Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,38
Her mother and sister came first; their safety was in jeopardy, and if Owen extended an offer, she would speak to him, possibly discuss terms where he could wed her and have a mistress, a woman he truly loved. Lilias and Owen could possibly be husband and wife in name only. Marriages of convenience occurred in the ton all the time. Except this marriage would only be convenient for her. She wanted to crawl into her bed, under the counterpane, and never come out.
At that moment, a knock came at the parlor door. “My lady, the Earl of Blackwood is here to call upon Lady Lilias.”
The look of utter relief on her mother’s face made Lilias feel as if the weight of the world had just been dropped upon her shoulders.
“Bring the earl here,” her mother replied, and then she turned to Lilias. “You should know, we only had the butler as part of the payment for the house. Your uncle plans to take him from us immediately.”
“Don’t fret, Mama,” Lilias vowed. “I will make it right.”
After gushing greetings at Owen and shooting Lilias a beseeching look, her mother retired from the parlor and gently shut the door, but Lilias knew good and well that her mother was undoubtedly standing on the other side with her ear pressed to the mahogany.
“Owen, I’m so sorry that I drew you into a scandal. I—”
“What? No! I kissed you, Lilias. I’m sorry. So very sorry. You know how I hate scandal.”
She did, which was why she had forced herself to start with an apology; for her mother’s and sister’s sakes, she could not muck this up, as much as the thought of wedding Owen made her stomach twist into knots. Owen closed the distance between them to stand directly in front of her. His green gaze, so different from Nash’s stormy gray one, locked with hers. “I’ve waited forever to tell you this, Lilias.”
Oh no. No, no, no.
She didn’t want to hear what he was about to say, though she should be falling on her knees with relief. It was almost somehow worse if he was going to say what she suspected. It made her feel like an utter fraud.
“I, well, to my utter shame, I have not been able to summon the courage,” Owen continued. “I was afraid, I suppose, that you’d say you could never love me, that you’d reject me.”
She swallowed the moan that rose up in her throat. It was worse than anything she’d imagined.
“I love you, Lilias.”
Her heart thumped a ruthless beat of guilt in her chest that she could not say she loved him in return.
“I have loved you for years,” he went on. “I think since practically right after I met you.”
Then it hit her. Was that why Owen had not told her Nash was in the Cotswolds? Because of Owen’s feelings for her? Or was it simply to protect her?
It hardly mattered now. Dear God… Why, why could it not be Owen that she loved? Or why couldn’t Nash have loved her?
Owen was looking at her expectantly, and she knew he wanted a response, but her tongue was thick and her mind offered no words. “Lilias, do you remember the day Nash and I raced, and I had my accident?”
She nodded.
“I did that for you… To impress you.”
The magnitude of her foolishness, of how he felt for her, was crushing. If she had known years before, she would have told him it was hopeless. She would have told him to forget her. She cringed. Just as Nash had told her. And what good had that done? She had gone on loving him anyway for seven long foolish years. Her heart plummeted to her feet.
“The limp means nothing to me if you are my wife. The pain I live with has been worth it if I win you in the end.”
Her gaze flew to his right leg and then the cane he was using today. He did not use it all the time, but he normally did after a ball. She could have prevented the accident, if only she’d realized why he had raced Nash. She would have told him then and there that winning a race was not the way to win someone’s heart. Her chest squeezed.
“Lilias.” He took her hands in his, and all she could think was that they felt so different from Nash’s. Whereas Nash had large hands, Owen had smaller ones. Whereas Nash’s fingers were like sturdy branches, Owens were long