by Stacy Reid
“I have it on the highest authority that the marquess commands at least three hundred thousand pounds a year, and that does not include his business investments, just the estates. He is indecently rich.”
Lily’s eyes widened. That was a fortune she could not comprehend. No wonder he thought so little of “paying” her one thousand pounds. She hadn’t seen him since, for he had vanished to Town. Bereft at the emptiness she’d felt, and eager to purge Lord Ambrose from her thoughts, she had made her way down to the stairs and hovered near the library several times. The desire to visit those hallways, and perhaps encounter her clandestine lover again, had been a lesson in denying temptation.
“He cuts quite a dashing and commanding figure, doesn’t he?” that same person said, her voice rich with admiration. “And it is quite evident he is truly ready to settle down. I’d thought it a rumor.”
Lily recognized Lady Falconbridge, the wealthy widow of a viscount who had died in a carriage accident three years past. The way she ogled Lord Ambrose signaled she would be a contender for his affections. She had also been on Lady Ambrose’s list for suitable ladies for her son, simply because she had given the viscount an heir and a spare before his death. Lady Falconbridge’s greatest value as a wife for a nobleman had been proven with the fruits of her womb.
Lily’s eyes smarted, and she strolled away, not caring to hear any more about the marquess. She did turn her attention to him, admiring his powerful and graceful form, as he swept one of the most ravishing ladies she had ever seen across the ballroom. How wonderful they looked together.
With great reluctance, she tore her regard from the dancing couple. She mustn’t be so obvious in her admiration, considering she lingered on the marquess. A footman passed, and she snatched a glass of champagne and sipped the golden liquid. After observing another three sets of dancing, it was distressing to admit she was frightfully bored. There was simply nothing for her to do. Others around her laughed and chattered away with great animation, but no one engaged with her. She didn’t belong, and everyone knew.
For politeness’s sake, she would wait a few more minutes, then slip away to the library and perhaps select a book to read until sleep beckoned. Or venture once more into the darkened passage…
Remembered pleasure stroked her skin, and there was a pleasant tightening in her womb. Good lord, could she risk it again? What if she encountered the unknown lover once more? Lily closed her eyes, reluctantly admitting that was what she wanted. To feel his thick cock part her core once again, satisfying her with that pained bliss that had made her shatter with such intensity.
Could she truly do it again?
And what if he isn’t there?
But the more terrifying question was, what if she encountered him once more?
If he’s there, I’ll take him as he’ll surely take me.
A few hours from now, she would once again walk that fine edge between freedom and ruin…
It was going to be a long night.
…
Oliver twirled around the ballroom with Lady Penelope for the second time. They had been paired in a quadrille and now a waltz. His mother had waylaid him earlier, imploring him to first dance with Lady Penelope. He hadn’t told his mother he had already struck her from the list. Though he had sought out her help, he would not give her a daily update on his pursuits. He had partnered with Lady Emma earlier in a game of croquet, had complimented the watercolors she’d painted, and his mother had been too obvious in her delight. He had overheard a few other ladies speculating whether he had made his choice.
The plan had been to dance and mingle with the widows present, but Oliver found it hard to concentrate on the matter at hand. Since he’d spied Lily, his mind had blanked. What was she doing at the ball looking so bloody appealing? She wore a rose-colored gown that hugged her figure most enticingly. Her mane of dark red hair was piled high atop her head in intricate curls, with several wisps artfully arranged to drape across her forehead and down to her shoulder. With no accessories except for a pair of white gloves, she was possibly the only woman at the ball so unadorned. No pearls, diamonds, or rubies circled her throat, and he wished he could lay them at her feet. A ridiculous desire.
She stood on the sidelines, looking so lovely…and perhaps a bit lonely. He frowned, noting the half smile on her lips and the yearning way she stared at the dancing couples—though, he thought it likely she could be admiring their apparel. She collected another glass of champagne and then moved to a chaise and sat.
“Would you like to take a turn in the garden after our waltz, my lord?” Lady Penelope asked, dragging his attention back to her. Oliver hoped he hadn’t been obvious in his admiration of Lily. He peered down at the beautiful lady in his arms, noting the haunting sadness in Lady Penelope’s eyes.
“Are you still in love with Lord Bainbridge?”
Her lips parted in a silent gasp, and her eyes widened. “My lord! I…” She struggled for equanimity as her eyes welled with tears. “It does not signify. My parents won’t approve the match.”
“He is working like a madman to bring his estates back from the brink of ruin. He does not say it, but I know his relentlessness is because he fears you will wed another before he succeeds.”
Hope flared in her eyes. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
Her lips trembled with a smile. “I do not care if he is not wealthy.”
“Then fight for him, wait for him, do not give in to your parents’ demands, for we only live once. It would be foolish, I believe, to marry elsewhere when your heart is irrevocably in love with another.”
She visibly swallowed. “And you do not think he hates me for rejecting him before?”
“No.”
“Thank you, my lord. I will not forget your kindness,” she said huskily, peering over his shoulder to Bainbridge, who lounged in a darkened corner watching her with astonishing intensity.
“Discreetly go to him, give him hope.”
A wide smile of joy appeared on her lips, rendering the lady exquisite. “I will, thank you.”
Their dance ended, and he escorted her to the sidelines. His mother lifted her chin toward Lady Emma and Miss Julianna Darby, but Oliver paid her no heed. Instead, he made his way over to Lily.
She shot to her feet as he stood in front of her. Her eyes were alert, curious even. “My lord,” she said, dipping in an elegant curtsy.
“Mrs. Layton.”
Her gaze flicked around the room and then back to him. “Upon my word, I believe the entire room is staring at you,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing a becoming pink. “Why are they doing that?”
“They are curious as to why I’ve approached you. They are also staring at you.”
“They are impolite, that’s what they are.”
“You are commanding attention because you are so beautiful.”
She gave him a bright, glorious smile. “Thank you, my lord.” Then she frowned. “Why have you approached me? Your mother is watching us, and I can see your sister peeking from behind the potted plant on the terrace.”
There was an allure to their directness. “May I have the honor of the next dance? I believe another waltz will be announced.”
She went motionless, her mouth frozen in a small O. “I don’t know what to say,” she finally said, sounding perplexed and perhaps thrilled. “This is so unexpected, your lordship.”
“You could say yes.”
A beautiful smile curved her lips, drawing his eyes to the small overbite of her teeth. She was so different from the ladies of society in the room. Oliver knew if any had that small imperfection, they would forever smile with their lips sealed. Excitement brought out the beauty in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks.
She cleared her throat. “I would be delighted, my lord. It was only yesterday I practiced with Lady Lucinda, so you will forgive me if I accidentally step on your toes.”
Suddenly, he felt like a heel. It had never occurred to him she might not know how
to dance. “I’ll catch you if you stumble.”
She stared up at him, her golden-brown eyes raging with emotion, and a question glowed in the depth of her gaze, one he was unable to answer. It was simply important to him she understood he would be there if she faltered.
He held out his hand, and she came willingly to him. Oliver was almost amused at the shock he could feel rippling through the ballroom. Even those who were also taking to the dance floor sent curious glances their way. Perhaps it would even be mentioned in the gossip columns that Lord Ambrose had danced with his mother’s companion at his ball.
He settled his hand against her waist, and she placed her gloved hand on his shoulder. She felt perfect in his arms. Too perfect. The strains of the violins leaped to life, and Lily flowed beautifully in his arms. She attempted to lead him, and it became clear she had been the dominant partner when she practiced with his sister. He tugged Lily closer, subtly shifting the dynamics so she understood who was in charge of their sensual and elegant waltz across the ballroom floor.
A smile curved over her lips before it bloomed into a wide grin. “This is glorious, Oliver.”
The devil in him urged him to pull her in even closer, and he gave in to the temptation, even knowing the eyes of the ballroom were upon them. Sweet and alluring, her subtle fragrance of lavender stirred him. Her gaze never left him, and for an impossible moment, Oliver felt as if they were in the room alone as he drowned in the beauty of her eyes. Had he ever seen a lady this intelligent and curious, or with such a bewildering mix of innocent and inviting carnality?
It wasn’t his fevered imagination that something wicked lurked in her eyes. Oliver gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. This blasted attraction was unfounded, and he needed to take control of his desires.
While he had admired his father and emulated his dedication to their estates and his acumen in business, there the similarities would end. Oliver would not dally with a worker in his household, who would surely feel pressured to accept any sexual advances he would make. Something his father had never cared to consider as he seduced maid after maid, taking cruel advantage of their situation and humiliating his marchioness. It pained Oliver to acknowledge that some of his father’s unruly desires had taken hold of him, for he dearly wanted to ravish Mrs. Lily Layton with his tongue, fingers, and cock until she was limp from pleasure.
In a desperate bid to center his thoughts on anything but how delectable she appeared, he said, “Have I ever thanked you for all that you do for my mother, Lily?”
A blushed worked its way up her neck. “Your gratitude is not necessary. I am paid.”
“I would like to think it is more than that. My mother genuinely likes you, and I can see you hold similar affections.”
She arched a delicate brow. “Yes, she likes me so much she is firing me.”
He faltered briefly, but caught himself, expertly twirling her past several couples. “I wasn’t aware my mother was letting you go.”
“She believes I should marry, and that I am wasting away as her companion. My replacement will be here at the end of the month.”
His stomach clenched into hard knots at the idea of her marrying, but he brushed it aside. “Ah, to Mr. Crauford. You haven’t told her that you’ve rejected his advances, and he is too proud to mention that he has failed. You have a difficult task ahead of you, persuading my mother you have no wish to wed him or any other man. Her matchmaking fervor is terrible to behold.”
Lily scowled. “I have no wish to marry again, and I daresay the marchioness will have to respect my position.”
“You are still young. I’m sure the vicar wouldn’t have wanted your unhappiness.”
“It would be silly of me to even think of the wishes of a dead man,” she said with a definite twinkle in her eyes. “I…I simply do not think it is for me. I have been married twice.”
Twice? “How old are you?”
She pursed her lips. “Five and twenty.”
“Good God, and you’ve been widowed twice?”
Shadows lingered in her eyes. “I have.”
“May I ask about your first marriage?”
Surprise flashed in her eyes. Dark red tendrils floated around her delicate face as she peered up at him. “We grew up in the village together. Our mothers were the best of friends. I truly liked him and enjoyed his company. It seemed natural we would marry after we came of age. I married Charlie when I was seventeen. Several months later, he bought a junior commission for the war.” She cleared her throat. “He never came home. His family mourned his sacrifice and celebrated his courage. I, too, grieved him, for he had been a kind and gentle soul who deserved much more from life. A few years later, I married the local vicar.”
A small smile on her lips as she spoke of her first husband implied fond memories. Yet a shadow flashed at the mention of the vicar. “How long were you married to the vicar?”
A slight frown marred her lovely brows. “Three years.”
“So, you remarried at twenty.”
Her lips twitched. “That I did, my lord.”
“I’m sorry for your losses. You have endured much for one still so remarkably young,” he said softly.
“Thank you.”
And now his mother and possibly her society urged her to find a third husband. Yet the strong beauty before him did not appear as if she needed another spouse.
He spun her in a graceful arc, and the only indication of any nervousness was the tightening of her fingers on his shoulder.
She cleared her throat delicately. “I believe we must discuss the preposterous notion of me helping you find a wife amongst your guests.”
“And to think I thought it a most ingenious suggestion.”
“I know you only made such an offer so I would take the money. I am grateful for your kindness, truly, but I do not mix well with your society, and the small observations I’ve made tonight cannot help in your pursuits.”
He needed a moment to collect himself. She had seen through his offer, and he was damn glad she hadn’t taken offense to his charity. He suspected she never asked anyone for anything and much preferred to earn her way in the world. Quite admirable and so very different from many people he knew. It was irrational to feel disappointment at the thought she would not take his money to further her dreams. “Your honesty is charming, Mrs. Layton. Many would pretend to dole advice to collect on the bounty offered.”
She lifted her chin quite arrogantly, further baring the swanlike grace of her neck. “I am not like many others.”
“I am beginning to see that,” he murmured. “You could still help.”
She rolled her eyes. “I doubt it. The many ladies here tonight have not deigned to converse with me. And I cannot imagine how I would get close enough to anyone to determine their character.”
“I could help you narrow the list.”
Her eyes widened. “How?”
“I think we could start with the widows—”
Her gasp cut him off. “You are seeking a widow for your next wife?”
He went silent for a brief moment, assessing her wide-eyed expression. “As a man of the world, I think it wise to marry a lady with experience.”
The pulse fluttered wildly at her throat. “I did observe you conversing with two widows earlier. Were they to your liking?”
No. He hadn’t felt any spark or even a physical attraction. The conversation had been mundane, their dulcet tones entirely unfamiliar. Their scent unrousing. “They were not,” he admitted softly.
She made no reply, and they silently twirled to the graceful waltz.
“You are truly an apt pupil, Mrs. Layton. You dance beautifully.”
Another radiant smile bloomed on her lips. “Flattery will get you everything, my lord.”
“Then will you sit twice for me and accept my payment of one thousand pounds for the privilege?”
“Two different paintings?” she whispered as if scandalized. There was a becoming flush on her cheeks, and a
nameless hunger tore through his heart.
“Yes.”
Her eyes searched his with an intensity he did not understand. How he wished he could read her thoughts.
“If you inform me where I should meet you, my lord, and what time, I shall be there.”
Fierce anticipation rushed through him. “Thank you.”
“I am very curious to see your paintings, if you will permit me the honor.”
How shocked her sensibilities would be if she saw his gallery. “I mostly paint classical nudes.”
She visibly swallowed. “I see. And has…anyone ever posed for you in the nude?”
There was that dark, inviting desire coiling in his gut again. “A few.”
Something elusive pooled in her gaze, and she considered him in silence for a few moments. “And if I should ask you to paint me like that, would you take affront, or be intrigued?”
It was his turn to stumble ever so slightly. Who was this woman he held in his arms? The few women he had painted, they had frolicked in debauchery together, but there was nothing sinful or depraved about the widow of a bloody vicar. Unless…
He held her gaze for an infinite time until her lids lowered. The gentle upward curve of her lips hinted at wicked amusement, and devil take it, Oliver was captivated.
Their dance ended all too soon, and regret sliced through him that he wouldn’t be spending more time with her tonight. Brushing aside the perplexing desire, he escorted her to the sidelines. She dipped in a graceful curtsy, and with a nod, he departed. It was tempting to claim her for another dance, but that would only stir unnecessary rumor. And he was on another mission tonight.
Which one of the widows present was his mysterious lover?
Oliver spent the next two hours mingling, dancing, and chatting, disliking that he wanted to be elsewhere. He bantered with several women and found it quite unlikely that any of them were the woman in the secret passage.
