Once out of the ballroom and down the corridor, the lights faded. Only the occasional candle was lit along the way, casting the house in shadow, which appealed to Lily. It was easier to face the coming interlude while hidden in the darkness.
Silently twisting the door handle, Lily slipped into the library and found an armchair positioned in front of the dying fire. She snuck behind it and saw an elbow propped on the armrest and two sprawled legs.
Lily cleared her throat, and the gentleman jerked, getting to his feet. With the fire at his back, his features were silhouetted, but she recognized those broad shoulders and imposing physique. Though fashion demanded a trim waist on gentleman, Lily had never admired that hourglass figure on a man, and no amount of tailoring would give Mr. Farson such a feminine shape.
“Good evening, Mr. Farson,” said Lily, her eyes cast to the floor; it was a pointless exercise as his features were little more than vague outlines obscured in blackness, but she could not face him directly. Her cheeks reddened, her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird’s wing.
The gentleman began to speak, but Lily continued. “I know my letter must have shocked you. I am quite shocked at myself for writing it…”
Lily’s throat tightened, and she tried to clear it, but every muscle in her body was clenched to the point where she felt liable to snap.
“Miss—”
“Please,” she said, cutting him off once more. “I cannot imagine what you think of me for even asking, but I…”
Her words faltered as she struggled for the proper ones. How could she give voice to the desperate feeling that demanded she not surrender all her dreams? Facing a solitary life without a husband or children was painful enough, but to have never experienced the heady delight of a kiss was unbearable. She could not change her marriage prospects, but she could do this.
“Clearly, you must understand, or you would not be here,” said Lilly in a rush. “However, I feel…”
She paused.
“No, I need to…”
Lily had experienced more than her fair share of awkward moments, but this was the pinnacle, and it was of her own creation. Unable to contain her nerves any further, she closed her eyes and clenched her fists.
“It is only a kiss.” Though spoken aloud, the words were more for her benefit than his.
Leaping forward, Lily threw her arms around Mr. Farson’s rigid form and collided with him, striking with more force than intended. Her heart seized at her ungainly manner, and for a moment, Lily thought about escaping. Bringing her lips to his, she missed her target, and it took a second try before her aim was true.
This wasn’t the lovely experience she’d envisioned.
But then his arms came around her, pulling her flush to him, and the kiss became something more than a mere touch of lips.
Lily had imagined her first kiss many times over the years. Never once had she pictured needing to enlist a gentleman to give it to her. And never had she expected it to feel like this. Thoughts and nerves faded into the distance as she lost herself in the passion of his embrace. Though no expert on the matter, she was quite surprised—and pleasantly so—to sense his ardor grow. His arms drew tight around her, and his kiss had a touch of urgency, as though he could not get enough of it. Of her.
Tears filled her eyes as she reveled in the feeling of being wanted. Cherished. Though Lily knew this was nothing but a borrowed moment, the way he held her and touched her made her feel desirable. Beautiful even. Her heart expanded, filling her to capacity with utter bliss. It was so much more than she had hoped for, and Lily could not imagine this moment ending and reverting to drab Miss Kingsley.
The kiss slowed, and Lily’s hands rose to his chest when it ended. His lips hovered above hers, as though unwilling to part from her, his breath caressing her cheek. Her eyes opened and met his gaze.
“You are not Mr. Farson!” Lily stiffened, her breath hitching in her chest. Frost swept through her, making her body tremble and her eyes widen.
The gentleman’s arms did not release her, and his lips brushed hers as he asked, “Does it matter?”
Lily knew she should be shocked or horrified. Both in fact. At the very least, she should be concerned about embracing a stranger of unknown character. But those fretful sentiments melted away when faced with the desire gleaming in his eyes. Never had a man looked at her in such a manner, and Lily had not the strength to pull away.
Especially when he kissed her again.
Chapter 2
Jack Hatcher did not care for surprises. In his experience, they were nothing but a deviation from his carefully constructed plans. Structure and order were paramount to success—whether professional or personal—and any unanticipated alteration was rarely an improvement.
Except when it took the form of a beguiling lady throwing herself into his embrace.
Perhaps an occasional surprise wasn’t a terrible thing.
Ever since his arrival in Town, Jack’s life had become a stream of parties, outings, and meetings of every variety. Such things were not an anomaly outside of London, and Jack had learned to tolerate the thrust and stab of social politics, but the sheer volume during the Season was staggering. For all their pretension, society’s functions were often as noisy, overcrowded, and energetic as any dockyard. And far less engaging.
A few minutes of solitude, and Jack could face the Pratt’s ball once more. If not for the fellow’s investments and connections, Jack would never have accepted the invitation tonight, but neither could he manage a whole evening without a respite.
Having that moment of solace interrupted had not improved Jack’s mood. Nor had the lady’s insistence on speaking over him. Twice.
“It is only a kiss,” she whispered, after stuttering on about a letter and some other nonsense that Jack had no interest in deciphering.
Jack was not easily shocked, for such emotion was reserved for those too blind to see the way the world worked. People were predictable creatures, and so much of life followed very clear paths that little could be deemed as truly shocking when one has the sense to pay attention. But never would he have assumed that the timid lady standing before him would do something so audacious as launch herself into his arms.
Her lips fumbled to find his, and if Jack had not been so thoroughly taken aback, he might have laughed at her clumsy attempts. But as he was about to step away, they connected, and Jack’s well-ordered world upended itself. This was not his first kiss, and Jack had sampled such tokens from women far more adept than this strange lady, but something in her simple touch summoned a depth of feeling he had never experienced before.
Like some green lad, Jack stood frozen in place as his heart pounded against his ribcage. A brief bit of logic worked its way into his consciousness, telling him that she had mistaken him for someone else and that the gentlemanly thing to do was to step away, but the press of her lips muffled those thoughts. She stood rigidly before him, but that did not mask the tremble that had taken hold of her. It called up an instinctive need Jack hadn’t known was buried in his heart, driving all else from his mind as he pulled her into his arms.
The lady was taller and wider than most, but she fit perfectly in his embrace as though designed specifically for him. Jack had never felt an inkling of desire for such a large figure, but he could not argue with the rightness that emanated from her being there.
A feverish need pumped through Jack’s veins, and reality faded from his mind as he lost himself in the flood of feelings coursing through him. The strength of the emotion startled him, but he could not back away from it—from her. The allure was too strong, and he was decidedly too weak. When reason took hold once more, Jack might regret his behavior, but now, he could hardly recall that anything else existed.
Only a faint glimmer of reason allowed him to slow the ardor consuming him. Though that deep-seated need begged him to surrender, Jack slowed the kiss, knowing he should end it now despite his desire to linger. The lady’s hands rested against hi
s chest, and he cursed all the layers of fabric that kept him from feeling her touch.
They stood together in silence, and the lady leaned against him as though unable to stand. Her eyes remained closed as he examined her features, and he was certain he did not know her. How had he overlooked such a lovely creature?
After her initial arrival, the lady had not met his gaze, and Jack longed to know the color of her eyes, but he was afraid to speak as any words might break the spell binding them together.
Was her hair as soft as it appeared? The room was dark enough that the brown looked nearly black, though the flickering firelight at his back caught a few red and gold highlights that gave her hair a russet hue. The flowers adorning it filled the air with their scent, leaving an indelible mark on his memory that would forever link that fragrance to this moment.
The lady’s eyes opened, and they were as dark and warm as Jack had expected them to be, and she gazed at him with such contentment that Jack could not help smiling. But a heartbeat later, her eyes widened and the lady stiffened.
“You are not Mr. Farson!” Her voice was little more than a squeak.
Hearing another gentleman’s name on her lips sent a flash of anger through Jack, as though someone had lit a gaslight in his chest.
Her fingers shook, and though her expression betrayed a fair amount of shock, it was the darkening of her cheeks that made Jack think the lady was mostly embarrassed. Granted, he did not favor her feeling either of those sentiments and wished she would soften in his arms once more, but Jack counted it a victory that she had not stepped away.
Whoever this Mr. Farson was, his lady was in no hurry to distance herself from Jack, which made that spark of anger dull to a gentle flame that warmed him through. Clearly, she did not find Mr. Farson enticing enough.
“Does it matter?” he asked. His lips brushed hers as he spoke, and he felt that whisper of a touch down to his toes.
The lady stared at him. Not up, but at, and Jack wondered why anyone ever thought a petite lady was a pleasant thing.
The firelight flickered in her eyes, drawing out hints of gold in the rich brown, and though she did not say her answer aloud, those expressive eyes spoke volumes. There were hints of chagrin and confusion, but still, the lady remained in Jack’s embrace. He felt the barest niggle of pity for the poor fool, Mr. Farson. Clearly, the fellow was inept at wooing.
And though Jack might be called many things, he was no fool. Capturing her lips once more, he kissed her thoroughly. Soundly. Until he was certain that the lady could not recall Mr. Farson’s name, let alone that it was he she had intended to meet.
“Lily!”
Through the haze, Jack heard the name, but it left no impression until the interruption was repeated, and he recognized that it had come from across the room. In a flash, Jack’s good sense returned to him, and sanity finally prevailed. The lady remained plastered to him, but Jack freed himself as she swayed like a drunken sailor before coming to her own senses.
“Lily, what have you done?” Mrs. Pratt asked, taking the young lady by the arm.
Wide-eyed, Jack stared at them. Mrs. Pratt glared at him, but his mystery lady would not meet his gaze. Her shoulders drooped, her chin quivered, and when her eyes met his for the briefest of moments, Jack saw a silent apology.
This had been no mere mistake or coincidence.
Having spent his youth in the navy, Jack had learned quite the array of colorful words and phrases, each of which streamed through his mind as he realized how pea-brained he was. He had heard of gentlemen being snared by conniving, grasping ladies, but never had he thought to willingly walk into the parson’s mousetrap like some half-wit.
His teeth clicked together as his jaw snapped shut, his fists clenching at his sides. A burning fury snapped and sizzled in his heart, begging him to eviscerate the conniving lady who had caught him in this ruse, but then, it turned inwards as Jack cursed himself for allowing her to bewitch him so.
Glowering at the ladies, Jack did not know what to expect of the two, but of one thing he was certain. Snared or not, he was not one to surrender, and they would come to understand why any gentlemen with an ounce of sense never attempted to bend Jack Hatcher’s will to their own.
*
“It is not what you think,” said Lily, grasping Mrs. Pratt’s arm.
“There is no other way to interpret what we just witnessed,” said a lady from behind Mrs. Pratt. Lily jumped and turned to face the stranger, her stomach sinking at the sight of the lady’s companion.
“It was shocking,” said Mrs. Burke, with a gleeful smile that belied her statement.
“Quite,” added the first lady with a nod as the pair stepped into the library.
If only someone would open a window and clear the stifling air. A cool evening breeze was just what her flushed skin needed. Perhaps then she could think.
“Ladies, please,” said Mrs. Pratt. “I am certain there is some explanation.”
Lily’s head dropped, and she wrung her hands, wishing she could properly explain it all. The gentleman remained silent, though there was no mistaking the crackling energy radiating from him. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she flinched at the fury she found there. Had she imagined the man who had held her so tenderly?
“Please allow me to explain,” said Lily, though she knew not how to describe such shame.
“There is no explanation that can undo the damage that has been done,” said Mrs. Burke with a sad shake of her head that was as false as the paste jewelry around her neck. “Unless there is a joyful announcement to make?”
The other lady nodded, her eyebrow arching.
Lily chanced another look at the gentleman, but he grew more sinister with each word the ladies spoke. Her stomach twisted itself into knots as she turned away from his glare.
Leaning forward, Mrs. Pratt whispered. “I am sorry, my dear. You were gone for nearly a half-hour, and when I came looking for you, Mrs. Burke and Mrs. Clogg were already there. No doubt looking for some scandal to stir up. I should have kept a closer watch—”
But Lily shook her head. There was a price to pay for this folly, but no one deserved to shoulder that burden but herself.
“No announcement is necessary,” said Lily. “This was nothing but a misunderstanding.”
Mrs. Clogg huffed. “That was quite a misunderstanding.”
“You two looked quite intimate,” added Mrs. Burke with an insinuating tone. Turning her gaze to the fellow, she added, “Are you not going to do your duty?”
“There is no duty to fulfill,” said Lily. After everything that had occurred this evening, her heart felt wrung out, though it was thumping a rapid beat against her ribcage.
“Mr.—” Lily began, only to realize that she didn’t know the fellow’s name and had nothing to add to that appellation. And her pause admitted as much to everyone present. Mrs. Pratt gave a quiet groan.
Mrs. Clogg abandoned all pretense and grinned with a satisfied gleam in her eye. “You are not even acquainted?”
“I would say they are more than acquainted,” added Mrs. Burke.
“Please, you do not understand,” said Lily. Her chin trembled, her breath coming in jagged bursts. “This was nothing but a misunderstanding.”
“Do you often throw yourself at strangers, Miss Kingsley?” asked Mrs. Burke, tapping her fan against her hand as she watched Lily through slitted eyes.
Mrs. Clogg leaned close to her companion and whispered with enough volume that everyone was privy to her words, “Some ladies have no other options, you know. The poor dear.”
Lily pressed a hand to her stomach, as though that might calm the raging nausea that accompanied those toxic but true words.
“Ladies, please. Miss Kingsley is a good girl and does not deserve your censure!” said Mrs. Pratt. Wrapping an arm around Lily’s shoulders, she stared down the others. “Sometimes love can blossom in an instant, and Mr. Hatcher and Miss Kingsley have developed a whirlwind romance. That is all
. We should be congratulating them.”
It would be easy to say yes. Saying that simple word would allow Lily to maintain some semblance of dignity. A yes would transform her from the sad, desperate near-spinster who had to connive her way into a brief romantic interlude into a lady so desirable that a gentleman had thrown aside caution to be with her. Her pride begged her to concede to Mrs. Pratt’s fantasy.
As of now, Mr. Hatcher had not spoken a word. He stood there, silently watching the whole scene with obvious distaste. No gentleman in such a position would do anything but his duty, and Lily could easily force the issue, yet no matter how much the shame in her heart begged her to take the convenient escape, it could not outweigh the sense of obligation she had to Mr. Hatcher. This was her folly and her price to pay.
“I assure you that it was a mistake and not a romance,” said Lily. Her voice was steady, for which she was eternally grateful, though she could not raise her gaze from the floor. “I mistook Mr. Hatcher for another. He is only guilty of being in the wrong place. The fault lies on my shoulders.”
Mrs. Burke laughed. “You expect us to believe that you arranged an assignation with another gentleman?”
The derision in her tone was enough to bring tears to Lily’s eyes. She tried to dispel them, but they continued to gather without bidding. Her lips pinched, and she fought against the wretched things. Why could she not maintain her composure? Why must her tears always betray the emotions gathering in her heart?
“Believe it or not, it is the truth.” Though Lily fought to keep her voice calm, her words faltered.
“And where is your mystery beau, Miss Kingsley?” asked Mrs. Clogg. “If he intended to meet you, why has he not arrived?”
A Stolen Kiss (Victorian Love Book 1) Page 2
