Page 18 of The Lady’s Reckless Abandon (Safely in Scotland #1)

F inn woke feeling like death had come for him but changed his mind.

If it wouldn’t have been for his splitting head he might have laughed at the fact he was in bed but didn’t remember leaving the ballroom the night before.

He was sure Lily hadn’t carried him.

Lily.

That brought a smile to his face, no amount of pain in his muddled brain could prevent.

They had danced. They’d danced country dances with the others in the house, but then they’d danced a waltz as well.

He remembered the warmth he’d felt when he held her close to him. Until Mrs. Prichard had cleared her throat and flicked her wrinkled fingers at him.

But for those seconds he’d been close to her he’d felt a stirring in his body he’d never felt so intensely before. Her hair had been like silk as his fingers explored the dark locks while they’d kissed. Her tongue had been like fire, burning him to his soul and…

Panic came upon him like a bucket of the icy water pulled from the river when it was engorged with melted snow.

Christ, the river wasn’t the only thing engorged at the moment. His cock, usually a randy braggard in the mornings, was painfully hard after recalling that kiss.

No. Not recalling. Imagining. For surely it had not really happened, he’d only dreamed it had. Except his imaginings were not usually so detailed. She’d tasted of whisky punch as he’d pulled her on top of him.

Sitting up too quickly for his aching head, he looked around him to see he was wearing nothing but his shirt. But glory saints, the bed was empty and unrumpled on the other side. Proof he’d slept alone.

Thomas came in then after a soft knock. The man knew he was feeling it this morning then. Likely his valet was not much better.

“How did I get in bed?” he asked the man immediately.

“Lady Lily assisted you, and then I called Annabelle up to help Lady Lily to her bed.” If the man were not so professional, Finn was certain he would have looked smug.

“Nothing happened?”

Thomas looked at the ceiling. Hell.

“Something happened.”

“I cannot say something happened. I can only speculate and Your Grace does not pay me for speculation.”

“Let’s say, for the moment, I did pay you for speculation, would you speculate I might have kissed the lady?”

“Given the lady’s lips were quite rosy, and her hair rather mussed, I might speculate such a thing happened. Oh, and she did tell us she kissed you. And it was the best kiss she’d ever had.”

“That doesn’t sound like speculation, Thomas.”

“Nay. But I didn’t see the kiss myself, Your Grace.”

So the kiss had been real then. “But nothing else?”

“Nay, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Thomas.”

“Does Your Grace wish for me to send to the kitchen for a restorative?”

“Good God, no. I’ll not be able to stomach Mrs. Feather’s restorative.”

“It may taste like the devil’s balls, but it does help.”

“I’ll take a bath and some strong tea instead.”

“Very well.”

After a bath and a few sips of tea, Finn dressed and went down to the breakfast room. He had to know if Lily despised him for what he’d done. Had she already fled the castle? Would he go after her if she had or send a carriage to take her the rest of the way?

He found her in the breakfast room, frowning at a cup of foul-looking liquid.

“Give me that,” he said, striding over to grab up the cup. At the door that led out to the garden, he stepped out and gave it a good toss, bringing the empty cup inside. He silently apologized to whatever plant would likely die now for having been soaked with the evil liquid.

“But Mrs. Feather said it would cure my head and stomach.”

“Only because it will have you retching as soon as it hits your guts. Trust me. ’Tis better to just die.” He paused, then stepped back to add, “But tell her it helped immensely. I always do.”

“I thank you for sparing me.” She hesitated after the sentence as if unsure what to say. In his head he heard her voice say his name. Not his title, but Finn.

Had that happened or did he imagine that as well? Damn whisky stealing his memories and offering a bunch of random fragments in return.

He watched Lily’s face turn a deep rose and thought perhaps she had managed more than a bit of fragments. She knew what had happened.

But that meant he’d have to ask.

*

Lily worried she would either be sick or go up in flames there in the breakfast room. And that wasn’t taking into account her sour stomach and aching head from drinking two glasses of punch last night.

Two glasses that had wreaked their punishment this morning but had not taken her memories in exchange.

She remembered all too clearly the kiss in the duke’s bed chamber. Not just in his bed chamber, but on his bed. Well, she had not exactly been on the bed, she was merely leaning over it. Except no, she’d rested her weight on the duke which meant she hadn’t been lying on the bed, but had been lying on the duke… who was lying on the bed. But did that detail matter? She’d gone into his room. And then she’d called for the valet. Thomas knew she had been in the duke’s room.

She would be ruined if anyone else found out.

Then she recalled having seen Annabelle. She had been there too. Two people knew she’d been in the duke’s chamber. But that didn’t mean they knew what had happened. The kiss. There was no way they should assume Lily had done anything more than help the duke to his room before calling for Thomas.

No one would know about this kiss. But before she finished that thought, she recalled whispering a muddled account of how she’d kissed the duke and it was the best kiss. Surely, she hadn’t uttered such a confession out loud.

Oh, God. What if she had? She would surely be ruined.

Except…

She breathed a shaky breath and her heart calmed slightly. How had she forgotten such an important piece of information?

She could not be ruined, for she was already ruined.

There was some comfort in knowing one’s reputation could not get any worse. Still, she was sure the duke would regret kissing her.

That is if he remembered the kiss, which he most likely didn’t.

And if he didn’t remember the kiss, he wouldn’t have remembered how she’d called him by his given name rather than his title. She wouldn’t go so far as to say her kisses were unforgettable, but she had to think a kiss—from anyone—would be more memorable than a slip of his name.

Very well, then she was sure it would be fine. He didn’t remember.

“We kissed,” he said matter of factly.

Lily looked longingly at the door where the duke had tossed Mrs. Feather’s potion into the bushes. Her death could not come soon enough.