A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2)(78)

“Never.”

She pressed close. “Not even if I remind you of my tremendous performance?”

“Odd that you describe it as such, as I find I lack interest in an encore.”

Peg’s hand flew, sharp and angry, the crack sounding an alarm in the quiet room. He did lift his hand to ease the sting of the blow, instead reveling in the sensation. In the message of it. In the reminder it delivered.

“Do not get above yourself, Alec Stuart. You may be the Diluted Duke now,” she said, “but there was a time when you existed because of my benevolence. You would not like it if the world knew the truth.”

“I don’t give a horse’s ass if this world knows the truth,” he said. “Remember, Lady Rowley—my secrets belong to you as well. Be sure to tell your friends. No lady likes her underthings aired.”

She scowled. “You are an underthing.”

He had her. “At some point, our past had to be a boon, no?”

There was a long silence, and then she said, “My secrets or not, you would not like it if your Lovely Lily knew the truth about you. I would watch my tongue if I were you.”

Peg was wrong. He would be grateful for Lily to know the truth. It would make wanting her easier, because it would make having her impossible.

Nevertheless, he should not have come. Outside the house, he had wondered why he was calling on Peg, why he allowed her calling card to summon him. Now, he knew the truth.

He wanted her. The reminder she served.

The proof that Lily’s perfection was not for him.

He left the house resolved to two things: first, Lily would have happiness in the hands of the best man they could find; and second, that man would never be him.



Despite having stared into the ribbon case inside Madame Hebert’s modiste shop on Bond Street for the last quarter of an hour, Lily could not have named a single color inside. She was too consumed with the admonition that had repeated itself again and again for the nearly three days since she had last seen Alec.

She should not have asked him if he wanted her.

She should not have betrayed the insidious thought that had taken root in her mind, the product of protective actions and provocative kisses and a thread of hope that she should have known better than to allow access to her thoughts. To her heart.

And still, like a simpering imbecile, she had asked him.

Do you want me?

Her cheeks flamed at the memory. How could she have possibly imagined it would result in anything but embarrassment? She had seen him struggle with the answer, as though he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. To tell her the truth.

Despite that, he’d told her. Because he was nobler than other men. Better and nobler. He’d said no. Better and nobler and not for her. Not even as she wanted him quite desperately.

And then, as if telling her the truth had not been enough, he’d disappeared.

She’d waited for his return three nights earlier, ultimately falling asleep in the receiving room at Dog House, not wishing to miss him. He had not returned. Nor had he returned the day after. Nor the day after that.

He’d even taken the dogs which she had to believe meant he had no intention of returning, no matter how much she wished for it.

And so, this morning, Lily had taken matters into her own hands, and called in reinforcements.

“Aren’t you happy that we decided to take on the mantle of chaperone?” She looked up from the ribbon case to find Lady Sesily Talbot on the opposite side, grinning widely. “We’re near to fairy godmothers with all of our hard work and dedication.”

In the corner, Seleste and Seline lingered over a collection of hairpins and accessories that some would call de rigueur and others would call de trop. They giggled at something in the pile, and Lily wondered what it must be like to have such little about which to worry. They were married—or nearly so—to men who were rumored to adore them. And so they lived without hesitation. Without loneliness. Always part of an us.

Lily felt a keen spear of jealousy as she watched them, imagining how her life might have been different, if only. If only her father hadn’t died. The duke followed suit and the others, like little toy soldiers, all in a row. Perhaps she would not have been alone on Michaelmas. Perhaps she never would have met Derek. Never sat for the painting.

Never met Alec.

She inhaled sharply at the thought, rejecting it instantly. She would not trade meeting Alec. Not even if she had driven him away. Not even if she never saw him again.

“Dear Lily,” Sesily said, breaking into her thoughts, more than welcome to do so. “Would you like to tell us why we are here?”

I have found it.

We attend Hawkins’s performance tomorrow. With Stanhope.

You require a gown. No dogs.

The missive had arrived along with directions to a modiste shop on Bond Street that morning, unsigned. It had not required signing. And still she wished for it, some kind of personal acknowledgment. What would he have chosen? Alec? His initials? His title?

Not the last, certainly.

Ugh. She was disgusting herself. He’d invited another man to join them. If that weren’t enough to prove her simpering was cabbageheaded, she did not know what was. She looked to Sesily, trying for brightness. “I require a gown.”

Sesily raised a brow. “And the bit where you look as though you are a lad missing his favorite pup?”