by Jane Lark
“I wish to be with you. But as your wife… I do not think I can.” She tumbled forward and leaned onto his chest still impaled, with the tingling senses of the release he’d earlier administered with his mouth, playing through her blood. He smelled of his cologne but of fresh sweat too, and the sheets were full of his scent. This was his bed, in his home, and the house was huge.
“Tomorrow we will marry, and then we will leave town and hide on my country property.” His fingers stroked through her hair offering comfort, reassurance, and love. “There will be tutors then, Lillian, a dancing master, and a riding teacher, although perhaps I shall teach you to ride a horse myself. If you are to play the part, then you must learn it, just as you would at the theatre.”
She rose up again, her hands gripping his shoulders as she looked into his eyes. “But people will still know. I was on the stage, people know me.”
“I know, there are many who will choose not to speak to you, or speak to either of us, and it will probably include my father, but others will accept us, and we will have each other.” His hands braced each side of her head. “I love you. That love will be enough for me if I lost every other friend.”
She took a breath and sighed it out. He’d said the words I love you a dozen times since he’d come to the theatre, but she’d not said them back. She had heard them from men, lots of men, who thought themselves in love with her. They had been shallow declarations. His was deeply sincere, and it was true, she knew it was true.
Was she really going to accept this then?
“I ran away from my family to join the theatre company. I have regretted it because I did not know when I ran away what becoming an actress would entail. I miss my family. Johnny, whom you met, is the only one that will still speak with me, and now he is not because he too has realised what becoming an actress really means.”
“I would lay a heavy bet they will speak to you when you become Lady Brooke. We will invite them to visit us in the country.”
“But that isn’t what I meant. What if you regret your choice, if you run away from your life, Peter?”
“I will not. I have spent the week since I last saw you miserable, my heart has been broken and empty. I have been soulless without you, Lillian. What I would have regretted is continuing on my foolish path of marrying a woman whom I was fond of but did not love, only because she fitted within the mould society cast. I have never fitted within a mould.” He laughed then. “I would have made her life hell. You understand me, Lillian. You are more like me. We will rebel against the world together from now on.”
She swallowed as a tear escaped her left eye but she was not crying because she was unhappy, she was crying because she was so very happy. She laughed as he wiped it away.
Then his hands braced her head again. “Say that you love me. I know that you do, I have seen it in your eyes from the moment I saw you, but say it. I want to hear it. You have not said it yet.”
“I love you.” The words that she’d said so many times in her mind sounded odd aloud. “I love you, Peter.” They flowed across her lips more easily the second time.
His hands fell to her thighs and his legs lifted, his knees bending, as he stiffened inside her. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” She laughed as she reared back. His hands slid to her waist, his thumbs brushing over her skin appreciating every inch, and then he lifted and lowered her, taking control as he pulsed up into her.
“Lillian, you are beautiful, and I shall have you to look at every day, my own work of nature’s art.”
“You will not grow bored of the sight.”
“Lord, never!”
She laughed as he worked more determinedly, his hands protectively holding her, as their gazes clung. Heat swept through her skin and the little death danced within her nerves ready to break free. She fell forward, and gripped his shoulders, then he simply let loose, shoving himself into her, hard and fast, with an aggressive edge that claimed her as she fell to pieces, splintering into shards of light which spun about the room.
He turned her to her back, and then his hands were beside her shoulders, and the soles of her feet were caressing his back as he had her doubled over so he had full access to invade with a depth that caught her every breath.
She fell again, her fingers clawing on his shoulders.
“Ah!” The cry of pleasure was mutual as they both fell.
It was true what he’d said, they were both rebellious people. She would rebel once more.
He was risking losing his family for her…
She remembered how it had been when she walked out of the door, with her bag. The fear. The excitement. The feelings flooded her again. She could not see everything in her future, but this was not the same as before. She would not be alone on this new adventure.
When his body relaxed, and he opened his eyes, she spoke. “Yes. I shall marry you, Lord Brooke, and yes, I love you. I always have.”
He sighed out a breath, then smiled his broad, enchanting smile and laughed.
~
Peter gripped Lillian’s hand more tightly as they walked beneath the lychgate outside the little church in the heart of Whitechapel. Drew had recommended the vicar; apparently this was where Drew and Mary had been wed.
Drew walked along the path, coming to meet them. They had agreed the venue yesterday, if Drew was able to persuade the vicar. But apparently with this vicar, the money of the wealthy talked. He was known for honouring an agreement to be silent.
“He was persuaded then,” Peter said quietly.
“Easily persuaded. Damn it, he married me with bruises all over my face, when Mary’s family would not say a word to me. He would marry you to a willing woman without a qualm.”
Drew smiled at Lillian. “Hello, Lillian.” He did not mention her healing lip, or the pale purple and yellow bruise beside it. Peter had kissed it a dozen times this morning, when he’d seen her in the daylight. The most foolish thing was that when she’d opened her eyes this morning he’d realised he had never seen her eyes in the daylight. They were paler, but still that beautiful, deep blue-green.
She smiled at Drew and performed a stage curtsy. “Hello, Lord Framlington.”
“Not Lord Framlington, it is Drew, and for God’s sake, no curtsying with us. We are to be friends.”
Lillian smiled more brightly. The last word Peter had said to her in the carriage before they had climbed out was “Act.”
“What of Mary?” Peter asked as Drew turned to lead them into the church. “Will she be speaking to me?”
“She is angry with you for not having made this decision before you proposed to Emily, but she will forget and forgive you in time, and,” he looked at Lillian, “she will be kind to you, Lillian, because my wife is the most generous natured woman in the world. She would not see you upset, so you need not fear us.”
Lillian nodded.
She wore the same dress she had worn at the theatre, which was entirely inappropriate as it showed her ankles and far too much of her bosom, revealing the edge of her dark nipples, but it had been all she had. Yet regardless, she was acting this out beautifully, as though she did not care. This morning there had been tears over her lack of appropriate clothing and so their next visit was to a modiste.
As they walked into the church, Drew added in a whisper, “Harry is not here, he would not come. He said it was cruel of you to treat Emily so ill, and that it would feel disloyal to her for him to attend.”
“As if he has a right to judge; he’s treated a hundred women ill. He has always been the most debauched of all of us.”
“I think you will find that he is at this very moment turning over a new leaf.”
Peter looked sideways at Drew. “He truly does have some affection for Emily then?”
“I think this says it all.”
“Then I am even gladder I did not marry her.” He smiled at Lillian and squeezed her hand. “I made the right decision, you for me, and Emily will have her chance at happin
ess, Lillian.”
She nodded again, and then put on a bright smile for Mary and Mark as they walked up to them. “Hello, Mr Harper, we met before.”
~
The church was full of light and shade as they walked up the aisle with Peter’s friends behind them. She felt a fool in her costume, and yet Peter had told her in the carriage, “Act.” That was what she had been doing, treating this like a performance, speaking with his friends as though it was perfectly normal for her to speak to lords and ladies as her equals.
Yet they would be her equals in moments. Oh, the thought terrified her.
Peter lifted her hand and looked at her as the real vicar began reciting words.
This was no act, no conjurer’s trick. It was real. Yet perhaps a little magic hovered between Peter and her, it was in his eyes.
Her gaze clung on to Peter’s, as it had the first night she’d seen him watching her in the theatre. Intensity burned in his eyes. Love. He had said it over and over again. I love you.
I love you. The words breathed through her in a silent reply.
Her hand trembled as she held it so he could put on a plain gold ring, to join the sapphire one he’d placed there yesterday. She curled her fingers about it as her hand fell, holding it in place even though it was not loose.
“I now pronounce you man and wife…” Were the only words she absorbed through the entire service, and then she was in Peter’s arms and he kissed her.
Part Ten
Peter walked into the drawing room and smiled as Lillian pointed at a vase. “No, Meg, I think move it back over there.”
The maid picked it up and then nearly dropped it when she looked up and saw Peter, and tried to curtsy, all at once. “My Lord.” She turned then and carried on, returning it to stand on an occasional table at the edge of the room.
Lillian spun about with a smile. “Peter.” Her rotund stomach came into view when she turned. She did not show her condition at all from behind for she was as slender as she’d been months ago, but her stomach now made her condition very clear. His child was tucked up, securely growing inside that neat little bump. For the last few months he had been walking on air with a broad smile on his lips, and each time she had her back to him and then turned, it caught him in the chest with a lance of pride.
“Do you think the vase looks best there, or before the window?”
“There is fine.” His house was being dressed like a theatre set as Lillian prepared herself to act her heart out again. They were having their first house party, and to add to her challenge, his father had actually made the decision to leave his home and come and see this new wife of Peter’s. He did not know Lillian’s past, and Peter hoped he would never find out as he never went to London. All Lillian had to do was live her part, and his father would welcome her into the family. His sister was coming too, and Drew with Mary and George, and the newly born Iris, and then Harry was coming with Emily, whom he had married only a month ago, and poor Mark, who was usually left to wander the gambling hells and brothels alone.
“Would you fetch us some tea, Meg?”
“Yes, my Lady.” The maid gave Lillian a swift curtsy, then left.
Lillian looked at Peter, her teal eyes full of doubt now the maid had gone and the need to put on her show was over. “Do you think I have remembered everything? Do you think I will make a fool of myself?”
She could read and write now, and she had spent hours carefully writing her invitations, and then choosing her menus from a book his cook had given her.
“I am nervous,” she said, looking back at the vase, and clearly thinking whether to move it again.
He walked up behind her and wrapped his arm about this magical woman whom he had found in the strangest place. “I know, Lillian, love, but whatever happens you shall endure it because you will smile and the room will fill up with that aura of yours, which entrances people and no one will care what is on their plates, or who is sitting where, or whether their bed has sheets.” Pride wrapped about his heart as his arms embraced her and settled over the child in her stomach.
She’d come a long way since they’d arrived here. Perhaps later in the year he might even dare her to face going back to town with him. But only because he wished to show off his beautiful, perfect wife.
She turned in his arms. “Peter, when they are here, I thought we may perform a play. I found a book of them in the library. Do you think they would?”
“I’m sure they would all join in.” He would have kissed her lips but she turned away.
“No, I am moving that vase.” She picked it up.
He walked forward and took it from her hands. “Where?”
“Just there, near the window.”
She smiled at the vase when he set it down and then at him as she came over and turned the vase just so.
He moved before it laughing. “Enough, Lillian, it is fine, the house is fine, more than fine, perfect. Everything is perfect. You are perfect.”
She smiled at him, that beautiful smile which lit up her teal eyes. It seemed to have so much more depth than it had when he’d first known her.
He stepped forward and cupped her cheek in his palm. “I am going to cancel that tea and take you outside for a walk about the gardens and we will await our visitors’ arrival calmly, enjoying each other’s company so you have a last chance just to feel relaxed and be yourself.”
She nodded, and she would have turned, but he caught hold of her wrist. “You know you have made me complete, Lillian. It really does not matter to me what happens this weekend.”
“I know, but I worry about your father. You have given me my family back, I do not wish to lose you yours.”
“I shall not lament, but I shall be angry with him if he does not immediately fall in love with you.”
“You are blinded by your own opinion.”
He looked at the ceiling. “Thank the Lord. I am very glad for everything I feel!”
She smacked his arm. “Stop being silly and take me for a walk. You are right; it will take my mind off moving that vase.”
He gripped her hand, but she stopped him from turning her away. “You know, Peter, I feel nervous, and yet…” She smiled. “I am happy all the way from the top of my head to soles of my feet.”
“I know, Lillian, I can see it in your eyes.”
Her lips parted in a brighter smile. “As I can see your confidence in me, there is always pride in your eyes.”
“Lillian, love, what man would not be proud of you? That man would be a fool.”
The End
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If you would like to read the beginning of Peter’s story, then it is within Mary and Drew’s book, The Dangerous Love of a Rogue.
“The game is on with Pembroke’s little sister…” Lord Andrew Framlington watched Miss Mary Marlow. The woman had been warned to keep away from him, but she had a little contrary in her soul. She had not been deterred. Perhaps she had a taste for bad hidden beneath her cold denials, or a liking for naughtiness in her soul – either of which appealed.
“Stop pretending you do not like me…” Drew had urged Mary, "Stop running…" Her body urged her to as much as he did. Something pulled her towards him. Something unknown and all consuming… and yet how could she disobey her father and her brother…
Like all of my historical books, the inspiration for The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel came from a true story. It was Emma Hart’s rise from an actress who formed classical poses, and sat for artists, to become Lady Hamilton, which inspired Lillian’s and Peter’s story.
To discover all the true stories behind my historical books and find out more about the Marlow Intrigues Series visit my blog https://janelark.wordpress.com .
Books by Jane Lark
The Marlow Intrigues Series ~ Historical Romance
The Lost Love of a Soldier
The Illicit Love of a Courtesan
Capturing the Earl’s Love (Free
Novella)
The Passionate Love of a Rake
The Desperate Love of a Lord (Free Novella)
The Scandalous Love of a Duke
The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
The Secret Love of a Gentleman
The Starting Out Series ~ Contemporary Romance
I Found You
Just You
I Need You
I Still Love You (Free Short Story)
I’m Keeping You (out in 2015)
About Jane Lark
Jane is a Kindle bestselling author and a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult romances, and she’s a sucker for a love story. “I love the feeling of falling in love and it’s wonderful to be able to do it time and time again in fiction.” She loves writing intense relationships and she is thrilled to be giving her characters life in others’ imaginations.
