Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,12

and behaved with proper decorum. That certainly was not Lilias. Owen also had told Nash that his mother had scandalously run off with her horse trainer, so Nash understood what drove Owen to want propriety in a wife. Nash wasn’t glad it had happened to Owen, but he couldn’t ignore the relief he had felt knowing that Lilias was not who Owen was looking for. Owen had become his friend, but Lilias had become more than that. Exactly what, he wasn’t quite sure. He’d been trying to fight it. Whatever it was, he knew he didn’t deserve it, but it was impossible to fight the happiness she inspired.

He strode along the path thinking of her, shoving branches out of his way. When he glanced toward the bridge, he saw her. She stood in the moonlight, her hair glistening in the rays, her head tilted back, presumably looking at the stars. He looked around for Owen, and when he didn’t see him, Nash picked up his pace in anticipation of a few moments alone with Lilias. When he was very close, her dogs—who were surrounding her—started barking.

“You brought the dogs?” he called.

Normally, she didn’t.

She turned toward him, white teeth flashing in the dark as she grinned. “I left them outside in anticipation of coming tonight. I didn’t want to be alone while I waited for you.” Before he could ask about that, she said, “Hush,” to the dogs, who immediately quieted. She made a shivery sound on the heels of that statement.

He frowned, coming to stand beside her on the bridge. He touched a hand to her threadbare cloak. “Is this all you wore out here tonight?”

She shrugged. “It’s all I have. I had a fur-lined cloak, but my sister didn’t, and she’s been taking long walks out of doors lately, so…”

“So you gave her your cloak?” he asked, taking off his overcoat and settling it on her shoulders.

“You don’t have to give me your coat,” she protested, but he noticed the way she tugged the lapels together. It made him feel good to ensure she was taken care of.

“I know,” he replied, his voice rough with the emotions he was repressing—the ones that scared him. “Where’s Owen?”

“He’s in London. He sent me a note this morning and said to tell you he’ll be back in a sennight. He also asked me not to teach you about the constellations without him.”

“Oh,” Nash said. They were alone, after all. “I—” He should leave, but he couldn’t make himself say so. It was the right thing to do, yet the words would not come.

He was aware of everything about her all at once. She smelled like a lily. Did she know that? Her head came precisely to his shoulder. She hummed when it was quiet, just as she was now doing. It made him think silence scared her.

Yes, he should most definitely leave. She didn’t need to be tangled up with him, and yet, when he turned toward her and she, too, was facing him, it was as if there were an invisible string pulling them together.

“Why do you hum when it’s quiet?” he asked.

A beat of silence passed. Then two. Then three. He should not have asked. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” She swallowed. “I hum to stay happy.”

“You’d be sad if you weren’t humming?”

She shrugged. “Possibly. Things have been gloomy since my father died. Actually, even before then.” Another beat passed. “My house used to be loud, cheery. Now it’s so very quiet. My mother insists upon it. So when I’m not there, I sometimes hum.” She paused again. “If I tell you some secrets, will you keep them?”

“Yes.” The word flew out of his mouth without thought, and in that moment, he realized that he’d die before ever willingly betraying her. She had found a way into his darkness, and she might be the only thing that could penetrate it with her light. He wanted that so much.

“My father gambled away almost all his money before he died. We are basically penniless. We still live in our home by the grace of my uncle.”

The news made him want to throttle her dead father for leaving her so vulnerable. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to keep his feelings from permeating into his tone.

“Don’t be. Money doesn’t make happiness.”

“I know that to be true. My family’s miserable.”

“And wealthy,” she said, her delicate hand coming to rest upon his arm, something no perfectly proper girl would ever do. No, Lilias Honeyfield would never be the sort