“What a wonderful performance,” Lilith said in gracious tones. “Thank you for delighting us with your truly angelic voice, Lady Cornelia.”
“Yes, thank you,” George safely agreed. “Quite nice.”
Lady Marylewick shot Lilith a malicious look as Cornelia returned to her seat, a shy smile on her blushing face.
“My dear Lady Fenmore,” Lady Marylewick said, seizing control of the evening again.
Penelope snapped to attention at her mother’s voice.
“Why don’t you play ‘A Devoted Wife Adoreth Her Husband.’” Lady Marylewick clapped her hands together.“How I adored Lord Marylewick.”
Penelope’s mouth dropped with a soft cry.
“But I was going to sing that,” Lilith interceded.
“You?” cried Lady Marylewick as if Lilith were a filthy street urchin who dared to speak up to the queen.
“Why, yes. It’s my favorite song. I would be delighted to perform it now. Lady Fenmore, will you be so kind as to accompany me?”
Penelope stared, stricken, then broke into giggles. She could only nod her consent.
“I do not see anything funny,” declared Lady Marylewick.
“Neither do I, your ladyship,” Lilith replied as she stationed herself by the piano. Penelope gave Lilith her opening note, assuming Lilith could hit it, and then proceeded to play the first stanzas. Lilith sucked in a dramatic breath and then opened her mouth, releasing her voice onto the pandering piece.
She struggled to maintain an earnest face as she watched the uncomfortable twitching of the guests. Only George perceived the joke. He raised his hand to his face, his shoulders shaking with laughter. His joy, even at her expense, fueled her musical ambition. She reached mightily for those pesky high Cs and Ds and missed them by a good half note or more. Soon Charles had figured out the little jest. He watched on with a delighted grin.
“Brava!” he cried, when Penelope mercifully ended the torture. “A quite tolerable performance, indeed.”
Lady Marylewick’s smile had hardened to a rictus. “Aren’t you a clever jester? I am so amused.” Her laugh was devoid of all humor. In fact, it sounded rather murderous. Tension permeated the air.
“I enjoyed it immensely,” said Lord Marylewick, overriding his mother and setting the guests at ease again. “My sister and ward are up to all the rigs. Thank you, ladies.”
As Lilith returned to the sofa, she could feel Lady Marylewick’s anger like a hot breeze rushing over her. But Lilith refused to be cowed.
The guests began to disperse after Lilith and Penelope’s infamous song. Lilith lingered about the parlor, long enough to engage in a few conversations, and then made her escape. Her muse found her in the corridor, bursting with changes and improvements to what she had written.
“But I’m exhausted!” Lilith complained aloud.
“Are you now,” a male voice said. Lilith jumped.
Oh God! She had been caught talking to herself. She spun around to find Charles.
“Whom were you talking to?” he asked, clearly amused as he swaggered forward.
“To the fairies, of course,” she replied with dead earnestness. “Delightful conversationalists, all of them.”
He tossed back his head and laughed. “Fair lady, you destroy me.” In an easy, graceful motion, he clasped her arm and drew her into the library.
Really, it should be mentioned in the guidebooks that ladies visiting Tyburn are often yanked into various rooms without their consent.
“You broke my heart this afternoon,” he said. “I tried to be angry with you, but then you sang and undid me again.” He closed the door behind them. “I beg you, my dearest, to tell me who I am.”
She made a point of reopening the door. “You are Lord Charles. You possess reddish-blond hair, blue eyes, and—”
“I am the third son of a duke.” He captured her hands and held them between his. “My lair may not be a grand Tyburn Hall, but what I possess is rather impressive. I receive a generous annual income. In other words, I am a most desirable bachelor. Most ladies would cut off their toes to fit into the glass slipper I’m offering. But you…you…” He swallowed, losing his wry facade. “You treat me cruelly.”
Not nearly as cruelly as you treat George.
“I’m sorry that I was unable to meet you after tea. I had a terrible headache—it must have been the wind this morning. I had a bit of laudanum and lay down for a nap. I remember being awoken for tea but falling back to sleep.”
“You slept all afternoon and still you tell the fairies that you are exhausted.”
Oh! A clumsy slip on her part. “I find this party very trying,” she stammered.
His smirk blossomed to a half smile. “My poor, poor darling, you have my sympathy. George tries everyone’s patience.”
She bit back her retort that the only man greatly trying her patience was him.
“Ride with me tomorrow and all will be forgiven,” Charles assured her. “There is a group riding out in the morning. We can wander off on our own and…” He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed it with his lips.
She tried to retract her kissed appendage. “I hardly know how to ride. I’ve spent my life in boarding schools and London and never had an occasion to learn.”
“I would delight in teaching you.” His fingers trailed down her arms, coming a little too close to her breasts. “Shall we enjoy our very first lesson?” He lifted her uncomfortably to her tiptoes. “To begin, you must properly mount the beast.” His opened lips waited mere inches from hers. “Are you afraid of the beast?” His mouth descended.
“Pardon me, I thought I would enjoy a little night reading,” a male voice said.
George! Lilith turned her head. Her knight in shining armor, or, in George’s case, starchy black and white evening clothes, loomed in the doorway.
Charles took his time releasing her, as if to make a show. George’s expression didn’t alter, but Lilith could see the tiny pulse at the back of his jaw.
“Alas, Ellis Belfort cannot write Colette and the Sultan quickly enough for me.” George strode into the room. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Lord Charles has invited me to ride tomorrow,” Lilith informed George like the proper ward. “But I don’t know how to ride so he was giving me my first riding lesson: how to mount the beast.”
Lord Charles coughed a laugh behind his balled hand, thinking the joke was on George.
George gazed to where Charles clasped her elbow. When he spoke, his words flowed out dark and slow. “What a negligent guardian regarding riding lessons and other matters. I must make remedies immediately. Along the lines of proper guardianship, allow me to escort you from this room, Miss Dahlgren.”
Charles only chuckled as George led Lilith away. George had gotten her as far as the door before Charles piped up, “Shall we continue our lesson in the morning in the stables, then, Miss Dahlgren? All properly chaperoned, of course.”
She wanted to say bloody hell, no, but knew the fate of George’s bill rested in the man’s hands. What an intricate little political knot.
“Yes,” she said more breathlessly than she intended. Her body quaked from the sensation of George’s powerful hand protectively holding her.
“No man should ever treat you so disrespectfully,” George growled outside her bedchamber door.
Lilith squeezed his hand. “It’s well, George. Calm yourself. It’s not as though I haven’t had to extract myself from a dozen or so such situations before.”
Although she never thought of herself as needing protecting, George’s old-fashioned chivalry excited her. The shockingly wanton images that filled her vivid imagination caused an aching throb between her legs. She needed to get away from him before she did something very, very unwise.
But dash it if he didn’t take her arm and slip into her chamber with her.
“Are you well?” His eyes were like warm feathery fingers that caressed her skin as he examined her. “Did he hurt you?”
“Of course I am well,” she managed. “I’m not made of brittle china. I won’t shatter if you touch me.” Touch me! See for yourself.
Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned against the closed door. “I’m rather disturbed he didn’t receive the same treatment that I did. My shin is still bruised.”
She chuckled nervously and strolled to safety across the room at her vanity.“We need his vote. We can’t afford to injure him.”
“We? I need his vote. Not you. Lilith, don’t compromise yourself for me.”
“Compromise myself?” She jerked her head. “You’re delightfully old-fashioned. I won’t compromise myself, as you say. I’m not sure it’s even possible for a woman like me—the wild bohemian sort.”
“You are not a bohemian but a proper lady.”
“I know disagreeing with you will make no difference.” She began removing the pins from her hair. “You see things the way you want to. Reality had better conform.”
“What does that mean?”
She didn’t answer, but undid her braid with shaking fingers. “Did you draw anything today?”
“What?”
“I realize that you never promised.” She gave him an arch look through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think I will let you get away with that.”