wrapped tight about them, she buried her face in her skirt and wept.
Chapter Five
Tilly’s tears soon gave way to anger. Most perfect kiss ever, indeed. How dare he make a wager over kissing her? How could he seem so sweet, so kind, with his tale of woe and his spectacles, and secretly be the rogue everyone named him?
Dashing the tears from her face, Tilly stormed through the halls and out into the garden. She knew Lord James wasn’t home. She’d seen him leave. Though the sun hung low in the sky, she would enjoy her favorite place in London without him lurking in his study to ruin it.
The shadows in the garden were long, but the air still warm. Tilly plunked down determinedly on the swing. She glanced up and went still. Not only were the curtains of Lord James’s study drawn back, but the windows were open wide. It was so obvious an attack on her sanctuary that anger brought Tilly to her feet. She glared at the mocking windows, grinding her teeth. She never wanted to set eyes on Lord James again.
Nor would she. They were unlikely to move in the same social circles, with his elevated status as a duke. Even as a sister by marriage to a baron, Tilly wouldn’t be invited to the same parties Lord James attended. She would never have the opportunity to tell him just what she thought of him, his feigned innocence or his kiss.
Tilly marched to the garden wall. She bundled her skirt scandalously high, then climbed. She didn’t manage to scale the wall with the grace Lord James had, but she didn’t care.
She reached the top, then slid down the other side, wincing as fabric ripped. She bit her lip, hoping the tear would be something she could mend without her mother finding out. Her feet touched ground. Tilly turned and surveyed her dress. A jagged rip rent the left side of her skirt. Even the most skilled seamstress couldn’t hide that.
Marshalling her anger, she resolved to worry about the dress later. Fists clenched at her sides, she marched across the lush lawn toward the house. She reached the house and stared up at Lord James’s office windows for a long moment. Her mind frantically sought any means up. Finally, she noticed a garden shed tucked against the wall between their homes.
Secured within the walled yard, the shed was unlocked. Tilly wrestled a ladder from the shed and dragged it back to the windows. She planted two wooden feet in the grass and managed to push the heavy rungs upright. A last effort sent the top of the ladder careening toward the house. She winced as wood clattered loudly against the wall.
Her torn skirt making it easier, Tilly started up. The ladder settled into the ground as her second foot left the lawn, and leaned precariously. Another two rungs and the wood trembled and bent beneath her, almost as if trying to shake her off. She clung to the rough rails for a long moment, willing both her pounding heart and the ladder to still. Slowly, she looking up and discovered she need only climb seven more rungs to reach his windows.
Biting her lip, Tilly started up once more. The ladder shuddered with her every step. Soon, she could see inside the dark room. With her goal so near, her courage bolstered. She wouldn’t climb back down now. Not until she said her piece.
Near the top, she realized she would have to climb to the second to last rung to get her legs over the sill. Her stomach knotted. She drew in a deep breath. Reaching through and around the ladder, she clung to the sill as she made her feet move up the last few steps. Finally, she half lay across James’s windowsill, grasped it tightly and rolled inside.
Her feet came down on a soft rug. She released the sill and straightened. Ignoring the trembling weakness of her limbs, she pushed past his chair to his desk. There, by the orange light of the lowering sun, she found paper, ink and a pen. She plopped down into his chair, too low for her, and began to write.
Dear Lord James,
How dare you make a wager to kiss me? You should be ashamed of the lies you told me. To think I felt sympathy for you and affecti—
She stopped and scribbled out the last word and a half. Pressing her lips together, she began a new line.
I loathe you. I despise the very ground you walk on. You’re an absolute cad, and a rake and a devil. I hope to never set eyes on you again, and you can stop this silliness with your window. I shan’t set foot in the garden again until you leave town, and if you keep leaving your windows open, bats will get in, though that would serve you right.
With cold and unkind regard,
T
She looked out, finding the ground dark below, fallen into evening shadows. She licked her lips. The distance looked much greater now than when she’d climbed up, and that had seemed far indeed.
She shot a glance toward the door. What would his servants say if she marched through the house and out the front? Was it possible she could make the journey unseen?
She shook her head. Not likely. Even less likely was somehow entering her own home through the front door unnoticed.
Already shaking, she stretched out along the windowsill. Positioning her body near enough the ladder so her legs could swing down and reach the rough rungs seemed impossible without pushing the whole thing away. Finally, sweat beaded on her forehead, she elected to sit on the sill with her feet dangling out the window, reach across the ladder, and pull her body onto it.
One of her feet met a rung. The other didn’t. She slipped down, letting out a squeak. Her foot found wood, halting her descent.
Gasping, Tilly, clung to the ladder. After several shuddering breaths, she managed to pry her first foot, several rungs higher than the second, free. She carefully lowered her foot to meet its mate.
After that, going down was less difficult. With the wall of James’s home before her, she need simply make the journey one rung at a time. Soon enough, her feet met the springing softness of grass. She clung to the ladder a moment longer, then turned to contemplate the wall.
She’d climbed over before, but she’d been hot with anger. Now, every muscle felt nearly too weak to move. With a shrug, she took a step back from the ladder. A hard shove sent it sprawling onto the lawn. She grasped the far end and dragged the ladder toward the wall. After all, she was getting better at ladder climbing, and it wasn’t as if returning it to the shed would hide what she’d done.
This time, she employed the ladder with greater ease, helped by how low the wall was. She clambered from the rough wood to the wall’s top, then slid down the other side, back into her own garden. The sound of her dress tearing again made her grimace.
Furtive now, she crept across the dark lawn. She peeked through the parlor window. Dim light flickered from the hallway beyond the darkened room dark. Her parents and Prudence would be in the dining room, with most of the staff attending them.
Tilly snuck to the garden door, cracked it open, and peered inside. No one was in sight. Relief washed over her. She cast one last look over her shoulder at Lord James’s open windows. The ladder protruded over the garden wall, the top touched by the last glimmer of daylight. Surely, early rising servants would remove it? The last thing she needed was for Prudence to see the ladder. Tilly darted inside. Her heart beat a rapid staccato. She closed the door behind her and tiptoed through the halls in a bare whisper of muslin. She crept up the stairs, then sped down the upper hall and ducked into the safety of her room.
Carefully, she closed the door behind her and leaned against the cool wood, breathing hard. She looked down at her dress, one of the three new ones. The front was soiled and torn. A second rip up the right side mirrored the first. Her hand went to her trembling mouth, her eyes going wide. A slightly hysterical giggle escaped her. What had she done?
Chapter Six
The following afternoon, Tilly didn’t even pretend to enjoy tea. She sat across from her mother, Prudence and Missus Clarke and stared over their heads. Her whole body ached. Her gown, one of Prudence’s hand-me-downs, hid several small bruises.
She’d hardly slept that night; in turns, horrified and elated by her foray into Lord James’s office, and agonized by her ruined dress. Midway through the night, she’d decided her only recourse was to burn the garment, but had instead stuffed it beneath her mattress. Her only solace was the impossibility that Lord James would reveal her actions.
“Matilda, you haven’t had a bite to eat,” Prudence said.
Pulled from her thoughts, Tilly turned slowly to face her sister. In a cold, deliberate voice she asked, “What did you say?”
“I said, you look as if you’re thinking hard about the sort of thing you would never want anyone to know.” Prudence rolled her eyes toward their mother. “Matilda.”
Jaw clenched, Tilly glared hatred at Prudence. So much for her sister’s moment of sympathy the evening before.
“How is that, Prudence?” Their mother looked back and forth between them. “What could Tilly possibly be thinking of that she wouldn’t want anyone to know?”
“I can’t imagine what Matilda is thinking, Mama.” Prudence shrugged. “It’s simply the way I read her expression.”
“I don’t believe a look can say so much,” Missus Clarke temporized. “I have noticed you haven’t eaten anything, dear. Are you feeling unwell?”
Three sets of eyes turned toward Tilly, two concerned and one spiteful. “I—” The words caught in her throat. She started to cough. Heaven above, Lord James was standing in the garden window behind the ladies.
“Tilly?” her mother asked, her voice worried.
He wore his spectacles and held two pages against the glass, his expression pleading. Her mother made to rise, her face concerned. Tilly stifled her coughing and gestured for her mother to sit.
“Uh, I—” Tilly fumbled. “I’m well, Mother, really I am.” One page was the letter she’d left, she could see that from where she sat. What the other, crumpled paper was, she had no idea.
“Whatever is the matter?” her mother asked. “Are you ill? Should I send for the doctor?”
Prudence started to turn. Lord James stepped out of sight. Tilly sagged in relief. Prudence studied the view for a moment before leveling a suspicious look on Tilly.
Tilly mustered a watery smile for her mother. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“But you weren’t well enough to have dinner last night, and I saw how you picked at your breakfast.” A frown pulled at her mother’s narrow lips. “Now, you haven’t touched your tea.”
“Yes, Matilda, whatever is the matter?” Prudence asked with false concern.
Lord James reappeared, waving the pages at her.
Tilly stood so abruptly, Missus Clarke gasped. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she said, “I’m perfectly well, Mother. I simply need a moment to collect myself.”
Ignoring her mother’s call to return, Tilly ran from the room. She sped through the halls of her family’s home. She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a maid, who screamed and dropped the broom and bin she carried. Tilly gasped out an apology and ran on. Once at the garden door, she yanked it open and burst from the dimly lit hallway into the bright noon sun.
She skidded to a halt, gasping from her exertion. Lord James stood beside the parlor window, holding a page in each hand. Sunlight glinted off his dark hair and the sapphire pin in his cravat. He looked even more handsome, more perfect, than he had the day before. She stared at him, awash in a muddled mixture of anger and hope. She bit her lip. She would not succumb to his charm again.
“Tilly.” He strode toward her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, and hurried to meet him halfway. “I thought I made my lack of desire to see you quite clear.” She meant to sound forceful, but her words came out almost like a plea.
“You didn’t write this.” He shook the crumpled page. “The handwriting isn’t the same.”
“I know I didn’t write that, whatever it is.” Was madness a new addition to his repertoire of seduction? If so, it wouldn’t sway her.
“Yes, but it’s on your family’s stationary, and it was delivered to me the evening we kissed.”
With a frown, Tilly plucked the paper from his hand. It did appear to be their monogramed stationary. She pulled the paper taunt. She recognized the spidery script immediately and gasped,
“Prudence.”
Dear Lord James,
You have compromised me in the garden.
I demand you marry me immediately.
Your future bride,
Matilda Philmont
Tilly looked up, outraged. “My sister wrote this.”
“So I guessed after reading your note.” He held out the other, still-smooth page. “You climbed in my office window and wrote this.”
Her cheeks heated, but she met his blue eyes defiantly. “I did. I was angry. I’m still angry. I can’t believe you would—” Her hand flew to her mouth.
“I didn’t make a wager that I could kiss you,” he said in a gentle voice, speaking the realization that had come to her. He caught her hand and drew it from her lips to his. He pressed a kiss to her fingers.
Her heart seemed to stammer, then resumed beating with dizzying vigor. Warmth bloomed where his lips touched her, spreading through every limb.
“Your letter is very scathing.” His voice was low and smooth.
Her eyes went to his mouth.
“Tilly Philmont.” With gentle insistence, he used the hand he still clasped to draw her closer. “I’m more than half in love with you.”
“How much more?” she breathed. Through her reeling emotions, she rather thought she was more than half in love with him, as well.
“A great deal more.” He released her hand and carefully folded her note, then removed his spectacles and stowed both in a pocket. “May I?” He reached for the letter Prudence had written.
Tilly looked down. She hadn’t realized she still held the wrinkled stationary. She nodded.
He took the page from her and crumpled it into a tight ball, which he threw over his shoulder. His expression turned serious. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“And I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Tilly blurted. “I believed the worst, even though I know Prudence can’t be trusted.” How could she have been such a fool? “But when you didn’t call as you said you would, didn’t even look at our townhouse when you left that evening—”
“You were watching me?” He grinned. His blue eyes came alight with pleasure.