A Scot in the Dark

They all would have. And he would have had a different life. One that had not included a long line of women who thought him worthy of play but not pride.

Peg smiled, cold and ugly. It occurred to him that she might imagine herself beautiful—that he had once imagined her so. Now, however, he knew what beauty could be. How it might come, with strength and pride and purpose and eyes the color of the Scottish sea.

She spoke again. “Would it help to hear that yours was my prettiest proposal? I still recall it. I shall do right by you. We shall spend the rest of our days happy.” She tutted. “Young and green and utterly unknowing of women and the world.”

For a heartbeat, he was fifteen again, an idiot boy. “I learned my lessons of women years ago.” There were those whom he deserved and those he did not. And of course, the one he wanted more than anything fell into the latter category.

Peg underscored the thought. “And we ladies learned our lessons about you, did we not?”

This was it. The reason he’d come. The reminder of his station. Of the life he could never have. And still, he resisted it. “You know nothing about me.”

One side of Peg’s mouth raised in a wry, knowing smile. “I know more than she does, I’d wager.” A pause. “Or has she already ridden the Scottish Brute?”

He narrowed his gaze before he could stop himself, unable to deny the shame and fury coursing through him. Unable to hide the truth from Peg.

Peg’s lips formed a perfect pout. “Oh, darling, still as sweet as ever. You care for the girl.”

“No,” he said.

Liar.

The tut again, followed by movement as she came off the bed, toward him, the gold silk slithering against her like skin. “You forget, Alec Stuart, I was the first woman you loved.”

“I never loved you,” he said, refusing to move as she came close, refusing to flinch as she reached up and put her cool hand to his face, erasing the lingering memory of Lily’s.

He supposed he deserved it.

“That’s not what you said then,” she said quietly. “Sweet-faced Scottish Alec, big as a house, like nothing I’d ever seen. Like nothing I’d ever felt.” She pressed herself to him and he resisted the urge to push her away, wanting the lesson. Wanting the reminder of who he’d been. Of what he’d been. She lowered her voice to a whisper, her hand reaching to the hem of his kilt, fingertips grazing his thigh, making him cringe. “Let the girl have it, darling. Let her feel it. You shan’t be her first, but neither will she be yours. Think on it. You are well-suited.”

He wanted to roar his fury at the way she said it, as though he were anything close to Lily. And then Peg added, “And when she’s had enough of you, come back to me. I would dearly love another go.”

“Never.”

She pressed close. “Not even if I remind you of my tremendous performance?”

“Odd that you describe it as such, as I find I lack interest in an encore.”

Peg’s hand flew, sharp and angry, the crack sounding an alarm in the quiet room. He did lift his hand to ease the sting of the blow, instead reveling in the sensation. In the message of it. In the reminder it delivered.

“Do not get above yourself, Alec Stuart. You may be the Diluted Duke now,” she said, “but there was a time when you existed because of my benevolence. You would not like it if the world knew the truth.”

“I don’t give a horse’s ass if this world knows the truth,” he said. “Remember, Lady Rowley—my secrets belong to you as well. Be sure to tell your friends. No lady likes her underthings aired.”

She scowled. “You are an underthing.”

He had her. “At some point, our past had to be a boon, no?”

There was a long silence, and then she said, “My secrets or not, you would not like it if your Lovely Lily knew the truth about you. I would watch my tongue if I were you.”

Peg was wrong. He would be grateful for Lily to know the truth. It would make wanting her easier, because it would make having her impossible.

Nevertheless, he should not have come. Outside the house, he had wondered why he was calling on Peg, why he allowed her calling card to summon him. Now, he knew the truth.

He wanted her. The reminder she served.

The proof that Lily’s perfection was not for him.

He left the house resolved to two things: first, Lily would have happiness in the hands of the best man they could find; and second, that man would never be him.

Despite having stared into the ribbon case inside Madame Hebert’s modiste shop on Bond Street for the last quarter of an hour, Lily could not have named a single color inside. She was too consumed with the admonition that had repeated itself again and again for the nearly three days since she had last seen Alec.

She should not have asked him if he wanted her.

She should not have betrayed the insidious thought that had taken root in her mind, the product of protective actions and provocative kisses and a thread of hope that she should have known better than to allow access to her thoughts. To her heart.

And still, like a simpering imbecile, she had asked him.

Do you want me?

Her cheeks flamed at the memory. How could she have possibly imagined it would result in anything but embarrassment? She had seen him struggle with the answer, as though he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. To tell her the truth.

Despite that, he’d told her. Because he was nobler than other men. Better and nobler. He’d said no. Better and nobler and not for her. Not even as she wanted him quite desperately.

And then, as if telling her the truth had not been enough, he’d disappeared.

She’d waited for his return three nights earlier, ultimately falling asleep in the receiving room at Dog House, not wishing to miss him. He had not returned. Nor had he returned the day after. Nor the day after that.

He’d even taken the dogs which she had to believe meant he had no intention of returning, no matter how much she wished for it.

And so, this morning, Lily had taken matters into her own hands, and called in reinforcements.

“Aren’t you happy that we decided to take on the mantle of chaperone?” She looked up from the ribbon case to find Lady Sesily Talbot on the opposite side, grinning widely. “We’re near to fairy godmothers with all of our hard work and dedication.”

In the corner, Seleste and Seline lingered over a collection of hairpins and accessories that some would call de rigueur and others would call de trop. They giggled at something in the pile, and Lily wondered what it must be like to have such little about which to worry. They were married—or nearly so—to men who were rumored to adore them. And so they lived without hesitation. Without loneliness. Always part of an us.