Hilda blushed and curtsied. “I know who you are, my lord, but not who Persephone is.”
“The Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld,” Lillian said, wishing her words did not sound so sharp and brittle. “We’re off to Hatchard’s, Hilda. Lord Devon and I would like a modicum of privacy in order to have a conversation while we walk.”
Hilda giggled and blushed, still staring dreamy-eyed at Lord Devon. “Yes, Miss.”
Lord Devon turned his attention back to Lillian, tying a perfectly pretty bow beneath her chin.
She glared at him. “You’re not very charming.”
“Am too.”
“Not to me, you’re not. To Lady Abigail, to Hilda, to all other women. But not to me. At least, not anymore. You used to be. Last Season. When you noticed I existed, you smiled and flattered. After the house party, you became all irritation with me.”
He tweaked the ribbon once more, nodded his approval, then marched down the street. “I’ve my reasons,” he said.
“Care to tell me what they are?”
No answer.
She scurried to catch up with him. If she could lift her skirts, she’d be able to move much more quickly. She could not chance even a lift of her skirts. An ungraceful gallop might do her in. She could risk nothing before last night and certainly not now.
When she reached his side, he slowed his steps to match her own.
“No one will believe you’re in love with me if you’re not at least a bit charming toward me.”
“Really? I’ll consider it.” He turned his head and studied her. “How doyouthink I should act when around you?”
For some reason, his question made her feel invisible once more. Briefly, in the duke’s parlor, Devon’s hand resting on top of hers, his warm whispers in his ear, concern glowing in his eyes, she’d felt seen, and she’d felt wanted. She’d believed him, his act, gruff though it had been. Everyone else likely had, too. Good. They needed to believe.
But Lillian couldn’t. Because that way lay a heartache she knew too well. She needed everyone else to believe Lord Devon loved her, and she loved him, but the real thing could never happen. She simply would not be that foolish, that invisible, ever again.
CHAPTER9
Devon had asked a perfectly good question and expected an answer to help him navigate the choppy, drown-a-man waters of pretending to be in love.
Lillian’s silence suggested he was on his own.
Fine. He could figure it out. He had half a brain, after all. “I suppose I should look at you adoringly.”
“That’s a start. Better than carrying me about like I’m a sack of flour.”
“Oh? You did not find that romantic?”
“Hmph.”
“My arm wound round your dainty little waist, and your curves pressed against my—”
“Intimate is not at all the same thing as romantic.”
“Hm. Then you’ll have to offer me more specific instructions.”
Her steps halted, then she stumbled forward once more. “I do not know what to tell you. Only that you should not appear as if your only goal in life is to irritate me.”
“Do not irritate excessively and do not carry about. I can manage that. Now, are you ready for my notes?”
She shot him a deadly look. “Your notes? On what?”
“On how you can appear to adore me.”
