was there suddenly, taking her by the elbow and helping her into the gig, and when she turned to look at Nash, he was gone. She had no notion if he’d returned to the club or simply disappeared into the shadows, but he was gone. Gone from sight. Gone from her life, possibly forever. But he was lodged in her heart, desperately deep and permanent. She was his in the furthest reaches. Each beat was his. Each thought was his. She did not see how she could wed Owen knowing such a thing, but she did not see how she could do anything else.
Chapter Ten
A knock came at Lilias’s bedchamber door, but she did not respond, nor did she move from under her covers where she had been hiding, almost exclusively, for three days. She’d only come out to see to her most urgent needs of survival; to read a note sent to her by Helen in which Helen mentioned that the publisher was, thankfully, in the country for the remainder of the month so they had some time to obtain the manuscript; and lastly, to send the news in a letter to Frederica, along with Frederica’s locket and Lilias’s assurances that she would call upon Frederica in the next several days so they could discuss how to retrieve the manuscript from Mr. Levine.
When another knock came, Lilias called out, “Please go away,” and then she simply pulled the coverlet closer over her head, prepared to allow the same torturous thoughts about Nash that had infiltrated her mind continuously for days to do so once more. And they did—immediately. What had Nash meant when he’d said that he’d tried to help Owen win her? And when he’d said he’d almost done it again to Owen? Had he meant he’d almost pursued her in spite of knowing Owen liked her?
When her door banged open, she flinched and curled into a tight ball, but a throat clearing loudly and very near her compelled her to respond.
“I still have a megrim, Mama,” Lilias mumbled, certain it had to be her mother checking upon her again. She’d been in several times a day for three days. Lilias knew her mother was worried, but if she admitted just how much she did not want to wed Owen, her mother would be even more concerned and possibly take to her own bed.
“It is not your mama.”
The coverlet was yanked from her head, and Lilias blinked, finding Guinevere standing over her, a worried look upon her face.
Behind Guinevere, Nora hovered with a rapt expression. “Nora, not now. Please,” Lilias begged. For once, her sister listened and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind her.
Lilias dragged herself into a sitting position and met her friend’s concerned gaze as Guinevere sat on the edge of Lilias’s bed. “What are you doing here?”
“For one thing, you missed a SLAR meeting this afternoon, and you have never missed a meeting. For another,” Guinevere continued, not giving Lilias time to offer an excuse, which was just as well because Lilias did not want to lie to her friend, “Greybourne came to the house today to speak with Asher, and he looked dreadful. As if he’d lost the person who meant the most to him in the world.”
That got Lilias’s full attention. Just the mention of Nash’s name made her heart twist in her chest. She sat all the way up, her heart now pounding. “Go on,” she said, knowing Guinevere well enough to understand she had a point she had just not gotten to yet.
Guinevere studied Lilias for a moment, her look going from one of concern to what Lilias considered scheming.
She knows. Guinevere knows I’m still hopelessly in love with Nash. Please don’t let her ask me. Please don’t let her ask me. If she asks me, I might break down and pour my heart out.
“He looked as if he had not slept in days. I admit to being intrigued with what would be keeping a rogue such as Greybourne awake, and do you know, I do believe he’s in love!”
Lilias thought she might swoon. The room seemed to be spinning as Guinevere continued. “Isn’t it funny that you both found love. You with Owen and Greybourne with some mystery woman, whom I heard him refer to as Lady L.” Guinevere eyed her silently, expectantly.
Lilias swallowed, but her mouth was so very dry, as were her eyes. Crying for three straight days would do that, she supposed. She wanted to