Tabitha nodded. “She planned my wedding, and it was lovely. What I saw of it, anyway.”
The duke laughed, his eyes raking over her, glowing. “Covered head to toe in layers of opaque lace. Brutus is lucky I can laugh about it now.” He shook out his hand as if he itched to use it.
“Nothing to do but laugh about it,” Tabitha said.
Her husband’s head tilted and lips curved in a look that said he could identify other ways to handle the situation.
“Bother.” Lillian felt like worms were crawling up her spine.
“What’s wrong?” Lord Devon’s fingers clenched, wrapping around her hand.
Lillian glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Your Uncle Brutus. If he balked at Tabitha, his heart will simply stop working once he finds out about me.” She looked at him fully. “We must speak with my father,” she whispered. “Surely there’s another way. No one knows. Only him. Us. There’s no need for us to marry.”
“Except to keep my tendons.”
She couldn’t help it. She smiled. “I assume you’re rather attached to them?”
“Mightily.” He turned her hand until it was palm up, and then he threaded their fingers together. “We need to talk. Alone.”
She nodded. She could not delay the inevitable any longer.
He stood, tugging her to her feet. “Miss Clarke has a remarkable need to…” He looked to her, a question in his gaze.
“Visit Hatchard’s,” Lillian said. It was the first thing she’d thought of, and truly, it would supply enough corners to talk privately but with enough openness to keep her from doing things she oughtn’t. And—she looked to the window—the sun was breaking through the clouds. A nice walk would clear her head. Books would soothe her soul.
He yanked her to her feet and folded her arm between his arm and his body, pulling her close to this side. He stopped at his mother’s side and dropped a kiss on her temple. “You may plan the wedding without us today. When Lillian needs books, she gets books.”
He’d never called her by her Christian name before. That, coupled with perhaps the most romantic words she’d ever heard—when Lillian needs books, she gets books—nearly made her swoon on the spot. She clutched Devon’s arm. Devon. Yes, she must call him that if he was going to call her Lillian.
“Goodbye!” She waved as he dragged her from the room like a bag of broken parts.
Everyone waved back, their grins wide and ridiculous. When the door shut behind Devon and Lillian, she heard them erupt in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded, pulling from Devon’s grasp and launching herself back toward the room.
“A myriad of things, little bean. Let them laugh.” He grabbed her by the waist and carried her like a parcel beneath one arm, her legs dangling in the most undignified manner. “Convenient you’re so small.”
“Put me down!” She kicked. What was this absurdity?
“Not yet. Stop wiggling.”
“Fine.” She stopped wiggling and kicking and focused on making her body as heavy as possible, letting every muscle in her body go limp.
“Damn, but you’ve gained five stone in five seconds. Stop whatever sorcery you’re doing right now.”
Her legs and arms hung like stones. She tried to make her lips drag, too. “Put me down,” she demanded, even though half her mind was calculating how much strength it must take to tow an entire woman about with one arm. The question had her nearly salivating.
He plopped her on her feet before the front door, opened it, and bowed low to usher her outside. She threw her shoulders back and shoved her chin skyward as she marched through. She also swallowed the lake of saliva that had pooled in her mouth.
Devon followed.
So did a footman. “Wait! Your hat, my lord. Your bonnet, Miss.”
A maid scurried from the below stairs. “Are we leaving, Miss Clarke?”
“Yes, Hilda. We are.”
Devon popped the hat on his head as Lillian took her bonnet, then he waved Lillian’s hands away from her bonnet strings. He grinned at Lillian’s maid as he worked the strings. “Hello, Hilda. We’ve never met. I’m Lord Devon, and you must be Persephone.”
