Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,63

manuscript published!”

He turned toward her, a mocking look upon his face. “You refer to people of the ton, I presume?”

She nodded. There was no point in lying. He’d most assuredly read the manuscript, and each chapter was about a man of the ton who had wronged his sister. “Those men deserve the chapters your sister gave them. I’m not denying that,” Lilias said. “But some of those men are connected to women in these chapters, women who have committed no larger crime than falling in love and making a mistake. Do they deserve to have their lives ruined as your sister’s was?”

He made a derisive sound. “I assure you, there are no innocents in this book.”

“I’ll pay you for it!” she blurted, though she had no notion where she would get the money.

His brows arched with obvious surprise. “I doubt a woman in your position has the money to buy back this manuscript from me.”

“Then I’ll buy it from you,” Nash said, surprising her and rising to stand beside her. Conflicting emotions washed over her. Why would he do that for her? He didn’t care about her. He’d dismissed her just as he’d apparently dismissed Helen.

“It’s not about the money, Greybourne,” Mr. Levine said condescendingly. “If that’s what Helen told you, she’s wrong. It’s about revenge. It’s about striking Kilgore in his heart.”

Kilgore! Lilias just barely contained her gasp. Of course, the manuscript would have a chapter on the most notorious rogue she had ever known, the Marquess of Kilgore! He’d been in the middle of quite a few problems the last five years.

Before she could consider the newly revealed information any more, Mr. Levine flung open the door, and just as he did, Lilias felt her cloak fall onto her shoulders. She glanced at Nash. His face was tense. “Pull up your hood,” he said.

When she apparently didn’t move fast enough to suit him, he started to yank the hood up for her, and his fingers grazed her cheek. Her body reacted instantly to his touch, the pull to him more than she could bear.

“Stop it,” she hissed, brushing his hand away from her. “Do not touch me!” And before she said anything she would later regret, she took the lead from Mr. Levine and dashed out of the door and straight into Beckford, who’d been passing by.

“Done already?”

She nodded. “Did Mr. Levine leave?”

“I believe so. Did you not get what you wanted?”

She could feel Nash standing behind her, so close his heat warmed her back. “No,” she said, swallowing. “I did not. But I’ll find a way. I’d like to go home now. Would you call up my gig?”

“Of course,” Beckford replied. “Do you know the way out?”

“I know it,” Nash replied before she could.

With a nod, Beckford left them standing there, and Lilias had no choice but to follow Nash. He crossed the luxurious room they had come through before, which seemed less crowded, hinting that the night was winding down. But the men that were there gave her curious looks so she pulled her cloak tighter about her face. She let out a relieved breath when Nash went through a plain black door. Once they were in the passage, darkness descended except for the faint glow of the oil lanterns that stood every few feet.

Nash’s heavy footsteps mingled with her lighter ones in the silence, and she was glad he was not speaking. Her thoughts and emotions were a jumble, and it was all because of Nash. She knew she should fully accept that he had never cared about her, and she could, she really thought she could. She most definitely knew she should and that she should forget him. She vowed to herself that she would.

Her stomach ached while she followed him through the dark shadows. She stared at his broad shoulders and slim hips as he walked with a long, sure, commanding stride. In all her interactions with him, he had always been a man whose actions supported his words—except with her in their last interaction seven years ago and now their recent ones. In particular, her mind latched on to each of his actions that contradicted his claim that he did not care for her, and she turned them over one by one, examining them.

His distraught state over her wardrobe had been surprising, and the way he’d carried on about no one keeping watch over her had astounded her, as well. Of course, he’d said he only cared that she did as she