Page 33 of The Secret Life of a Lady
Killian regretted inviting Drake to join him. ‘Assumptions make an ass of you, Drake.’
Although Drake wasn’t wrong. The more time he spent with Hannah, the more time he wanted to spend. And it had fuck-all to do with Sarah Bright’s investigation.
Despite Hannah’s provocative amendment to their arrangement, his visits with her had been gallingly proper.
One thing was certain, Lady Philippa no longer topped his list of benevolent women. She must have had a change of heart since the ball. The duchess was taking her duties as chaperone in a stupidly serious manner. She kept her sharp gaze on him like a hawk. When Killian had finally stolen a moment alone with Hannah in the garden, the damned butler wandered into the rose patch with shears and a vase, sent on a mission by Her Grace.
Killian only hoped this house party provided him with opportunities to satisfy Hannah’s curiosity before he expired from thwarted desire.
‘I assume you have yet to discuss the particulars of Major Patrick Cavendale’s unfortunate death with his family? You’ll have a hard time avoiding his father and brother at Berkshire.’ Drake winced as he manoeuvred his horse around a large rut in the road.
He never spoke of his leg injury, but Killian was there when the Afghanistan soldiers stretched Drake on the rack, dislocating his limbs in a sickening pop of ligaments. Killian knew Drake’s body was covered in scars – the least of which cut through his left eyebrow – because Killian had been forced to watch every moment of his friend’s torture. And yet, Killian emerged from that stinking prison unmarred. It was a special kind of agony to be spared from pain while the men he was sworn to lead and protect sustained horrific injuries on his behalf.
Killian was kept healthy and relatively well-fed while being forced to watch his men slowly decimated by torture, infection, starvation, and disease during their two-year imprisonment. It was almost more than Killian’s mind could survive. Major PatrickCavendale had not been so lucky. The poor boy’s sanity broke before his body. In the end, his death had been a mercy.
Shame tasted as bitter as hemlock, but it didn’t change Killian’s mission. ‘Lord Bradford will be at the house party. He’s still our best lead in this investigation. Besides, I can’t avoid the Cavendales forever. Patrick’s death is my responsibility. Had I taken command of the forces instead of listening to Major General Elphinstone…’ Killian shook his head, rage and humiliation making him want to punch someone hard enough to feel his knuckles break. ‘The whole affair was damned from the beginning. We never should have been there.’
‘Elphinstone was an idiot. You are not.’ Drake slowed his horse, and Killian matched the pace with his own. The scent of wet earth and sweet bracken surrounded them as raindrops pattered the ground. ‘I carry the scars of war on my body, but I don’t envy the burden you bear, Killian. Only a fool would believe you escaped the war unscathed.’
‘I’ve never understood how you continued a friendship with me. I deserve nothing but hatred from you. When the very fires of hell were licking at your feet, I just sat there, useless. A weak coward.’ The words tore something from Killian’s soul. His throat was raw, his nerves exposed.
Drake stopped his horse as the rain fell around them.
An icy droplet slid down Killian’s jaw like a frozen tear. In the waning light, it was impossible to read Drake’s expression.
‘You believe yourself a coward?’
Killian ground his teeth and pressed his lips together, refusing to let them quiver. He would not break down and sob like some pathetic schoolboy. He cleared his throat but didn’t trust his voice. Instead, he dipped his chin in a quick nod.
‘We don’t speak of the war. After today, I never wish to again. But know this, Killian: none of us would have traded positionswith you. Not a single man. You kept us alive in that reeking hole of a prison. Not once did you falter. Your stubborn belief that we would be rescued allowed us all to hope. Your refusal to break, when every single one of us would have, gave us the strength to endure. To live on, no matter what they did.’
‘I did nothing.’
Drake’s lips curved in a tight smile. ‘You did more than you’ll ever know.’
‘It was my job to lead you, to keep everyone safe.’
Drake’s harsh laughter cut through the drizzle. ‘No one can keep everyone safe. But you can bring Lord Cavendale and his son a measure of peace. Tell them Patrick died honourably and leave it at that. It’s bad enough we had to watch him go mad. There’s no reason for them to know the details.’ Drake spurred his horse on, cantering down the lane. His shouted words echoed back to Killian. ‘Some burdens must be put down if you want to have the strength to carry on.’
That was Killian’s mission now. To carry on. To find a killer. To atone for surviving a bloody war when so many better men died. But there was no room in the fragments of his heart for a beautiful woman who reminded him the world could still hold mystery and sweetness. So, he would seduce her, sate her curiosity, and indulge his desires, but he would not allow the broken, battled vessel of his heart to get involved. Even if the task seemed insurmountable.
Everly Manor was a grand estate sprawling over a vast expanse of Berkshire’s fertile land and forest. The house itself boasted award-winning gardens, the largest ballroom in the parish, and some of the best hunting in the district. While it did not eclipse LadyPhilippa’s country estate in size or design, it was nevertheless impressive.
In deference to Lady Philippa’s title and position, the duchess had been settled in the grandest guest suite overlooking the front of the house. Hannah, by proxy, was shown to a very handsome room one door down from Philippa’s.
Philippa and Hannah received a warm welcome by their hosts upon arrival, whereupon they retired to their rooms to refresh themselves and prepare for dinner. Betty was aquiver with nerves and anticipation with so many happenings below stairs. The girl’s excitement bordered on frantic.
‘There are ever so many people to meet. How will I remember them all? And it’s so large! I’m sure to get lost. Will you be wearing your grey evening gown tonight or the brown? I knew I should have packed your silver dress, but you told me not to. Her Grace said I shouldn’t listen to you about your clothes as you never take an interest.’ Betty’s eyes widened, and she pressed her lips together. ‘Bother. I shouldn’t have said that last bit.’ Her pink cheeks flamed to crimson.
‘Betty, it’s fine. The grey dress will be perfectly adequate for tonight.’ Betty was speaking faster than usual, and there was a sheen to her eyes, making Hannah worry she might burst into tears at any moment. ‘I wonder if you should take a seat and collect yourself.’
Betty fulfilled Hannah’s prophecy when her eyes filled. ‘I’ve made a blunder of this. There’s just so much flurry downstairs, and I don’t want to disgrace you or the duchess, miss.’
Hannah placed her hands on Betty’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘You’re doing fine. I’m sure being in a new place and learning the personalities of so many other servants is daunting. Don’t worry. You’ll be a credit to us, I know.’
Betty nodded, her cap bobbing as it was prone to do. ‘The staffhere aren’t half so nice as back home. There was a boy in the stables who was right cheeky. He asked how a pretty girl like me wasn’t married already.’
Hannah raised a brow. ‘Did he? Shall I speak with Miss Ivy Cavendale about it? I don’t want you being harassed.’
