Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

Drat it all. She knew in her heart he was probably right. She just wasn’t made for illicit affaires.

He rose, brushing the dust from his trousers as he stood. “Speaking of avoiding discovery, we should be going. Come, I’ll see you home.” He extended a hand.

She stared at it. A future without Julian stretched out before her like a bleak, endless wasteland. “Lord and Lady Ainsley’s assembly is next week. You said you’d attend. You made me a promise, Julian. Three nights. We’ve only had two. You owe me the one. You promised.” It was a stupid, contrived line of argument, but it was what she had. She just couldn’t leave here without knowing she’d see him again.

“So I did,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Very well.”

With a sigh of relief, she took his hand. “You’ll come?”

“I’ll come.” He pulled her to her feet. “I can’t escort you, but I promise you will see me there. In fact, it’s perfect. That night will be your second London debut. And it will be my grand farewell.”

Several days later, Lily sat once again at Leo’s desk. October had become November. She turned a fresh page in the ledger that lay open on the blotter. A blank slate.

She dipped her quill and drew a vertical slash down the center of the page, dividing it in two columns. At the top, she headed one “Arguments For,” and atop the other column, she wrote, “Arguments Against.” Lily felt like a schoolgirl, but she didn’t know what else to do. Ledgers always helped her see things clear.

The second list was by far the easier of the two.

He’s a liar, she wrote.

And a criminal, of unknown sort.

He has enemies, also of unknown sort. Possibly dangerous.

He’s bedded half the ladies of the ton.

Well, that was hyperbole. Setting aside all the young girls and elderly matrons … and taking into account the sheer difficulties of scheduling, and the fact that some never even came to Town … How many garters did it take to span a billiard room, anyway? She crossed through “half” and inked “one-tenth” in its place as an estimate.

It was small consolation.

He’s illegitimate, and of low birth.

She felt horrid even penning that last, but it was an inescapable fact. No one in the ton was under any illusions that the man came from royalty. But they had never truly accepted Julian into their ranks—they’d merely tolerated his shadowy origins, because he was amusing to have around. If the particulars of Julian’s childhood and social ascendancy were ever made common knowledge, he would be cut by most good families. If she were linked with him, Lily would be cut as well. She would like to have said that didn’t matter to her—but it might, a little. Her parents and Leo had been so highly respected. She would hate to besmirch their good name.

Neither could Julian’s history of poverty be overlooked. Not because it lowered him in Lily’s estimation, but because he seemed so unlikely to ever forget it himself.

She looked at the list, and even with all those items, it felt far too short. She could have listed each instance of deceit, named each of his lovers … In the end, she added one more line:

Untold secrets yet to be revealed. Most likely unpleasant.

Now she turned her attention to the other column. Her quill hovered over the page. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to begin. It was more that once she’d begun, she doubted she would be able to stop. She couldn’t possibly write down every occasion on which he’d made her smile or laugh or reconsider her opinions, feel comforted or confident. And then there were other sensations, ones too indecent to be penned.

I love him, she wrote. Because she did. With every day that passed, she grew more certain, more aware of what had been there all along. After a moment, she added, And I believe he may love me.

She stared at the word, love. Four rather unassuming letters, for such a vast, boundless thing. But did love balance the ledger? She wasn’t sure. Poetry would argue that love conquers all. And perhaps it did, at the outset. But in the long-term accounting, Lily knew it didn’t always tally that way.

Julian understood love. He wasn’t some lackwit rake, perpetually groping for acceptance in a woman’s bosom because as a child he’d been denied a mother’s affection. No, he knew very well what love was—what it could mean to a person—and with his looks, intelligence, and charm, he surely would have no difficulty finding women to love him. Nevertheless, he’d chosen not to seek that sort of attachment for himself, preferring to chase revenge instead.

Evidently, love hadn’t been enough for Leo, either.