Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) (8 page)

“Mrs. Benedict?” the butler asked, a question in those two words.

“I daresay I would appreciate an audience with His Grace beforehand.” After all, there was the whole matter of requesting a position on his small staff.

She’d have to be blind to fail to see the look that passed between the footman and butler.

A slight frown formed on the butler’s lips. “I am afraid His Grace is not receiving visitors.” Hmm. Not receiving visitors. “You will find that His Grace welcomes his privacy and does not care to be disturbed.”

“Well, I am not really a visitor, though, am I?” She raised an eyebrow. “Mr....?”

He gulped. “Harris.” His voice emerged as a high croak.

“Harris,” she murmured. Lily sidled closer to him. “Surely His Grace will not begrudge me an introduction.” She smiled at the wide-eyed footman, then turned back to Harris as she toyed with one curl.

The butler dipped his gaze downward and the column of his throat worked as he stared, transfixed. Then... he cleared his throat. “I am afraid he is not receiving guests or visitors, including members of his staff,” he said evenly. He inclined his head. “If you will allow me to lead you to your rooms?”

Oh, well blast and double blast. He’d rush her above stairs where she’d wait in her rooms, until the duke discovered she’d wheedled her way into his home. Then she’d have no hope of being granted
any
position.

Lily tugged free her gloves and dusted them together. “I am eager to begin in my role of caring for the duke’s ward. The sooner I can,”
find that blasted gem and be done here
, “ascertain what is expected of me and review my responsibilities, the sooner I can begin caring for Lady Flora.”

The man shifted back and forth on his feet and looked to the hovering footman as though in support of some decision. Unspoken words passed between those two and then the head of His Grace’s household capitulated. “P-Perhaps, a very brief meeting.”

She smiled. “Splendid.” And the sooner she could acquaint herself with The Beast of Blackthorne, the sooner he would become more man than monster—and as such, a person not to be feared.

Lily turned her gloves over to the footman with murmured thanks and then quickly fell into step behind Harris. As they made their way through the duke’s townhouse, her satin slippers padded quietly over the white marble floor. With the cold penetrating the soles of her delicate shoes, she kept her gaze forward. For with each step down this same corridor she’d stolen down as a girl, her cries echoed off these walls. To keep from giving in to the horror of the night, she looked to the details that had previously escaped her about this home; the lavish wealth reflected in the fripperies adorning the walls.

Her previous two residences could have both fit comfortably within the palatial home of the Duke of Blackthorne. Gold sconces lined the corridors. Gilt frames of country landscapes and ducal ancestors hung upon walls done in satin wallpaper. Still, for all their wealth, they’d turned a young woman out, without a care for her safety or survival into the streets. That old, healthy hatred drove back the indecision in being here. With each step she took, bitterness burned her throat as if she’d downed a glass of acid.

They turned right at the end of the hall and continued on. A long, Chippendale table flush against the wall with an immense, gold urn filled with white flowers slowed her steps. As they moved on past it, she shot a glance over her shoulder at the stark white lilies filling that piece; the irony not lost upon her. This was the home of the man who’d ruined her. What was the sin of wishing the late Duke of Blackthorne to wither in hell for his crimes, considering all the others to come before it?

While he’d lived, his life had been filled with urns of flowers and crystal chandeliers and carpeted floors, and hers had been one of uncertainty until Sir Henry
saved
her from certain death. Saved her. From maid to mistress in but two years in the man’s employ. How many days had she thought the latter alternative would have been preferable?

The butler drew to a slow halt at the end of the corridor and she froze, looking questioningly up at him. He eyed her with a somber expression and when he spoke, she strained to hear his whispered words. “Mrs. Benedict,” he said in hushed tones. “It is my fear once you...meet His Grace that you will turn and leave just as the previous governesses have.”

She’d likely
wish
that, but desperation drove people to recklessness. She could no sooner leave this household than she could support herself without two coins on a cold winter’s day in London. The look Harris gave her indicated he expected some form of response. “I assure you, Harris, I am not weak-hearted and I do not frighten easily.” That was, at the very least, true. She was a woman who’d survived on her own since sixteen, with no skills to recommend her. And in a world where women either perished or sold their souls to survive, she’d not perished.

He gave an approving nod. “I hope for Lady Flora that is the case.” Doubt reflected in his eyes. “For you see, he is...”

She wanted to shout for him to conclude that sentence. “He is what?” she gently prodded, needing to know as much as she could to prepare her for the beast she’d call employer. The man she’d steal from to avenge the wrongs committed by his kin. And at last, she’d have that freedom she’d hungered for from the moment she’d been turned away from this very townhouse.

Harris went stone-faced. “You shall see for yourself, Mrs. Benedict.” The cryptic edge to his tone raised the gooseflesh along her arms.

The young butler motioned her forward and she silently followed. Her palms damp in dreaded anticipation of the meeting, she discreetly dusted them along the side of her skirts. Then, in the manner taught by her mama years and years earlier, she folded her hands demurely before her and prepared to face The Beast.

Harris raised a hand to knock and froze; his fingers poised a hairsbreadth from the door. His pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared at the door. Unsettled nerves temporarily forgotten, she cast a glance up at the tall, slender servant. With his lips moving as if in silent prayer, he rapped once on the wood panel.

An unexpected silence met his knock.

Lily furrowed her brow. Perhaps the man was not here. She unclasped her hands and drummed the tips of her fingers together. If he was anything like George, he was even now out at his clubs, taking his pleasures where he would.

The butler rapped again.

“Bloody hell, Harrison, you have orders not to disturb me.”

At that thunderous boom, Lily jumped. Heart pounding, she swung her gaze from the pale butler to the door and then once more to Harris. What manner of man
was
the new duke to yell at his servants so? This man who could not be bothered to know or use their correct names?

The column of Harris’ throat moved with the force of his swallow. With the pallor of a man who’d downed a plate of spoiled oysters, he gave her an effortful grin that was more grimace than anything else. “I-it is
Harris
, Your Grace, and there is a visitor—”

“I don’t give a bloody hell if it is the damn Queen of England for tea and biscuits. Do not darken my door.”

She stared unblinking at that door.
This
was George’s brother? This foul-mouthed, mannerless brute? A more rational, sensible woman would be fearful of the beast that dwelled on the other side. The woman who’d given her virtue over to a shameless cad, who’d pledged marriage and then, instead, found herself a permanent position in an old man’s bed, however, was long past fearing a snarling, petulant duke.

The muscles of his face contorting as though in physical pain, Harris looked at her. He held his palms up and gave a dismayed shake of his head. He tried once more with his employer. “I-it is about the g—”

“If you say it is about the girl, I’ll have you hung by your ballocks.”

Oh, that was really enough. Following her fall from grace, she’d been demeaned by all; including this man’s abhorrent family. She’d not tolerate such treatment in another. Lily reached past the butler and, ignoring his shocked gasp, she pressed the handle.

Locked
. She wrinkled her brow.
Humph
. Well, she’d not anticipated
that
. Lily tried again.

“Harrison, if you jiggle my goddamn handle once more, I’ll remove your hand from your body, myself.”

A small giggle cut into the end of the duke’s vile speech and Lily whipped her head to the right. A little girl in white skirts stood at the end of the hall. The widening of her cornflower blue eyes held shock at being discovered. Then the giggling imp ducked back behind the wall and disappeared.

Lily gave her head a shake.
What manner of place is this?
Angry, shouting men. Giggling, unattended children, and those same unattended children giggling at the shouting, angry men? Poor Harris. The man appeared one more outburst from the duke away from casting up his morning’s accounts. Alas, she should have learned long ago from her own experience that ordinary people were capable of extraordinary courage.

“It
is
about the girl.” The butler’s words emerged as a high-squeak.

A flurry of black curses, the scrape of a chair, and then an odd thump-thump-thump met Harris’ pronouncement. And this time, Lily did know fear. Belated fear, but tangible and very real, akin to the terror that plagued her all those years ago. An ugly dread turned within her and she dug around inside for the strength and courage she’d cloaked herself in after she’d been hurled into the rain-soaked streets. The lock turned and position of governess aside, she opened her mouth to give the foul-tempered lout the dressing down he deserved for terrifying his servants.

“You should...” The words ended a whispery death as the door opened. A chill stole through her.

The beast on the other side drew the door back all the way and with that action, momentarily presented the whole of his scarred visage. “I instructed you to not darken my goddamn door,” the duke snarled.

Lily swallowed hard, as all the blood drained from her face, seeped down her immobile frame, and then dripped out her toes.
The Beast.
This is why they called the new duke a beast. More than half a foot taller than her own five feet seven inches, his broad and powerfully muscular form would inspire fear in most for his sheer size and strength alone.

His Grace shifted and that slight movement obscured half of his face.

This
was the new Duke of Blackthorne? The boy and then young man she’d caught glimpses of during his infrequent summer visits to Carlisle bore no resemblance to this menacing beast. All reason for being here fled when presented with the terrifying more monster than man before her.

He flicked a frosty, ducal glance up and down her form and then his gaze grew shuttered. And Lily proved she was more coward than courageous, for she sank back as His Grace turned his fury on the poor, quaking servant at her side. “Did I not indicate I was not to be bothered?” His words may as well have been wrapped in icy steel for the coldness of them.

“Y-yes, Your Grace.” Harris gave a jerky nod. “But—”

“And did I not say to leave my bloody door alone?”

“Y-yes.” The servant slid his gaze over to Lily and then returned his focus to the duke. “But it is about the g—” The man swallowed audibly, and flushed red. “That is, Mrs. Benedict is here regarding the post of governess to Lady Flora,” he amended.

Through their exchange, Lily took in the coolly disdainful man she intended to commit theft against and ice thickened her veins. This was the devil’s lair and in being here, she played with fire. Were she to be discovered in this dark act, he’d destroy her.
Then, haven’t I already been destroyed in all the ways that matter?

The duke took a step toward Harris and Lily involuntarily retreated. His black, palpable rage, however, was reserved solely for the poor servant who’d roused his fury. Well, technically she had roused his fury. But... “Get. The. Hell. Away. From. My. Door.” Again, he passed his hard stare over Lily.

She detested her slight audible intake of breath; that ever so slight indication of her fear. By God, she’d not be so disdained by a Winters again. Not allowing him the luxury of unsettling her, at least openly anyway, Lily tipped her chin up.

The duke’s thick, black lashes swept down, but not before she caught the faint flash of surprise. But then his wintry fury was promptly back in place so that she wondered if she’d merely imagined any other hint of emotion there. “Have Mr. Davies deal with
her
, Harrison.” The unscarred portion of his mouth turned up in a snarl. That patent disdain showered on her for too many years.

His Grace made to close the door and she thrust her foot out and forced it open. “How dare you?” she seethed as the good sense to fear him fled. The duke swung a hard, one-eyed stare at her. At the fierce glint trained on her by this bellowing beast, her heart hammered wildly.

“How dare I?” The jeering note to his words roused greater terror than his earlier bellowing.

Fear danced in her belly, and yet...
Do not say another word, Lily... Do not say another word.
She dampened her lips. “His name is Harris.” She’d never been one to go silent in the face of a challenge. The duke gave no outward reaction to her insolent correction, which only further stirred irritation with him. “My name is Lily Benedict and I am here to meet with you.” Then, with the years of politeness ground into her years ago, she remembered to add, “Your Grace.” She forced her chin up another notch. She’d wager her meager bag of possessions that the beast who snarled and hissed at his servants was unaccustomed to shows of rebellion.

The Duke of Blackthorne continued to study her with a darkly cool, inscrutable expression. She curled her toes into the soles of her slippers, prepared for the jeering laugh of his dead brother. At long last, he said, “Meet with me, you say?”

A flare of respect shone on the butler’s face and he quickly averted his gaze.