by Shana Galen
He could not answer her. A fortnight if his father was innocent of Lily’s accusations. The guests would be gone by then, and it would be safe for Emma to return. But if his father was guilty… “I do not know. But you will return.”
She sighed. “I suppose I will have to trust you.” She leaned back and gave his coat a grimace. “Did you roll in horse manure? You smell horrid.”
“Are you certain you caught a good enough whiff?” He grabbed her neck and wrestled her face into his damp, and truth be told, smelly coat.
“Stop! No!”
“You should smell my boots.”
She was fighting him and laughing, and he was laughing too. He felt once again like an older brother.
“You’re disgusting!” she exclaimed, breaking free. “Go take a bath.”
He did as she bade him, returning to his room and ordering his valet to secure a tub and water. Of course, he had to wait. All the hot water had been procured for Lily, and so it was several hours before he was able to dress in clean clothing. Dinner was long over, and he did not intend to make an appearance in the drawing room. Instead, he dressed in trousers and a loose shirt, forgoing a cravat or a coat. He nibbled a light supper of grapes, bread, and cheese, and drank from an expensive bottle of wine he’d pilfered from the cellar before the house party had begun. Several letters from acquaintances and associates in London had arrived, and he was thumbing through those, idly opening and reading any that caught his interest, when he heard a tap on the door.
He didn’t even look up when it opened to admit his valet. “You can retire for the evening, Phibbs. I won’t need you.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”
That was not Phibbs’s voice. He looked up slowly, hoping his ears had not tricked him. But no, she was standing there alone, dressed in a deep purple gown and lovely as the sunset on a clear summer night. He didn’t invite her in, but neither did he protest when she stepped inside and closed his door. His heart was pounding, and his fingers had begun to tremble, making the letter he held shake. He set it down. “You look much recovered.”
“I am. You look better as well.”
He nodded and waited for her to speak, but she said nothing further. “Do you want—?” he began at the same time she said, “I came because—”
“Go ahead.”
“No, you first, my lord.”
“It’s Andrew.”
She smiled at that. “I came because everyone is in the drawing room, playing cards. Anna says the stakes are high tonight, and the company is quite engrossed. They should be at it a while. Now might be a good time to search your father’s private chambers.”
“You came to ask for my assistance?”
She shrugged. “You did offer it. If you want the truth, I am at a loss. I have searched the library and his bedroom and found nothing. I do not know where else to look.”
“I do.” He crossed to the window and parted the draperies. The long summer hours meant the sun set later, and though it was clearly evening, the sky was still streaked blue. “But I’ll wait until full dark. The place I have in mind is not inside the house, and anyone in the drawing room who looked out a window would have a clear view of me.”
“Where are we going?”
He glanced back at her. “You are staying in your room. Lucifer is out there. I don’t want you in danger.”
She pulled a small pistol inlaid with sapphires from a hidden pocket. He remembered it from the time he had rescued her outside London. “I am no fainting miss. And you are not leaving me behind.”
He cocked a brow. “Do you even know how to work that toy?”
“It is not a toy.”
“No?” He made a swift move and snatched it away from her. “It won’t be when Lucifer takes it from you as I just have.”
She moved so quickly, he didn’t even see it coming. He heard a whistle of air next to his ear, and when he looked behind him, a jeweled dagger protruded from his bedpost. Andrew couldn’t quite catch his breath.
“As I said, I am no fainting miss.” She crossed to his bed and grasped the dagger’s hilt, straining to pull it out. Andrew slid his hand over hers and easily dislodged it. When she turned, he didn’t lower his hand, effectively pinning her against the bedpost, though she had a dagger in her hand and was far from defenseless.
“Have I told you I think you are amazing?” He reached up and stroked her cheek. Her eyes remained locked on his face, her fingers wrapped around the dagger at her side.
“No.”
He laughed then lowered his forehead to hers. “Lily, I am dying. I’m like a giddy schoolboy. My hands are shaking, and my heart is thundering.”
As though to test him, she put her hand on his chest, which caused his lungs to constrict. He could scarcely breathe. “I want you,” he whispered. “And you want me too.”
She shook her head and allowed her hand to drop. He felt cold seep in where her warm flesh had been. “I cannot.”
“You’re afraid, but it will be different with me. You know it will. I care about you.” He stroked a curl of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “How can I prove it to you?” he whispered. “I will do anything.”
She was silent for so long he thought she would not answer. If she did not answer, he could live with that as long as she stayed. As long as he could touch her, hold her in his arms. He did not want to be without her.
Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes as green as a cat’s. He’d seen that look before, and it worried him.
“You once promised you would stand on your head.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t sound at all like something I would say.”
She laughed, a lovely deep sound. “It is exactly the sort of thing you would say, and you said it to Juliette in Hyde Park. You said the Duke of Pelham would never attend the regent’s ball, and if he did, you would stand on your head.”
Andrew had a vague memory of that day. He’d been so angry at the gossip pairing Juliette and Pelham. And he’d been desperate to prove it was not true. He remembered the encounter with Juliette at Hyde Park, vaguely remembered Lily there. She’d always been there, but he had never noticed her.
“I was called away and did not attend the ball. I did not observe the duke at this ball.”
She tapped his nose. “But you know he was there. That is where he and Juliette met. It was in all the papers.”
“I don’t read—”
“If you want to prove you care for me, then make good on your promise.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You want me to stand on my head?”
“Yes.”
What new foreplay was this? “And if I stand on my head…”
“Then you may kiss me.”
Good God, he was a pathetic specimen of a man. At one time, he would not have made any more effort than to lift a finger to have a woman. This one asked for everything. And he would give it to her too. He would have given her anything. He would have jumped from his window, sang an opera, danced a ballet, if she’d but asked it. Andrew knelt and removed his boots then moved the small table holding his wine and his plate. He lifted the glass, drank a good quantity of the wine, then stood in the cleared space.
“Are you actually going to comply?” she asked, leaning down and returning the jeweled dagger to a hidden pocket.
“I made a promise,” he said. Of course, he’d never stood on his head before. How did one accomplish such a thing?
She gave him a wary look and scooted onto his bed. He liked the look of her there. Keeping her there was motivation enough to at least try this ridiculous maneuver. He bent and kicked his legs up, and they came down again just as quickly. He heard her giggling, but he ignored it. If he amused her, that was fine. Women liked men who made them laugh. He
tried again and failed, but thought he might have the idea now. He would kick one leg up and then slowly raise the other once his hands were solid and steady on the floor. His third attempt was better, but he moved too quickly, and his legs went over his head.
She gasped and moved to slide off the bed. “Are you hurt?”
“Stay there.” He held up a hand. His back was going to hurt like the devil in the morning, but he was going to do this. “I think I have it.”
“Do be careful.”
“Your concern is touching.” Considering it was her demand that would cause him to break his neck. He moved back into position, put his hands on the floor, and carefully lifted his legs. “I have it,” he said through clenched teeth, concentrating to keep his balance. He wobbled, losing his balance, and quickly lowered his legs before he took another tumble. When he stood, he heard clapping.
“Bravo!” Lily was kneeling on his bed, clapping enthusiastically. “That was impressive.”
He felt slightly dizzy and rather ill, but he made a sweeping bow nonetheless. “I have honored my word yet again. And the next time I see Pelham, he will hear about it.”
“Then I suppose it’s my turn.” She slid off the bed and seemed to glide toward him. His breath caught, watching her. He did not know what she would do next, but he prayed she would touch him, kiss him… He had a rather long list of what he might pray for.
She put her hands in his, and her skin was incredibly soft and her hands sinfully warm. “Now I honor my promise.” She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his.
***
She was afraid he would feel her trembling. She did not know what to do next, only that there was nowhere she wanted to be besides in Andrew’s arms. She giggled, and he pulled back. “Kissing me is amusing you?”
She shook her head and attempted to compose herself. “No. I was remembering the sight of you standing on your head. I still cannot believe you attempted such a thing.”
His brow creased in what she now recognized as annoyance. “I did not merely attempt it. I was successful.”
“Of course you were.”
“I do care about you,” he said, looking into her eyes in a way that made her heart clench and her belly flutter. “Whether that proves it or not.”
She hadn’t needed him to prove it. She knew he cared. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he touched her, in the way he took care of her, even when she didn’t need it. Something had changed in him. Had he fallen in love with her?
She dared not hope. Possessing his love had always been a dream too lofty even for her. “I did not need you to prove it,” she said, looking up at him. “I already knew.”
“Then why…” He sputtered something incoherent, which made her laugh. To stop his babbling, she placed a finger over his mouth.
“I needed a moment to collect myself, because I knew what was going to happen.”
“And what’s that?” The poor man truly looked as though he did not know.
She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against his. “You are going to take me to bed.”
“Am I?”
Her pulse kicked with sudden anxiety. Had she been presumptuous? “Will you?”
“Is that what you want?” His hands were on her waist, and they tightened slightly. “Lily, I can wait. I can wait as long as you need.”
It was tempting to take him up on his offer. She rarely, if ever, admitted her fear. If she admitted it, then she had to face it, and it was hard enough to act the spy when one was not thinking about fear. So she’d learned to block it out. But she could feel it hovering like a black cloud on the edge of what should have been a beautiful moment. The old nausea rose in her belly when she thought of what would happen between them—the chance she could become with child, the chance that the intimacy would remind her of those awful events of the past—and that awful man.
She did not want to remember that time in her life. Thus far Andrew’s touches and kisses had not made her think of anything but having more of him, but she had always stopped him when her fears began to bubble to the surface. And, admittedly, he was the first man who had ever touched her tenderly and with her pleasure in mind. Perhaps that was why being with Andrew did not remind her of the past. Or perhaps she was finally willing to let the past go—to forgive herself for her mistakes and to start a new chapter in her life.
“You are thinking long and hard,” Andrew murmured.
“Impatient?” she said, arching a brow.
“For you?” His hand trailed up her back then down again, making her shiver with pleasure. “Always. I respect your wishes. Only, if I must wait, put me out of my misery and tell me. I grow more nervous the longer we stand here.”
She gaped at him. “What have you to be nervous about? You’ve bedded a hundred women!”
“If that were true, I’d be the worst sort of lecher and probably suffering from the pox. It’s barely a tenth of that, but, Lily, how can you think you are like any of those others? You are Lily. My Lily.” He bent and kissed her temple, dragging his lips over her eyebrow and back again, down her cheek until his breath teased her ear. “Put me out of my misery one way or another.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to control the way her body trembled with fear and shivered with delight. “I don’t want to wait.”
“Thank God.” His mouth moved to her neck, and he pulled her hard against his chest. She could feel the solid strength of him under his shirt, the heat of him burning her up, while his lips tempted and teased her sensitive flesh just behind her earlobe.
“Andrew?” she whispered.
“I love how you say my name. Say it again and promise never to call me Darlington again as long as you live.”
She almost laughed. “Andrew, I have a confession to make.”
His forehead fell to her shoulder. “Right now? I am dying for you, Lily.”
“But that’s just the thing. I’m terrified. I haven’t allowed a man to touch me like this since—”
He pulled back. “I have been a dolt, as usual. I didn’t even think of what you must be feeling. Stop me at any time. You can trust me, Lily.”
All the icy fear in her chest began to melt, and the heat slid low in her belly. This was desire, the desire she had always felt for him, though it had seemed so much safer when he’d been enamored of Juliette.
“No more delays.” He scooped her into his arms, which made her laugh, until he carried her to his bed and set her gently on the soft velvet coverlet. The fabric was sapphire blue and so plush she could not stop herself from running her fingers over it. She expected him to come down on top of her, but instead he lowered himself beside her, propping his chin on his hand.
“I’ve dreamed of having you here,” he said. He reached for her hair, tugging at the pins holding it in place and then spreading it out. His fingers were sure and skilled against her scalp, easing away the tension. And it felt good to have the heavy mass out of its confines. It was not quite dry from the bath she’d had earlier, which made it even heavier when pinned up.
When the pins were gone, his fingers moved to her gown. He slipped one finger under the puff of a sleeve and notched it down to reveal her shoulder. Then he bent and kissed it softly before he tugged on the sleeve of the opposite shoulder. She watched him as he undressed her, watched the play of light from the candles on his face, the curve of his lips when another sliver of flesh was revealed. He was so beautiful to her. She had never thought she would be in his bed, never thought he would look at her like this, touch her like this. She wanted to remember everything about the experience. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the beeswax candles, the coal in the fire, and the unforgettable scent of him. It was leather and spice and something uniquely Andrew. She could smell it on her fingers after she’d touched him, in his hair when he bent to kiss her, and in the bedclot
hes where she lay.
The fire crackled, and despite its welcome heat, she felt the coolness of the air on her bare flesh. She opened her eyes and looked at the mural painted on his ceiling. It was done in the ancient Greek style, with musicians and soldiers and revelers all in a line, passing a jug of wine. It suited him. Finally, she was aware that he had not moved, and her gaze met his.
“There you are,” he said quietly.
“I was trying to see everything, smell it, hear it. I want to remember this.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “You slay me, Lily. How will I resist falling in love with you?”
Before she could answer, even silently, he said, “Stay with me. Don’t allow your thoughts to wander someplace safe. I’m safe. I want you, all of you.”
She nodded and followed his gaze to where he’d loosened the bodice of her gown and her stays. Now his hands shook slightly as he parted the material, revealing her breasts. One hand brushed across the flesh, and she sucked in a breath at the contact. What he did not understand was that she went away in her mind to keep her longings under control. She ached for his touch. She wanted him with a frenzied abandon that would no doubt shock and appall him. He bent and kissed her flesh, the stubble on his cheeks chafing the sensitive skin. She could not stop a small moan, and she arched to press more firmly against him. His hands slid under her back, and he lifted her then stripped off her gown and her stays. She pulled his shirt over his head while he untied her chemise. It slid down her arms as she kicked off her slippers and reached for the fall of his trousers.
His hands locked on hers. She looked down at the chemise pooling where she knelt on his bed. “That is hardly fair. I’m completely undressed.”
“Yes, but you are not going to ravish me.”
“Don’t be so certain.” She pushed him, and he, not expecting the gesture, fell onto his back. She held him down with one hand and removed her chemise then straddled him. His hands locked on her bare hips as she bent to take his mouth. She kissed him with all the pent-up longing she’d felt for him for so many years. She took his mouth over and over, twining her tongue with his, exploring every inch of him. He tasted like sweet wine, and she could not taste enough of him, was drunk on the feel of his warm chest beneath her bare breasts, the way his hands held onto her as though he was afraid he would fall if he released her, the way his tongue met hers thrust for thrust.
