Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,48
do I have any right to demand you go home and never go out unchaperoned again. But I am certain Owen will be interested to know.”
She forced out a derisive scoff, though his words were fairly true. Once she was wed to Owen, he would practically own her, and if he chose not to wed her because she was doing things he did not approve of, things would be dire for her family, indeed.
The fog seemed to grow even thicker, swirling and curling around Nash, and the rain became yet harder, tapping like a drum against the foldable head.
“If you go home now and vow to me that you will stay there at night from now on, I vow to you not to tell Owen.”
“I vow I’ll stay home,” she lied, though what she really wanted to say to the conceited man was to go stuff his cravat in his mouth. It wasn’t as if he was going to lay in wait outside her home and watch to ensure she kept her vow, and Owen was in the Cotswolds to see after his father, so for now she was free to do as she pleased. And she planned to take full advantage of that freedom as long as she could.
“Am I excused now, Father?” she bit out between clenched teeth. She could not say more. She wanted to. Oh, she had a great deal she wanted to say. Such as if he loved her, they could have gone on these late-night missions together. She was positive it would have been the sort of adventure that would have excited him. Nash and propriety had never been intimately acquainted, which was probably one of the reasons she’d fallen for him so hard and fast. Her soul had recognized a kindred spirit. The older Owen became, however, the more tightly he wrapped himself in propriety, and honestly, it had been one of the only things that ever made them fight. She could tolerate him being so restrictive with himself, but she had detested when he made mention of the things he thought she ought not do.
She feared she and Owen would make each other miserable. She feared he would eventually forbid her to work with SLAR. It would be impossible to go on missions and hide them from him. She feared she would never love him as she should, but what could she do? What choice did she have? The man she loved did not love her. He loved ladies who painted their lips and invited him into their homes to do God only knew what. She would not imagine him doing that with anyone else, nor would she allow herself to imagine a life with him ever again.
He stepped aside and waved a hand for her to go. “Straight home, Lady Lilias, and no more outings. Or remember, I’ll tell Owen.”
“May your tongue rot off,” she muttered and then reached far forward to grab the reins Nash had taken from her that were now dangling from the horse. She grunted when her stays cut into her waist as she struggled to secure the reins, and just as her fingertips grazed the leads, her gown, which had been hopelessly torn at her right shoulder during the tree climb on Frederica’s behalf, ripped even more and slipped off her shoulder. She gasped and made a grab for the reins, trying to get a hold of them while tugging up the right shoulder of her gown. She was so busy with these two things that she didn’t know Nash had moved until her gig dipped.
She looked up to find him standing on the ledge of her gig once more, his face a hairsbreadth from hers once again, but his eyes were narrowed. He brushed the hand away that was fumbling at her right shoulder and tugged her gown up himself. Everywhere his fingers touched, he left a path of heat on her skin that sent her pulse into a desperate gallop.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice vibrating with unmistakable rage that so shocked her, she could not form an immediate proper reply. In that pause, Nash came fully onto the gig, his arm sliding over her shoulder and tugging her into the rock wall that was his side. Iron and heat—that’s what Nash was made of.
Confusion washed over her. The rage in his voice sounded greater than what would belong to a man who merely cared for a friend’s lady. Perhaps she