Her eyes were wide, and he did not care. Still, he raged. “You think I do not wish to take you to our marriage bed and make love to you until we no longer shake? Until we no longer move, for the pleasure of it? You think I do not love you? How can you not understand it? I love you beyond reason. I think I might have loved you from the moment you closed the damn door in my face in Berkeley Square. But I am not the man you deserve.”
He stopped, breath coming fast and angry, self-loathing coursing through him, and he forced himself to look at her. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he hated himself for what he’d done. “I am not he. Not for a lifetime. Not even for the one night we had.” He thrust his hands through his hair. “We must go before we are found.”
She did not move from her place. “What did you say?”
He looked to her, “What?”
“You are not for a lifetime. You are for one night.”
The words were a wicked blow, unexpectedly cruel on her lips. Recovering from the sting, he nodded. At least she understood. Perhaps she would leave him in peace now.
He would never be at peace again.
“We must go,” he said, wanting to claw at his cravat, tight about his neck.
Lily was not through, however. “What did she do to you?”
He stilled. “Who?”
“Countess Rowley.”
Memories of the past raced through him. How did she know? It did not matter. He should have told her before then. The truth would drive her away as surely as he ever could.
And that was the goal, was it not?
No.
Yes. It was the goal.
He turned for the door. “We must go.”
“Alec.”
“Not here, Lily. Not while all of London waits beyond this room.” And he tore the door open, without hesitation.
All of London was not beyond, it turned out.
Only one of London was there.
Derek Hawkins stood on the other side, dressed in Renaissance garb, broadsword dangling from his hand. He raised the blade, setting it to Alec’s chest, just above his heart. “I do not know the law in Scotland, Duke, but in England, we are within our rights to kill intruders.”
Of course Derek was here to muck everything up.
Right now, she would give everything she had to disappear him from his place at the door, making a mountain of a molehill, threatening to kill them, if she’d heard correctly. Lord deliver her from men with a flair for the dramatic. She checked the clock on the desk.
It was half-nine and the theater was in intermission. It occurred to Lily, vaguely, that she hoped Sesily was as good at being a poor chaperone as she was at being a scandal, because Lily and Alec were going to require an excellent excuse for their absence as the entire box realized that they were missing.
Something better than Oh, they are likely breaking into Hawkins’s office, stealing Lily’s nude, and having an amorous encounter upon his desk.
In this particular case, the truth was not an appropriate excuse.
Especially now, as it seemed they would be waylaid further.
Certainly, they should not be here, in this inner sanctum. But neither should Derek be. She approached, refusing to cow to this man who had so thoroughly used her. Remarkably, because two weeks past, she would have cowed. Two weeks past, she’d been a different woman.
Two weeks past, she had not had Alec.
Alec, her massive Scot, whose broad shoulders and superior height dwarfed Derek, blocking her view as she advanced, having had enough of Derek Hawkins. “Should you not be on stage, Derek?”
That’s when she saw the sword, poised high and dangerous, the tip of it at Alec’s heart. Alec, who looked calmer than any man should be in that position.
Lily froze, terror threading through her at the image. “What do you think you do, you madman?”
Derek did not look at her. “I protect what is mine. My theater. My art. And I am willing to do anything for it.” He paused, looking down at Alec’s empty hands. “You are wise to have avoided taking anything from within.”
When Alec spoke, it was with utter, complete disdain. “You think I want your artwork? To what end? To grace my walls with your child’s play?”
The words were rife with insult, and Lily’s jaw dropped. How could he taunt a man with a broadsword pressed to his chest?
Derek sneered. “I think you want at least one piece of it, Diluted Duke.”
“There you are right. But I’ve no intention of looking at it.”
Derek laughed. “I suppose you think that having seen the real thing, you do not require it.”
While Lily gasped at the insinuation, Alec did not move, except to raise his hand and clutch the blade of the broadsword in one massive fist. Her gaze fell to his fingers, expecting them to bleed with the cut from the blade. Her stomach flipped at the idea that he hurt himself for her. “Let us go, Derek. You must return to the stage. And we’ve taken nothing.”
Derek raised a brow. “How do I know that is true?”
She cut him a look, spreading her arms wide. “You think I hide canvas beneath my skirts?”
Alec did not let Derek finish. “Let’s get to it, shall we, Hawkins? You’ve a play to return to . . . and I’ve anywhere else to be than to watch it.”
Derek scowled. “You’re no longer welcome here.”
Alec’s reply was dry as sand. “You wound me. Truly.” If there were not a sword between them, Lily might have laughed. Instead, she held her breath until Alec said, “How much?”
Derek did not move. “How much for what?”
“You’re impoverished. You’ve lost the house in Covent Garden, the studio. Your paintings line the walls here because, no doubt, you’ve nowhere else to sit them. From what I am told, the theater breaks even, but you cannot stop losing money at the tables. So I ask again—and you will not insult me by pretending not to understand—how much for the painting.”
Derek shook his head. “It is priceless.”
“I do not believe you.”
“Believe me. It is the greatest artwork since the Creation of Man.” His gaze moved to Lily. “Look at her, Warnick. You see her beauty, no doubt. Imagine what it looks like when portrayed by a genius.”
Lily could only see one side of Alec’s face—enough to see the muscle in his jaw clench and tic with anger and frustration. “Name the price.”