by Lavinia Kent
“When my presence was not required, I tried to stay out of their way. I took to haunting the stables to avoid the gaggles of fine ladies, who made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. I didn’t bother to dress to my station. I was sure the horses wouldn’t mind my outgrown plain nursery clothes. I never considered the way I must have looked. Worthington found me there. He had no idea who I was. He thought I was a maid, hiding from my work. He . . .”
Lily’s voice trailed off as she fought for words. The light glimmered almost eerily on her face as her eyes met Arthur’s. The glow cast a pall over her features, annihilating the normally sweet cherry of her lips.
Arthur knew the end of this story, but he could not stop the words leaking from his lips. “What did he do?”
Lily just continued to stare at him, before turning away abruptly. She walked to the window again and stared into the blackness.
“I didn’t tell him who I was. I was afraid of getting in trouble with Uncle. Perhaps if I had tried to explain right away . . . but it doesn’t matter. He . . . he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. When I tried to struggle, he laughed and called me lusty. At first I didn’t struggle hard. It never occurred to me what could happen.”
She took a deep, calming breath.
“He cupped my breasts in his rough hands and he squeezed them hard, ripping my dress down. I tried again to fight him, but he just laughed, and then he . . . he cuffed me across the face. Not too hard, but enough to quiet me. When he pushed me down into the straw, I tried again. I needed to explain, but he didn’t care, didn’t listen.”
She pulled the blankets more tightly about herself. She had started to shiver again and Arthur longed to rise up from the cushions and wrap himself around her, to comfort her. But he knew better than to touch her now, lest he stop the healing flow of her words, or heaven forbid, provide another reminder of the humiliation she had suffered at Worthington's hands.
“I didn’t even know what was going to happen. When his hands pushed beneath my skirt and ripped at my clothing, I knew it was wrong, but not why. I was horrified to be touched there, but then I didn’t know what horror was. I was lying in the hay. I couldn’t breath. He was so heavy. He stank like a distillery. It was overpowering. All I wanted was to breathe. I couldn’t think beyond that next breath. I think I just avoided thinking what was happening. His hands were so large; I remember thinking that. He bit my breast and I still didn’t understand.”
Her speech accelerated, as if she needed to get the words out fast, before she could change her mind.
“I kept telling him who I was, asking him, begging him to stop. He just wouldn’t listen. He called me a . . . bitch, told me he knew I wanted it, that my kind always wanted it. I still didn’t understand. I didn’t know.”
Arthur wished Lily would either cry or scream. The even, calm tone of her voice disquieted him.
“Then he was inside me. Even then I didn’t understand. All I knew was that it hurt. It hurt so much. I’d given up fighting by then. I just lay there, lost in the pain, in the nightmare. I am not even sure when he finished, when he left. I got up and made some attempt to wipe myself . . . out. I wouldn’t even have been sure who he was, if I hadn’t later heard his voice in the yard. He was calling out to some friends, laughing about Uncle’s hospitality. I heard one of them reply, and call him Worthington. I made my way into the house. I am not even sure quite how. One of the maids found me and called Uncle. I just remember sitting in his study, my dress still torn, staring at the blood on my hands, not knowing if it was mine or his.”
Despair lay across her face. Arthur started to rise, but Lily backed toward the window.
“I knew Uncle didn’t care much for me, but still I trusted him. I thought he’d know what was best. He turned on me in such fury, it almost made Worthington seem mild. He told me I was ruined, that I’d brought shame upon us all, that I was a worthless whore.”
Arthur could see her whole body move with each breath as she fought for every word. Her voice remained calm and smooth, but the effort spent to contain her tension was unmistakable.
“I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. After my mother’s death, Uncle only took me in on sufferance. If there had been anybody else, I should have been sent off. He let me know that night how little I counted for. Even so, next I was shocked when Uncle came and told me I was to marry Worthington. I couldn’t imagine how he could expect such a thing of me. I tried to refuse, but truly I had no choice.”
She hung her head and stood outlined in the window, a forlorn Madonna.
“We were married less than a month later. Uncle didn’t want any chance of a scandalous early birth. I was numb. I couldn’t let myself think what was happening. I dreaded my wedding. Several times I broke down in hysterics and begged Uncle to find another choice, to send me off to some cottage and forget I existed. But I knew it was hopeless. I thought I was prepared for anything. I was wrong.”
Arthur wanted to reach out and comfort her, to move back in time and protect that innocent girl. He wondered how she’d differed at fifteen from the gap-toothed ghost she’d been at seven. Her words rapidly drew his attention back from his wandering thoughts.
“It was an even more disastrous wedding night than this.” Her face lit with a bitter smile, yet shone with an ethereal magnificence. Years before, Arthur had spent a year touring the Continent, and in a Greek fishing village he had seen the statue of an ancient goddess which had gleamed with the same power and stature that Lily attained as she stood cold and still before him.
“I crept off to Uncle again the next morning. He only told me that I had chosen my lot. A wife’s duty was to obey her husband, and a husband’s obligation” – she faltered briefly – “was to manage and discipline his wife.”
As Lily lifted her face and met his eyes, he could see a sudden awareness of their circumstances suffuse her consciousness. Her lashes fluttered, and her lips trembled.
“Arthur.” She spoke his name willingly for the first time that night. “I did not believe my uncle was right then. But deep in my heart I know my duties, and in return for your protection I will perform them willingly.”
Over his dead body.
He left the safety of his bed, crossing the carpet, and took her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Chapter Twelve
Arthur lay stunned as he watched Lily’s eyelids drift closed. This night had been a revelation to him. He didn’t know where his thoughts should even begin.
Lily kissed like a dream, her passions flaming.
Lily froze like an icicle.
Lily had been raped.
Lily needed his help.
Lily needed him.
If Worthington hadn’t been dead already, Arthur would have been tempted to kill him himself. And St. Aubin, if Arthur’s growing suspicions of the man were correct . . . No matter how he ran through it, only St. Aubin would have motive to harm Simon. If Simon were gone St. Aubin would be the new earl. Still, there was a long road between suspicion and proof. It was possible that Worthington had some other enemy who now pursued Lily and Simon. Worthington had been the type to run up debts, and with debts came enemies.
These thoughts ran through his mind in an unrelenting cycle. It seemed impossible that the petite, fragile women curled against him could have endured a cold, unloving husband who gave so little thought to her own desires. It tore at him to imagine the anguish Lily must have undergone, and survived.
Arthur let his hands trail through the luscious curls that tangled about him, seemingly of their own accord. He wrapped one strand about a finger and considered her delicate beauty. He turned and examined the small woman curled at his side. He would show her he was not a monster, but merely a man, with a man’s desires. So many of her fears started here, in the marriage bed, he would have to show her it was a place of warmth, comfort and even intimacy, not a den of ghoulish nightmares.
He drew her more tightly to him, reveling in the feeling
of her long slim limbs wrapping about his own. As if drawn to his warmth, she sidled against him, slipping one long leg between his own. His body stirred at her closeness. His fingers slowly curled into a hard fist as she continued to glide slowly, touching him. He fought against his own frustration as what he desired drew ever closer, while the deep and treacherous chasm of the past loomed right ahead.
And so, the first slim fingers of dawn found him once again giving Ganesh his head, but this time not the slightest trace of ennui clung to his soul.
Lily took her time as she descended the stairs for breakfast. She entered the dining room, half hoping that he’d be gone already, ensconced in his study. She dreaded the coming awkwardness. After all the secrets she had shared – and those she had not – how should she react to him?
Her heart sank as she observed him in the flesh, seated at the long, linen-covered table, a recent London paper spread before him. He lifted his head with a cautious smile as she entered the room. Her breath caught under his steady gaze.
“Good morning, Lily.”
“Good morning, your grace. I mean, Arthur.” She worried at her lower lip, until his pointed look held her still.
For a long moment, they simply gazed at each other. She seated herself at the table and waited while the footman served her coddled eggs and toast. Her fingers shook as she tried to maintain an outward calm.
“It looks like it will be a fine day,” she tried, as the silence between them grew. What was he thinking? Why couldn’t she read him?
“Yes, it does indeed. I thought I’d ride out again and talk to the gamekeeper about the deer. I heard one of my tenants observe that even at this time of year they’re eating at the remains of his garden.”
“Oh.” Lily felt like a small child at an adult dinner party. She could feel the heat of his gaze and did not know how to respond.
Yes, she’d been married before, but she didn’t think she’d ever actually sat down to breakfast with Worthington, and certainly never under such circumstances. She moved the food around her plate, trying to look busy as her mind circled, seeking a way to bring up – to apologize tactfully – for the night before.
“Is the food to your liking?” Arthur had clearly taken note of her fidgets.
“Of course. I love coddled eggs.” She couldn’t help but catch his small smile of satisfaction, and wondered at it.
“Is there something wrong with these particular eggs?”
Lily realized she was still stirring the yolk, without taking a bite. Her nervousness betrayed her. She leaned forward to eat hurriedly, gulping her meal. Quickly she buttered her toast and spread the thick raspberry preserves. She couldn’t let Arthur think she found anything wrong with his table.
Her hurry betrayed her, and a clump of jam tumbled off her toast, landing on the lace of her gown and the swell of her breasts. She patted at it with her napkin, horrified to see that she was only making the stain worse.
Arthur paused, the coffee cup lifted halfway to his mouth and his eyes locked on the deep red jam that slid between her breasts. His lingering glance flustered her. Even when his gaze rose to meet hers, she could not draw a breath.
“I must change.” She rose and hurried to the door. She observed how his fingers had whitened around his tightly held coffee cup.
He spoke as she scurried. “I’ll probably be out a good part of the day. I’ll join you for dinner.”
Arthur gulped the hot coffee, scalding his throat. Blast the woman to hell and back! She seemed bent on doing murder. It had been difficult enough to hold his composure when she’d entered the room looking like a young goddess tempting the hunters. He’d lost track of his own thoughts, she’d looked so fresh and inviting. But, how on earth was a man supposed to control himself when the glisten of jam marked the trail his tongue longed to follow?
It had taken all his will, and then some, to refrain from pulling her towards him and licking that sweetened flesh. Every part of his being cried out to make her his – truly his. He wanted to wrap Lily in his arms, and erase the horrors of her past.
If only she could accept him as a man and not a beast. If only his body didn’t react to her like a randy goat. He swore softly to himself, seeking that long practiced control.
He had whiled away the whole morning at the breakfast table so he could see her, invite her to ride with him. He had hoped to spend the day wooing her, teaching her with gentle touch that she need not be frightened. Instead all he’d done was bark at her that he’d be out for the afternoon, condemning himself to a day of solitude.
Arthur twisted the crisp newspaper up into a ball before letting it fall to the floor next to his chair leg. If he wanted to win Lily over, he would have to practice patience. Resisting the urge to kick the leg of the table, he went out to ride his estates again, alone.
“What did you do to my nephew? He stormed out to the stables in a fit of temper.” Lady Smythe-Burke entered the parlor and sat across from Lily.
“I don’t see why you think I did anything.” Lily stared at her hands.
“When a man stomps loud enough to shake the china the morning after his wedding night it raises questions. When that man is Westlake, known for his cool and haughty manner, it raises concerns.”
“I would rather not discuss my wedding night.”
Lady Smythe-Burke tapped her fingers on the table, reminiscent of her nephew. “I can understand that. Don’t even think it’s a bad thing for Westlake to be so riled. He needs practice with his emotions.”
“I believe he is fine as he is.”
“A very proper response for a wife and a duchess. But, what about you, my dear? I fear your color is also off and your eyes shadowed. You may not be crashing about the house, but perhaps you would like to?”
“No, I also am fine as I am.”
“It seems I may have gone too far in the duchess training. The idea is to enforce your feelings, not bury them.”
Lily continued to stare at her hands, but she could feel Lady Smythe-Burke’s gaze heavy upon her. “As I said, my lady, I am fine.”
Lady Smythe-Burke rose and came to stand over her. “You don’t look fine. Let me see your face.”
Trying to school her features Lily looked up.
“I’ve never heard any complaints about my nephew. In fact the gossip leans in the other direction. You, however, do not look like a satisfied woman. I may need to find fault with the man.”
“Oh, no.” Lily knew her pallor had returned. “If there is fault, it is mine.”
“You didn’t refuse him, did you?”
Lily could not believe Lady Smythe-Burke had asked the question. “I know my duty.”
“Duty, that may explain the problem.” Lady Smythe-Burke began to pace. “I am sure he didn’t like being a duty. This I never anticipated. I anticipate everything. I’ll have to think about this. You do want to be his wife, don’t you? It did seem the perfect answer.”
Lily hesitated, she’d had so many doubts. Then she considered with care. “Yes, I wanted this marriage.”
“You say that past tense.”
Lily felt tears well at the corner of her eyes. “I fear I cannot be the wife he needs.”
“Nonsense.”
“Nonsense?”
“He chose you. No matter what reasons he may have used to excuse his motive, he chose you. Westlake is not a man to do anything against his will.”
Lily lowered her eyes again. “He felt an obligation . . . and I wanted a safe home for Simon.”
“Again, nonsense. Westlake, despite his strong sense of duty, always finds a way to make what he wants become the proper answer. He decided there was an obligation because he wished there to be one. And as for you and young Simon, of course, you want him safe. What mother wouldn’t? But, do you think sending the duke stomping about the house is the proper way to go about that? From my observations, I thought you brighter.”
Lily dared a glance up. “I don’t understand.”
“Do I h
ave to explain everything? Clearly, I do. If Westlake wants to protect you and your son, nothing will stop him. No matter what the word of the law, if the Duke of Westlake stands up and says otherwise, than otherwise becomes the law. I doubt any save the regent has the power and will to withstand Westlake’s rule – and I not even sure of him. You must make Westlake want to take that stand. Do you understand now?”
“I am not sure.”
“God save me from the young. Westlake chose you for his wife. Why did he do that? You say obligation. I say that would not have been enough – so what would make a man decide you were what he needed?”
Lily flushed. “I don’t know.”
“Nonsense. I know and you know, it is why he is careening around in a fury. I suggest you reconsider your position and that of your son, and decide how to approach him. We will all be happier when the situation is resolved. Must I say more?”
“No, my lady.”
“Then attend to of the matter, post haste.” Lady Smythe-Burke strode out of the room, leaving Lily to her worried thoughts.
She could do it. Lady Smythe-Burke’s words had opened a new world to Lily. She had approached the marriage as if it were the beginning of an end, rather than the start of a new life. It only remained to get Arthur on her side and put the past behind her. She would forget everything from before she met him – forge a new future, trust in his protection. Surely, no threat would follow the Duchess of Westlake. Lily was safe if only she could believe it – and keep her duke content.
Lady Smythe-Burke had claimed a headache and retired, leaving Lily the chance to be alone with her husband. She would take full advantage of it, and push through her fears to be the wife he needed. Holding her neck high and letting her shoulders fall back, Lily descended the staircase with all the poise and grace she could muster
