by Heather Boyd
Giles held back another growl. Dithers’ amusement was the least of his problems. Lilly needed him and he wanted to assist her. After the things he’d done before her innocent eyes, he had a lot to make up for.
“I will be there directly.”
Dropping his drink to the desk, Giles stood, tugged down his waistcoat, adjusted his sleeves, and controlled his footsteps out of the study. It would not do to appear in too much of a hurry—even if his heart pounded in anticipation of seeing her.
Dithers had said that the fever was slight, but the man rushed ahead to open her bedchamber door as if she were bound for the afterlife at any moment.
The first things Giles noticed were that Atticus was not in the room, and that the edges of the chamber were as dark as Hades. Giles could barely pick out Mrs. Osprey sitting in the chair by the bed, wringing her hands in obvious agitation.
His feet propelled him all the way to the edge of the bed without pause. May as well be controlled by strings and a master puppeteer, you idiot. He touched Lilly without conscious thought. Too hot. Her skin seemed tight with heat.
Giles did not know what to do. He had no knowledge of healing whatsoever. Haunting grey eyes flickered open and struggled to focus on him. He shifted closer so she didn’t have to move her head to see him, but her eyes were dull, reflecting vast pain. “Lilly, where do you hurt?”
“Aside from the usual places?” Lilly’s rasping voice pained him, and she swallowed and grimaced to prove her discomfort. He nodded, brushing her hair back from burning hot cheeks, enjoying the touch of his fingertips on her skin. Her eyes closed again. “My throat hurts, and I have a headache.”
Giles continued to stroke her skin and listened as her breathing settled in time to his strokes. Christ, he could play this woman like a lute if she was well enough. She was that responsive to him. “Where are the usual places you have pain, Lilly?”
He was curious about her injuries. Hell, he was curious about everything related to her. He stroked her skin until she answered. “Neck, back, arms, and legs. The places that bounced off the rocks the hardest.”
He touched her scarred wrist. “Do these pain you?” He rubbed his fingertips where he knew rough bite marks lay hidden by the blanket and nightgown.
“They never have that I can remember. Everything else hurt worse.”
A throat cleared, reminding Giles that he had an audience.
Dithers and Mrs. Osprey were still in the room and he turned, catching a look of utter surprise on Mrs. Osprey’s face. Dithers, however, looked set to murder him.
His butler folded his arms across his chest and raised one eyebrow, questioning with one look what he thought he was about. Servant or not, a rogue will recognize another rogue bent on seduction.
Giles truly wished he could stop himself. “What can you recommend, Mrs. Osprey?”
Diversion was another good trick deployed by a rogue when caught in a bit of bad behavior. Mrs. Osprey’s eyes fell to Lilly, nodding as she thought over a treatment.
“Honeyed tea to soothe her tender throat, cold cloths applied to reduce the fever, and a broth to give strength. If Miss Winter could manage to eat more it would be a blessing,” Mrs. Osprey mused.
“Very proper, Mrs. Osprey. See to it personally.”
Mrs. Osprey flushed at his words and fluttered from the room. Dithers still watched him, silent accusations in his stance.
Giles raised one hand in warning. “Don’t say one word, Dithers. Fetch more firewood and another jug of cold water.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, milord. You are the last Wexham of your line, if you remember. We do wish to keep you,” Dithers pointed out as he trailed after Mrs. Osprey.
“Dithers has turned into a mother hen,” Lilly murmured behind him. “Instead of the scallywag I expected.”
Giles turned. “You remember my butler?”
“Bits and pieces. The maids were all a flutter for his smiles.”
“You would never guess it to look at him now. Nothing but stern glares for everyone.”
“Even you?”
Giles chuckled. “Especially me. He had a well-earned reputation for breaking hearts as a younger man. More than one lass fell in love with him, but he kept his dignity and never married. I cannot understand why he does not trust me,” Giles confessed, trying to act wounded.
“He does have a point. Under normal circumstances, you would be a dangerous man, indeed. But he quite forgets that it is impossible to seduce someone as ill as I am,” Lilly whispered, voice breaking over some of the words.
Giles arched a brow, enjoying their banter. Her lack of affectation was refreshing. “And what do you know of seductions, Lilly?”
“More than I care to, Lord Daventry.” She said no more, and closed her eyes again.
Giles watched her closely, fascinated by her sharp breathing and the rise and fall of her breasts.
Ashamed that he still thrummed with lust, he hurried to the basin on the dresser, and poured tepid water onto a cloth. Lilly needed his care, not his wayward imaginings. At least she had no idea of the thoughts swirling through his head.
He squeezed out most of the water and crossed back to her side, lowering himself to the mattress. As the bed bowed under his weight, he noticed Lilly biting her lip and could have kicked himself for disturbing her comfort.
He dared not move again, and he pressed the wet cloth to her face. Her exhaled breath chilled the inside of his damp wrist and he shuddered, fighting not to moan.
After the cloth became too warm to provide any comfort, he faced a dilemma. He needed to re-wet it. But when he stood he would certainly disturb her again. He did not want to give her more pain. He glanced over at the door, listening in the hope of approaching assistance.
“I am sorry,” Lilly whispered.
Perplexed, Giles looked down. “Sorry for what?”
“This is not how you usually spend your time, is it, Lord Daventry? I am apologizing for disturbing your peace.” She kept her eyes downcast and Giles was bothered by her retreat into formality. He had grown to like the way she said his name.
“Giles,” he reminded her. “No, you are correct. I have not tended many bedsides. However, I am more than happy to be beside yours. Usually when I am here, I keep to my own company and rarely speak to anyone. Do you perceive the improvement in my circumstances? I have the opportunity to talk to a very pretty girl and rise before noon.”
He enjoyed caring for her very much, a surprise that left him a little giddy. Despite, or perhaps because of, her injuries she was very easy to be near. He didn’t have to be anything but himself—a very rare experience. He leaned close to whisper into her ear. “The servants want to call a doctor to attend me.”
When Giles leaned back, she stared at him. He smiled a slow, seductive smile, one that had worked on many a pretty woman. Lilly did not smile back.
“That was poorly done of you, my lord.” Lilly’s voice wavered as she spoke. She turned her head away abruptly only to gasp in pain.
Giles ran back over his words, puzzled. He had not said anything that should have upset her. He rose to refresh the cloth, looking out the crack in the drapes as he thought. Calling a doctor because the servants thought him mad was a joke. Had someone tried to commit her to Bedlam at some point?
He looked back to where she lay doing her best to ignore him and could not credit it. Her mind was too well formed for madness. No, it must have been something else.
The only other thing he had said had been a compliment. She was pretty. She mesmerized him. Lilly had done so since the first night he saw her. If she thought she was unattractive then someone must have said as much. Giles wanted to shake the person who had dared make her think so poorly of herself.
He walked back over and stood a moment gazing down at the face he could not get enough of seeing. “Lilly, look at me.”
Her eyes flickered and opened. He leaned over so she would not have to turn. “I do not lie, Lilly. You are ve
ry pretty. Trust me on this.”
She blinked tears and Giles wiped her face, taking the evidence away. He waited for the tears to stop. She finally glanced at him and smiled hesitantly. He reached out and rubbed the damp cloth across the tip of her nose, then went to fetch the bowl so he would not have to leave her side again.
Lilly stayed silent while Giles cooled her, and he had time to wonder if her family had dampened her spirit before, or after, the accident. Lady Winter was a vain woman, in his opinion, and he could credit her with attempting to quash the confidence of her daughter. Lilly was prettier after all, and would one day outrank her. Perhaps it was done out of jealousy.
Mrs. Osprey went to bed when Lilly’s fever abated, but Giles stayed. He could tell that she was in pain from her old injuries now, and it seemed more than she could bear in silence. He had Dithers fetch a bottle of brandy from his study, and a single glass for the fiery spirit, then dismissed him.
As the house fell silent, Giles reached for the amber liquid. He poured a deep glass, holding it to her lips so she could drink. She gagged on the unfamiliar taste, but he had nothing better to offer.
When she had drunk down two full glasses, she spoke. “Of course, what I notice most of all is that no one touches me anymore. Only Papa.” She shook her head. Apparently the brandy was quick to numb her pain. “Oh, and you do. Your hands are so warm and soothing. I wish that you could keep doing that.”
“What was that, Lilly?”
“Oh, you called me Lilly again. I thought I had imagined it. You smell so good, too. Not like him. His breath smells like rotting fish. Eww. I hope he does not come here.”
As Giles touched her face and his thumb stroked her lower pouting lip, he wondered whom she meant. Perhaps a doctor? But Lord Winter sounded as if he had given up on doctors, so he could have promised no one would come near Lilly again.
Her breath puffed over his thumb and Giles, struggling not to become aroused, set the glass down on the floor. She was far too trusting, never protesting as he slid his hand to her shoulder to rub across muscles grown stiff with tension.
Lilly shifted sensuously beneath the covers and an idea came to him. One of his greatest gifts was his ability to use his hands to give pleasure. He wondered if Lilly would let him try it out on her.
Many a woman had crumbled under his skilled fingers, and offered him everything if he would just keep rubbing her back. Would it work on Lilly’s injuries and give her some relief?
When Giles rubbed just a bit harder, Lilly took in a shuddering breath and her muscles relaxed. That gave him hope. “Lilly, would you trust me?”
No sane woman would ever say yes to this question if she had plans to keep her skirts down, but he wondered what Lilly’s response would be anyway. He continued to stroke over taut muscles. She breathed deeply on each stroke.
Her breath caught. “Yes, I trust you, Giles. I probably shouldn’t, should I?”
“You are right to doubt me, but I want to try something. I want to roll you over and rub the muscles on your back and legs to see if that gives you some relief from the pain. Do you think you could bear it?” Giles gulped before he confessed the last part of his plan. “I would have to remove your nightdress to do so.”
That wasn’t strictly true, but she would enjoy the experience better without the linen rasping over her skin. Lilly studied his face for quite some time before she pulled the ribbon at the neckline of her nightgown undone, and rolled away from him. She moved slowly and Giles was able to wriggle the material down. When her back was exposed to her hips, he gasped out loud.
Lord, she was thin.
Giles could easily see all the bones of her ribs and back, sharp under pale, thin skin. He gulped at the scars she bore. White, jagged lines spread over her upper back and one hip. Lilly panted loudly and so did he, but his frantic breath was not from pain. He was completely aroused by her absolute trust.
Giles struggled to walk to the door. It would be just his luck to have Dithers return right now. When the door locked, he raced back to the bed, knowing he had a short amount of time to experiment on her injuries. He crawled onto the bed over her, rubbing from the base of her spine up to her shoulders. Shivers rippled over him at the contact. Lilly whimpered.
“Did that hurt?”
“No, Giles.”
Using both hands, he set to work without speaking again, straddling her hips to begin with, but careful not to place any weight on her body. She moaned against his pressure, and he grew more certain with each pass of his hands that her moans were not of pain, but of relief.
He rubbed over her spine and shoulder blades, out along her arms. Giles returned to her neck and worked softly there for some time, then returned to her back and bumped along her bony rib cage, down to where her nightgown stopped him. He reversed himself and drew the material up her body, baring her legs and her backside.
His mouth grew dry. He could not have spoken if his life depended on it. There were more scars on her legs. He rubbed his hands up and down, noting the tightness of the skin and muscle, then rubbed her tiny feet, too and spent considerable time softening them.
He worked back up and over her whole body again and again, enjoying having his hands occupied on bare skin, and getting no suggestion from Lilly to stop at any point. Aside from the occasional deep moan, she rarely made a sound.
When he did stop, he stared at her soft skin and swallowed hard. The scars did not detract from her body. She was beautifully formed—small waist that could do with some extra padding along with her ribs, generous hips that flared out to perfect globes that made his mouth water. Given his position and the angle of her legs, he could just make out a thatch of white hair between her legs. He groaned, tempted to bury his head and taste her.
A loud snore stopped him cold. Then another sounded and he snorted. He was painfully aroused by his good intentioned actions, but she was asleep. He was slipping.
Giles scooted off the bed and adjusted her nightgown, then carefully rolled her over to her back, never even glimpsing her breasts under the thick material. He pulled the blankets up to her chin, just to make sure that view was definitely barred to him.
When the bed looked as if Lilly had not had company, he crossed to the door and unlocked it. Quietly, he re-crossed the chamber and took his place beside the bed, stretching out to imitate sleep incase Dithers thought to check on his activities.
Giles tried to subdue his raging erection, and took some time doing it. Dithers peeked in just as he had won that war. He brought with him a light supper and wished Giles goodnight, glancing at him with a strange gleam in his eyes.
If Giles didn’t know better, he would bet that Dithers had lowered his standards and struck his eye into the keyhole earlier to peek through.
~ * ~
“They’ve not passed through here, Mr. Barrette.”
Bartholomew looked up at the hovering groom and scowled, none too pleased with the news. Another day wasted, another day lost scouring the countryside for Baron Winter’s coach. He had been so certain the old man would have headed toward familiar haunts, but this time he’d gone to ground good and proper.
He glanced at his dust-covered servant, Brown, through the gathering gloom of the taproom. “We’ll spend the night here. Be ready to depart at first light.” The man tugged his forelock and scurried out of the taproom.
Curse that bitch to hell and back.
At least this tavern served better swill, and he could safely drink his fill tonight. It also offered a better class of tart. A comely wench swung her hip close to his arm so her skirts brushed. She apologized, but then did it twice more. She leaned forward to take his empty tankard away, giving him an unimpeded view of her breasts.
Strumpet.
But at least she was blonde.
He ordered another ale, noticing the innkeeper’s gaze on the woman too. A wife, or a daughter, Bartholomew didn’t give a damn. She’d be after coin for her troubles either way.
He kept tr
ack of her movements. When the innkeeper grew distracted by another patron, the woman slipped out the back, glancing over her shoulder to see if he had noticed. After a moment or two, Bartholomew climbed to his feet and followed.
Moonlight made the shabby kitchen garden pleasing, and he found the woman waiting by a garden wall. Without a word, she drew him near, clutching at his arse like a woman possessed by passion. If he didn’t know just what she was after, and what she’d actually get, he might have been amused.
“You’d best be quick. My husband’s got a terrible temper, but I’ve a mind for a pretty dress.”
He turned the little woman against the wall, slammed her head against the rough stone and hitched her skirts high. “You should be more afraid of me than your husband. No one knows you’re with me.”
The tart whimpered.
“And they never will. I’ll pay you well, but shut your stupid mouth, or this will only get rougher.”
Her head nodded marginally. He freed himself from the tight confines of his breeches, spread her thighs, and took her with one hard thrust.
She cried out, but Barrette was too consumed by hatred to do more than tighten his grip on her hips. He forced her legs wider, slamming into her with every frustration he’d carried on his shoulders for the past days.
He wished this was Lillian. The perfect daughter would make a perfectly good fuck if he could ever catch her alone. He’d bend her to his will – force her to do things with him and no other. He would make her regret her decision not to accept his suit. Her dowry should stay with him and Dumas.
He finished with a grunt, straightened his clothing, and dumped a generous handful of coins on the fallen woman. She lay gasping for breath, but made no move to stand up. He walked away, but after a few steps he turned back to offer advice. “Buy any color dress you like, but not lemon. Only a walking corpse wears lemon.”
Chapter Eight
Giles woke late the next day, which was surprising, considering that he was sleeping upright in a wingchair in Lilly’s bedchamber. His back ached from the strange position, and he groaned as his knotted muscles protested.
