Her Secret Fantasy (8 page)

Good.
She was safely inside once again. His mystery girl had gained the terrace and disappeared through the French doors into the ballroom.
But to whom?

To whom did she belong?

Lucky bastard.

“Derek?”

“Hm?” Snapping back to attention, he turned to Lady Amherst and found her studying him at close range, her face etched with suspicion.

She pulled back and cocked her head, propping one hand on her waist.

“Something wrong?” he asked, all innocence.

Lady Amherst swept the area of the garden folly with a wary glance, then looked at him, one slender eyebrow arching high.

“Darling,” she said as her gaze traveled over his mussed hair and thoroughly kissed lips, “what exactly have you been doing out here?”

CHAPTER

         
FIVE
         

L
ily awoke the next morning after a long night of tossing and turning. She had no sooner opened her eyes than all the worries and fears that had kept her up nearly till dawn came rushing back. Her first thought was of Derek Knight; the second, of her missing earring.

She had been in an absolute tizzy since the horrifying moment she had come home from the masked ball, started to undress, and realized it was gone.

In the dead of night, Mrs. Clearwell’s servants had helped her search the carriage and the floors all along the route that she had taken upon walking in the front door of her chaperone’s cozy house in Mayfair, up the stairs to the little bedchamber that she’d been assigned. But none of their efforts located the diamond, and Lily was sure that she had lost it at the masked ball.

Indeed, her worst fear was that she had lost it at the garden folly—probably as divine punishment for her secret tryst with Derek Knight! She swore to herself that if not for her missing earring, she could make herself forget him in a trice. Unfortunately, now there was actual
evidence
out there somewhere, hard proof that she had been in an un-sanctioned, unchaperoned location making mischief with a man whom she was not even supposed to know. Good God, how could she have courted ruin like this, flirted with disaster? Was she mad?

She could only pray that the major or somebody else might have found her lost jewel and had turned it in to their hosts of last night, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. The sentimental value alone made the earring priceless, but even if it were an ordinary diamond, she could never afford to replace it.

Later today, during decent visiting hours, she would check in with the Brookses to ask if anyone had found the jewel, but the first order of business was her promised visit to Edward’s house to help Mrs. Lundy plan her garden party.
Oh, Lord.

Lily sighed, staring up at the ceiling, her forearm cast across her brow. She hoped it was easier to face Edward today than it had been last night when she had returned to the ballroom after kissing Derek Knight.

Her half-mask had been worth its weight in gold at that moment, for she was sure her guilt had been written all over her face. As far as she could tell, Edward hadn’t noticed anything amiss, thanks in part to his indulgence in drink and his distracted mood over the committee hearing.

Meanwhile, the major must have remained outside with his lady friend, for she did not see him in the ballroom again.

She hoped that today, visiting Edward’s grand castle-house, it would be easier to act naturally with her beau. All the same, she had better get herself in hand.

Pushing up from her alcove bed, she crossed her quaint little chamber with its soft pastel wallpaper and light chintz curtains and poured some water from the pitcher into the washing bowl. Then she bent and slowly splashed her face, trying to wake herself up, still musing on all that had occurred.

How strange it was that she had fancifully wished for a way out of marrying Edward, and Derek Knight had appeared. But she scoffed at herself. No doubt if the major ruined her, that would put an end to her marrying Edward!

Not exactly what she’d had in mind.

She reached for a towel and patted her face dry, then frowned at herself in the mirror, noting the dark circles under her eyes. After a night of sleepless worry, she was still in a state of dread over being found out, either by the major himself learning her identity or the insatiable gossips of the ton catching wind of their kiss. What the blazes had come over her last night? How could she have taken such risks, especially knowing how narrowly she had escaped ruin once before?

Sometimes she felt as if her whole life were a lie, but Derek Knight seemed to see through her. An honest man.

“Brutally honest, according to my sister.”

Lily snorted as she recalled his words. They sounded nice, but she didn’t trust him any farther than she could have thrown the big warrior. There was no way she would have taken off her mask last night even if he’d begged her.

Certainly she had reason to fear that he might still discover who she was, for if he did and was not a gentleman, there were all sorts of horrid ways he could use the knowledge against her. Blackmail her into doing whatever he liked…

Lily shuddered—not just from dread—and threw the towel aside in self-disgust. What a fool she was! What a wanton fool.

Kissing Derek Knight, she had dangled her future, her good name, and the welfare of her family off the side of a blasted precipice—and yet, for some reason, she could not even muster the proper good sense to regret it.

Gruesome dreams of war besieged his sleep.

Derek’s head thrashed slightly against his pillow, his muscles clenching beneath the light sheet.

The damned cart kept breaking. In the middle of the battlefield. He had to get…something to…someone. Supplies, maybe, to the men. But the terrified horses wouldn’t cooperate and the damned wheels kept getting blown off the supply wagon.

He could fix it, he told himself. He could fix anything, he was the handiest chap in the regiment, but the journey was endless, and Derek was near his wits’ end with the knowledge that he was getting nowhere.

Nowhere.

All the while, the cannons roared so loud he couldn’t hear himself think, and the men couldn’t hear his orders so they’d damned well better know what to do on their own. Had he trained them well enough? What if they could not survive without him? They could barely breathe with all the smoke and here he was, fixing a damned supply wagon wheel in the middle of a battle! Why wouldn’t anyone help him?

He looked around through the hellish clouds of black powder smoke to get a hand with the stupid wagon, and instead he turned just in time to see a young private get his leg blown off. He choked back a shout, his first thought to get the kid into the wagon. Then he was racing toward the boy. He could hear him screaming through the clouds of smoke but he couldn’t find him, and then all of a sudden he realized he was unarmed.

Jesus Christ, how could I have forgotten my sword at a time like this?

He awoke with a horrified start and shot up in bed, reaching about automatically for a weapon. His bleary eyes flicked open, his chest heaving as his panicked glance swept the room. Only then did he see that he was not in his tent and recall that he was not at the war, and there were no Marathas trying to kill him today.

Not here.

London.

Right.

God.
He shut his eyes again briefly, rubbed his face, blew out a weary exhalation, and did his best to shake off the clinging confusion of sleep. It was only a dream. The same damned one as usual.

He shuddered, dragging his hand slowly through his tangled hair.

Lady Amherst slept on peacefully beside him, oblivious to his private hell.

Derek leaned back against the headboard, tousle-haired and bare-chested, the sheet falling across his naked hips.

Striving to get his bearings once more in reality, he idly scratched his jaw in need of a shave, but the ugly images still lingered in his brain. To distract himself, he turned his weary attention to the woman beside him, the sound of her soft snores. He stared at her in detachment.

Her voluptuous curves still drew his admiration by the flat gray light of morning, but Lady Amherst’s face was buried in the pillow, hidden by her hair. Her tranquil slumber left him feeling all the more alone.

The evidence of their sport, meanwhile, lay scattered around his chamber. Strewn clothes everywhere. The small bottle of exotic fragranced oil that he had caressed into her skin and she his. Empty wine bottles. Candles that had melted into little pools, now solid disks of wax.

She had indulged his every whim and satisfied him down to the very bottom of the well, but if he’d had his fill of her last night, then why did he awaken feeling empty once again?

Derek gave a quiet sigh, then looked around, restless and uneasy until he spotted his discarded waistcoat on the floor beside the bed.

He reached down and fished the mystery girl’s diamond earring out of the inside pocket. Reclining in his bed again, the sight of it sparkling like a star in the palm of his hand, the memory of “Mary Nonesuch” brought back a wistful trace of a smile to his lips.

Damned minx, who the blazes was she? And what had she been doing out there at the garden folly, anyway, if not waiting for her lover? He did not know. Nor could he explain why he cared or why the thought of her afforded cool relief like a soothing poultice for his wounded mind.

I’m going to find you, whoever you are,
he thought, maybe too impatient to wait for her to come to him. He didn’t even know her name, yet somehow he felt closer to that elusive nymph than he did to the woman in his bed.

When he caught a sudden whiff of Purnima’s cooking, his stomach rumbled on cue for breakfast. Derek cast the sheet aside, taking care not to disturb his bedmate.

He rose and stepped into a pair of loose white drawers. As he tied the drawstring at his waist, he paused, startled by the lightly bruised teeth-marks that Lady Amherst had left on his stomach—a distinct love bite right by his navel. Egads, he had forgotten about that.

With a cynical twist of a smile, he shrugged on a loose banyan robe of dark-toned silk, then left his chamber silently, closing the door behind him.

He had things to do and, in truth, no real desire to be here when his latest conquest awoke, if he could avoid it. Not that he was trying to escape a conversation, but as a general rule, experience had taught him that the more discreetly he could take leave of his lovers, the smoother such partings went. He liked to keep things simple, make a clean break. He intended to get his day under way and pay a call on Lord Sinclair, the chairman of the committee.

He hoped that today the pompous earl would be able to tell him how soon the navy transports would set sail for India with the army’s gold.

“Good day, sahib!”

Derek hushed Aadi with haste, glancing over his shoulder at the closed chamber door as his servant came hurrying toward him. No need to wake the tigress. “Morning, Aadi,” he answered in a low tone. “Breakfast ready yet?”

“Yes, Major. Your bath, too. We, ah, presumed you would be going out this morning.”

“Quite,” Derek said ruefully, grateful that his loyal staff knew the routine. “You, er, will look after the lady for me when she wakes? See that she has all she needs after I’ve gone?”

“Oh, yes, sahib. As always.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at his servant’s cheeky bow, but he stepped past the Indian, following his nose toward the kitchen.

“Major, what shall I tell the lady if she asks us where you’ve gone?” Aadi asked after him in Bengali, nodding toward his closed chamber door.

“Oh, I don’t know, tell her I’ve gone off on army business,” he answered in his servant’s native tongue and shrugged. “Tell her whatever you like, just make sure she’s gone by the time I get back. Don’t get too close, mind you,” he warned with a sly glance over his shoulder as he walked off down the hall, his loose robe flowing out behind him. “She bites.”

Before long, he was dressed and fed and striding down Piccadilly, headed for Lord Sinclair’s elegant Town mansion. He went on foot because it wasn’t far and, admittedly, he was keen to kill some extra time while his servants worked on sending Lady Amherst on her way.

Pausing on the street corner, he ignored a newsboy selling papers and paced as he waited for a crowded stagecoach to rumble by. It was then that he noticed a florist’s shop behind him. Derek suddenly paused, turned, and walked in.

He ordered flowers for the Brookses to express his thanks for the invitation to the masked ball, but in truth, his gentlemanly courtesy served a double purpose. While the florist created the bouquet, Derek leaned on the shop’s counter, writing out a little note to be included with his offering.

After expressing his gratitude and complimenting his hosts on their lavish event, a roguish smile played about his lips as he wondered how to broach the subject of the earring. Then he dipped the quill in the ink pot and wrote: