Falling from His Grace by Kristin Vayden

Author:Kristin Vayden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-two

“Where is Liliah?” Lucas asked in a tight tone.

Heathcliff shrugged, glancing about as if curious as well. “I left her by the refreshment table not a half hour ago. Where were you?”

Lucas studied his friend’s glass of orgeat. His stomach turned at the idea of it. He’d much prefer brandy at the moment—hell, even water was better than the overly sweet, almond-flavored syrup they called a beverage. “I was conversing with an acquaintance.”

Heathcliff arched a brow. “Who in the hell were you talking to here?”

Lucas sighed. “Meyer, if you must know. Greywick’s son, the idiot who’s found himself betrothed to Liliah.”

“Ah, that actually makes sense. You had me concerned, thought maybe you were losing not just your heart, but your sanity. The ton, bah!” Heathcliff shuddered.

“Those same people line your pockets, and mine,” Lucas reminded him.

“All the more reason to pity them,” Heathcliff added with a chuckle. “What did you speak of with Meyer?”

“I simply informed him of his father’s substantial bet. The poor chap about choked when I named the amount. Makes me wonder if the earldom is in some sort of financial difficulty.”

“Ramsey said he was good for it, did he not?”

“He did, but he’s been wrong before.”

“True.” Heathcliff nodded. “Anything else of note?”

“Not in particular. The final waltz will come up later, and I was simply making arrangements.”

“Ah, never thought I’d see the day when you’d play coy with a lass.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Lucas replied in an offended tone.

“You are indeed. Pussyfooting around, making plans. Why, if you want something . . . someone—take it! Be a man about it, Lucas.” Heathcliff nodded empathically.

“This isn’t the Highlands.”

Heathcliff huffed. “You needn’t remind me of that. I’m quite painfully aware.”

“There’s protocol, and if I were to misstep, then—”

“Then what, exactly? You’re sounding more and more like Ramsey.”

“That’s because you’re a brute, and I sound nothing like Ramsey.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Heathcliff shrugged.

“By me, no doubt.”

His friend grinned.

“Why go about like a bull in a china shop, when one can be far more stealthy and gain more information and. . . privacy?” Lucas asked, grinning.

“Ah, diabolical. I like it. Carry on.” Heathcliff gave a dismissive wave.

“I would, could I find the woman in question.”

“Perhaps you should find her father first, to make sure they didn’t take their leave.”

Lucas’s blood ran cold. He hadn’t considered that Chatterwood would spirit his daughter away so quickly. Yet now, in hindsight, he could see its potential quite clearly. “Damn and blast.”

“Try the faro table,” Heathcliff encouraged.

But Lucas was already heading in that direction.

His fears were confirmed when he couldn’t find the duke at the gaming tables, or milling about in the ballroom, nor could he find Liliah.

They had most certainly left.

His memory flashed back to Liliah’s father’s grip on her arm, the way he controlled her, held her tightly.

Hurt her.

Rage smoldered within, yet he was powerless to do anything save charge to the estate—which would only serve to have him thrown into the street on his ear.

He needed a different plan.

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