A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2)(9)

She sipped at the whisky in her glass.

No, the only interest she had in the Duke of Warnick was in getting him gone.

“Lillian.” She whirled around to find the object of her lack of interest in the now-open doorway. His brown gaze fell to the glass in her hand. “It’s half-ten in the morning.”

She drank again, purposefully. If ever there were a time for drink, it was now. “I see you are aware of how doors properly function.”

He raised a brow and watched her for a long moment before saying, “If we are imbibing, I’ll have one, as well.”

She gave him her back as she poured a second glass, and when she turned to deliver it to him, it was to find that he’d already crossed the room without sound. She resisted the urge to move away from him. He was too large. Too commanding.

Too compelling.

He took the glass. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “It’s your drink. You’re welcome to it.”

He did not drink. Instead he moved away, to the fireplace, where he inspected a large classical oil painting of a nude man, sleeping under a willow tree beneath the gaze of a beautiful woman, dawn crawling across the sky. Lily gritted her teeth as she, too, considered the painting. A nude. Unsettling in its reminder of— “Shall we discuss the scandal?”

No.

Her cheeks burned. She didn’t like it. “Is there a scandal?”

He turned to look at her. “You tell me.”

“Well, I imagine the news that you broke down the door in broad daylight will get around.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Something like amusement. She didn’t like that, either. “Is it true, lass?”

And, in that moment, in the four, simple words, spoken in his rolling Scottish brogue, warm and rough and almost kinder than she could bear, she wished herself anywhere but there. Because it was the first time anyone had asked the question.

And it was the millionth time that she’d wished the answer were different. “I think you should go.”

He was still for a long moment, and then he said, “I’m here to help.”

She laughed at that, the sound without humor. “It is impressive, Your Grace, how well you sound the caring guardian.”

“I came as soon as I heard of your predicament.”

She was a legend, evidently. “It reached you all the way in Scotland, did it?”

“In my experience, rumor travels like lightning.”

“And you’ve much experience with rumors?”

“More than I would care to admit.”

Lily heard the truth in the words. “And were your rumors true?”

He was silent long enough for her to think he might not reply, so it was a particular shock when he said, simply, “Yes.”

She’d never in her life been so curious about a single word. Of course, it was nonsense. Whatever his scandal, it was not like this. It had not destroyed him.

It had not forced him to flee.

She met his gaze. “And now, what? You arrive to tend your reputation?”

“I don’t care a fig for my reputation. I am here to tend yours.”

It was a lie. No one had ever cared for Lily’s reputation—not since her father had died. She’d never had a patroness, never a friend.

Never a love.

The thought came with hot tears, stinging with the threat of their appearance, unwelcome and infuriating. She inhaled sharply and turned back to the sideboard, refusing to reveal them to him. “Why?”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“You don’t even know me.”

He hesitated. Then, “You are my responsibility.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help looking back. “You’ve never once taken interest in me. You did not even know I existed, did you?” She saw the guilt in his eyes. The truth there. “I suppose that is better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“That you’ve known about me for years and simply ignored my existence.”

He would not have been the only one.

“Had I known . . .” He trailed off.

“What? You would have returned to London years ago? Immediately taken up the banner of guardian and savior?”

He shifted on his massive feet, and she felt a twinge of regret, knowing that he did not deserve her accusations. She bit her tongue, refusing to apologize. Wishing he would leave. Wishing he had never come.

If wishes were horses.

“I am not a monster,” he answered, finally. “I did not ask for the responsibility, but I would have made certain you were provided for, without hesitation.”

’Twas always thus. A promise of funds. Of room and board. A promise of all the bits that came easily.

And a dearth of everything that had value.

She waved her hand to indicate the beautiful house. “I am perfectly provided for. Look at the beautiful cage in which I perch.” She did not wait for him to reply. “It is no matter, either way. I am afraid you are rather too late.” She pushed past him, saying, “I am in the market for neither guardian nor savior. Indeed, if the last few years have taught me anything, it is that I would do well to save myself. Play my own guardian.”

He did not reply until she reached the door to the sitting room. “You’re older than I expected.”