Beside him Montgomery went very still before whispering, in a tone of delight, like a little boy offered a huge bag of sweets, “Oh, how utterly wonderful!”
LILY WATCHED FROM a chair later that morning as Stanford struck a pose and declaimed, “ ‘An’ if ever I see my daughter in such a position again, mark me well, gentlemen, I shall’… er…”
He sneaked a glance at Lily, who didn’t have to refer to the pages in her hand. After all, she’d written A Wastrel Reform’d. “ ‘Disembowel the deceiver,’ ” she said, supplying the rest of the line.
“ ‘Disembowel the deceiver.’ ‘Disembowel the deceiver,’ ” Stanford muttered to himself before nodding and resuming his pose. “ ‘I shall disembowel the deceiver so that ne’er again may he so deceive again.’ ”
Lily winced. It wasn’t exactly her best line, but then she’d written the second half of the play in only one week. Her first play had taken a year to write.
Of course, she’d burned it after that.
“Darlings!”
She turned at the voice and stared, hardly believing her eyes. Edwin stood in the doorway, arms thrown wide, in a new sky-blue satin suit, apparently expecting his usual welcome.
Well, and she supposed he had cause to. Moll and the other actresses rushed to him, Moll cooing over him. Stanford and John approached more slowly, but they were equally admiring in their own way.
Ridiculous to pout. No one but her and her brother knew that she was the real playwright.
“Robin, sweetheart,” Edwin called, strutting toward her.
Lily repressed the urge to roll her eyes at him. He was always careful to call her by her stage name in the company of others, even when all the other actors knew quite well what her real name was.
She submitted to a buss on her cheek and then smiled sweetly at him. “Might I have a moment of your time, brother dear?”
“Naturally.” He glanced about to let the other actors know what a doting older brother he was.
“Alone.”
The first inkling that something might not be right seemed to seep into his eyes. “Erm… certainly.”
She rose, set down the pages, and led him into the small antechamber, closing the door quite firmly behind them.
“What—?” he began, but she cut him off quite satisfyingly with a slap across his face.
“Lily!” His eyes were wide and hurt, his hand to the side of his face.
She set her hands on her hips. “Don’t you ‘Lily’ me, Edwin Stump!”
“I don’t understand,” he tried.
So she slapped him again. “You set the soldiers on Apollo. They might’ve taken him to Bedlam—or hanged him. All because you were miffed that he’d thrown you out of the theater.”
“I wasn’t miffed,” he said, drawing himself up and straightening his white wig, which had become rather askew. “I was worried about your safety.”
“My safety?” She knew her mouth was agape, but she just couldn’t help it. Edwin could be such a prize ass sometimes—and what was worse, he seemed to be under the delusion that she was a simpleton. “Are you insane?”
“No, but he is.” Edwin backed up a step. “A deranged killer! Everyone has heard.”
“He is not a deranged killer,” she said very, very softly as she crowded Edwin into a corner of the room. “And you know it quite well. You’re being spiteful—and you’re hurting me.”
He’d already opened his mouth for a retort, but his eyebrows drew together at that. “What? Hurting you?”
“Yes, hurting me, Edwin,” she said patiently. “I like Lord Kilbourne, and I find your cruelty toward him—and me—quite unforgivable. He’s here, at this house party.”
“I noticed him just now in the breakfast room,” Edwin said sulkily. “He’s taken the ridiculous name Mr. Smith.”
“He’s here to look for the real murderer. I don’t want you to even think about turning him in again, do you hear?”
“I…” He gulped. “But Lily…”
“Not even accidentally, Edwin.”
He dipped his chin, looking a bit shocked. “Yes, very well.”
“Good.” She turned to go because anything else she said at this point would not be conducive to a good future relationship with her brother, but Edwin caught her arm.
“Lily…” He cleared his throat nervously. “I think I ought to warn you.”
She looked at him and saw his forehead was shining with sweat. A feeling of sick dread settled low in her belly. Had he already told someone about Apollo? “What is it?”
He swallowed. “Richard Perry, Baron Ross is here.”
Chapter Fifteen
For at the heart of the labyrinth was a wild and beautiful garden. Vines climbed over tumbled stones, so worn they might’ve fallen millennia ago. Gnarled trees twisted between the stones, branches thrust upward and covered in emerald leaves. At the center of the clearing lay a still, blue pool with small white and yellow flowers scattered along its mossy bank. But the monster lay there as well, sprawled half in the pool, his blood dyeing the waters red…
—From The Minotaur
Apollo strode into the drawing room where the actors had decided to put on their play. They were gathered there, Moll Bennet at one end with her arms raised as she spoke her lines. She glanced at him as he entered, winked, and jerked her head in the direction of a small door to the side of the room.
He nodded as he changed his course for the door. He and Moll had become friends the night before when he’d talked her into abandoning the room she shared with Lily.
He could hear voices as he drew near. Lily saying, “… Indio…” and Edwin hissing in reply.
Apollo pulled the door open sharply and Edwin Stump nearly fell into his arms. He pushed the man back inside, stepped in, and shut the door behind him.
Lily was in the corner, looking rather pale, but he kept his gaze on Edwin. “Say one word about me or my past and you’ll—”
Edwin held up his hands defensively. “No need, my sister has already made all the threats.”
“Has she?” Apollo stepped closer because he didn’t like how Lily looked. What had her weasel of a brother said to her? “I’m sure she was most thorough, but I still wish to make myself clear. Whatever she might’ve threatened you with, know this: I don’t like you. Hurt her or me and you’ll regret it to the end of your days.”
Edwin’s Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat. “Quite. Yes… erm… that’s very clear, I think.” He darted a glance at Lily and for the first time Apollo saw a trace of regret in the man’s face. “But you must know I’d never do anything to hurt my sister.”
“Do I?”
Edwin glanced down. “Perhaps… there’s something you should know.”
Apollo narrowed his eyes, not trusting the other man a whit.
“Lily told me that you’re looking for the man who might’ve murdered your friends. That is, I suppose, if you didn’t do it yourself.”
“I didn’t,” Apollo bit out.
Edwin blinked rapidly, backing into the wall. “Yes, of course, we all know that, don’t we, Lily?”
She sighed, speaking for the first time. “He didn’t, Edwin.”
His brows knit as if her calm assurance confused him. “All right, all right. It’s just that I saw you come into the breakfast room with the Duke of Montgomery.”
“So?” Apollo said. “His Grace is helping me.”
Edwin shrugged, looking shifty. “But is he, though?”
“What do you mean?” Lily frowned. “Do speak plainly, Edwin, please.”
“I’m trying to!” Oddly he looked wounded by his sister’s words. “The duke likes to collect information—things other people would rather keep hidden.”
“You’re saying he’s a blackmailer,” Apollo said.
Edwin grimaced. “Nothing that unrefined. More of a manipulator, perhaps. But it doesn’t do to let one’s secrets fall into his hands.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Apollo replied drily.
“I think you haven’t realized you’re already in his hands,” Edwin shot back. “He knows you’re an escaped murderer—” He held up his hands as Lily sputtered a protest. “Yes, all right, an accused escaped murderer. What reason does he have to help you when he has such a hold over you?”
“I have no money,” Apollo replied. “He had nothing to gain from me.”
“Don’t think that you have only monetary things to lose,” Edwin said. “Some things of value have no price.”
Apollo felt a bead of sweat run down his spine. Without taking his eyes from the other man, he instinctively held out his hand to Lily.
Lily clasped his fingers and stared at her brother, her face shuttered.
“I’m trying to warn you,” Edwin huffed and actually turned to Apollo for help.
Apollo raised one eyebrow at him.
“Very well.” Edwin drew himself up with martyred pride. “If you’re quite done with me?”
Apollo waved at the door, but made no move to step aside, making Edwin brush nervously against him as he went for it.
Edwin turned with his hand on the doorknob. “Lily, I…”
She waited, but when he said no more, she simply sighed. “Just go, Edwin.”
He nodded and opened the door.
The moment it was shut again, with only the two of them inside the little room, Apollo turned to Lily and looked at her with concern. “Who,” he asked softly, “is Lord Ross?”
THE THING WAS, Lily had never had to make this choice before. Indio had always—naturally—come first. Before Edwin, even before Maude, it was Indio she looked after, Indio she cared for. Because he was a child—her child—and therefore the most vulnerable.
But was that true anymore?
She tilted her head back, staring at Apollo. He wore the same suit as yesterday, but at some point this morning, he’d taken time to club his hair back.
Frankly, she preferred it the way it’d been last night—wild and about his shoulders.
He meant something to her. She couldn’t hide from that fact. She’d slept with Apollo—the first man she’d taken as a lover since before she’d become Indio’s mother. Even now, as he challenged her with soft words and sympathetic eyes, she was aware of his body. Of the breadth of his shoulders, the scent of his skin, so close in the little room. It wasn’t fair. She’d been so careful, so very wary, and he’d broken through her barriers without even trying—or so it seemed.
She folded her arms in front of her breasts, trying to keep some space between them. If she didn’t take care, he’d surround and overtake her, make her forget what mattered most and what was at stake.
Indio.
Indio was vulnerable. She must protect him.
And like that the decision was made.
She looked at him. “Richard Perry, Lord Ross is a wealthy gentleman—an aristocrat like you.”
He opened his mouth as if he wanted to refute the comparison, but he couldn’t, really, could he?
Apollo was an aristocrat. Richard was an aristocrat. These two things were facts, simple and true.
She drew strength from that. “He’s married with children, I believe. Two sons? I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in years.” And for that she was very glad.
He took a step closer and despite her folded arms, she could no longer keep herself entirely apart from him. His body heat invaded her skin—her very bones. He said, “He has one green eye and one blue one. Like Indio.”
