“This book would make it seem as fact,” Guinevere said. “And Lady Constantine’s ruin would be official.”
A strangled sound of pain came from Kilgore. “Yes.”
“So now we understand how Mr. Levine intends to strike at you,” Lilias said.
The three of them stood there for a moment, the unspoken truth that hurting Lady Constantine would be a death blow to Kilgore hanging between them.
“But why?” Lilias asked.
A dark smile tilted up the corner of Kilgore’s lips ever so slightly. “I recently gave him a thrashing he richly deserved and likely will never forget, and then I helped a woman he claimed to love flee him and disappear. He thought to show his love for her with his fists, and I thought to give him justice. In his twisted mind, he thinks I seduced her away from him. So I suppose now he is coming for me.”
“Kilgore!” Lilias exclaimed. “You are rather like a hero.”
“No,” he said flatly, “I am not. Pray, don’t ever forget it.”
She didn’t know why he hated himself so much, but it was quite obvious he did. Now was not the time to unravel that coil, however. “Do you know where Mr. Levine lives?”
“Why?” Guinevere demanded.
Lilias ignored her friend, as did Kilgore, his gaze boring into Lilias. “Yes. He lives in St. Giles.”
Lilias was somehow not surprised to hear that Mr. Levine lived in the most notorious rookery in London. Many families there were hardworking, but there were also pickpockets and criminals aplenty crammed into slum-like housing where the poorest, most unfortunate souls often turned to crime in desperation.
Kilgore arched his dark eyebrows. “Shall we go there now and see if we can retrieve the manuscript? I happen to know a bit about Mr. Levine’s nighty routine.”
Lilias didn’t doubt it. Kilgore was quite clearly a man of many layers, and it seemed one of them might by spying.
“No!” Guinevere exclaimed, but Lilias nodded at Kilgore. Guinevere grabbed Lilias’s hand and jerked her around so they were face-to-face. “Dearest, no! I’m for going, as well, but not without Asher. He would be livid if I went into St. Giles without him. I shudder to think on it.”
“Youshould not go,” Lilias said. “I quite agree that Carrington would be beyond reason, but I do not have a husband.” And she no longer had a man to whom she was betrothed, either. She had only herself, and she had no doubt that Kilgore could protect her.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’ve been looking for ye,” Carrington said, pulling out the chair beside Nash in the Gold Room of the Orcus Society. The game ofvingt-et-unhad just ended and another was not set to start for a few minutes.
“Well, you’ve found me,” Nash replied, shoving his cards toward the dealer, who quickly took them.
“Dennington,” Carrington said to the dealer, “give me a few minutes alone with Greybourne.”
The man immediately nodded, set down the cards he’d been about to shuffle, and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
Wariness settled heavy on Nash. “If this is about Lady Lilias…” Carrington had been very vocal about how he thought Nash was making a mistake. Nash didn’t have the patience for it tonight. It had been a devil of a long one already.
He’d gone to Dr. Balfour’s house to appease his mother, but he’d known the moment he met Eloise Balfour that he could never wed her or any woman. He could not pledge to hold another woman in his heart besides Lilias, especially not before God. It would not be true.
“It is about Lady Lilias but not as ye think. She sent a missive to Guinevere this morning, and Guinevere told me Lady Lilias has broken her betrothal to Blackwood. And Greybourne, Blackwood lied to ye. Lady Lilias did not kiss him on the balcony that night at the ball.Hekissedher. She told Guinevere so.”
A queer buzzing filled Nash’s ears for a moment, then darkness started at the edges of his vision, blotting out everything but a pinpoint of light. In that light was an image of Owen. His supposed friend had purposely lied to him. Nash would find him and kill him. No, no. Murdering a peer would keep Nash separated from Lilias, and nothing,nothing, could keep him from her now. Not after learning of this betrayal. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was rising and shoving his chair back to go to her. She needed him, and he needed her. And in this moment, everything else paled in comparison to the news Carrington had relayed. Owen was a liar. Owen was not Thomas, not anything like Thomas, who had been good and honest. What else had Owen lied about? Rage seared Nash’s veins. He’d been so consumed by guilt, so determined to live a life of penance that he had hurt Lilias, almost forced her to wed someone she didn’t love.
He was at the door when a thought struck, and he stilled. “She may not have me,” he said, more to himself than Carrington.
His friend answered, anyway. “I would wager my entire fortune that she will have ye.”
Nash tugged a hand through his hair, doubt rising. “She doesn’t know everything.” He told Carrington then about the horse race with Owen and then about his brother and the ice. Shame curled within him.
“Good God, Greybourne. Those things were not yer fault. Letting Lady Lilias slip through yer fingerswillbe yer fault, but yer brother charging ye on the ice was not. Ye tried to save him, didn’t ye?”
“God, yes.” Nash stared down at his hands, a memory tickling the back of his mind, but before he could delve into it, the door to the Gold Room burst open and Owen stalked in, his uneven gait more pronounced at his clipped pace.
