Page 44 of Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid
With a nod, Beckford left them standing there, and Lilias had no choice but to follow Nash. He crossed the luxurious room they had come through before, which seemed less crowded, hinting that the night was winding down. But the men that were there gave her curious looks so she pulled her cloak tighter about her face. She let out a relieved breath when Nash went through a plain black door. Once they were in the passage, darkness descended except for the faint glow of the oil lanterns that stood every few feet.
Nash’s heavy footsteps mingled with her lighter ones in the silence, and she was glad he was not speaking. Her thoughts and emotions were a jumble, and it was all because of Nash. She knew she should fully accept that he had never cared about her, and she could, she really thought she could. She most definitely knew sheshouldand that she should forget him. She vowed to herself that she would.
Her stomach ached while she followed him through the dark shadows. She stared at his broad shoulders and slim hips as he walked with a long, sure, commanding stride. In all her interactions with him, he had always been a man whose actions supported his words—except with her in their last interaction seven years ago and now their recent ones. In particular, her mind latched on to each of his actions that contradicted his claim that he did not care for her, and she turned them over one by one, examining them.
His distraught state over her wardrobe had been surprising, and the way he’d carried on about no one keeping watch over her had astounded her, as well. Of course, he’d said he only cared that she did as she pleased for Owen’s sake. Yet, the passionate way in which he seemed to care hinted otherwise. He’d acted extremely possessive in the club, too, and granted, it could simply be an act, but if it was, he could have had a career at Drury Lane.
What if hedidcare?
Her step faltered at the possibility. What if he had been running from something in his past, something he had not told her, something he was afraid to tell her? Was it something to do with his brother? Or Helen? Or both of them? Her heart began to pound harder, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, she forced herself to keep moving. He turned around and continued, and her pulse quickened even more as she followed him, this man whom she had long loved, whom she was unsure how to quit loving, who was lost to her.
This needed to be the last time she allowed herself to be alone with him, she realized with blinding, painful clarity. Every part of her wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, and she was afraid if he ever did such a thing, she would not be able to resist. She would betray Owen, and she could not live with that.
With each step, a war raged inside her. Should she confront Nash and ask him bluntly how he felt about her, or should she keep her silence and never know? Her emotions roiled so greatly within her that she had to take deep breaths to calm herself. By the time they reached the exit door and Nash opened it, she decided she could not bear to discover he cared. It was better to think he had not. Her nostrils flared with her resolve, and she steeled herself to simply keep her silence and let all the questions raging in her remain unanswered.
Her gig would be along any moment, and then he would drive her home and that would be the end. She could do it. She could contain herself. But then he turned to her, moonlight struck his face, and her breath hitched at the concern that was etched there.
His hands gripped her upper arms before she knew what was occurring. “Vow to me now that you’ll not pursue Mr. Levine without me.” It was a demand and a desperate plea at once. “I don’t trust him, and I cannot abide thinking you might stride right into danger.”
Each of his emotion-filled words weakened her resolve not to ask him, like stones thrown against fragile glass, and her determination shattered. Her blood roared in her ears, and she swallowed. She was facing a life of heartache with or without the truth, so she’d take the truth.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you care so much if I’m protected?”
When he simply stared at her, she wanted to scream. “What concern am I of yours?” she tried again. Still, he stood in silence, gripping her as if he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go. It was that grip, his holding her as if his life depended on it, that made her say what she did next.
“I’ll give you my vow not to pursue Mr. Levine aloneifyou tell me the truth about how you feel.” She did not addabout me. She did not feel she had to. He would know. If he cared for her as she did for him, he would know exactly what she meant.
He released her as if merely touching her scalded him, and he shoved both hands through his hair. Then he took a long, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. The breeze suddenly picked up, and in the distance, the night watchman’s whistle shrieked.
“You were wearing green.” Nash’s voice fell low and intense. Her brow dipped into a furrow, and he offered an achingly gentle smile that made her warm despite the cool night air. “The day I met you,” he said by way of explanation. “You were wearing green.”
“You remember what I was wearing?” she asked, shocked.
“I remember every single thing about you. I remember details no self-respecting rogue should admit to recalling.” He looked down at her worn slippers and laughed. “You were barefoot. I knew right away you were different from any girl I’d ever met. Your hair was unbound and wild, much like now.” His gaze had come to her face, and it clung to her in an appreciative way that caused her toes to curl in her slippers.
She brought a self-conscious hand to her hair to try to tidy it, but he caught her fingertips and held them for just a moment, but even after he let go, the heat of his body lingered on hers.
“Don’t,” he said, the single word husky. “I love your hair. I love the way you wear it. I’ve dreamed about it, and—”
He choked off the sentence, and she wanted to fall at his feet and beg him to continue, to touch her hair, to touch her. Dear God, perhaps knowingwasworse than not knowing. But she could not, she would not, stop him now.
His gaze softened, as if he was thinking back to something that made him happy. “You used to hum when it was silent, and I felt so terrible for you because I concluded that silence scared you. Yet, I was so in awe of your ability to face what scared you. Such a slip of a thing you are, but your force of will is greater than any man’s I’ve ever known.”
What he was revealing started a trembling in her that she could not control, so she wrapped her arms around her waist and waited.
“The way you laughed, the way you still do—so infectious. It made me once think that I might catch some of your joy just by being near you.”
“And did you?” She could not keep quiet.
His mouth curved with tenderness. “God, yes. But happiness is damned slippery for someone like me.”
Tears sprang to her eyes to hear him say that, and she tried to stop them but they blurred her vision and rolled down her cheeks. He reached out and brushed his fingers across her left cheek before pulling back. “I remember how warm your tears are, from when you cried that day by the river. Do you remember that? When you told me of your father?”
She nodded, then sniffed and brushed at her tears. This was her opportunity to ask him about his brother. “You told me you betrayed your brother.”
“Yes.” The word seemed to catch in his throat.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was your twin?”
