Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,24

always said his biggest regret in life was following the course for his life that his parents had demanded instead of the one his heart had wanted.

For one moment, Nash looked as if he might argue, but then he simply nodded. “You are quite right, but that does not change the fact that I am going to ensure you get home safely.”

“Do as you wish,” she grumbled. “But I vow I won’t speak a single word to you.”

She could have sworn his lips started to tug upward into a smile, but he very quickly schooled his features into the most serious expression. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

She opened her mouth to insist upon his telling her what he meant by that, but she promptly snapped it shut, realizing that such an action would break her just proclaimed vow to herself. She whirled away from him, started toward her home, then changed course to make her way back to Guinevere’s home on Picadilly. She needed a shoulder to cry on.

“Where are you going?” Nash asked from behind her.

The desire to tell him it was none of his business nearly burst from her, but she pressed her lips together, determined not to speak to him.

“Lilias, this is not the way to your home.”

She almost tripped at the realization that he knew where her home was. They were not in the Cotswolds any longer. So how did he know such a thing? For a man who’d been away for seven years and had never been to her family’s home in Mayfair, Nash should have no notion which way her townhome was. Had he made it a point to discover where she lived?

Stop it. She would not allow herself to live in a fantasy any longer. Seven years was quite enough.

She squared her shoulders and strode forward as fast as her swishing skirts would allow. When she reached the steps of Guinevere and Carrington’s townhome, she thought to simply march up the steps without a goodbye, but it occurred to her that by behaving as she was, she was letting him see how much his rejection had hurt her. She would not be such a fool as to tell herself he did not know she had liked him. At least he did not know she loved him. Oh, she still did. She couldn’t simply turn it off. But she would smother it until it no longer had life.

She forced a smile to her lips that made her cheeks hurt, turned, and offered a curtsy. She came up and—

Was that admiration she saw in his eyes? Stop. Stop. Stop.

She really needed to sit and think upon why she kept imagining things in regard to him so that the next time she saw him, she’d see what was really there and not just what she wanted to see. “Thank you for walking me home.”

“This is not your home.” His smile could have melted the thick ice of the River Eye in winter.

Blast the man. He had her mind in a swirl. She gritted her teeth. “Of course not,” she said sweetly. “I was testing you to see if you knew where I lived.”

Do not ask him. Absolutely do not.

“How do you know this is not my home?” she asked, arching her eyebrows expectantly and cursing herself for the inability to control her tongue.

“Because this is the Duke of Carrington’s home,” Nash said, surprising her.

She frowned at his knowing Guinevere’s husband and that he managed to dash yet another bit of hope that he may have inquired as to where she lived. She absolutely should have known better. “How do you know Carrington?”

“From Scotland,” Nash replied, but he sounded rather evasive.

Heat burned her cheeks as a realization set in. “Am I to assume you already had an invitation to his ball?”

A nod confirmed her worst fear.

Oh, the devil.

She lifted her chin, refusing to shrink like a violet. She was no flower. She was a rapier of a woman, and one day the loss of her would cut him to the quick, just as his loss cut her. She swore it in this moment, even as humiliation burned her. “You let me stand there and lie.” Another nod. How mortifying. He’d likely stood there pitying her.

She clenched her teeth so hard, she thought she heard one crack. She would not bother to try to explain away the lie. He could not truly know she’d come to see him, but he likely had guessed. “Good day, Your Grace,”