The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

“So Doyle is not the pock-faced man?”

“A few men here suffer from skin conditions. It's a common complaint when one spends so much time at sea. None of them accompanied Mackenzie to London.” He paused. “Perhaps the effects of the laudanum played tricks with your memory. Did you notice someone at Vauxhall with a similar affliction?”

Her fractured memories were impossible to piece together. But she’d seen the man days before her excursion to the Pleasure Gardens. “The man with the scars sat atop an unmarked carriage. I watched him circle Berkeley Square. I looked directly into his cold eyes when he stopped outside my window.” She shook her head and muttered to herself as she revisited the scene. “But when I asked Mackenzie, he confirmed he was the one who stopped outside my window.”

Perhaps sensing her disquiet, Fabian captured her hand. “I’ll speak to Mackenzie, but he assures me they met with no one in London. Perhaps it has nothing to do with you, and someone is interested in monitoring your brother’s movements.”

Logically that made sense. “You might be right.” Ladies often boasted of an affair with Vane to make their husbands jealous. Still, the heavy weight in her chest and the ache in her throat suggested otherwise.

Fabian placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her inside. “Doyle worked on The Octavia.”

“The ship captained by Mr Hill?”

“Yes.” He seemed surprised she knew. “One of my competitors paid Doyle to spoil the cargo. I think he hoped to ruin my reputation so other merchants thought twice about hiring us to transport their goods.”

“A ruined reputation can wreak untold damage.” She knew that better than most.

“The fool almost sank the ship and killed us all.”

“No wonder you punched him.” They passed the door leading to the great hall, and she suddenly remembered her flowers. “Would you mind if I collect my posy? I left it on the table during the feast.” If she hoped to preserve the pretty heads she needed to press them before they wilted.

“Not at all.”

Lillian hurried into the great hall expecting the room to be as they had left it. But the place was cold now, quiet, the tables empty, the floor clear of any debris. Those few hours spent in celebration were amongst the happiest of her life. How strange she should feel that way? Sentiment had no place in what was essentially a business contract. Still, she liked Fabian — she always had.

She found her flowers on the long table, sitting in a tankard of water, and so shook away the droplets clinging to the stems. Her gaze drifted to

the throne chairs, to the place she’d first kissed her husband. A chuckle escaped her lips when she thought of all the times she’d dreamed of kissing Fabian Darcy. Of course, she’d imagined sweet nips and chaste pecks, not the hot sinful way he’d devoured her mouth.

It seemed the man did everything with mastery and skill. Was that part of his appeal? A vision of his muscular arms and well-defined chest flashed into her mind. Would he approach their lovemaking in the same way? She snorted. Lovemaking? Just like her experience with Lord Martin, love played no part.

Her stomach roiled when the memory of her ruination flooded her mind. How had she been so foolish? How had she been so blind?

Darkness descended like a black choking fog. In an instant, she saw Lord Martin’s kind face, saw the mask slip to reveal the monster hidden beneath. Never had she met a man so cold, so heartless. One so skilled in the art of deception.

“What’s the delay?” Fabian’s rich voice drifted over her, banishing her nightmare. “If you’re looking for wine to bolster your courage I can have a bottle sent to your chamber?”

She clutched the posy, pasted a smile and swung around to face him. “And pray tell me why I would need courage?”

Fabian folded his arms across his chest and gave a devilish grin. “Is this not our wedding day? Are there not certain matters that require our attention?”

He held the same boyish charm she’d seen in their youth, and Lillian drank in the sight like a woman parched.

A nervous flutter in her throat forced her to swallow. “While I’m obliged to do my duty—”

“Duty?” he mocked. “Trust me, love, it will be no hardship.”

Her cheeks flushed hotly under the heat of his stare. But, despite the vow she’d made, she was not ready to bare herself body and soul. “Men think differently about such matters. You must give me more time.”

Fabian stepped back and gestured to the corridor. “Let us continue this discussion upstairs. There’s something I want to give you.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. Never had she seen a more handsome man. “Don’t look so frightened. I have a wedding present for you … something that should sit nicely in your warm palm.”

Lillian arched a brow.

“Have no fear, I shall keep my clothes on when I give it to you.” He pushed his hand through his mop of ebony hair. “Why is it that whatever I say sounds highly inappropriate?”

She laughed then. “I think it has something to do with your husky tone.”

“Can I help it if I find the prospect of bedding my wife appealing?”