Chapter 12

Bribing a junior housemaid to tell her which of the bedchambers housed Lord Drakesley was the work of a moment. Lilah marched to the door and raised her hand to knock—then paused. The wondering eyes of the housemaid, fixed on her with a combination of awe and disapproval, reminded Lilah of the awkwardness of her situation. A young lady could hardly visit a single gentleman in his bedchamber. Pounding on his door and entreating him to come out would doubtless be beyond the line as well. She hesitated, then reluctantly let her hand fall.

“Thank you,” she told the housemaid, with a nice air of hauteur. “That will be all.”

The girl looked as if she would like to stay and see what Lilah did, but she obediently ducked a curtsey and scurried away. Alone in the dimly-lit hall outside Drake’s door, Lilah stood, irresolute. Was Drake asleep or awake? There was nothing to give her a clue. And the morning habits of gentlemen were, naturally, beyond her ken.

She leaned cautiously forward and pressed her ear against the door. Nothing. She listened at the keyhole. Nothing. After a swift glance up and down the hall to make sure she was unobserved, she took a deep breath and pressed her eye to the keyhole. She was almost relieved when this maneuver, too, elicited no information.

Lilah stood up, frowning. She tapped her foot against the carpet and thought. If Drake was still asleep, which seemed likely, she must wake him somehow. It was vital that she speak with him before Papa and Miss Mayhew returned from church. Knocking on his door was unacceptable, but there must be some other method, more subtle than knocking, she could employ.

She cleared her throat experimentally, then coughed. She coughed loudly and repeatedly, then produced a false sneeze that was almost a shout: “Ah—tishoo!” Hopeful, she listened for a response, her ears on the prick. Even a rustle or a creak might indicate that she had disturbed his slumbers, but she could discern nothing through the thick planks of oak.

“Drat,” she muttered. Why couldn’t the Peabodys live in a modern house with proper doors? These old abbeys were like fortresses.

She wandered down the hall to the next door, which was slightly ajar, and peeked in. Her eyes brightened. What luck! The room contained a harpsichord, probably moved to this disused room after the Peabodys acquired a newer, more fashionable, pianoforte. A trumpet might have been better for her purpose, but beggars could not be choosers. Besides, Lilah didn’t know how to play a trumpet.

She ran lightly to the window and opened it, hoping to amplify the music’s effect in the room next door, then sat at the keyboard and began to play. There was no music, so Lilah was forced to rely upon memory. This limited her repertoire, but no matter. She played the same two pieces, several times over, with gusto, then ran back and slammed the door to the music room a couple of times for good measure. Now that, she thought triumphantly, would wake a stone.

She tiptoed back to Drake’s door and listened again, holding her breath. Nothing! Incredulous, she rocked back on her heels and stared at the doorknob as if her will alone could make it turn. The man must sleep like the dead. What more could she do?

There was a technique she had read about in a book. It was a work of fiction, but the idea sounded good. Determined to try it, she hurried back down the hall and found her way, by trial and error, to an outside door leading to the back garden. By careful counting, she divined which window belonged to Drake’s bedchamber and trotted along the gravel path until she was beneath it. Then she bent and picked up a handful of gravel.

The window seemed much farther from the ground than she had thought it would be. Never mind. She leaned back, mentally calculated the distance, and threw. The gravel spattered against the plaster wall beneath the window. No good. She picked up another handful and threw harder. This time, the gravel pinged and rattled in a most satisfactory way against the glass.

She waited, hopeful. Surely Drake’s head would appear in the window at any moment. Time passed. More time passed. Nothing! Lilah shook her head in disbelief. Did the man stuff cotton wool in his ears before retiring?

This time, she would wake him for sure. She picked up another, bigger, handful of gravel, and threw it with all her might.

Four things happened almost simultaneously: Lilah realized she had inadvertently included a fair-sized rock among the pebbles; the gravel hit the window; the rock broke the window; and someone grabbed her from behind.

Lilah screamed.

Drake’s arms tightened around her like a vise. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he thundered.

Lilah squirmed frantically, turning in his arms to face him. “Oh! Oh! You odious man,” she panted, shuddering. “Look what you made me do!”

“I made you? I made you vandalize my aunt’s home?” He seemed ready to strangle her. “Good God, what next will you accuse me of?”

Half mad with the horror of what she had done, Lilah beat her fist impotently against Drake’s chest. “What are you doing here?” she cried. “You nearly scared the life out of me. I thought you were abed!”

“Hell’s bells, woman, it’s nearly noon! I was taking a walk. What are you doing here? This had better be good, Lilah—I’m ready to hand you over to a constable!”

Lilah gasped. “I am not a criminal!”

“No? Then what in thunderation are you? Why are you standing out in the garden, breaking windows?”

Tears of mortification pricked Lilah’s eyes, but she blinked them back. She would not cry. Not again! “I am not breaking windows,” she told him hotly. “Not deliberately, at any rate. I am trying to wake you up.”

His amber eyes widened with incredulity. “You’re mad as a hatter.”

“I didn’t know you were already awake!”

“Obviously! But why not send a servant to wake me? Or was that too easy?” He shook his head in disgust. “You always choose the most dramatic means you can think of, to accomplish the simplest of tasks. If a fly landed on your arm, you’d shoot a pistol at it.”

“That’s not true!” cried Lilah, stung. Her innate honesty compelled her to add, “Not entirely true, at any rate. I did try simpler ways, before I threw the gravel. But—” Her face crumpled. “Oh, this is terrible. I have broken the window. What will the Peabodys think of me?” She covered her face with her hands.

“Never mind,” said Drake gruffly. He patted her awkwardly. “I’ll tell them I did it. They are never surprised by anything I do.”

Even in her distress, Lilah had to chuckle. She shook her head, however, dropping her hands from her face. “You are not to take the blame for my bad behavior,” she told him staunchly. “Why should you? Although I appreciate the offer, of course.”

She smiled up at him—and suddenly felt a bit shy. With a start, she realized she was gripping the lapels of his morning coat, and that his hands were linked behind her waist. It had felt so natural to be in his arms, she had thought nothing of it until this moment. Now she felt a blush heating her face.

He seemed to read her realization in her face, and obviously sensed that she was about to pull away from him, for his arms tightened behind her. “Don’t go,” he said hoarsely.

Something in his voice made her feel all weak and shivery.

“Drake,” she said, with an effort. “You know we agreed, last night, that we mustn’t be alone together.” She took a deep breath. “We must be careful,” she said unsteadily, addressing his neckcloth. She dared not look higher.

“Yes,” he said. His voice still sounded strained. “You’re right. There’s no telling what might happen.”

He had said the right words, but he hadn’t let her go. Lilah peeped up at his face for half a second, and was caught. His eyes seemed to burn into hers, holding her captive, drowning her will. She stared helplessly at him. His face seemed to grow larger, filling the world, and she realized his head was bending down to hers.

“Damn,” he muttered, in a voice of despair. And kissed her.

Oh, dear.

It was all wrong. But it felt so right. Some secret part of her had been longing for him to kiss her again, had been waiting for this very moment. That neglected corner of her soul somehow overruled her sensible, everyday self. The everyday Lilah was too demoralized to make even a token protest; Drake’s kiss was too important, too necessary, to her secret self. Thoroughly routed, her common sense surrendered without a whimper and clung to Drake with the rest of her, melting instinctively into his embrace as if she belonged there.

But she didn’t belong there. Drake wanted to marry Miss Mayhew, and she had to help him. It was hard to remember why…things that had seemed important a few moments ago now seemed utterly insignificant.

Confused, Lilah gave herself up to the moment. Now this…this was worth savoring. It wouldn’t last forever. So she clutched Drake’s lapels and held on, riding waves of sensation that somehow became waves of emotion, and she kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.

It was Drake who eventually broke away. He lifted his face from hers, growling as if in pain. “Stop it!” he ordered, apparently struggling for breath.

Lilah blinked dazedly at him. “Stop what?”

And then reality returned in a rush. She was standing on a garden path, in broad daylight, in full view of God alone knew how many windows, kissing Lord Drakesley for all the world to see. Horrified, she gave a frantic shove to Drake’s shoulders. “Let me go!”

He did, and she stumbled backward. They stared at each other for a moment. Drake looked furious. “Let you go? With a good will, madam! You may wipe that look of outraged innocence off your face. Who tempted whom?”

“What?” Lilah’s voice cracked with incredulous wrath. “Don’t you dare imply that I started that!”

“You bloody well did.”

“Oh! Oh, you—you—you monster! You coxcomb! I never knew such arrogance—such conceit—” Lilah fairly spluttered with rage. “I would never dream of throwing myself at a man! And if I did, you would be the last man on earth—”

“Oh, spare me,” he said witheringly. “I was here, remember? You threw, and I caught. But, next time—” He shook his finger menacingly. “Next time, Lilah, I will have my guard up.”

Lilah felt her jaw drop. This was mind-boggling. She longed to box his ears. Or slap him. Or at least swear! Why couldn’t a lady swear? “God’s teeth!” she shouted, and felt marginally better. “I did nothing! Nothing whatsoever! You came up behind me—”

“While you were hurling missiles—”

“—and grabbed me. You attacked me!”

His fists clenched. “The only reason I grabbed you, you totty-headed harpy, was to keep you from breaking more windows!”

She advanced on him, quivering with fury. “I was only aiming at your window!”

“Oh, I see,” he said sarcastically. “Once my window lay in smithereens, the others were in no danger. Pardon me! I failed to realize that.”

“I will not pardon you,” she cried. “You are sarcastic, and sneering, and contemptible! And you think I kissed you? How dare you?”

“You made the first move.”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, what was it?” she demanded, so angry she could barely speak. “What, exactly, do you think I did to provoke your—your hideous advances?”

“You held onto me,” he snarled. “Like this.” He seized her shoulders. “And then you looked at me. And smiled.” He was apparently too angry to demonstrate this, judging by the ferocious glare that accompanied these words. “And then you…” Here, Drake seemed to lose his train of thought. He stared at her, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Lilah lifted her chin and gave him stare for stare, her eyes narrowed with fury.

“Yes?” she said icily.

He dropped his hands from her shoulders to her upper arms. His fingers caressed her flesh through the thin muslin of her morning dress, as if they had taken on a life of their own and could not help themselves. “Confound it, woman,” he almost shouted. “You’re doing it again!”

“I’m doing nothing!”

“Yes, you are.” He looked half-crazed. His amber eyes bored into hers. “You’re being Lilah.”

His voice had softened, roughened. It turned her name into a caress. Lilah shivered with the shock of it. She could feel that whisper of her name all through her, like fire licking through her veins. It gave her gooseflesh, hearing her name on his lips like that, in such a voice.

And then he said it again. “Lilah,” he whispered. “Lilah.”

Madness seized them both. It was impossible to tell whether she had flung herself into his arms or he had crushed her into a bear hug, but there they were, against all odds, overcome with passion yet again. It was the most baffling, terrifying experience of Lilah’s life—and the most exciting. This time, however, enough of her anger remained to cause her to pull her face away, gasping, “No! No! Merciful heavens, are you insane? Stop!”

But Drake continued to rain kisses on her face and hair. “There’s nothing for it,” he muttered despairingly. “I shall have to marry you.”

“No,” said Lilah sharply. She took his face firmly in her hands to stop him from kissing her nose. “Think! Control yourself! You do not want to marry me. You want to marry Miss Mayhew.”

“How can I? All I think about is you. Touching you. Kissing you. You’re driving me mad.”

“It—it will pass,” said Lilah shakily. “It must. We don’t even like each other, Drake.”

“You don’t like me?” He looked so comically wounded, Lilah had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“Oh, very well! I suppose I do like you,” she admitted. “A little. But it doesn’t matter, Drake. I could not live with you.”

He sighed. For a moment, he rested his forehead against hers. “Right,” he said. “Right. Why do we keep having this conversation?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. She wished he would take his face away from hers; his nearness made her nervous. Or something. “Drake…please.”

He sighed again, and let her go. Lilah took a deep breath. It was like coming into clear air after being underwater. Suddenly she remembered what it was that had sent her in search of Drake in the first place. Her eyes widened.

“Heavens above! What time is it? They’ll be home from church at any moment—if they are not here already.”

“Oh, did the Peabodys go to church? I assumed we had all slept through it.”

“No, no—Papa went, with Miss Mayhew. I suppose they drove to London, since that’s where he has a house. Drake, did you know they are reading the banns?”

He looked as thunderstruck as she had felt upon hearing the news. “Banns! Already? Banns?”

“Yes, and they are being published today for the second time.”

“The devil!”

He stood stock still. She shook his sleeve anxiously, searching his face for some sign of what he might be thinking. “We’ve only one more week in which to act. Can you…would you…object to the banns?”

He stared down at her, consternation writ large on his face. “Stand up in church next week, d’ye mean? When they ask if anyone present knows of an impediment to the marriage?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’ve never seen it done—”

“Nor have I!”

“—but the words must be there for a reason.”

“I suppose so.” Drake looked a little pale. He rubbed his chin, apparently trying to picture himself standing up at the crucial moment. “There must be more to it than simply raising an objection. What actual impediment is there? I can’t say, ‘this chap can’t marry her because I wish to.’ I’ll look like an idiot.”

Lilah hadn’t thought that far ahead. She bit her lip, crestfallen. “Oh, dear. What impediments are there, then, to two persons marrying?”

He looked doubtful. “Consanguinity is one. Good luck to us, trying to prove Sir Horace is Eugenia’s uncle or something.”

Lilah shuddered and changed the subject. “What about bigamy? I’m sure bigamy is grounds to bar a marriage.”

He looked exasperated. “Is your father married to someone else? No? Well, neither is Eugenia, so we’ll have to think again.”

“You needn’t sneer at me,” Lilah snapped. “I am only trying to help.”

“Help whom? It’s you who wishes to stop their precious marriage.”

Lilah set her arms akimbo and stared at Drake. “Oh, really? This is news to me! How do you propose to marry Eugenia if she marries my father first?” Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed a finger at Drake. “You’re deliberately picking a quarrel with me. Aren’t you?”

“No, I am not!” He ran his hand through his hair, as he always did when agitated, and the chestnut locks immediately sprang up into cowlicks. They glinted beautifully, red and brown and gold in the sunlight. “There’s something about you, you little witch. You rattle me.”

Lilah, absurdly pleased, returned her hands to her hips. It was deeply satisfying to know that she rattled Drake, since he definitely rattled her. “Hmph!” she sniffed, feigning disapproval. “I might have known you would blame me somehow. It’s my belief you’re queer in your attic.”

She turned her back on him and marched toward the house. She was ashamed to admit it, but it gave her pleasure to hear his feet crunching on the gravel and know he was following her, cajoling and threatening and expostulating and…being Drake.

# # #

Seeing that the twosome were heading back toward the house, Eugenia and Polly drew hastily back from the library window. They needn’t have bothered; Drake and Lilah were too focused on each other to spare a glance upward.

The women said nothing. They returned to their chairs and picked up the needlework they had discarded a few minutes ago, when the sound of breaking glass had sent them flying to look out the window.

Neither plied her needle. Both stared into space for a few moments. Eugenia’s face was puzzled, but Polly looked merely reflective. A little smile played around the corners of her mouth. “Fascinating,” she murmured at last.

Eugenia had the grace to blush. “Oh, Aunt! We ought not to have spied on them.”

Polly waved a dismissive hand. “We’re only human. It was irresistible,” she pronounced. “And besides, it was most instructive.”

“Was it?” Eugenia looked dubious. “I confess, I don’t understand what I saw. They fought with each other, then kissed, then fought, then kissed again, then fought again—why, it’s absurd! But, of course, we were unable to hear their discussion. Perhaps their behavior made perfect sense, in the context of their quarrel.”

“I doubt it,” said Polly serenely. “I daresay the scene would have made even less sense, had we been able to hear it.” She chuckled. “Words convey so little. They are frequently more a hindrance than a help, when the heart is overfull.”

Eugenia shook her head, still mystified. “I hope, then, that my heart is never overfull.”

“You have a placid nature, like mine. We are fortunate. Drake, poor boy, inherited the Harleston temperament. He is subject to storms of emotion that I daresay we shall never know.”

“Yes. His personality is extraordinarily strong.” Eugenia picked up her embroidery hoop and studied the pattern. “That,” she said, in a faraway voice, “is why I never wanted to marry him. It must seem strange, that I would choose Horace over Drake—”

“Not at all,” said Polly quickly. “Not to the family, my dear. We all love Drake—”

“Oh, yes! So do I.”

“—but he would make you a poor husband.”

Eugenia nodded. She set a tiny stitch, then glanced at her aunt, almost shyly. “I am glad you understand. I do not think Drake would make every woman a poor husband. But when Horace and I are together, I feel cherished and important. When Drake and I are together, I feel…” She smiled wryly. “Invisible.”

Polly glanced affectionately at her niece. “You were ever a sensible girl, Eugenia. I feel quite certain you have made the right choice. Drake values you, I believe—why, we all do!—and of course he doesn’t mean to bully people, but he does tend to overlook those who don’t express themselves as forcefully as he does. And that group includes, unfortunately, nearly everyone.” Polly tapped her chin, thinking. “I wonder…”

Eugenia looked up, a question on her face. Polly smiled slowly and nodded. “It seems to me,” she said softly, “that Drake and Miss Chadwick are cut from the same cloth.”

Eugenia’s eyes twinkled. “She certainly seems willing to shout him down—which I never could, you know.”

“Pooh! You are not a shouter. But Miss Chadwick…Miss Chadwick has a fine set of lungs.”

Eugenia stifled a laugh behind her hand. “Oh, this is bad! We shouldn’t try to play Cupid. Pray recall how vehemently they denied that there was any attachment between them.”

“A little too vehemently, I thought.”

Eugenia looked startled. “What! Did you think them insincere?”

“Not at all.”

Eugenia set her embroidery hoop in her lap and stared at her aunt. Polly chuckled. “I do not profess to understand it any better than you do, my dear, but I have rather more experience of the world than you. I promise you, it is often thus, when two strong-willed persons have the misfortune to fall into love.” She looked dreamily back at the window, as if recalling what they had just witnessed. “Yes,” she mused. “I would not be a bit surprised if that is, in fact, what ails them.”

“Really? I would be astonished,” said Eugenia frankly. “Why would a couple who loved each other quarrel so?”

Polly looked very wise. “Falling in love requires a degree of surrender. Those two—” Her voice softened. “Those two will resist surrender with every fiber of their beings.”

“I see.” Eugenia thought for a moment. “I hope you are right on one count. I hope Lilah will…resist surrender.” She leaned anxiously forward, addressing her aunt in a low, hurried tone. “It seems to me that, whatever their opinion of each other may be, they share a—a mutual passion. Drake can be difficult to withstand when all he wants from you is a walk in the park, or a button sewn on! I cannot imagine anyone having the fortitude to hold him at bay, were he pursuing something he strongly desires.”

Polly looked troubled. “They will have to marry.”

“But how are we to engineer such a thing? We cannot allow Drake to compromise her. Pray recall that Lilah will be my stepdaughter! I am, in a sense, responsible for her welfare. I cannot permit her to run into danger.”

Polly choked. Eugenia saw that her aunt was struggling to hold back laughter. “Tell that to Lilah,” said Polly, in an unsteady voice. “If you dare.”

Eugenia felt the corners of her mouth begin to twitch. And then, despite the seriousness of their conversation, the two women fell into a fit of helpless laughter.

“Oh, dear,” said Eugenia at last, gulping air to control her mirth. “It’s wrong to laugh. I really am responsible for Lilah—in a way.”

“Rubbish. If Sir Horace cannot check her, how can you? You mustn’t try to assert your stepmotherly authority, my dear. If you provoke her, she is liable to run directly counter to your advice—and, really, I could hardly blame her if she did, poor child. Her father’s betrothal has been a severe shock to her.”

“Has it? I was afraid of that.” Eugenia sighed. “I did try to talk Horace into inviting her to London, so she could meet me and attend the wedding. But he thought it better to surprise her. The most I could persuade him to do was send a letter—and he refused to do even that much until the banns were already being read.”

Polly’s lips pursed in cynical amusement. “It occurs to me, my love, that Sir Horace is a little afraid of his tempestuous daughter.”

“Oh, no, Aunt. He loves her very much.”

“I didn’t mean to imply a lack of affection between them. But I have the distinct impression that Lilah rules the roost at Chadwick Hall.” Her eyes twinkled. “It would be a very good thing, Eugenia, if you could marry her off to Drake. Otherwise, I very much fear you will never be mistress in your own home.”

Eugenia, in the act of threading a needle, paused. Trouble flitted across her features. “You may be right,” she said at last. “I have never played matchmaker before, however. I find such machinations repellent.”

“I’m sure your sentiments do you credit, my dear. But in my experience, a little push never did any harm. If Drake and Lilah are not right for each other, your efforts will not bear fruit. If, on the other hand, they are…then hurrying matters along may do a great deal of good.”

Eugenia pondered this for a moment. “It would have to be done very delicately,” she murmured, as if to herself. “They mustn’t guess my object.”

“Very true. Anything blatant will only anger them.”

She thought for a moment more, then suddenly colored up, shaking her head as if startled from sleep. “Gracious! The notion is absurd. I have no power to make two people fall in love.”

Polly was conscious of a strong sense of disappointment. “No,” she agreed, then sighed. “But if you think of any way, my dear Eugenia, to make two people who have already fallen in love, come to their senses and realize it—I beg you will not hesitate to act.”