Geoffrey pulled away from her slowly, as if sensing that something was not right, but she couldn’t see his expression in the dim light. She heard him take a deep breath, as if to say something, but then he steered her to the right and they ascended a narrow staircase to the second floor. “Here are the private family parlors down that wing and, farther past them, the family bedrooms,” he said, indicating the left passage. “To the right is the guest room hallway. The tunnel doesn’t lead directly into those rooms at any point…so perhaps my theory of secret trysts is wishful thinking.”
He popped a door, which from the outside appeared as a hallway bookshelf. When they exited the passage, he shut the shelf behind them, then pulled down the fourth book from the right, exposing a keyhole.
Geoffrey touched her shoulder, turning her toward him, his cobalt eyes creased with concern. “Liliana, is everything all right? I…I didn’t push you into something you were uncomfortable with, did I?”
His kindness brought the ache of tears higher in her throat. “No,” she said. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” I have. And I’m sorry.
He touched her face, running his thumb down her cheek. “You’re certain?”
“Of course.”
He nodded, reaching into his pocket. He removed his hand and held it out to her. “Take this,” he said. A dull brass key rested in his palm. “As the winner of our wager, I shall set our next tryst as tomorrow night, same place, same time. I want you to use the passageway so as to preserve your reputation.”
She reached her hand out, noticing it tremble. He handed her the means to complete her search, yet he offered it in trust. In friendship. Perhaps in something more.
But she closed her fist around the key anyway. She was the worst sort of person because she knew she would take advantage of his trust to find the truth. Because the truth was all-important. She’d been a fool to allow herself to pretend otherwise, even for a few blissful days.
“Liliana?” Geoffrey asked, bewilderment in his voice.
“Good night, my lord,” she said, and turned away, hurrying to her door. She slipped inside without looking back, knowing that once she found her answers tomorrow, she would have to tell Geoffrey all. And she knew in her heart he would hate her because she’d deceived him all this time.
Chapter Twenty
L
iliana pulled the bedroom door shut behind her and leaned into it. The straight, hard line of the wood against her shoulders seemed the only thing holding her up. She brought her head forward then let it fall back again, but the momentary sting did nothing to distract from the ache in her chest.
“It’s about time you came to bed. I was worried.” Penelope’s voice reached her, coming from the sitting area. She’d apparently been waiting up.
Liliana brought a hand to her face, furiously swiping at the tears she’d been unable to hold in. Thank goodness for the dim light that kept her in shadow. She didn’t think she could handle explaining any of this to Penelope tonight. Maybe ever.
“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you awake,” Liliana said, making for the dressing screen. She could regain her composure while changing into her night rail.
She heard a rustling and hoped it meant Penelope had taken herself to bed. Instead, when Liliana emerged from behind the screen, the candelabras on either side of the bed and on the table splashed the room with light and Penelope was waiting for her, a stubborn set to her chin and her finger pointing.
“Now, don’t think you are going to dodge me again, Lil—” Penelope’s hand dropped. “What’s wrong?”
To Liliana’s mortification, the tears started up again and all of the roiling emotions she’d tried to hold in burst forth. “I’m a whore.”
“What?” Penelope dropped onto the bed, likely as stunned as Liliana was at the words that had passed her lips. Yet she couldn’t take them back. They were true. Even if she hadn’t begun the physical side of her and Geoffrey’s relationship with that specific intention, even if it hadn’t crossed her mind these past days when she’d been so caught up in him, she couldn’t deny that when the opportunity presented itself tonight to ask about his parents’ relationship, she’d taken it. And had learned where Edmund Wentworth’s private possessions were.
“I’ve used my…charms”—she spat the word—“to get the information I needed. That makes me a whore.”
Penelope’s face paled. “You’ve slept with Stratford?”
Liliana released a long breath. “Not exactly.” She vowed to say nothing more specific. “But that’s splitting hairs.”
“Rather important hairs, I’d say.” Penelope studied her for a moment. “But you say you found what you were after. Now you can solve the mystery of Uncle Charles’ death and bring the truth to light. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I thought it was, but…” Liliana paced the floor at the foot of the bed. Insecurity, confusion and regret swirled around in her like an elixir swishing along the glass sides of a beaker. The combination upset her, at once disconcerting and unfamiliar. She wasn’t accustomed to any of these feelings. Since her father’s death, she’d forcibly tamped down any emotions that didn’t move her toward her goals. Years spent overcoming her aunt’s attempts to change her bled into the years trying to prove herself worthy of recognition in the world of science. Had she ever allowed insecurity or indecision a foothold, she was positive she would have been lost.
Like she was now.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” she whispered.
“Then walk away,” Pen suggested.
“I can’t.” She shook her head. “You know I can’t. Besides, someone killed Geoffrey’s father, too. Maybe the same person killed mine, and if that’s true, he has a right to know just as much as I do.”
“You’ve taken to calling Stratford Geoffrey? You have grown close.”
Heat touched Liliana’s cheeks. Penelope could never know how close. “We’ve become friends. He’s not at all what I’d expected.” Far from it. She hadn’t expected his playful side, nor the grins that transformed his face into a carefree rogue’s as they raced across the park. She hadn’t expected that he would be truly interested in her work, yet he’d plied her with questions. And she certainly hadn’t expected that when he would stop midsentence and stare at her mouth, she’d want to lean forward and fit her lips to his.
“You love him,” Penelope said, wonder in her voice.
“What?” Liliana choked, coughing as she tried to catch her breath. “Are you mad?”
Pen sat up straight and squared herself to Liliana, raising her palm and extending her fingers as if to tick off the points. “I am perfectly sane. You, however, have been acting oddly for days now.” She touched her index fingers together. “First, you’re crying. I’ve never seen you cry, not even when Mama gave you her worst. Second”—her pointer moved to her middle finger—“there is that dreamy look upon your face. You just had it a moment ago. What were you thinking?”