Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(47)

Luke smiled at the petulant droop of her lips. “Never.”

Iris strode to the gold-framed mirror and began to arrange her hair, fluffing the auburn tendrils around her face. “Are you going to marry her?”

Ruefully he wished that everything were that simple. “If she'll have me.”

Iris sniffed in disdain. “I don't think there's much doubt of that, darling. She'll never have another chance to snare a man like you.”

Luke walked up behind her, reaching over her shoulder to catch her agitated hand in his. Their eyes caught in the mirror. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” There was a quaver in her voice.

“For being so generous, and beautiful. For taking away the loneliness so many nights. I don't regret a single one of them. I hope you don't.” He squeezed her fingers hard before letting go.

“Luke…” Iris turned to him with emotion-filled eyes. “Promise me if something goes wrong…if you decide you've made a mistake…then promise you'll come back to me.”

Luke leaned over and kissed her forehead gently. “Goodbye,” he whispered.

Iris nodded, a tear sliding down her cheek. As he left the room, she turned away, closing her eyes against the sight of him walking out of her life.

Luke reached the front entrance of Southgate Hall just as the sun was setting. He had ridden the black Arabian stallion hard from Iris's town house, finding respite in the rush of wind past his ears and the racing of the ground beneath them. He was streaked with dust and sweat, his muscles filled with the pleasant burn of exertion. Dismounting, he gave the reins to the waiting footman. “Make certain he's cooled off well,” he said as the servant led the horse toward the stables.

“My lord.” Seymour stood in the doorway, wearing an expression of mild concern that, coming from a butler, heralded disaster. “My lord, the Ashbournes—”

“Papa!” Emma appeared in a wild flurry, hurling herself down the front steps and into his arms. “Papa, I'm so glad you're here! Something's dreadfully wrong—Lord and Lady Ashbourne are here. They've been talking with Miss Billings in the library for at least an hour.”

Luke was stunned. The Ashbournes had left Southgate Hall only this morning. Something was definitely out of order if they had returned so quickly. “What did they say?”

“I haven't heard a word, but they looked very peculiar when they arrived, and it's been so quiet. Please, you must go in there and make certain Miss Billings is all right!”

Luke tightened his arms, crushing her briefly. “I'll take care of it. Go up to your room, and don't worry.” He pulled back and gave her a warning glance. “No listening at the keyhole, Emma.”

She laughed guiltily. “How else am I supposed to know what goes on around here?”

He put his arm around her shoulder, walking her into the entrance hall. “You should be too busy with your own interests to spend your time worrying over adults, sweet.”

“I am very busy. I have the horses, and Samson, and my books, and Miss Billings—Papa, you won't let anyone take Miss Billings away, will you?”

“No,” he murmured, kissing her head. “Go to bed, sweetheart.”

Dutifully Emma scampered away, and Luke went to the library. The heavy doors were closed, but the sound of quiet murmurs filtered through. His jaw hardened, and he shoved into the room without a hint of warning. The Ashbournes were seated in heavy leather chairs, while Tasia huddled in a corner of the low-backed settee.

Charles's face was wreathed in worry. “Stokehurst,” he said in dismay, “we thought you were—”

“Out for the evening?” Luke said pleasantly. “I had a change of plans. Tell me what brings you to visit.”

“Bad news from abroad, I'm afraid,” Charles said, striving for a light tone. “We've been convincing Miss Billings to come away with us. The month is almost over, Luke, and I always keep my promises.” Seeing Tasia's sudden wary confusion, he explained. “Lord Stokehurst agreed to take you on for precisely a month, during which time I would find you a new situation.”

“I've changed my mind,” Luke said, staring at Tasia. She was white and still, her hands resting in a little knot on her lap. “Miss Billings isn't leaving Southgate Hall.” He went to the built-in mahogany sideboard and reached for a crystal decanter. He poured a healthy splash of brandy into a snifter and brought it to Tasia.

Slowly her fingers unfolded, and she took the glass in her palms. Luke reached down and lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. She gave him a fixed stare, her thoughts hidden behind a mask.

“Tell me what's happened,” he said gently.

Charles was the one to reply. “It's best for all concerned if you don't know, Luke. Just let us leave with no questions asked—”

“You can leave,” Luke assured him. “But Miss Billings stays.”

Charles sighed in exasperation. “I've heard that tone many times before, Luke, and I know what it signifies—”

“It doesn't matter now,” Tasia interrupted. She drained the brandy, closing her eyes as the smooth fire slid down her throat. Her pale, bright gaze returned to Luke, and she gave him a shaky smile. “You won't want me to stay, after you know.”