Page 78 of Devil in Her Details

His eyes bore into hers.

I didn’t. I didn’t flee the scene of a crime!

She’d been here, in this chair, with this tea, in a perfectly reasonable state of mind, all morning.

He said nothing else. Just pulled the newspaper from under his arm, settled into the chair across from her and started to read the paper.

Lilly blinked at him.

Wasn’t he going to ask her about last night?

About the deed they’d done?

She narrowed her eyes on the man. So perfectly composed, turning a page as though they were two friends sharing a dining room table and not two people who had—who had—rubbed. Well, if he wasn’t going to mention it, that was fine. Perfectly fine. She didn’t want to discuss what happened either. She absolutely did not want him to say anything at all about last night, and the fact that he wasn’t was a great relief, and she was very relieved, and if he turned one more page of that newspaper without so much as a glance in her direction, she was going to lose her mind entirely.

And douse him with a cup of tea!

“You’re staring, Lilly.”

Hah! So he was aware of her just as much as she was aware of him. The devil! The beast. Pretending he wasn’t. Her gaze drifted to the scar on his cheek. That pale slash cutting across his skin . . . “How did you get that scar on your cheek?”

His eyes lifted to meet hers. “Picked the wrong man’s pocket when I was a boy. Caught me half-foxed on gin I’d pinched the night before. Didn’t realize he was part of a gang that roamed the rookeries of Whitechapel.”

“That’s . . .” Horrible.

He shrugged at the words that stuck in her throat.

“Learned two things that day. Never drink when planning a job, and always pay attention.”

Lord. She hadn’t really thought about what sort of boy he must have been. His childhood. How strange, the things one didn’t consider. A panther was still a cub before it was a panther. Still small and unformed and learning the world and the territory it was born into. What were all the things the world had taught him? She couldn’t begin to fathom.

She studied his scar.

He’d been a boy. Running rookery streets foxed, quick fingers and quicker feet and not quite quick enough. She thought of her own childhood. Wealth, education, protection from the outside dangers. Her brother and grandmother’s love. She’d never once had to question whether she’d have a bed to sleep in or food to eat. She suspected this man must have had plenty of such uncertainties.

“Well, I’m glad you walked away with just a scar.”

“And lessons learned,” he reminded.

She nodded. Yes, and lessons learned. Though, no boy should ever learn such lessons. Children should always be cherished. Saint’s brutal words came to mind. She’d wager they all had similar stories. How heartbreaking.

His gaze dropped back to the paper, a deep furrow appearing moments later. “You are Lady Lilly Trenton, aren’t you?”

Lilly arched a brow. “I’d be concerned if I weren’t.”

“Lilly is a flower, right?”

“I’d be just as concerned if it weren’t. What’s wrong?”

His glance slid to her, then back to the paper. He turned it around and held it out to her. Lilly half rose to look, eyes flying wide, then snatched the paper from him. There, circled in blank ink, was her name.

A certain Lady L. T (name related to a flower), and sister to the Duke of K, is reported to be residing at a private address in Brighton in the company of a gentleman whose name remains, for the moment, unfit to print.

Lilly stared at the gossip piece, jaw slack.

Then she read it again.

Her blood ran cold. “Where did you get this paper?”