Hint of Desire (The Desire Series)

by Lavinia Kent

But how did one ignore a man who had warm milk and sweets brought to you at midnight when Simon awoke? And after Lady Smythe-Burke’s comments Lily had crept out of her own room late at night to catch Arthur holding her son and bouncing across the room with a surprising dignity. She’d slipped back to her room and pretended not to see. Arthur would turn cold and tell her she should have Nanny take the baby upstairs, but then, when he thought nobody watched, he’d be the first to arrive when Simon started to fuss. He was impossible to understand.

  And the flowers. She’d enjoyed the first simple bouquet, but from the moment she expressed her pleasure they started to appear in profusion everywhere. Any room she entered instantly filled up with blooms. The sunny morning room had become a hot house, so heady was the scent of flowers.

  She took a bloom in her palm, breaking the flower from the stem, crushing it between her fingers, the heavy attar rising to perfume the room. Bringing the crushed petals to her nose she sat back, stiffening her spine so that even in relaxation it didn’t quite recline against the back of the chair. Catching herself, she twisted her lips.

  It was hard to forget her mother’s lessons, so long ago, on ladylike deportment. She’d struggled so hard to learn those lessons, first from her mother, and then from the succession of nannies her uncle had produced.

  “Does something amuse you?” Arthur leaned in the doorway, one boot crossed over the other.

  “I was just remembering my girlhood lessons.”

  “And they were humorous? I don’t believe my lessons from boyhood ever were.”

  “No, I was remembering how hard I tried to please my mother. I thought that knowing the proper way to sit would make her love me more. That’s what I find amusing.”

  A previously hidden dimple marked his stiff cheek as he considered. “I thought learning to recite the Aeneid in Latin would win my father’s blessing. I can’t think why, now. He never cared for classical literature, even in English.”

  “Children have the strangest ideas. Now that I have Simon and know what a mother’s love truly is, I find it hard to believe I ever needed reassurance.”

  “Your mother loved you, then?” He said the words with little modulation.

  “Yes, without question. She loved the world as well as me and seldom had the time I desired, but yes.”

  “It must be wonderful to know that.”

  “Yes, it is. I wish I’d had more faith in it as a child. I was always hoping that something I could do would make her love me more, or show it more. I think sometimes I caused mischief just to gain her attention. Only now do I understand more why she acted as she did. Well, it doesn’t really matter now.” She let the crushed petals fall from her hand onto the table beside her.

  Much to her surprise, Arthur came and squatted beside her. He took a crushed petal in his hand and smoothed it flat. “No, tell me more.”

  Lily lowered her eyes, unable to meet the intensity of his blue gaze. “I’d rather not. It’s rather private, you see. Can we just leave it? As a child, I strove and strove for what I never realized I already had.”

  “At least you had it.”

  “What?” She lifted her eyes to meet his.

  “Your mother’s love. I don’t believe I was more than an accomplishment to my own mother. She’d produced the heir; therefore, she could rest. I am not sure she even tried for the spare.”

  “Surely, you don’t think . . .”

  “It’s not a matter of thinking. I know. It was not necessary for her to care for me. Duty and responsibility were of importance, not useless emotion. My father took pleasure in letting me know this on every possible occasion.”

  “And you believed him?” Now that she had held her own child in her arms, she could not fathom a mother not loving her child.

  “My father did not lie.” Arthur again spoke in that cool, emotionless tone.

  Lily took the petal from between his fingers, her mind running in circles. She well remembered the duke, Arthur’s father, and imagined that Arthur spoke the truth. That man would have found it beneath him to tell an untruth.

  “But did he know what your mother felt? How can one person ever know what lies in the soul of another?”

  “My mother never disputed it. He would tell me before her very eyes, and she would just turn away. She never once said otherwise. I can’t remember her ever seeking me out on her own. She just went along with everything he said.” Arthur looked up at her and for a moment she thought she saw the young marquess she had once worshipped. “You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

  Lily could never have explained that it was the picture he drew in her mind that caused her tremor. She saw him young, anxious for love and approval, caught between his parents, the father who could not love, and the mother who feared to do so.

  “Perhaps, a little.”

  “I’ll have the fire built higher. I thought the morning sun would warm the room.”

  Lily hesitated on the brink. Should she turn the conversation back, delve into those painful memories, try to find the boy she had once known? Maybe if she could remind him of the unhappy moments of his own childhood, he would be more likely to take pity on Simon, hesitate to send him back to that cold, unwelcoming house.

  Before she could decide what to say to Arthur, he had risen. His control had returned. She stopped him as he placed his hand upon the bell pull.

  “No, don’t. I’ll be sweltering in a moment. I seem to be overheated one moment and too cool the next. Nanny assures me it’s normal in the weeks after confinement.” She blushed at her boldness.

  “Ahh, I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you remembered anymore of the night of your attack? I’ve sent my men out to seek the ruffians who accosted you and Worthington. It seems unlikely that they are still in the area, but we must be sure. I also sent word to Sir Drake, the magistrate. Apparently, he has already been looking into the affair and there may even be a witness.”

  “A witness?” Lily’s hands clenched tight in her lap.

  “Yes, apparently a footman claims he may have seen the whole thing.”

  “What does he say?” It felt like her world was ending.

  “It’s unclear. He had been drinking with friends and there is some question to the accuracy of his story. That is all I know. I will inform you should I hear more. I know you must be eager to be assured of your own safety and have justice for your husband.” Arthur turned, his cobalt eyes fixed upon her. “You are pale. Do you feel well? Does discussing the attack distress you?”

  “I am fine, just a trifle tired. I think I will close my eyes for a few minutes.”

  “I’ll leave you then. I’ve work to be done.”

  Once he had departed, Lily found herself unable to compose herself. It continued to grow worse. There was a witness. Could anyone have seen the events of that night? She didn’t think so, but her memory was so faulty. If someone had been there what had he seen – or thought he’d seen?

  Rising to the window, she swallowed painfully. She had to leave. That was her only choice. She had no rights, not even those of a mother. Simon was the Earl of Worthington, and St. Aubin was most likely his guardian. She could afford to let no one question her part in Worthington’s death.

  Did St. Aubin know the truth about what had happened that night on the cliffs? Her stomach churned. Why had he tossed her ring in the air?

  She bit at an already ragged nail.

  She was tempted to soften towards Arthur, to test whether Lady Smythe-Burke was right and womanly wiles might not yet win the day, but she had no practice in such arts. Besides, it remained that the world would label her a murderer. Involving Arthur in her life would only involve him in her downfall.

  She had to leave. She had clothes now, and while they were not quite proper for travel, at least they were decent. She could save food from a couple of dinner trays and store it away. She thought she could even manage to borrow a horse from the stables, if she were quiet enough. There were more than enough blankets and clothes f
or Simon, although ready funds would be a problem. She’d have to trust herself to Burberry’s kindness. He would not have forgotten the promises to her mother. Lady Smythe-Burke had mentioned he was in poor health, but he would not turn her away.

  And if he did?

  She would just have to ford that river when it came.

  “Excuse me, my lady.” Gertrude knocked and entered.

  “His grace said you needed a wrap.” She shot Lily a questioning glance. ”Actually, he said you needed two wraps. But this other one is altogether out of season, I think.” She held out the shawls, one of heavy worsted, and the other a delicate summer weight.

  Tears and laughter sprung forth spontaneously. Hot and cold. Yes, she had to leave before the temptation to tell him became too great. She would not hazard Simon’s future on her own foolish instincts.

  Three nights later all was ready. Lily had even resolved the financial arrangements. She didn’t feel good about it, but she’d watched Jeffers retrieve payment for a delivery. Lily had felt like a burglar, sneaking along after to see Jeffers collect the funds from a drawer in Arthur’s desk.

  It would make her a thief to take even a single shilling, and Lily intended to take at least a few guineas. But she was already a murderer. How much worse could it be to borrow enough money to care for Simon? She’d leave Arthur a note explaining that she’d repay him as soon as she was able.

  Simon had been fed and was sleeping soundly. Wrapping her son in a cheerful blanket, Lily took up the small bundle she’d prepared and started to creep down the front stairs. She stepped over the creaking tread that previously had caused her such distress. Her heart couldn’t withstand the anxiety of hearing that squeak echoing through the empty halls. Thankfully, the carpet was thick beneath her light shoes; she could almost hear the loud beating of her own heart as she crept forward.

  At the bottom of the stairs she paused. Fear gnawed. She didn’t want to think how Arthur would react to her deception, his firm features tightening in disappointment and distaste. It was not too late. She could still creep back to her own plump bed and pretend none of this had happened.

  Simon stirred in her arms, reminding her that it was, in fact, too late. She was set on this course and there could be no turning back. Not if she wanted to save her son.

  She moved forward down the hall.

  She paused again as she came to the door that opened into Arthur’s office. Clutching the cold knob in her even colder fingers, she remembered the noise it had made when Jeffers opened it. She eased it carefully and breathed a deep sigh as it moved silently.

  Stepping into Arthur’s study was like entering a private sanctuary. Lily could smell a hint of the sandalwood fragrance he wore, and it marked the air like incense. Papers lay across the desk in neat piles and a box of cheroots sat along one edge of the surface. The walls were lined with more books than she had ever seen in one place, and she longed to sit and let her senses roam over every precious inch of them.

  Sitting in one corner was a large brass elephant, gleaming dimly in the dappled moonlight. It seemed a very strange creature to be sitting in so English a room. Vaguely, she remembered old stories of a favorite uncle who had roamed the globe and spent years in India.

  Lily could not allow herself to be distracted. Carefully, she placed Simon on the large leather armchair that sat opposite the desk. She ran her hands over the broad expanse of gleaming wood and slowly seated herself in the much harder cherry wood chair behind it. She leaned forward and tried to slide open the drawer in which she had spied the cash box. It stuck momentarily and her hands began to shake; then with a shrill squeal it slid open.

  Lily froze, listening for any other sound that might follow. When there was no response, she leaned forward to open the heavy box.

  Only, it didn’t open.

  Her fingers scrambled helplessly over the cool, metal surface as she attempted to gain purchase and pry the metal open. It was hopeless. She had not even considered that it might be locked, but of course it was. Arthur was not a careless man and would never place needless temptation before the servants.

  Lily tried to lift the box from the drawer but it was heavy, and she knew there was no way she could manage it, her bundle, and Simon all at one time. She debated briefly whether to leave her bundle and take the box, but knew even that would be beyond her scant resources.

  She let the box fall back into the drawer with a steady clunk. Unmindful of the noise, now, she grabbed up Simon and headed for the morning room. Lily knew the large front door would be soundly locked. Her hopes lay in Arthur having his evening cheroot in the garden, and leaving the key still in the lock of the veranda door.

  This time her luck held and, without difficulty, she opened the door and was out. The first cool breath of night air caught her by surprise. Even in these few weeks as September turned to October the nights had rapidly chilled. She was glad she had taken an extra shawl. Clutching Simon close to her body, she hurried down the cobbled path and back towards the stables.

  Lily stopped before passing the corner of the house. This was the other point that had worried her. Although she had been around stables before, the only real knowledge she had of them was that the lads didn’t seem to keep as regular hours as those in the house. But when she peered around the corner, her eyes met only darkness. Lily could make out the distinct shape of the low building against the moonlit sky, but neither lamp nor candle shone. She edged forward towards the stable.

  Lily slipped through the gate, and inched into the building. The pungent smell of hay and horses met her nostrils. The dim light blocked her vision, but she wanted to make sure nobody was asleep in the straw. Gingerly she lay Simon down on a bale, making sure to wrap him securely so he wouldn’t roll.

  Now she just had to select a nice steady mare and she could be on her way. She moved from stall to stall, carefully inspecting each occupant. A few of the beasts came forward and blew at her softly, but she managed to hold her calm.

  Finally, in the last stall, she found what she was looking for, a gentle gray face and slightly swayed back. The mare was a little past her prime, but that was probably a good thing. Lily was already nervous about trying to ride while carrying Simon.

  She opened the wooden door and prepared to lead the mare out . . . she’d blundered again. There was neither bridle nor saddle on the horse. A simple and obvious thing, but not one she had considered.

  Every time Lily had ridden before, the horse had appeared before her already saddled. She’d come to believe the saddle was part of the horse’s anatomy. Hopefully, it shouldn’t be that complicated. All she had to do was find the tack – figure out, in darkness, how to attach it to the animal – and leave. A dove cooed in the rafters and Lily came close to picking Simon up and running back to the house.

  Telling herself to stay calm, Lily glanced around the stable cautiously and moved off to investigate. Each creak and groan of the rafters pierced the stillness. There was nothing to be found. There was a closed door at one end of the stable block, but that could as easily lead to upstairs living quarters as to the tack room. She hesitated with her hand on the latch, her fingers trembling. She rested her head against the rough wood and prayed for guidance.

  A small hiccup interrupted her, and she hurried back to Simon. He still slept soundly and only gurgled as she stroked him. Her eyes had become fully accustomed to the gloom, and Lily could almost make out the small rosebud of his mouth.

  She rested beside him for a moment on the bale, the harsh scratch of the straw digging through her skirt. For a moment she was tempted to give in to tears again. It seemed hopeless. She drew her knees up to her chest and hummed softly to herself, resting her head against the box’s door. She would just rest for a moment. She closed her eyes.

  A rustle alerted her. She started up. Was somebody there? Had a stable boy awakened? There was movement further along the stalls, a man’s silhouette, she turned, then whirled back.

  A hoof crashed hard against
the wall, inches from her head. With a yell, Lily tried to flatten herself against the wall.

  She gazed in horror at the black demon rearing above her. The stallion snorted and reared again.

  Another hoof hit. This one grazed her shoulder.

  A loud wail arose from outside as Simon woke to the pounding.

  Simon. She’d forgotten her baby. Lily turned frantically, trying to reach her son. She scampered back and forth as the horse reared back and came down again.

  She had to reach Simon. She’d left him alone. She couldn’t leave him alone.

  A heavy haunch knocked into her, tossing her flat to the ground. A sharp cracking pain spread through her chest, sending the world spinning further.

  She turned to creep back. She had to get to Simon. Would this hoofed devil get to him? A hoof clanged to the floor. The vibrations shook her. Pulling her knees under her, she inched forward again.

  The frantic whimpers of her child drove her on. She heard the horse’s shrill whistle just before its weight landed on her ankle, twisting her leg out from under her, rolling her onto her back.

  The horse rose above her, coal black, its wild eyes gleaming white in the darkness. She felt the air change as it reared back, saw the gleaming hooves dance in the air, saw them descend towards her. Time froze.

  She saw the hooves descend. The polished boot clapped to the floor beside her. She saw the gleam of the pitchfork, felt the air shift again as the demon backed up from the pointed weapon. Firm hands grabbed her and pulled her back, the pain in her ribs and leg sending stars flitting before her eyes.

  Her limbs were chilled and vision blurred as she turned her face to the well-muscled chest. The sweet odor of sandalwood wrapped her in security. The gentle sway of footsteps carried her to the house and up the stairs. Nanny’s soft coo assured her that Simon was well cared for. For a moment she let herself relax. All would be well.

  Then suddenly she found herself poured into bed. The ache from her ribs startled the breath out of her.

  A fist slammed into the bedpost, shaking her, waking her from shock.