The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

“You are welcome, and I thank you for thinking of me,” Lily said, smiling. She hurried to her room to collect her bonnet. She would also select a book from the library so that, under the pretext of reading outdoors, she could surreptitiously search for her diary. That was all she would direct her attention to now, for she could not imagine the ghastly effect of her personal reflections falling into someone’s clasp, especially if they discovered that Mrs. Lily Layton, widow of their beloved vicar, was the author of such sinful thoughts.

Several hours later, Lily stared at the ceiling of her bedchamber, unable to settle. Worry had wrested her slumber away, and she feared it would not return. She had retraced her steps several times, and there had been no sign of her diary on the lawns, the sitting benches, or on any table or mantel anywhere. She had even searched the library shelves and tables in the event someone had mistaken it for a book and thought to return it. There was nowhere else to look, and she hated the tight band of anxiety across her chest and the tears forming behind her eyes.

Once again, she tried to calm her racing thoughts and recall everywhere she had been. Suddenly, she stiffened and slowly sat up on the bed as something came to her. Early this morning, she had taken a walk through the secret passages before attending to the marchioness. Sometimes the darkness of those hallways was a haven hidden away, where she could breathe and allow herself to be wicked in her imagination. That was also the place where she had, quite by accident, come upon the open portal that gave her a direct view of Lord Radbourne’s guest chamber.

She pushed from the bed, relief and hope rushing through her veins. Perhaps it had fallen out of her basket there. Though she suspected a secret panel led to her bedchamber, she hadn’t located its entry despite her numerous searches. But there was one she could enter through in the library. She slipped from her room, comfortable with the dark, almost running in her haste, down the long hallway and then the stairs, her voluminous cotton nightgown wrapping around her legs.

A few moments later, she paused at the library door and stood still, allowing her senses to detect if there was another presence within. Confident the house was asleep, she gently opened the door. There was a fire burning low in the grate, but the room was blessedly empty. Lily closed the door behind her and hurried over to the bookcase. Shifting several books on the third shelf in the far-right corner, the bookcase moved and revealed the beginnings of a dark staircase. Lily grabbed a candlestick from the mantel, lit it from the fire, and proceeded into the passageway.

The bookcase closed behind her, the draft of wind almost putting out her lone candle. The flames flickered but then held firm. With a soft sigh, she turned left, moving toward the east wing where most of the guests resided. After several minutes of searching, the hollow feeling of despair surfaced once more. Her diary was not on the floor of these hidden corridors.

A loud moan had her faltering. Lifting the candle high and looking around carefully, she blushed at realizing she was once again standing by the portal in front of Lord Radbourne’s chamber. There was a thump, what sounded like a giggle, then a lusty cry.

She closed her eyes, denying the urge to spy on the earl and his lover. The first time she had heard the sounds, she had opened the small wooden panel, not certain what she would find, for she had never imagined that bed sport elicited such lustful cries. Her shock had been profound when she’d found the earl’s mouth buried against Lady Wimbledon’s snatch. Lily’s sensibilities had been distressed, aroused, and she’d been rooted to the spot, unable to pull away from the intimate display.

A discordant sound rode the air, and she stiffened. She frowned, listening. There it was again. She strained to hear, and Lily almost fainted as footsteps sounded along the passage of the secret corridor where she stood. She inhaled sharply, clutching the candlestick tighter.

Someone was coming.

The awareness settled like heavy stones against her chest, crushing and frightening. How could she explain being in the passage that allowed her a scandalous peek into the earl’s bedchamber? Dear God, why had she given into the wanton urgings and sinful temptations of her heart?

The footsteps grew closer, but she stood frozen in indecision. If she hurried away, whoever it was would hear her scampering and perhaps rush after her. The candlestick slipped from her nerveless fingers with a thunk onto the floor. She held her breath, sure the earl and his lover had heard. Thankfully, the light was out, so she pressed against the wall, hoping she had not been seen and the person in the dark with her would walk by, leaving her unnoticed.

“Ah…we meet at last,” a rough, low voice drawled, distressingly close.

A moan of denial and shock hissed from her.

Dear God, I’ve been discovered.

“I never really thought I would encounter anyone…but here you truly are,” the voice continued, the merest hint of amusement and perhaps intrigue coloring his tone. “Have I shocked you speechless?”

He had poleaxed her senses, for he intimated he had expected to find someone here. In all her months of exploring these dark, secretive corners, she had never encountered another soul. The fact that he had arrived without a candlestick hinted of his familiarity with the winding passages.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice husky from apprehension.

“A kindred spirit.”

“I hardly believe that to be possible.” He stood just a few feet away, and she had to look up to where his voice came from. Even in the blackness, she could tell he was tall.

“Permit me to ask your name,” he said smoothly.

“A jester, I see.” As if she would ever be silly enough to reveal her identity. She had pitched her voice low to disguise it. She wondered if he’d done the same.

“I’ve never been accused of being overly humorous before.”

She clenched her hands into a fist. “No, I will not provide my name.”

He chuckled. “Ah, you would prefer anonymity.”

“I would prefer for you to let me pass unmolested.”

There was a pause. “I do not prevent you, my lady,” he said with a heavy tinge of regret. “You are free to leave.”

Yet her feet did not move, and she remained pressed against the walls, ignoring the chill of the stone. Who in God’s name was in the dark with her and why was she lingering in his presence? He could ruin her reputation. Though she hadn’t consented to remarry, she hadn’t fully given up on the notion. She sometimes wished for a companion, a friend, a lover, and a happy home, but she wanted it with a man who would not make her ashamed of her sensuality and wanton cravings, and a man who would not terribly mind that she could not produce issue. If ever there could be such a man.

“Or you could stay…and we could just be,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with something dark and all too enticing.

His emphasis had her mouth drying. That dangerous, forbidden thrill shot through her again. The very one that had caused her late husband to slap her across the cheek and call her a whore on their wedding night.