In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,72

learned what it was to be desired.

Her body heated, not with embarrassment for her boldness but from desire that stirred to life inside her once more at the memory of that morning.

Only, had it been mere hours ago when her life had changed? When everything had changed?

She’d had the first taste of being in control. It was a sentiment she wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever truly known. Not even before Peterloo. As a girl, and then as a young woman, she hadn’t ever been one to openly defy her mother. All Lila’s acts of defiance and boldness had been secret, furtive acts . . . like the decision to visit St. Peter’s Field in Manchester that August day.

But it was not thoughts of fighting and survival and her own reawakening that gripped her still—it was him. Each day she saw him brought them closer to the end of their time together. For that was a certainty. That moment inevitable.

And I’m not ready for it . . .

Lila depressed a single key.

The sad, slightly off-pitch note hovered in the cavernous music room.

And when Hugh had noted her fingers? He’d not looked at her as if she were some circus-show oddity. There hadn’t been horror or disgust or sadness . . . only rage. But for her?

Before today she would have said it impossible. They barely knew one another, and he barely liked her . . . if at all.

Lila pressed another key.

And what would he say if he discovered you’re a lady of the peerage? Do you think he’d still bring you back to his apartments or offer lessons if he knew the station divide between you?

“It matters not,” she whispered into the quiet.

“Who are you talking to?”

Lila whipped about.

Her sister stood in the doorway.

“No one,” she said, that sudden interruption sending her heart racing. “Myself. I was talking to myself.”

Frowning, Sylvia joined her.

There was a lengthy beat of silence. She knows. She knew Lila had been sneaking off to learn how to fight. And it was like a kick to the gut in being reminded all over that in her quest to learn how to protect herself, she’d also kept this secret from her sister.

Sylvia drew a folded note from inside the pocket of her thick cotton wrapper. “This came for you.”

“What . . . ?” Her words trailed off as Sylvia held out a note. One written in a familiar, flourishing hand.

Annalee.

And unlike so many other notes she’d rejected in the past, this one she made herself take.

As she slid her finger under the crimson seal, Lila felt her sister’s eyes taking in her every move.

Dearest Lila,

How I miss you! I have heard whisperings that you might join your sister, Sylvia, at the Pleasure Ball, and it is my hope that you will be there. And if you intend to take part in the festivities, why don’t we shop for our dresses as we once did? Oh, the fun we had in those long-ago days.

Your dearest and best friend,

Annalee

Lila refolded the note.

“I take it she is making another appeal to see you,” Sylvia murmured.

Lila gave a hesitant nod.

“It might do you good to see her again,” her sister went on. “It might do the both of you good.”

Lila toyed with the edges of the letter. “We’re such different people now.” Annalee was free and alive, and Lila was . . . well, Lila. Preferring the shadows and entering the living only under duress.

Her sister wrapped an arm around her shoulders and lightly squeezed. “Ah, but how much better the world is when we interact with people who are different from us.”

Lila’s heart clenched as thoughts of Hugh flitted in.

She again looked at the note. “Perhaps . . . I will reach out to her.”

Sylvia’s cheeks dimpled from the depth of her own smile. “I think that is a wonderful idea.” Suddenly, her brow dipped. “What is this?”

Lila followed Sylvia’s stare, and her stomach lurched as Sylvia picked up the carved flittermouse resting there. “It is a bat,” she said without conviction.

Bemused, Sylvia turned the special piece over in her hands. “Wherever did you find it?”

“I . . . I just found it in one of the rooms?”

“Hmm.” Sylvia returned the bat to its place. “It is . . . lovely. If curious.” Yes, curious. And also stolen. It wasn’t the first frisson of guilt over pocketing Hugh’s work that morn. She’d return it. She would. She was grateful when Sylvia said nothing more of it and made for the