Chapter Five

As it turned out–and Lillian really should not have been surprised, given her appreciation of a good dramatic twist–the tea house was actually an innuendo for Lord Clearfield’s bedroom; a discovery she made within five minutes of his carriage departing Foxhaven House.

“We seem to be traveling away from Grosvenor Square,” she noted, drawing back the window curtain to peer outside at the passing scenery. The snow had intensified, hindering visibility, but she was aware of her surroundings enough to know they weren’t going in the right direction. “I thought you said the tea house was around the corner?”

Slouched in the cushioned seat across from her with his thighs spread, the earl gave her a heavy-lidded look that she assumed was meant to be sensuous. “We both know you didn’t really want to go to the tea house, Miss Snow.”

“ We don’t know anything of the sort.” She linked her fingers together on top of her lap. “My wish was to discuss the theater–”

“The theater,” he cut in, rolling his eyes. “You can abandon your ruse, Miss Snow.”

“My–my ruse ?” she sputtered indignantly.

“Yes.” Leaning forward, Lord Clearfield put his hand on her knee and squeezed. “You wanted to get me alone, and you succeeded. Congratulations, sweet. Now what would you like to do with me?”

Her stomach contracting in disgust, Lillian shoved his hand off her leg. “I don’t want to do anything with you. Nor was my theater a ruse to get you alone. You’ve overstepped your bounds, Lord Clearfield. I demand you return me to Foxhaven House at once.”

“Feisty,” the earl murmured. “I like that.”

Lillian shrieked when he suddenly launched himself forward and made a clumsy attempt to grope her breast. She brought her knees up to fend him off while simultaneously striking out with her elbow and catching him in the side of the head. With a grunt, he toppled sideways and struck his skull against the window with a hard clunk that she found quite satisfying.

“I’m–I’m bleeding! You made me bleed .” he cried, touching his hair and then holding his hand out to reveal his white glove covered in a slick sheen of red. For a so-called adventurer with two grand tours under his waistcoat, Lord Clearfield’s face turned an interesting shade of green at the sight of a little blood.

“So you are,” Lillian said dispassionately. “And if you do not order this carriage to stop this second, I’ll do it again.”

“You’re…you’re a Goddamned madwoman!” Lord Clearfield declared even as he thumped his fist on the roof and his driver immediately pulled off to the side of the street and reined the horses in to a stop.

“No,” she said, stepping over him to reach the door. “ I am an actress. And you are sad, pitiful, bit part of a man.”

The fallen snow went past her ankles when she jumped to the ground. She barely had time to gather up her skirts and stumble out of the way before the carriage took off, Lord Clearfield’s parting remarks lost to the wind.

Her eyes wide and her heart tight in her chest, Lillian turned in a circle under the weakly flickering glow of a gas lamp. She was on a well-to-do street lined with a mixture of manors and townhouses, all of which were closed up tight. The street was empty, partly due to the storm and partly due to the fact that everyone who lived in this opulent section of London was still at the Yuletide Ball. If there were any hackneys for hire, they wouldn’t be coming around here anytime soon. She was, in essence, stranded a mile or more from her cozy flat above the theater. With only a rudimentary grasp on what way to go and nothing more than her own two feet to get her there. In an unprecedented winter storm–

“And the pitch dark,” Lillian groaned when the gas lamp sputtered, reignited, and then went out. Tucking her chin down, she began to walk.

* * * *

Abel wanted to leave.

Every fiber of his being was telling him to leave

Why, then, was he climbing the steps to the ballroom? Why was he standing in the arched doorway? And why the bloody hell was he scanning the crowd for a bewitching pair of bronzed garnet eyes and lush pink lips curved in a smirk?

“Can I be of assistance, Your Grace?” A butler, distinguished from the other staff by the superior cut of his clothing, joined Abel at the ballroom entrance.

“No, I…” Frowning slightly, he tore his gaze from the dancing couples. “Actually, yes. Yes, maybe you can. I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you’ve seen them.”

A long pause, and then….

“A name or description would be helpful, Your Grace.”

“Of course.” Feeling foolish–not an emotion he was familiar with–Abel clarified his request. “Her name is Miss Snow. She is about this tall”–he held his hand up to his shoulder–“and she is wearing a dark red gown.”

“I am afraid nearly half of ladies here are wearing gowns of that color, Your Grace.”

“But do half of them have the countenance of a goddess and the tongue of a witch?” he snapped, running his hand through his hair in a fit of exasperation. In addition to foolish, he also felt…warm. Feverish, almost. Maybe he was coming down with an ailment. Maybe his kiss on the terrace had been nothing more than a hallucination. Maybe he wasn’t even at the Yuletide Ball. Maybe–

“Ah.” The butler nodded solemnly. “You mean that Miss Snow. She left in the company of one Lord Clearfield approximately half an hour ago.”

“She…left?” With another man. In an instant, Abel’s temple cooled as ice water poured into his veins. “She left,” he said flatly. “Very well. That’s that, then. Thank you for your help.”

“You’re quite welcome, Your Grace. May I ask if you are enjoying the festivities? I noticed you have not yet entered the ballroom.”

Abel’s frown deepened. “Are you watching me?”

“I am the head butler, Your Grace.” Clasping his hands together behind his back, he lowered his torso in a short bow. “It is my duty to watch over all of the guests at Foxhaven House and ensure they are getting what they need.”

“And how is it you know what they need?” he asked suspiciously.

“I have been doing this job a long time, Your Grace. There are always signs. For example”–he pointed out into the crowd at a middle-aged woman in green staring adoringly into the eyes of a gentleman in black as they waltzed in a circle–“Lady Haywood wanted nothing more than her husband to notice her again and Lord Haywood needed an evening to appreciate what he had right in front of him. In can grow weary, you know.”

“What can?”

“Love. Similar to a rose, it grows quickly in the beginning. Easily. But in order to sustain the long winter and the even longer years ahead, it must be tended. Fertilized. Pruned. Without care and attention, the leaves can start to wither and the stems to rot. Yet for all of the world’s wonders, there is truly nothing more magical than that very first bloom. That delicate unfolding of petals is nature’s own miracle.” The butler’s studious brown eyes met Abel’s with quiet intensity. As if he wasn’t looking at him, but into him. “The only thing more rare and wonderful is to experience the first bloom a second time. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”

‘Are you a gambler, then?’

‘Almost as bad. I’m an actress.’

“I’m sure I have no idea of what you’re speaking,” Abel said stiffly.

The lined edges of the butler’s eyes crinkled. “Of course not. Forgive me. If there is nothing else I can assist you with…”

“Wait,” he said with the butler started to turn away. “Can you really tell what people need?”

“So I have been told.”

“What is it that Miss Snow needs, then?”

“That’s easy, Your Grace. Her theater.” The butler shook his head. “Although I fear she went looking for it in the wrong place.”

“What do you mean?” Abel asked, his brow furrowing.

“After several poor investments, Lord Clearfield is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.”

“How does that have anything to do with Miss Snow? Unless…” At his sides, his hands curled into fists. “He told her that he would invest in her theater.”

“He did imply as much, yes.”

“But the bastard hasn’t any money.”

“No, your Grace, he does not.”

Abel’s thumbs dug painfully into his palms, forming crescent-shaped indents. He hardly noticed the pain as a flash of red hot rage ran through him, like a rod of steel thrust into a blacksmith’s forge. “How long ago did you say they departed?”

“Thirty minutes. The tea house Lord Clearfield said he was taking her closed last year, but his house is on Aldine Street. Should you wish to pursue Miss Snow, I suspect you will find her there.”

Did he, Abel wondered?

Wish to pursue her, that is.

His jaw clenched.

Damned right he did. If only to rescue her from that lying grasp of a lecher, Lord Clearfield. Not because their kiss had branded his soul. And definitely not because he considered her to be his second blooming rose.

Lillian Snow, a wife? She was an actress . An actress that had no qualms being kissed by a stranger in the snowy moonlight. Hardly the model of exemplary behavior that he wanted his daughters to emulate. He’d come to Yuletide Ball to find a woman that was mild-tempered, courteous, and sophisticated. Not a gorgeous, garnet-eyed hellion with the body of an angel and the tongue of the devil’s own bride.

“Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?” the butler asked.

“Only my carriage brought round.”

“Of course. Consider it done.”

“Thank you for all of your assistance, Mr…”

“Clause, Your Grace. Mr. Nicolas Clause. And it’s no trouble.” In what was undoubtedly a trick of the light, the butler’s gaze appeared to…twinkle. “It’s no trouble at all.”

* * * *

All of the feeling had seeped from Lillian’s toes and fingers. She only knew her legs were there because they continued to propel her through the snow, albeit at a slower and slower pace. Her face was frozen. Her teeth were chattering. She was as cold as she’d ever been, and it was becoming a struggle not to find somewhere to curl up and take a long, restful nap.

How far had she gone? It was nearly impossible to tell. The snow made every street look the same. For all she knew, she could be traveling in circles. One thing was absolutely certain: the dice she’d rolled to win an invitation to the Yuletide Ball hadn’t been lucky at all. Unbeknownst to her, the bloody things had been cursed. She never should have picked them up. And she never should have gone to Foxhaven House.

“B-b-blue,” she stuttered as she forced one foot in front of the other. “I have to tell M-M-Marjorie that the s-s-shutters are b-b-blue.”

A gust of wind barreled down the lane, kicking up a blinding sheet of white. Wincing, she threw her hands up in front of her face. When the wind subsided, she peeked through her fingers…and found herself squinting at an odd, bobbing sort of light heading straight towards her.

Heaven , she thought almost hysterically. I’m being summoned to heaven and now I can ask Shakespeare how he brought such large audiences to the Globe Theater. Not that the answer will do me any good considering I’ll be dead.

The light came closer. Dimly, she heard the sound of…bells? Yes! Bells . Bells jingling on the harnesses of four horses pulling a massive town coach. The light was a lantern affixed to a pole above the driver’s head.

“S-stop!” she cried, waving her arms madly. “P-please stop!”

The coach veered to the right as the horses slowed, the wheels losing traction on the slippery cobblestones. Before the heavy black vehicle had shuddered to a complete halt, the side door opened and a man jumped out, his face obscured by falling snow.

“LILLIAN!” he shouted, his deep voice slicing through the wind.

“A- Abel ?” Not trusting her own eyes, she blinked, then blinked again. When her eyes opened the third time, the Duke of Dorchester was standing over her, already taking off his coat and wrapping it around her trembling body.

“I have you,” he said, and Lillian was too weak to protest when he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his coach as if she weighed no more than a pillow of feather down. He placed her on the seat closest to a small, triangular iron stove stuffed with coals but when she continued to shiver, he pulled her onto his lap, his arms closing around her in a protective embrace. “I have you,” he repeated huskily. “You’re safe now.”

Lashes fanning across the top of her cheeks, Lillian’s head lolled onto his shoulder and within minutes, she was fast asleep.