Lily looked down, taking in the mark at the shoulder of the beautiful blue dress, where Alec had held her firmly and told her that the past was not hers to bear.
As he bled for her.
“Is it Hawkins’s?” Sesily asked. “He’s back on the stage, but with a gash in his cheek that I’m not certain is called for in the play. Though, to be honest, I haven’t been paying much attention. I confess I like a witch now and then, but not near as much as I like the idea of Alec putting a gash in Hawkins’s cheek.”
“It is not Hawkins’s blood. It’s Alec’s.”
“Good God,” Sesily whispered.
“You shouldn’t curse so much, you know.”
Sesily cut her a look. “Are you about to tell me it is not ladylike?”
Lily shook her head. “I am not exactly a paragon of respectability.”
“Excellent. Then hang anyone who prefers I not curse. Sometimes, the words simply suit.”
Lily nodded. Then, after a long silence, she said, barely loud enough to be heard, “Shit.”
Sesily’s gaze was instantly on hers, and Lily saw the pity there. “What has happened?”
And there, in the hallway of the Hawkins Theater—the only place in London she should be stoic—Lily began to cry. She’d made a hash of it all. The painting was to be made public. And there was nothing to be done. And still, that was not her sadness. “He loves me beyond reason.”
Sesily tilted her head. “That does not sound so bad.”
“And still he refuses me. Claims he is unworthy of me for some ridiculous reason.”
“What reason?”
“I don’t know. If he would tell me, perhaps . . .” Lily dashed away a tear. “He won’t tell me.”
Sesily nodded. “Then you must force it from him.”
“Does he seem the kind of man who is easily forced?”
Sesily did not miss a beat. “He seems the kind of man who would throw himself into the Thames if you asked him to.”
The tears came again. “I asked him to want me—and he refused.”
“Because all men are addlepated imbeciles who deserve to be strung up by their thumbs in St. James Park and set upon by bees.”
Lily blinked. “That’s terribly creative.”
Sesily smirked. “I may fantasize now and then.”
They laughed together, until the curtains moved and Mrs. West poked her head out from behind the curtain. “Ah. I see Miss Hargrove has returned.” She looked up and down the hallway before exiting the box. “And your duke?”
“He is not my duke,” Lily said flatly.
“They never are, dear, until they are,” the newspaperman’s wife said dryly before adding, “I assume that you were unsuccessful in your quest?”
“For Alec?” Lily said.
One golden brow rose at the words. “I was referring to the painting.”
Lily blushed, hot and horrified. “Of course. The painting. Yes. We were unsuccessful.”
The woman hesitated, then said, “First, you may call me Georgiana. Mrs. West makes me sound the taciturn patroness of a North Country finishing school. Second, I am sorry that the duke is an idiot. But in my experience, all men are until they find reason. And the best of them do find reason.” She paused, then added, “And third, you might like to know that the painting is scheduled to be hung tomorrow afternoon, when the exhibition has closed for the night. It will remain covered until the reveal the following morning.”
Lily did not understand the point of the information, and she remained silent until the beautiful young woman smiled and said, “I have it on excellent authority that there will be a window open at the back of the hall tomorrow night. At half-past twelve.”
Lily blinked. “Are you—?”
Georgiana nodded like a queen. “If I’d had my way, that lout would have been eliminated from the exhibition the moment it became clear that he’d taken advantage of you. I don’t care how beautiful the painting is. He’s a bastard.”
Lily could not find words amid her surprise.
Sesily had no trouble finding words. “Well. Isn’t that lovely?”
“I find I do not like it when men take advantage of women,” Georgiana said, boredom in her tone. “And so, my dear, I hope very much that you will take advantage in return. Now, I think I shall return to the play, as I assume from the gash on Hawkins’s face and the blood on your gown that this might well be my last time watching this particular lout tread the boards.”
She turned back to the box. “My lady—”
Georgiana turned back.
“How are you able to ensure—”
That knowing smile returned. “My husband is not the only one with far-reaching connections.” She lowered her voice, so only Lily could hear. “Wives of remarkable men must stay together. I hope you will remember me when you are duchess.”
And then she was gone, the words hanging in the corridor like a promise.
Lily took a deep breath, unable to look away from the curtains, still swinging with the force of the woman’s entry. All those years without friends. How many times had she longed for them? And now, they came from the woodwork. Enough of them to make her feel real. Like a whole person.
Nearly whole.
She would never be whole without Alec.
He wanted to give her choices? To give her freedom?
Then she would take that freedom. And she would make her choice. It was the easiest choice she had ever made.
Chapter 20
ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WARDS
Alec spent the entirety of the next day—the final day before the exhibition—tearing London apart. He’d called in every favor there was, desperate to find the damn painting. To save Lily from what was bound to be her future.
And, finally, he’d summoned Stanhope to him.
The earl came, his curiosity clear when Alec met him in the main sitting room of Number Nine’s town house. Stanhope looked about him, taking in the shelves and curio cabinets filled to bursting with figurines. Running a finger along the trunk of a porcelain elephant on a low table nearby, he said, “I did not take you for a collector, Your Grace.”
Alec was unamused. “I cannot find the painting.”
“I assume it will be easily found tomorrow.”
Frustration flared. Did no one in the entire city understand that this was Lily’s only chance to survive the scandal?