Page 58 of My Dark Duke

Relief flooded Lillian; she could not understand how she had ever doubted the duke would save her.

“Release her,” Thorncastle bellowed, as he advanced.

Lord Bailey’s grip on Lillian grew even tighter, but as he held her so close, she could hear the frantic, nervous beating of his heart in his chest. He was afraid - desperately afraid.

“If you let me go, we can pretend that none of this happened,” Lillian whispered, pleading with him to see reason. “Let this end peacefully, my lord.”

Thorncastle appeared as though he might argue, but saw sense. The best way to end matters was without the discharge of weapons.

Lord Bailey dithered, mumbling to himself about debts and wills - nonsense which Lillian did not understand. He had finally reached a conclusion, when two other figures raced into the room - two tall, strong men, clutching weapons in their hands.

Their appearance startled the baron, who took a step back, dragging Lillian with him. The unexpected move caused Lillian to lose her balance and the world tilted, as she fell backwards atop Lord Bailey. As she fell, time felt as though it was moving at a snail’s pace; she saw Thorncastle’s startled look, then shuddered as a long, slow booming sound reverberated through the room. Lord Bailey’s pistol had discharged.

Her skin was pierced by fire and for a moment she wondered if she had been hit - but, only for a moment, for her head made contact with the floor and she slipped into unconsciousness.

Lillian’s head pounded and she longed for water. Darkness swam before her eyes, but she could hear muffled sounds from beyond it. A low male voice, reading words which sounded almost melodic. She longed to open her eyes, to see the face of the one who spoke to her, but the darkness called her back again…

A while later, she awoke again. This time, light tickled her eyelids, bright and insistent. The same voice was still talking, though now she could make out the words.

“Racing at Chepstow is expected to go ahead, despite heavy rain. The turf was soggy, but has dried, allowing for -”

“I thought you were reading me poetry,” Lillian complained, as she turned to find Thorncastle seated in the chair beside her bed. “This is decidedly less romantic.”

“Forgive me,” he answered, with a grin. “The Racing Post was the only reading material available. How do you feel?”

“Very thirsty,” Lillian decided, still a little confused. Where was she? The room was unfamiliar; large enough and very comfortable, but with a decidedly rustic feel to it.

“The King’s Head Coaching Inn, just outside Linton,” Sebastian answered, as he returned to her side with a glass of water. He handed it to her and she gulped it down, glad of how it soothed her scratchy throat.

“How did I end up here?” she asked, puzzled. “The last thing I recall was Lord Bailey’s pistol going off and feeling as though my skin was on fire.”

As she spoke, her arm began to burn again, and she glanced down to find it was wrapped in a bandage. She had been shot.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Sebastian said, as he sat down again and leaned over the bed to clasp her other hand in his. “It was the knock to your head, which sent you to sleep for so long”

Lillian glanced out the window, trying to assess the time. The strength of the sun indicated it was past noon; she must have been asleep for almost twelve hours.

“The physician who assessed you, assured me you were well. The wound required only a few stitches.”

“And..?” Lillian broached, wondering if he knew.

“No harm done to the baby,” Sebastian whispered, his hand clasping hers so tightly now, it was almost painful.

She nodded, surprised by the strength of her relief. Though the child which grew inside her had been conceived in less than ideal circumstances, she already loved it fiercely. Come what may, it would always have her.

“I don’t understand what it was that drove Lord Bailey to madness?” she said, changing the subject. She did not feel strong enough yet to discuss the baby with Sebastian. She did not trust herself not to cry, if he was to tell her he wanted little to do with it.

“You, my dear,” he answered, his eyes dancing with merriment, “are a very rich woman.”

“I am?”

“You are,” he grinned, though his face then grew somewhat somber. “The late baron willed what money he had that was not entailed, to you.”

In a soothing voice, Sebastian explained just why the late Lord Bailey had seen fit to leave her his fortune. To say Lillian was surprised to learn she was his illegitimate daughter was something of an understatement.

But, she was not illegitimate at all. Her father had given her his name. Not only that, he had loved her as though she was his own. Perhaps it was her own precarious situation, but Lillian felt no betrayal at having been lied to - only a rush of love for the man who had saved her from a life tainted society’s censure.

“If circumstances were usual,” Sebastian finished, his voice now deadly serious, “I would accept it if you wished to leave me. As a woman of means, you would be free to live your life however you wish.”

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