He had pulled any of the stitching out, so she sat back slightly. Lily resisted the urge to fan her face. Goodness, it was warm in here. A queer, hot sensation had come over her, watching the play of muscles ripple across Harry’s arms and chest, and she was afraid her face must be beet-red. But he had gone completely still. She snuck a quick peek at him through her lashes. They were only inches apart. The golden flecks in his green eyes were mesmerizing. Dangerously so.
“Yes, and no,” he murmured, his gaze hot. What? She couldn’t remember what they had been speaking of.
Her fingers were still pressed against his bare skin and she snatched them back, her face aflame once more. She jumped up, but he reached out and took her hand again before she could get away. Her eyes locked with his and he drew her towards him. Lily knew she could pull away if she tried; after all, he was an injured man. She didn’t want to, though. She wanted whatever it was that his beautiful eyes were promising her.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and he leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against hers. When she didn’t protest, he did it again, more firmly. Wrapping his arms around her completely, he pressed his mouth against hers and took her deeper into the kiss. Her lips parted, and their breath mingled. The tip of Harry’s tongue delicately touched her bottom lip, then traced it with sensual intent. Lily’s head was swimming. She could only taste and feel him in that moment, as if he was the whole world. She moaned and pressed closer, putting her arms around his waist.
Harry jerked back, swearing, pressing the heel of his hand against the white bandages wrapping his ribs. She shot off the bed in horror and embarrassment, staring down at him cradling his wound and looking a little green around the gills.
“Oh my…I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”
He tried to wave her concern away, but the movement elicited another strangled groan and he slumped back against the pillows. What was she thinking, dallying with an injured man on his sickbed –and her father only three doors down in his own sickbed? Shocked at her uncharacteristically forward behavior, she avoided Harry’s eyes as she hastily gathered the breakfast dishes onto the tray.
“I will leave you to rest now. Perhaps later, after the doctor visits again, we can bring you down to the parlor.” She mumbled, feeling hot with mortification.
Ignoring his halfhearted protests, Lily backed out of the room and fled down the hallway.
She dumped the tray next to the sink basin in the kitchen and continued straight out the back door, into the dead winter gardens, pausing only to grab her cloak. She wanted to find a nice large oak tree and bang her head against it until she felt sane again. In only moments Harry Connelly had unraveled the work of years spent building an impervious composure. It had served her well in fending off the advances of many young bucks. She made her way to a stone bench and sank down onto it, extremely disturbed. What was so different about Harry Connelly?
Puzzling over it helped place some distance between her and what had just happened upstairs. Her usual composure was beginning to return, as she pondered the incredible spontaneous combustion that had taken her completely by surprise. Lily began to mentally tick off the things she had noticed, and found so very attractive, about the interesting Mr. Connolly.
He was very handsome, in a rough sort of way, but many of the men before him who had tried to catch her eye were also attractive. So maybe it wasn’t really that he had looked like a young god, sheets pooled around his waist, his muscled chest and arms gilded gold by the morning sun.
Right.
He carried a confidence about him that she did not. He had been wearing the remnants of what looked like a military uniform last night, when he had collapsed in their church. His must be an assurance born of being tempered in battle.
He was like her in station, but so very different in life. He had seen and done things that she could only imagine, travelling half-way around the world, when she had never left her home county. Lily bit her lip as a wonderfully scandalous thought popped into her head. Why not live a little, while she was still young enough to enjoy it? She was almost twenty-six, firmly on the shelf, and Harry Connelly might be her last, best chance at having a flirtation. She smiled at the thought. Did she dare?
He could be a lovely memory to pull out occasionally over the years, to remember that once, she had ventured close enough to the fire to warm herself. She stood and brushed off her skirts, shaking the dead leaves from her hem. Turning, she looked back at the house. Recalling the hungry look his eyes as Harry drew her in for a kiss, Lily shivered again. It would be a fine line to walk; close enough to warm herself but not to burn.
~ 4 ~
Harry eased his way along the stairs, careful not to miss his footing on the steep, narrow steps lit by the morning sun. It was his first time navigating downstairs on his own, last night he had the comely Miss Beaumont to lean on as she led him down for dinner. The pain in his side, a result of their impulsive embrace, had made it difficult to move well for several hours, so he had forfeited his time in the parlor for a nap. When he had woken, his hostess had suggested he join her in the dining room for the evening meal.
Once they got past the initial awkwardness, they had spent a very nice evening together, passing the time after dinner by playing a game of chess and reading. It had been good to sit at a table again, and Harry awoke early this morning, eager to escape his bed. Never one to loll about all day, he was used to rising with the sun. Besides, he had a hankering to see his hostess.
Somewhere in the back of the house, he could hear a light, lilting voice singing Christmas carols, and smell the sweet scent of something baking. Following his stomach and the sound of his angel, Harry made his way down the hall to the kitchen. He pushed open the well oiled door silently and stopped on the threshold to take in the scene before him.
A fire crackled in the half-moon arched fireplace against one wall. The floor was clean and swept. The whitewash of the walls was softened by age and practical use of the kitchen. In front of the fire place stood a large wooden trestle table, littered with baking ingredients, and beyond it stood his angel. She had her back to him, washing some mixing bowls and utensils in the large, chipped porcelain sink while gazing out the window at the glittering snow covering the ground. The sound of her cheerful, easy song smoothed the ragged edges of his soul, and something relaxed inside deep inside his chest. She placed the last bowl on the drying rack next to her and turned around, wiping her hands on a towel.
She shrieked at his unexpected appearance in the kitchen, and staggered back a step, her blue eyes wide. Harry winced, resisting the urge to rub his ears. Lord, for such a small woman, she could certainly set his head ringing.
“You just scared ten years off my life, Mr. Connelly! Please, sir, a little warning might be nice. A shuffle, or a stomp, or perhaps even a sneeze could be justified.” Miss Beaumont glared at him, slightly out of breath. She made an obvious effort to settle, and gestured to the table. “Since evidently you are feeling well enough to sneak downstairs for breakfast, sit down and I will make you something.”
“I appreciate that, ma’am. I apologize if I scared you,” Harry said, concealing his great entertainment at her suggestions for being less stealthy.
He doubted his amused reaction would serve him well, considering she kept shooting him dark looks that she apparently thought he couldn’t see, and so he swallowed the chuckle that was threatening to escape. He sat down and she plunked a dish of yellowy butter and some preserves in front of him. They were followed in short order by a freshly baked bun studded with currants and a mug of strong, dark tea.
Harry bit into the bun, enjoying the way the warmed butter and sugar melted on his tongue. This was a treat. He hadn’t anything this agreeable in ages.
He leaned back and watched as Miss Beaumont bustled around the kitchen, taking some eggs and bacon from the pantry and heating them up in a cast-iron pan over the stove. Although she seemed delicate, she handled the heavy pan with no problem and moved
smoothly from one task to another. This woman was no stranger to hard work, and did her work quickly and efficiently. He could admire that about her, it was something he prided himself on as well. Their eyes connected as she glanced over and he grinned, holding up the last bite of his bun before popping it in his mouth.
“This is delicious. I haven’t eaten anything half as good in years. I appreciate you going through the trouble, ma’am.”
“Miss,” Miss Beaumont corrected him in an absent manner as she plated the eggs and bacon. With a considering look for the crumbs left before him, she added another bun before bringing his meal to the table.
“Sorry?”
“You keep calling me ma’am, but the correct form of address is miss as I am unmarried.” She put his plate in front of him and went back to pour herself a mug of tea. She brought it to the table and sat down across from Harry, breathing the steam in and wrapping her hands around the stoneware cup.
It occurred to Harry that they had shared a blistering kiss, but he didn’t even know her Christen name. Not up to his usual standards, he chided himself silently. Wincing, he realized he wasn’t even wearing a cravat, just an over-large cotton shirt that lay open at the throat and a borrowed coat.
“Habit, I guess. I don’t deal with vey many unmarried misses back home,” Harry drawled, as he regarded her curiously. He scooped up more eggs and bacon, thoroughly enjoying his meal. The lady was a genius in the kitchen –she made an ordinary breakfast into a true culinary experience. Although it might have something to do with the view. Harry gave his head a rueful shake and tucked into his meal with gusto. She watched him with a faint smile of approval on her face.
“I don’t think the rules are so very different, here or on the American frontier –even for commoners like ourselves. You seem like a bright man, Mr. Connelly, I’m sure you’ll adjust quickly. In the interest of being friends, I will give you leave to call me Lily when it is just the two of us.” She smiled at him over the rim of her mug.
Harry paused mid-bite in consideration. Should he tell her that he was the grandson of the local lord?
He chewed and swallowed. No, it didn’t matter one whit to him; he was the old man’s kin in name only. The duke had wanted nothing to do with him and his parents, and so he wanted nothing to do with the duke. Except to wring a settlement out of him and never look back.
“Lily. The name suits you. It’s a beautiful, fragrant flower, but it often grows wild in the woods by my home. It is deceptively strong, despite its fair appearance.” Lily raised her eyebrow at his compliment, and he flashed a grin at her.
“If I am to call you Lily, you must call me Harry. ‘Tis only fair.” He shook his head, with a chuckle, as she opened her mouth and shut it again, looking pleased. Wanting to satisfy something that had been nagging at him since he had come down for dinner the previous evening, he changed the subject. “Is there no one to help you? You said your father lives here, but I’ve not seen him yet and there don’t seem to be any servants.”
“Father is resting, but he sends his regards. He was asking after you just this morning, for an introduction. I told him that you were recuperating. But since you seem able to move about more easily, perhaps you can visit before lunch.” Lily looked downcast for a moment, but she quickly pasted a smile on her face. “I think he would enjoy someone to talk to, another man especially. He has not been well lately. He took a chill last winter and never really shook it off. With the onset of the cold weather again, he spends more time in his bed than not.”
Harry felt a small surge of sympathy for her. It could be frightening- the prospect of being alone. And yet, it did not appear to have hardened her. Her eyes were clear and steady on his face.
“We do have a housekeeper and two maids, but they are on holiday for the week, visiting their family. I thought it only right they are able to spend Christmas with their loved ones. My father and I are able to manage for a week,” she continued, looking a little more cheered.”We do have Peter. He is the stable boy. And of course, the entire village comes by daily it seems, with pies or eggs, or just a bit of gossip.”
Harry felt a nudge of disappointment at her words. It was obvious how attached she was to her home by the warm look on her face when she spoke of it. The kiss they shared the night before was like nothing he had experienced before and it made him want her like he had never wanted another woman…at least, until he was brought low by his healing wound. Damned inconvenient, that. Perhaps it was for the best anyway, since he would be gone in a matter of days. His angel was tied to her home by bonds of love and belonging, and he would not be the one to sever those bonds and carry her away. Having nothing but his name at the moment, he was not a good prospect for her. Harry sighed, and pushed back his empty plate.
“It is good to know you have help here. I would hate to think of you struggling to take care of your father and maintain the house all by yourself. Now, after that excellent meal, I feel the need to walk. I haven’t eaten like that in so long that I feel like a slug.” He sent Lily a smile and moved towards the back door. As he reached for the knob, his gaze was drawn upwards by the bit of greenery tacked over the doorframe. He turned back to his angel with a crooked grin, to find her watching him and blushing hotly.
~ * ~
“Mistletoe?” Harry asked, pointing overhead, with a teasing smirk.
“It’s English tradition,” Lily defended her decoration, grateful that he hadn’t caught her sneaking around the house at dawn, hanging the pretty greenery over every doorway she could find.
“Mm hm. Come here,” Harry said, his eyes twinkling at her. She couldn’t move. Her hands were clasped together tightly, rooted to the spot in embarrassment and nervousness. He reached out and drew her to him, closing the gap until they were but inches apart. Her face was on fire, but she waited, looking up at him, anticipating what was to come. She felt shameless, but wanted more of his kisses. All morning, she had hugged the memory of their embrace to her with wonder and delight. Having finally discovered the bubbly happiness that could be found in a man’s arms, she now understood why the girls in the village would make fools of themselves over their beaux. She would do just about anything to experience his lips against hers again, even use the mistletoe as a spur.
Harry slipped his arms around her, holding her snug against his hard chest. Lily allowed her body to rest against his, drawing strength from his warm presence. He used one finger to tip her chin up and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. He gently played with her, nipping at her bottom lip, requesting entrance. She opened her mouth on a sigh and his tongue slipped in, stroking the moist recesses, sending sensations shivering down her spine. She shifted against him, and he drew her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. This kiss was just as delicious as the one they had shared yesterday. Lily shivered with longing and held on for all she was worth.
They stood by the kitchen door for several minutes kissing and exploring quietly, lost in each other, before Harry gently broke the connection by stepping far enough away to put a few inches between them again. He held her with his large hands on her upper arms, gentle but firm. She struggled with disappointment for a moment before she realized he was staring at her with the most intense look on his face.
“I’m only here a few days, Lily. I can’t stay.” Lily inexplicably felt tears pushing at the back of her throat at his words. What was the matter with her? She had known the man for less than two days and had only wanted a bit of flirtation. She had not expected him to stay. In fact she did not want him to. Everything was perfect the way it was. She arranged what she hoped looked like a mischievous, teasing smile on her face, needing the facade.
“Yes, I know. I just thought we could be…friends, while you were here.” Harry raised his eyebrows at her, but she maintained the smile, her face feeling frozen. He nodded slowly, still searching her expression.
“All right. Friends, it is.” He let go of her and stepped back to open the door. “I will be back soon. I don’t
think I will go far, but I must move around before I stiffen up completely.” With that, he nodded again and stepped out into the snowy yard, shutting the door behind him. Lily watched him for a moment, trudging into the chill wind, with his head down and shoulders hunched up to protect his ears. He rounded the house and was gone from her sight.
Cleaning up the breakfast dishes and wiping down the counters afforded Lily some time to think. By the time she had the kitchen put to rights, she felt much more like herself. Harry had made it perfectly clear he was only passing through and was not looking for permanence of any kind. That was fine with her. She liked her life just the way it was. She had friends here and her father, and with him, a purpose. She just wanted a bit of fun, something to brighten her days, for as long as it lasted. She could not go haring off, travelling around the world and having adventures when she was needed here. And besides, a little voice inside her whispered, he didn’t ask.
~ 5 ~
“Miss Beaumont, how lovely it is to see you! You look so well, my dear,” Mrs. Yardley trilled, as she bustled into the drawing room with her three daughters trailing behind her. Lily swallowed a sigh and accepted the hands that the older woman held out. The heavyset woman smothered her in an enthusiastic embrace that Lily endured with good grace.
“Mrs. Yardley, it is so wonderful of you to visit. Miss Yardley, Cynthia, Cora –don’t you all look so pretty in your new bonnets.” Lily smiled at the three younger girls as they all took seats. The eldest Miss Yardley shyly smiled back, as the other two gazed around the parlor in curiosity. Lily had no illusions about why the village busybody had come to visit and brought her unmarried daughters with her. The news of Harry’s arrival a few evenings ago had travelled the village like wildfire, and this morning Lily had been inundated with callers. For the most part, it was the village matrons and their unmarried daughters, nieces and granddaughters, but several of the men had dropped by also. After the first few calls, Harry had disappeared, leaving Lily to fend off her curious neighbors herself. If she hadn’t wanted to do the same thing so badly, she might have resented him making himself scarce. She couldn’t really blame him, although she did extract her revenge by promising to convey several invitations to tea. If nothing else, perhaps a round of house visits would delay Harry’s departure by a few more days.
A Summons From His Grace (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 4) Page 9
