Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,4

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Proper girls didn’t do that. Then again, a proper girl didn’t kiss a boy as Helen had kissed him, and a good brother did not return the kiss of the tutor’s daughter when he knew good and well his younger brother, the one he was supposed to protect, was enamored of the girl. But Nash had selfishly done just that. He’d wanted to act on his own desires for once instead of his obligations as a future duke and as Thomas’s older brother. And the result had been Thomas’s death.

It could not be undone. The withdrawal of his parents’ affection could not be undone, either. It was strange that losing the little bit of love they had shown him had been such a blow. He could not blame them. His action had been the worst sort of selfishness, and he did not deserve to be happy. And friends equaled happiness, so he wanted none. It was a good thing Lilias Honeyfield did not know where he lived. He may not want her as a friend, but he didn’t want to hurt her, either. He wasn’t worried about the boy, Owen, coming to look for him. It had taken one look at his besotted face for Nash to know Owen would do whatever Lilias told him, as well as nothing she did not tell him, to do.

Four nights after meeting Lilias and Owen, the sound of pebbles being thrown against his window ripped Nash from his sleep. He stared openmouthed out his bedchamber window and down into the moonlit garden where Lilias Honeyfield—or more properly, Lady Lilias—and Owen were standing. He’d gained that little bit of information about her when Nash had heard her speaking to the butler the first time she and Owen had appeared at his door. She’d informed Sterns that Lady Lilias and the Earl of Blackwood were there to call upon Nash, and Owen had added that Lilias was the daughter of Lady Barrowe and the late Earl of Barrowe, at which Lilias had shushed her friend. Of course, Nash declined to see them that day, as well as the three other times they had come.

But here she was—again—the persistent chit.

“Nash!” Lilias whispered furiously up at him, somehow managing to convey the tone of a bellow without actually yelling.

She was a slip of a thing with a halo of moonbeams for hair and what appeared to be a gathering of dogs surrounding her, and damn, if he could not look away. Lilias Honeyfield certainly was not a quitter. She’d somehow managed to figure out where he lived in less than a day, and he had no doubt that Owen had only come along at her demand. Her behavior was unheard of in polite Society, but she didn’t seem to care.

He was about to close the window on the pair, but then he thought about how it was night, and dark, and she was a slight girl, and Owen was not exactly the sort of fellow who could protect a girl if ruffians should come upon the two of them. Of course, the dogs could, if they listened to commands, and if they weren’t shot by the ruffians first. Though, it seemed doubtful that ruffians would be about in the Cotswolds. Still, he should not risk her safety. That would be unwise, and future dukes had to make wise decisions always. He’d colossally failed in that endeavor thus far in his life. Perhaps he was overlooking a chance to reset his course.

Nash scowled down at the pair. “You’re making it so I have to come below and speak with you,” he whisper-shouted.

“Indeed I am,” Lilias said, laughter in her tone.

Nash drummed his fingers on his window. The girl was pesky and smug and made him unexplainably want to laugh.

“If you don’t come down here this instant, I’ll command my hounds to bark.”

He couldn’t tell if she was threatening him or teasing him, but feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long time, he shot back, “You wouldn’t.”

“She would,” Owen confirmed, a blob in the darkness. “And her hounds will listen because she fixed them just like she wants to fix you. They are loyal to the death.”

Devil take it, but Nash’s curiosity lit up like a bonfire. “Did she fix you, too?” he asked Owen, suddenly unreasonably, ridiculously hopeful that this girl he did not know could make him feel something other than self-loathing.

“No,” Owen promptly answered, “but she’s working on it. She says tonight is the