Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)

by Cerise DeLand

  With her skirts up around her waist, her pale eyes twinkling like stars above, his wife was an erotic portrait of bold desire. She opened her arms to him and he went to her and kissed her madly. His hands busy seeking out the treasures of her body, he noted how succulent she was. How ready. How willing. How loving.

  That word again.

  Love.

  He licked her and she bucked.

  He sucked her and she held her breath. His two fingers deep inside her, he imitated the act of love he longed to show her and she whimpered. Then she broke apart.

  His beauty. His wife.

  The woman he loved despite his best intentions.

  Julian had debated simply skipping the rest of the festivities and spending the night making love to his wife in the big broad bed provided by his cousin.

  But Lily had been appalled and demanded they return to the ballroom.

  “If we retired, we’d be a scandal,” she said as they hurried around their suite attempting to repair the damage done in the garden.

  He had changed his trousers, the knees of his first pair woefully grass-stained.

  She had giggled and clamped a hand to her mouth. “I should call for Nora to iron my skirts.”

  “You look fine,” he told her, tracing the line of her naked shoulder with his lips, his hands covering her breasts. “You were magnificent.”

  She hooted and twirled in his arms. “As I recall you were the one who was magnificent. I was your passive partner in crime.”

  He pecked her on the nose. “Not so passive, my darling.”

  She tossed him a narrowed-eye challenge. “You should congratulate me that I didn’t howl like a cat. They would have thought that scene delicious fodder.”

  He was reminded how Lily had hated the cartoons of her in the London broadsheets. This tale would be quite different. He arched a brow. “Shocking that a man and wife could actually find pleasure in each other.”

  “For years to come,” she joked.

  They’d laughed like children and headed back to the ball.

  No sooner there, than George Pinkhurst approached with his fiancée, Priscilla Van de Putte. Julian put aside his hope to waltz once more with his wife.

  “May I have this dance, Lady Chelton?” Pinklehurst asked Lily.

  It was only polite for Julian to offer his hand to Priscilla in turn. He wasn’t fond of her. She’d been the one to stalk him so bluntly last season that he’d sworn off Americans and heiresses.

  Julian laughed to himself. That was what he’d thought then. Now? He was a changed man. A happy one. A ridiculously giddy one. Eager for his wife at her smallest smile.

  But not just yet. He could bear to take Priscilla out for a few circles of the floor.

  “How is your wife getting on with running your household, my lord?”

  Dear God, the woman was forward. His Lily was not so brash. “She does well. Very well.”

  They took another round and Priscilla beamed at him, her tiny crooked teeth putting him in mind of Josephine Bonaparte whom histories said never fully smiled at anyone because her teeth were uneven and black. Lily’s teeth were white and straight. Her smile was far more beautiful than anyone’s.

  “I hope I can adjust to living in the country,” Priscilla said, making a moue, petulant as ever. “I’ve always lived in the city.”

  “There is much to keep you busy on an estate. Lord Pinkhurst, I’m sure, will help you with the duties.”

  “I’ve never run servants. My mother always did.”

  Must I listen to this? One did not run servants. “Staff know their duties. A good housekeeper can be your best ally.”

  She thought about that for a few seconds. Tipping her blonde head, she dismissed the idea with a wrinkle of her nose. “All of that is so boring.”

  Why was this woman telling him this? Sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Not for a spoiled girl who complained so readily to a mere acquaintance.

  “Is your wife agreeable?”

  How forward can this woman be? “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean, does she please you?”

  His eyes sought the vision in jade-green organza who laughed as she swayed in Pinkhurst’s arms. Does she please me? More than. She was, always had been, effervescent, irresistible.

  “I hope she does. She’s beautiful,” Priscilla rattled on. “And you deserve a woman you like. Love. I would have married you, you realize.”

  “I do,” he managed to say amid his shock at this girl’s outrageous conversation.

  “But you were caught with her.”

  “What?” Would she dare to cite a dastardly tidbit? One that few knew. How could she know?

  “Caught. In your stables, wasn’t it?”

  No. “How did you learn that?” He was tempted to stop, call her out over this. But if he did, he’d make a scene. That was the last thing he needed.

  “It’s in the London broadsheets.” Priscilla looked surprised. “Didn’t you know?”

  Why would he? He didn’t take them.

  “When?” He diminished their progress in the orderly procession of couples round the floor.

  She glanced from one set of dancers to another. “We’re not in step, my lord.”

  “No, we’re not. And won’t be. Tell me.”

  “A few times. I don’t know. The past few weeks. They’ve put in cartoons, too.”

  Anger roared through him. His Lily, attacked. Again. “What do they say?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Priscilla, you initiated this. Don’t stop now.”

  “They say that you married her out of obligation. Did you?”

  “No.” He led her off the floor.

  “You’re hurting my wrist, my lord.”

  “I am sorry.” He loosened his grip on her. She was frightened of him. Shame tempered his ire. He was not a brute. “What else?”

  “That her father paid you to marry her. That you—um—well—”

  “What, for godssakes?”

  “Ruined her.”

  He set his jaw. A thousand curses on whoever printed this—and millions more on whoever gave the rags these hideous distortions of the truth. “That is not true. I count on you to say that to any and all whom you meet.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course, I will.” She rubbed her wrist. “I apologize, my lord.”

  “Accepted. Naturally.”

  “I think I’d like to adjourn to the ladies retiring room, if you don’t mind.” She looked hopeful and nervous.

  “I can escort you.” He offered his arm and led her to the far side of the ballroom. And once there, she gave him a small curtsy and escaped him, scurrying away.

  “My, my, what did you say to her, Chelton?”

  He pivoted toward the dulcet sounds of Margaret Sheffield. Gazing down into her dark green eyes, he was transported back to his youth and his desire to possess her. No one would argue, the woman was lovely. Polished. More than the American who had just escaped him. More than the young woman who had become his wife. He’d yearned for this one. But that desire had been different from his craving for Lily, hadn’t it? Urgent. Demanding. An animal’s impulse to mate and dominate.

  He saw her now through the perspective of experience—and he congratulated himself that so far this weekend, he had side-stepped long conversations with her. “Nothing much.”

  “Enough to send her running. You must be kinder to those less hardy than yourself, Chelton.” Her grass-green eyes challenged him.

  “She told me tales that disturbed me.”

  “Oh?” Margaret snapped open her fan and fluttered it near her abundant and perfectly rounded décolleté. “So you took the stuffing out of her? Shame on you, darling.”

  “I was surprised.”

  “Not an excuse.”

  “No.” He admired his wife as she enjoyed herself on the floor with Pinkie. He wanted her back. When she was near him, he felt whole. “I hope you don’t wish to dance.”

  �
�No, I don’t. But that’s beside the point. You should ask me.”

  “It would be polite, I concede. But you did not approach me, Meg, in the hope of waltzing.”

  She sighed. “Truth. It is a fine weapon. So tell me a truth, Chelton. Are you avoiding me?”

  “We’ve spoken, Meg.”

  “Pleasantries. Only. Pleasantries.”

  “We have little in common.”

  “Oh, my dear man. We have the past in common.”

  He pursed his lips. She was a dog with a bone. “Our past is more than eight years old. To some, that’s ancient history.”

  She inhaled slowly, her gaze going around the room. “I remember it all very well.”

  “I don’t.”

  She scoffed. “Has marriage made you crusty, Chelton?”

  “On the contrary.” It’s made me appreciate my wife. He searched the ballroom. In the crush, he’d lost sight of Lily.

  “Tamed you, I suppose? Interesting.”

  Julian followed Meg’s line of sight. Lily twirled even more gracefully than before in the arms of Pinkhurst. He could be jealous. Could be…if he didn’t know in his soul that Lily came to him each night naked and willing and yes, more in love with him than he deserved.

  “And you’re enchanted with her.” Meg’s words were an accusation.

  He took them for a declaration. One that surprised him. One he could easily make aloud to her. “I am.”

  “It will erode.”

  He shook his head, though she’d named his greatest fear. He couldn’t let her see how her prediction gutted him. “I doubt it.”

  “All enchantments disappear.” She waved her fan in a flourish. “A genie appears who dissolves the magic.”

  That wouldn’t happen with Lily.

  “Don’t look so stricken. All is not lost. When your days become humdrum, darling, do send for me.”

  “Why?” What could you give me that I cannot find with Lily?

  Sparks of resentment flashed in her eyes. “You still hate me for rejecting you.”

  When she’d accepted Norfield’s proposal, Julian had proof how easily passion turned to ashes. As if he hadn’t had enough evidence with the poison of his parents’ marriage. Or most of society’s. “Your rejection reaffirmed what I knew from years of observing others. Love is rare and must be carefully cultivated.”

  “Ah, yes. I see your point. But do see mine, darling.”

  “Pardon me.” He put a foot out to step away.

  On a click, she shut her fan and pressed the tip to his chest. “You married her, but you’ll never love her.”

  That seared him.

  “I know you, Julian. You need a woman for your title, to get your heir. You need a woman for your very healthy appetites. One for your boundless pride. And word of mouth has it, you took this one because you were forced to. A trade to save her reputation, and you your finances.”

  He’d kill whoever spread these rumors. “Idle talk.”

  “Whatever the cause, darling. You’ll want a woman who understands you. Who puts your need for independence higher than her need for your commitment.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I? What odds shall I wager that you haven’t told her you love her?”

  “Gamble all you have, Meg.” But it was a bluff. He locked his gaze on hers, the barrier to his soul stalwart and impenetrable.

  She glided away with a small huff of satisfaction.

  * * * *

  As Nora, Lily’s maid, and his valet, Pendley, finally closed the bedroom doors behind them, Julian poured two glasses of port into the crystal glasses on their sideboard in their sitting room. Since Lily had rejoined him after his conversation with Meg, Lily was unusually somber. It was in her nature to ask him what they’d discussed and he would not avoid her questions.

  Lily sailed in, her ivory peignoir whispering behind her across the carpet. Her black hair was down, her face was bright and clean of all rouges and powders. Still, she was extraordinarily lovely to him. Lovelier than when she was dressed and perfumed, a gilding she would never require.

  “Thank you,” she said, took his proffered glass and sank to the rose silk chaise longue. Stretching out her elegant legs along the cushions, he noted that she had not taken a chair nor had she left any room for him to sit beside her. “Did you enjoy the evening?”

  “I did. But you don’t look as if you’d say the same,” he said, inviting her opinion as he sank in the chair opposite her.

  She took a sip of her port and put the glass aside on a small table. “I adored dancing in the garden. Of course.”

  He knew for her the thrill of their encounter in the folly was gone. “But?”

  She turned the full power of her clear blue eyes upon him. As if she could see through him, she scoured his expression. “Tell me what she has meant to you.”

  Julian considered the liquor in his glass. Then put it aside. There was no need to ask of whom she spoke. He had watched Lily trace Meg’s steps as she left him in the ballroom. Their eyes had met and he understood that his wife would ask him the details. She deserved to know.

  “Years ago, I was infatuated with her. We were young. It was her coming out season and I was making my own mark on society, it being the first time I actively engaged in the social whirl. She was very popular and had many suitors. But at the end of the season, it was clear that she favored three of us. A Scottish earl with plenty of money from a printing business and another man who was at that time, the largest landowner in England. He was also quite wealthy. In wealth, size of estate and title, I could not compete.”

  “But you did.”

  His elbows to his knees, he leaned toward her. “In my mind, yes. In hers, too.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “She played me against the other two.”

  “How?”

  “She ran a child’s game asking us to write poetry and take her out for buggy rides.”

  Lily’s delicate dark brows inched high. “Unchaperoned?”

  “No. Nothing like that. But it was a series of silly trials.”

  “She was testing each of you?” Lily asked with a certain disdain in her features.

  “She was. It seemed funny, romantic. We were young. Well, I was twenty-three. And I’d never been—”

  They stared at each other, across the abyss created by his abrupt silence.

  Her eyes turned dark with worry. “Say it.”

  “I’d never been in love before.”

  She swallowed, her slender throat convulsing with the news. “Go on.”

  He licked his lower lip. “I took hope that she favored me. I—”

  “Why?” Lily interrupted him.

  “She allowed me liberties. And so I—”

  “Made love to her?” she asked in such a flat tone, he thought he might’ve imagined her question.

  “No. Never anything so enormous as that.”

  “But what?”

  He got to his feet. “You can’t expect me to tell you everything.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it occurred eight, nine years ago and for you to know it all is irrelevant.”

  “Is it?” she countered him, her pale face turned up to him.

  “It is.” He would not hurt his wife unnecessarily.

  “What happened?”

  “That June, each of us proposed to her.” He laughed that the memory had surprisingly faded, the sorrow was hollowed of its old aching sense of loss. “On the same day, as it turns out. She chose the man she is married to. Has been these many years.”

  “And he is young?”

  “The same age as I am.”

  “And healthy?” she persisted.

  “He is.”

  “And why is he not here with her?”

  Julian shrugged. The salacious pastimes of the Duke of Norfield were nothing his wife would ever understand, nor wish to. “I didn’t ask her.”

  “What did she want to discuss with you tonight?”
>
  Ah, well. That was easy to say. After all, he’d come this far. “My marriage to you.”

  Lily nodded, her expression blank. “She’s curious. I saw that. And I suppose that’s natural. Given that she’d like to resume her…her friendship with you.”

  “We are not friends.”

  She shot him a hard look of reproof. “Any woman who approaches a man with sorrow in her eyes and hope on her lips wants more than simple conversation, Julian.”

  He might as well admit it. “I agree.”

  His wife sat straighter in her seat. “Will she get what she wants?”

  He strode to her, raised her face with gentle fingers and shook his head. “No. I’ve no need of her.”

  “You’ll tell me, won’t you, if you change your mind?” She looked so valiant it broke his heart.

  “I won’t change it, Lily.”

  “Good to know,” she said and got to her feet. Then she walked toward her dressing room. “Thank you. I appreciate your candor.”

  “Lily.” He wanted to explain but what more was there to say?

  She tipped her head toward the other room. “I think I’ll sleep in here this evening. Good night, Julian.”

  He was left to stare at the empty doorway, wishing he could have found words to dispel her fears. Wishing he could dispel his own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dodging the heavy rainfall, Julian climbed up into his carriage and sat down beside his pretty wife. In her fetching spring green traveling suit, he would admire her and forbid himself to touch the perfection. In the past week since their return to Willowreach from Burnett House, he’d paid inordinate attention to her. Claiming they were still in their honeymoon period, he had romanced her and she’d returned to his bed with her old enthusiasm for sensual play. Keeping her busy making love, he’d discovered how unrestrained she was in how she loved, how she laughed, how she gave of herself. And not just to him.

  Each day for the past four, she’d gone to the village to check on the tenants’ health. Especially for the children, she was concerned. Julian had gone with her yesterday. In fact, from Ashford, he’d ordered a few supplies she requested. Powders and cough syrups, a catarrh she favored. When she noted that one of the tenant’s wives was very great with child, she’d said how she’d like to purchase a stethoscope.