Twice Fallen by Emma Wildes Page B

gentleman.” Betsy’s smile was mischievous. “I think he might be just a little afraid to disobey you, Lily.”
    To picture Jonathan, so tall and utterly capable of taking on any danger, afraid of anything brought a laugh. “I think he took my advice so he could impress the lovely Lady Cecily and win her as his wife. It is quite different. Now he is the besotted husband and sequestered in the country with his wife. Not exactly the savage, but remarkably like a refined English lord.”
    “Perhaps.” Betsy paused. “What will you wear to the tea this afternoon?”
    It was delicately asked and Lily had to stifle a groan. “I’d forgotten,” she muttered, setting aside her chocolate. “I’d rather not attend at all, but—”
    “But the duchess is doing it just for you and you beg off often enough as it is.”
    “I never asked to be thrown into her clutches,” Lily pointed out acerbically, which was absolutely true. It was all Jonathan’s doing, drat him.
    Yet to her benefit, and that of her sisters, so how could she complain?
    “She is a bit daunting,” Betsy admitted, her fingers plucking at her skirt. “I swear if she looks at me I practically freeze into position like a garden statue. However do you stand it?”
    “I look back,” Lily said tartly. “Not that I don’t appreciate the effort she is undertaking on my behalf, but it isn’t for me precisely, but for the sheer sport of it, I imagine. She is much too well bred to admit she finds it a challenge to try to marry me off.”
    “Not such a challenge. You’re lovely.”
    “You might be biased.”
    Betsy shook her head. “I’m simply telling the truth. Had it not been for Lord Sebring—”
    “It wasn’t entirely his fault,” Lily interrupted, her tone quiet, not precisely defending the man who had destroyed her reputation but not willing to defame him either. “Let’s all recall I agreed to the elopement. That makes me equally culpable in my downfall.”
    “You are too fair.”
    “I am realistic.”
    “You are stubbornly protecting a man who does not deserve it.”
    Well, there was a reason she loved her sisters after all. Loyalty was as precious as gold. Lily picked up a scone, took a quick bite, and chewed and swallowed, changing the subject. “So I take it Mr. Dougherty will be at the tea and that is why you are so concerned over my attendance.”
    “And Lord Davenport, so both Carole and I want you to not pull one of your infamous disappearing tricks.”
    The evening before, the “disappearing trick” had gone severely awry. Or almost so. Perhaps it was a sign she should conform better and not try to sneak off, even if it meant excruciating formal balls and boring teas with her sisters’ suitors. “I will be there,” she murmured and finished her chocolate.
    The house was rather modest, the exterior weathered a bit, and if the servant that answered the door was any indication, the staff limited. Damien relinquished his cloak—the weather had done an abrupt turn from the lovely morning and the day was cool and rainy—to the stolid steward. He then allowed himself to be escorted into the presence of one of the most powerful men in the British Kingdom.
    Naively, and he was so far past naive he could not believe it had happened, he’d thought his involvement with Charles Peyton was all over. His host glanced up, set down his pen, and gestured at a chair. “Northfield. Have a seat.”
    He sat, the antique chair creaking under his weight. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been in shabby houses before—this was luxurious compared to some of the places he’d stayed in his checkered career—but it was somewhat of a surprise, though he had to admit the view out the window of the Thames was quite spectacular. “Sir.”
    “I summoned you here for a purpose.”
    “You do nothing without a purpose, so I suppose that is not a difficult deduction.”
    The prime minister’s most trusted adviser gave him an enigmatic smile. “I