Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(64)

And now, with stern-faced saints to chaperone, he loosed the reins on his thoughts. They went straight to her.

Lily. Just her name inspired in him more breathless awe than any psalm or choir could do. He might never learn who killed Leo, and whether or not that same person wished to kill him. But he knew that Lily loved him. And he knew that made him the luckiest bastard in England. Assuming she would even speak to him this morning, that was. He wanted to believe she was too generous to hold true to her ultimatum, but he couldn’t be sure. Her will was strong. But perhaps her love was stronger.

What would it take, to make a real future with a woman like that? Not just a night of stolen passion, but a life worthy of her?

He would have to commit a small murder of his own. Mr. James Bell would need to die a quiet, sudden death, and Julian would have to sell off the business concerns discreetly. A lady of Lily’s rank could not have a husband who dirtied his hands with trade. Julian would mourn the loss, no question. He’d been working for years toward the new mercantile scheme, and this would mean abandoning the idea entirely. And then, there were his employees … hundreds of mill workers and their families depended on his wages for their livelihood. Unlike most other owners, he paid them enough to live well. If he sold the mills, who could say what their fate would be?

But this was so much more than a business decision.

To be with Lily, he would have to be with Lily. Live in her aristocratic world, with no daily escape into his offices and no anonymous walks through the city at night. He would have to comport himself with dignity—no more wild antics or bacchanal evenings at the club. The affaires—those, he would never miss. They hadn’t been about pleasure in the first place, but merely revenge. So disgusting and degrading. It was a wonder he could stand in this holy place and not burst into flames.

Damn, there was no way around it. He was completely unworthy of her. If he did go to Lily, he would have to live with the knowledge that he’d betrayed Leo’s friendship by taking his sister for himself.

And he would have to accept uncertainty, where Leo’s murder was concerned. He would never know whether he’d unwittingly had a hand in his friend’s death, or whether someone had wished to kill him. He would always worry. Always feel that little prickle of fear as he walked down the street, fearing that one day someone would recognize him, and Lily would suffer as a result.

What would he be forced to give up, to be with Lily? Only his trade, his principles, his possessions, his identity, his loyalty to Leo, and his very peace of mind. Only everything, forever.

Right. There really was no choice.

Before he left the church, Julian bent his head. He said a prayer for his mother and a prayer for Leo. And then a prayer of forgiveness for what he was about to do.

Lily’s sitting room boasted a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, filled with volumes she’d collected from her girlhood on. Since Leo’s death, she’d spent many a sleepless night rearranging its contents. She might pass one evening alphabetizing the books by the author’s last name. Then the next night, by the author’s first name. Another night, she would sort them by genre: poems, plays, novels, essays. She’d invented dozens of ways to organize these books. Chronologically, by date of publication. Chronologically, in the order she’d acquired them. Chronologically, in the order she’d read them. By size. By color of the binding. By the number of pages.

One particularly melancholy night, she’d ranked them by how many characters died in each.

Last night, after Julian so heartlessly left her crying on the doorstep, Lily had marched upstairs, removed all the books from the shelf, and packed them away in trunks. When dawn came, she greeted it with fresh resolve. That was the last night she spent rearranging bookshelves. She’d only just emerged from months of mourning her brother. She would not lapse back into helpless grief today.

She took a light breakfast in her chambers. With her maid’s assistance, she dressed in a cheery pink day dress and adorned her neck with a single strand of pearls. As the maid twisted her hair, Lily stared at herself in the mirror. Weary, red-rimmed eyes stared back at her from a pale, drawn face. She looked horrid, no question. But she couldn’t improve her aspect by sitting about the house moping.

She dismissed the maid and considered the possible activities. She could pay calls, Lily supposed. But then, whom would she visit? Amelia would want to hear all about last night, and Lily didn’t feel up to discussing it. As for others … it might be best to wait and see the scandal sheets today. She and Julian had departed the assembly abruptly, then vanished together into a coach. Who knew what the gossips might have concluded? She didn’t especially care, but neither did she wish to face the rumors unprepared.

Shopping? Maybe it would boost her spirits to purchase something frivolous and pretty. Several somethings, at that. On credit. But while she knew such a strategy worked for other ladies, Lily had never experienced similar success. Her mathematical bent would not allow her to stop mentally tallying expenditures and balancing them against the pleasure accrued. Quite spoiled the whole exercise.

Exercise. Now there was an idea. Perhaps the park should be her destination. Yes, a nice long stroll along the Serpentine would be just the thing. She could ask Holling to accompany her. The housekeeper would appreciate a chance to show off her new winter cloak.

“Oh. That cloak.” Lily sniffed back a tear, thinking of that lovely, luxurious garment. It was just like Julian, to be so inappropriate and so thoughtful at once. “Even Holling has a cloak to remember him by, and what has he left me? Two ruined gowns and an intact maidenhead.”