by Lavinia Kent
Lily glanced around the long formal dining room. It still seemed silly to her to have the large room set only for her breakfast. Arthur had disappeared before she’d awakened, affording her no opportunity to discuss what had happened the day before. She feared his questions. She could not risk any inquiry of yesterday’s events being linked to the night her husband disappeared. At some point Arthur would start to wonder why the attackers had never been found, and that would lead him to question her part in that night’s happenings. How would he feel if he knew the truth?
“Lily . . . Lily, where are you?” As if sensing her thoughts, Arthur strolled into the dining room, holding Simon firmly in his arms. He did not look as if he was about to start an inquisition.
“Is he hungry?” Despite their marriage, it shocked Lily to see Arthur actually toting Simon around.
“Hungry? Oh, no. It’s more important than that.”
Lily leaned back in her high wooden chair, forgetting the remains of her breakfast. She soaked up the picture of Arthur, his face glowing, looking down with amazement at her son. At moments like this she could almost believe everything would be all right. She caught the knowing grin of the footman, as he finished clearing the breakfast dishes.
“What, then?”
“He can talk. Simon can talk.” Arthur glowed with pride.
Lily bit back a nervous laugh. “Oh, he can talk, can he?”
“Yes, he said ‘hello’ when I came into the nursery. He must be a most intelligent child.”
“Are you sure?”
Arthur pursed his lips in affront. “Of course I am sure. He most definitely said ‘hello.’ He knows me.”
“I do believe that he knows you. He has a smile he saves just for you.” If Lily hadn’t been aware of Arthur’s fettered emotions she would have thought he was preening. “But language before he’s two months old?”
“He is plainly a most superior child. Here, he shall demonstrate.” Arthur’s voice rang with confidence. “Say ‘hello’ to your mama, Simon.”
Simon gave a loud belch and a satisfied grin.
“Come, come. Say ‘hello’ to your mama. You can do it, boy.”
“Now, I daresay, you’re treating my son as a horse – or shall I say a pony?”
“No, no, he really can do this. I heard him myself, and I am not mistaken.”
Simon continued to grin. Plainly he enjoyed being the center of attention.
“Please, Simon.”
Lily thought she must have misheard. Arthur couldn’t possibly be beseeching a baby.
Finally, as if responding to a delayed cue, Simon opened his clear, blue eyes wide and with only the slightest trace of a further belch, sounded out, “Ellll … ooo.”
“There. See? He did it. He can talk.”
Lily curved her lips up indulgently. She couldn’t hide her amusement.
“Of course, he did, but do you think maybe he’s just making noises?”
“Definitely not. He’s clearly learned to talk. Why else would it sound like ‘hello’ when he sees his mama?”
Lily had her own ideas about the likelihood of Simon actually knowing what noises he made. She’d spent a long time talking to Nanny about how babies grew, and Nanny had certainly never represented the possibility of speech at this age. Still, as Lily took in the warm glow that enveloped Arthur and her son, she did not wish to discourage him.
“He is a wonderful baby, isn’t he?” she replied.
Arthur turned to her with a smile and their eyes locked. Suddenly tension filled the air, and butterflies flickered through her stomach.
Lily watched as Arthur’s attention moved from the baby in his arms to her mouth. She found herself licking her lips nervously as he moved closer. Her hands clenched the arms of the chair as he lowered his head.
She felt powerless as he lightly brought his mouth within inches of hers. He paused there briefly, staring deep into her eyes, before lightly laying his lips across her own. His warmth struck her first. Then the sweet taste of coffee and jam pervaded her senses, followed by the faintest scent of tobacco and leather.
Her lips tingled as he began to move his mouth back and forth slowly over her own. Her eyes fluttered as she became caught up in the unbearably sweet sensations running through her. She gave herself up to the kiss as she never had before. Her breasts tightened and the quivering deep within her belly grew, but nothing could compete with the magic of those hard, velvet lips moving over hers.
With the slightest of sighs, she parted her lips beneath his. Arthur’s tongue traced a trail of fire before darting in to plunder the interior of her mouth. For another instant Lily was submerged in wonder, before confusion drew her back.
She pulled away, dazed. This was not supposed to happen. With Worthington, the slightest touch had always sent her insides coiling in distaste. Arthur’s kiss had awakened something within her that she couldn’t yet face. The intensity of her feelings frightened her. She shivered as her body tried to find equilibrium.
“What was . . . ? I never.” She couldn’t pull her thoughts together enough to form coherent sentences.
She glanced up at Arthur, her eyes still unfocused. He smiled at her with the deepest grin of masculine satisfaction.
A sudden wariness cleared her head. In an effort to concentrate her thoughts until she had time to take them out and examine them, Lily brought her gaze back to Simon, who rested contentedly in Arthur’s arms.
“Nanny says he’s starting to sleep the night through.” Lily could hear the huskiness in her voice.
Arthur glanced down at the child cuddled against his chest and then back at Lily. Again he stared at her lips. She knew they must be red and swollen. His eyes rose again to meet hers and, with the slight shrug of the shoulders indicating discontented acceptance, he offered Simon to her and agreed to the change in subject.
“I’ve already said he’s a most advanced infant. Should we take him out for some air in the garden after lunch?”
Lily glanced up, startled. It had surprised her that Arthur had left the nursery with Simon. Was he really now suggesting a small outing with the two of them?
“If that would be your pleasure.”
“It would.” As if discomfited by his own agreement, Arthur’s voice grew more formal. “Meanwhile, there are things that I must do. Should I call someone to take Simon, or do you wish him to stay?”
“I’ll keep him a while longer and then proceed to the morning room. I’ve some needlework I want to finish.” That sounded ladylike, although the last thing on Lily’s mind at the moment was her embroidery.
Arthur reached out and let one hand run briefly through the curls that she wore pulled loosely back. Then, with only the briefest further glance at her swollen mouth, he departed.
Lily sighed deeply and allowed herself to slouch into her chair, pulling Simon up against her breast. She hardly noticed the footman who made an appearance to refill her coffee and clear the other dishes.
Her thoughts had moved back to warm, lean lips and calloused hands, and what they might mean to her. That unfamiliar ache coursed through her. She didn’t know if it was fear or something else, something much more pleasant . . .
That had worked well. Arthur smiled with smug satisfaction. He had sought to distract Lily from her worries and had achieved unexpected reward. Maybe, he would put off traveling to London a little longer. He had planned to casually mention his travels while they walked this after noon, but surely another day could not harm his efforts.
The most important thing was that his wife felt safe and happy. Surely there was no better way to assure that than to watch over her himself.
It had been the most wonderful day she could imagine. Arthur had doted on her and Simon during their garden walk and the candles at dinner gave light to an intimacy she had not expected. For the first time in her life she’d felt a true wife and not an obligation and nuisance – Lady Smythe-Burke’s words rang truer and truer.
But now as she stood
alone in bedchamber, she was aware that she was not the wife she wanted to be, and all the fears of the past swirled around her. With quaking hands, she drew forth the negligee from her wedding night. She shivered as she pulled on the flimsy bit of fancy. She rubbed her cold hands together, trying to chafe some warmth into them.
She had felt Arthur’s gaze on her throughout dinner and something within her had responded. The next step should not be so hard. She knew he was not Worthington. She had no reason to be afraid; her body was proving it could respond. She need only let Arthur weave his magic spell.
A freezing rain battered the window, and the same ice settled in her chest as she approached the separating door. She could make no pretense of seeking only warmth and sleep if she went to Arthur like this. She hesitated briefly at the door, and then, head high and without even her usual tap, she entered.
###
Arthur froze as a breeze wafted through the door. Sweet torture, would the woman never leave him to his misery? He didn’t know how he had made it through last night with her warm, willing body pressing ever closer, striving to merge with his. If only he could trust that her mind was as eager.
He knew better. Despite the occasional desire he’d seen in her eyes, no woman who had been so mistreated before could possibly be prepared for the responsibilities of the marriage bed. He had determined to woo her slowly with his sweetness, and did not want her misguided sense of marital duty to upset his resolve.
Without turning to look at her, he spoke. “I am thinking of leaving for London tomorrow or the next. I have let certain estate business rest far to long.”
“Oh, must you go?”
“I have let these matters go too long already.”
He could sense Lily’s hesitation, but she edged forward.
“I wish you could stay.”
He was reading too much into her comments. She had married him from necessity. She would not really miss him and he had to seek more information to guard her safety. “Wishes matter not. I know my duty.”
“I know, but you’re only a man, Arthur.”
“No, I am duke. I must be more than a man.”
For a moment there was silence. The air stirred slightly as she moved. The faint scent of lavender encompassed him.
“But, it is not the duke I have begun to . . . care for.”
In his surprise and doubt, he glanced at her, counting silently and praying for strength to survive another night. Oh, God. Time fell still for one breathless moment as Lily’s body, swaddled only in a flimsy nightdress, swayed before him. The slight draft from the door teasingly pulled at the diaphanous silk. The pale candlelight outlined her curved body. Instantly he became aroused.
He swallowed and stepped towards her, his hands reaching out for her before he could form any coherent thought or pull himself back from the chasm. Her face lay concealed in shadow as she inched toward him, her toes moving almost imperceptibly onto the carpet.
His fingers stopped just before making contact. His hand stroked softly down without touching.
He could not make out her expression, but the beating pulse at the nape of her neck betrayed the intensity of her emotion. He tried to contain his reaction, to master himself.
Assume command — be calm — remain wholly detached.
She shifted so that the deep rose of her nipple brushed the hairs on the back of his hand. Self-possession deserted him. With the suppressed violence of a desire held too long in check, he surged forward, his fingers settling in her hair as he pulled her tightly against him. He pressed his lips to hers, devouring her, all the restraint of the last days vanishing like morning mist on a sunny day.
His lips bruised Lily’s with the intensity of his hunger. Only as her lips opened beneath him, inviting him in, did he gain some power, manage to leash the demon dogs of his own needs.
He pulled himself back, waiting for her to demur. She did not. Then he pressed forward, forcing himself to be gentle, to tease and titillate, to rub his hard lips softly over hers, his tongue darting and daring, rather than plundering.
She seemed to sense this change in him, and pressed herself to him, merging her body as closely as possible with his, seeking a nearness that would blend them completely.
At the first tentative touch of her tongue, he felt himself dissolve, the fires that had burned within melting him from the core. His fingers closed around those high tight breasts, moving restlessly over them, squeezing, caressing, plucking. She moaned sweetly under his touch, her hips swaying forward to press against his straining sex, thrusting in a timeless rhythm.
The sweetness of her lips, her taste, moved him to realms he had never dreamed possible. Her spicy lavender scent surrounded him, drawing him deeper into the realm of wonder. Every sigh, every moan licked through him, until the restraints he had carefully erected, tumbled down about him in ruins.
“You do not mind my kisses.” The words caressed her mouth.
Fighting for breath she answered. “No . . . no, they do not frighten me at all.”
“Why?”
He continued his assault on her lower lip.
Thought was almost beyond her as she puzzled together an answer. “Worthington did not kiss me like this, so gentle, so strong.”
“So . . . ”
“So, I don’t think of him when you . . . kiss me, when you . . . ”
“Ahhh, let’s see what else doesn’t remind you of him.”
He smiled in self-satisfaction as he nibbled his way down her neck, licking the salty sheen that clung to her. At the base of her throat, he nipped and laved, rejoicing in each shudder he drew from her. He lingered as he reached the lace edge of her neckline, burying his face in the deep cleft of her breasts, reveling in her hot, womanly odor, the scent of her arousal teasing his senses.
He caught the lace between his teeth, drawing it down to bare one tightly drawn tip. She drew in a deep breath and he paused, his mouth watering at the perfection before him.
He could see her shiver – with desire or fear?
Her chest heaved and he raised his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were dark and clouded, but as she met his look a small, tremulous smile curved the corner of her lip. Then her body curved towards him and he bent his head to nibble towards the peak. She cried out softly as he trapped it between his teeth and sucked hard.
Bending, he caught her behind the knees and lifted her to the bed. She stiffened, but relaxed again as he cradled her gently and then lay her across the wide bed. Warily he moved beside her, careful not to break the magic spell spinning between them. He lifted her face to meet his, catching her plump lower lip with his own. He let the kiss grow between them as if it were the first. Her tongue reached out to meet and dance with his as his body moved over hers and her eyes fluttered shut.
Again he let his lips begin their downward journey while his hands worked at her negligee. With deft fingers, he lowered the bodice completely, while his other hand skimmed up her calf. She moaned into his hair and turned towards him, her legs parting at his touch.
He gazed in wonder at the perfect, velvet orbs spread before him. He licked eagerly at the puckered tips, her every shiver and moan sending him higher. He waited for her to express dismay, waited for the hands clenched at her side to relax or resist. Finally, unable to contain himself further he lowered his head and let himself devour, driving them both towards the heavens.
His other hand crept steadily higher on her thighs, his fingers eagerly stroking her damp flesh. His mouth traveled from breast to breast until finally he pressed them together and buried himself between them, yielding to all the urges that raged within him. Never had he burned with such intensity, nor been driven to such heights of longing. He shifted uncomfortably, his arousal pressing hard against his trousers.
He watched her carefully, seeking any hint of disgust. She lay quiet, but did not resist as her eyes grew dark and hazy. Covering her lips with his own, he drew deeply inward, breathing her breath, sharing her essence.
> At the same time, his fingers finally neared their goal, and sank into her warm, velvety depths, desperately trying to ensure that her pleasure rose to meet his own.
Just as he reached for that delicate nub of bliss, her body arched and stiffened in alarm, her knees kicking up hard in response – into his jutting sex.
Arthur cursed and wrenched back, as a far different fire shot through him. Stars spun wildly behind his suddenly clenched eyelids as he fought for breath. When the world finally moved back into focus, he glared. Lily was kneeling, her knees drawn up before her, her eyes wide and anxious.
Arthur knew he should calm her, comfort her, but his pain, frustration, thwarted desire, and stung pride still ran hot. With a muffled curse, he swung to his feet and stalked from the room. He had failed to control his ardor and caused her to freeze in fear. He would not let his restraint slip again.
Moments later, his thoughts still locked on the woman curled up in his bed, Arthur Alexander DeWolf, Eighth Duke of Westlake, walked barefoot down his grand stairs, across the wide threshold, and out into the freezing rain.
Chapter Fourt een
“Wake up, your grace you must wake up.”
Lily awakened with a start as Gertrude shook her with increasing ferocity. She raised blurry eyes to absorb this vision of the frantic maid. She’d huddled half the night in the wide bed, awaiting Arthur’s return and had not slept until dawn began to race across the sky.
Sudden worry raced through her.
“Simon. Has something happened to Simon? What’s wrong?”
“The young master’s fine. But, his grace . . .”
“Arthur, what’s wrong with Arthur? Has he been injured?” He’d left in such a rage the night before, fled into the cold. Could something have happened to him?
“Rest easy, your grace. It’s nothing of that sort. But his grace is leaving and he requests to see you before he goes.”
Lily felt a rush of emotion swell in her belly and rise up like bile in her throat. She knew she’d done something wrong the previous night, but still was not quite sure what.
