Page 3 of A Kiss Of Lies

Christian ran a hand through his hair and licked his cracked lips. “Could you pass me the water jug—please?” he asked, stalling for time so that he could try to make sense of what he was hearing.

“Bloody cheek,” said the Duke, but Simon passed him a glass of water.

“I’d never do this.” He stared hard into Simon’s eyes and saw a shadow of doubt flickering in their uneasy depths. “I’d never hurt your sister. I abhorred my father’s behavior. I am nothing like him.”

“Perhaps you committed this terrible atrocity because of everything you’ve suffered. Perhaps it has unhinged your mind.” Simon could not hold his gaze. “I think it best if you leave England. And don’t ever come back.”

“I’m not running. I did not—I could not have done this.” But his voice lacked conviction.

“You know you have not been yourself since Waterloo. Grayson—Lord Blackwood—tells me the blackouts have been getting worse. Can you honestly tell me you remember everything about last night?”

Grayson. Grayson was the only reason Christian was still alive.

Damaged, but alive. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He shook his head. “No. On my honor, I cannot categorically state I remember everything about last evening. But surely the ladies of the house will vouch for me.”

“We cannot find a woman among them who shared your bed last night. The madam didn’t even know you were here.”

This was getting ridiculous. Christian ran a hand over his face. God, he was tired. Since Waterloo he couldn’t remember when he’d last had a proper night’s sleep. His nightmares made sleeping next to impossible.

Every time he closed his eyes he felt the searing heat melting his skin and the horrifying smell of his impending death. The unbearable pain . . .

He sucked a steadying breath deep into his lungs.

The madamdidknow he was here. Christian was the Honey Pot’s most consistent customer. What woman in her right mind would want to touch him unless paid to do so?

Christian stood and began pulling on his breeches. “I paid for a woman to come to my bed—I do remember that. Something is amiss. I remember that the woman seemed very cheap. Usually I have to pay over the odds.”

Simon had the gall to look at him with pity. “You don’t remember bringing Harriet here?”

“God damn it, I did not bring your sister here. I walked here. I remember because I noticed the chill.” Christian suddenly halted in his dressing. “Maybe this has something to do with Harriet. Maybe someone is trying to discredit her, not me.” He swallowed. “If that is the case and I have been used as a tool for vengeance, then I will of course do the honorable thing and offer my hand in marriage to save her reputation.”

The room fell silent, and the Duke’s fists clenched by his side, his face flaring red with rage.

Holy hell, he’d said the wrong thing.

“So that’s what this has been about. You can’t get any gently bred woman to marry you, so you resort to dishonor in order to trap my only daughter.” The sword was back at his throat. “I should slit your throat from ear to ear.”

Christian looked toward Simon for understanding, but the coldness had returned to Simon’s eyes.

“You think I’d let Harriet marry you now? She’s so traumatized she can’t even say your name without shuddering.Youmarry her? Why, I’d sooner marry her to a leper.” The sword pressed into Christian’s neck. “No. I have a more fitting punishment in mind for you. With you out of the way, this incident never occurred. I’ll protect my daughter from disgrace and ensure Harriet marries a man befitting her station.”

Christian’s muscles tensed; the Duke wanted him dead. But he hadn’t survived months of agony to die at the end of a sword held by one of his own countrymen. Through lowered eyelids he apprised his chances of making it to the door. He’d learned that when the odds were stacked against him, it was far wiser to retreat, regroup, and live to fight another day.

He assessed the room, and a plan began to emerge in his mind. If Simon would just move away from the door, toward the windows, he could make it past the Duke. He might be scarred, but he was healthy and strong, something that many of his contemporaries overlooked.

He feigned a move toward the window, and Simon, since his father’s sword had the door covered, moved to block that avenue of escape—perfect!

Christian made for the door before the Duke even had time to blink, although the Duke’s sword sliced Christian’s neck on the way past.

Hell, what was one more scar?

His bare feet hardly touched the floor as he ran for the back stairs. For once, he didn’t care that his twisted and marked body was on display.

He’d only just taken a couple of steps down when he scented danger in the form of floor polish—but it was too late. His feet slid out from under him, and he went down headfirst, tumbling down the narrow staircase. Tucking himself into a ball, he tried to protect his head.

He thought for one moment he might survive the fall unscathed, but when the iron doorstop came into view at the bottom of the stairs, dread set in. He knew he was going to hit it. He desperately clawed at thin air, trying to ensure he found the open doorway, but his actions were in vain.

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