Vanquished

Chapter Ten

Delilah sent a quick note around to Francesca asking her to meet her at Bond Street later that day, so at least her lies might have a bit of truth to them. But then, if she was going to remain in London a bit longer, she would need some additional dresses.

The next missive she wrote was a bit more direct and to the point.

Meet me at St. James Park at ten o’clock at the bank of the canal near the Chinese bridge.

She had considered signing it, but then decided there was probably no need, as Conor would, no doubt, realize who it was from. Besides, she still needed to preserve her anonymity. Writing secret messages to meet for a rendezvous wasn’t something that ladies could easily hide if it were discovered by the wrong person. Again, she was taking a huge risk, but being out in public was better than anywhere else they could meet in private—or in a setting where they could easily be overheard.

After taking a hackney to her destination, she didn’t have long to wait before a familiar voice said behind her, “Hello, beautiful.”

She turned and her pulse immediately sped up. Conor was handsome any time of day, but at that moment, with the sun shining on his blue-black hair and those mesmerizing, green eyes appearing even more translucent, she couldn’t help but remember being in his arms the night before and realizing just what a lucky girl she had been.

“Hello, Conor,” she returned his greeting a bit more neutrally, for what she had to say was important and she didn’t want to veer off track by getting distracted.

He walked forward, his eyes heating with something rather alluring, but when he stopped before her and reached out to touch one of the strands of hair that had escaped her coiffure, he murmured, “I couldn’t sleep last night, for the memory of yer ebony hair spread out in my bed made me ache with desire for ye.” He lowered his gaze and touched his thumb to her lower lip. “This tempting mouth that I yearned to kiss.” He looked into her eyes. “Those smoky, brown eyes that darkened with passion.”

Delilah swallowed, for she didn’t quite know what to say, but her body was starting to heat, responding to his seductive words even though she told herself to fight against the attraction between them. She wasn’t here to repeat last night.

“Did ye get the flowers I sent ye?”

And just like that, she melted, remembering the kind gesture. “I did. Thank you. That was very kind of you.”

He shook his head. “I fear kindness had nothing to do with it. I want you, Delilah.”

She stiffened slightly and her anger was sparked back to life. “For what? As another dangerous part of your life? I won’t be your personal chariot, Conor.”

He had the grace to offer a slight wince, and then he adopted a lazy pose that had likely won over several hearts in the past. Delilah wasn’t the type to be so swayed. “Ah. So, I see ye heard about that.”

“Yes. And I can’t say I’m all that pleased about it.”

“Not even if it’s for charity and sanctioned by the Regent?” he cajoled.

“No. Not even then.” She narrowed her eyes. “You know how I feel about you tempting fate and I told you how my mother died.”

His voice softened. “Aye, that I do. But ye told me yerself that yer driver was getting up in years. With the downpour adding to it, it was a terrible accident that should never have happened.”

“You don’t think this is the same?” She cried. “You can prevent this race, Conor!” She put a fist to her chest. “I don’t want to be standing on the sidelines and be forced to watch you die too!”

His expression softened as he reached out and brought her against his chest. She didn’t want to accept the embrace, she wanted to fight against it, but his comforting warmth was just too much to resist. “My sweet lass,” he murmured. “I don’t intend to leave this world anytime soon. I just met ye, after all.”

She leaned back and lifted her face to his. “Then please don’t do this. For me if not for yourself.”

He raised his hand and ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “If only it were that simple, lass.”

“Isn’t it?” she countered.

“No.”

He moved away from her, and she wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. Why wouldn’t he just listen to her? Suddenly, an idea came to her. “What are you running from, Conor?”

He set his hands on his hips, his broad shoulders straining the material of his dark brown jacket. Finally, he turned to her, those green eyes reflecting the sunlight, and said, “No one but myself.”

She frowned. “What does that even mean? You can’t run from yourself.”

He smiled with a touch of melancholy. “Aye, ye would think so, wouldn’t ye? But there are things in my past that haunt me, things that threaten to consume me if I don’t challenge myself. Ye may not understand why I have to live life this way, but it’s all I’ve known for the past ten years.”

Delilah hesitated, for she realized he was serious. “So racing is some sort of healing for you?”

He appeared to consider this. “Aye. I guess you could put it that way.”

“Dear God, Conor,” she whispered. “What happened to make you think you had to risk your life this way?”

He held up a hand and shook his index finger back at forth at her. “I don’t think so, lass. We can’t be digging up my past because you think it might cure me. It’s best to let things lie.”

“I disagree. If it continues to make you act rashly—”

“Some things aren’t meant for a lady’s tender ears,” he snapped in return. He shoved a hand through his hair, and she could tell he was getting irritated. “Perhaps it would be best if I took my leave of ye.”

He started to stalk away, but she caught up to him and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Conor. I didn’t mean to push you. I just wanted to try and help.”

His eyes glowed with an almost unholy light. “There’s no saving what’s already lost, lass. And I fear I’m beyond redemption.”

He gently moved away from her, and Delilah couldn’t do anything else but watch him leave.

* * *