Page 4 of Kiss or Dare


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Lillian was invisible. He’d likely forgotten her as soon as he’d left the room. He’d never know the letter came from her hands.

It had been a daring risk to give him the letter, but it would be worth it if it could turn the pickled pumpkin of a man back into a prince.

If she could do that for Lord Devon, why not do it for herself?

She could change the invisible wallflower into a… not a princess. She’d never aim so high. Maybe… an incomparable.

“Ha.” She waved the thought away. Impossible.

Still… she strode back to the window, hope rising warm and thick like steam in her chest. Jane could set her own rules, forge her own destiny. Why not Lillian?

She might as well try. It was better than waiting and being ignored.

She settled into the window seat and watched as another man entered the maze in search of Lady Jane.

Lillian would become her own fairy godmother, and then she’d transform herself into next Season’s incomparable.

CHAPTER1

March 1821, London

Once upon a time, Miss Lillian Clarke had been a shy wallflower. But fairy godmothers could make much of little, especially when they were the recipients of their own gifts. Lillian peered into the looking glass and pinched some life into her cheeks. Another night, another ball, another victory.

She hoped, anyway. She sat up straight and quizzed herself from head to toe. Her golden hair was coiled, braided, and coifed so intricately her scalp tingled. Beauty, apparently, meant pain. When she released it from its confines in the wee hours of the morning, when she was finally able to fling herself into her bed, her hair would be stiff and crinkled, still attempting to maintain its elegant positions despite the fact she'd released it. She would look like a wild thing then. Now however, she looked perfectly elegant. Her eyes were not what one could desire. Simple brown. She passed muster, though, with an elegant neck and shoulders and a bodice cut just a scant inch too low—just enough to set fans flapping and gentlemen’s eyes dropping. Her gown was in the first stare of fashion and in shades that perfectly complemented her coloring—gold and demure white. She’d always wished her figure was more voluptuous, but apparently, willowy was an enviable shape to be.

She had not expected to achieve her goal so quickly when she set out to become an incomparable, but a month of the season was all it had taken. Here, looks were not bad to begin with, so she had not been called upon to perform miracles. Her connections may have helped. As Papa always said, connections were indispensable, and Lillian’s best friends had recently married a duke and an earl. Plain Miss Clarke, famed inventor's daughter, now moved in higher circles than she had as a child, than she had a few years ago before her father’s invention of the steam machine had moved them far from their humble beginnings.

The hardest part of inventing an incomparable had been believing she could do it. That had been the magic bit of it, the part that mattered most. If she had shown up in new finery with high connections but still acted as a wilting flower incapable of looking anyone in the eye, capable only of stammering out answers, no one would have looked at her, let alone whispered about her behind their fans. They certainly would not have written articles about her in the paper or given her any attention at all.

She would have been invisible. As she had been before.

The most difficult part had been looking up, keeping a steady gaze, speaking with confidence, believing in herself. Or pretending to believe in herself. Now she had pretended so much she almost believed the fantasy.

She believed it enough to think she could help others do what she had done. She could turn her fairy godmother talents to help other true Cinderellas.

Even her slippers peeked out from under her skirt, white shot with gold, suitable for dancing in a fairy tale somewhere under the watchful gaze of a mysterious fairy prince. The fairy prince would be quite handsome—golden hair, unusual scruff about his cheeks for one so titled, the bluest of blue eyes…

No.

Lillian swung from the mirror and shook the face from her mind. She stormed out the door and paused in the hallway.

Was he here? Didn't matter. The only way to get to the carriage was down the stairs, past the workshop, and out the front door. If he was here, and if he heard her, he wouldcommenton her. It was enough to send her screaming back into her room.

No. She needed him to make her angry, to banish the fairy prince’s face,hisface, a face that was no longer supposed to live in her mind. Or her dreams. Even though he appeared to be living in her parents’ house. She growled, straightened her shoulders, raised her chin.

“You’re an incomparable, Lillian,” she told herself. “Everyone says so. And him…” She growled again. Well, she could compare him to many things. None of them were particularly nice.

Unless, of course, one counted the fairy prince. Lillian did not.

She sailed down the stairs safely. Why had her father not put his workshop elsewhere in the house? Outside would be best.

The workshop door neared. She would not look at it. The ceiling was quite lovely. Though descending the steps without looking was terribly difficult.

“Out of the way!” a silken masculine voice bellowed from down below. “Everyone out of the way. Here comes the incomparable.”

No. He was here. No use looking at the ceiling now and risking her neck in a fall.

Lord Devon had spotted her.