“I went straight to the servants’ hall and started looking in the drawers—each has got a drawer o’ their own, you see, for sewing or pen and paper and what-not, personal items. Inside Lily’s drawer was the money, the exact amount, wrapped in a handkerchief.” She reached in her pocket for the coins and held them out, flat in her palm.
Devon didn’t speak. He stared at Lily with unnerving intensity, stroking his lips with a thoughtful forefinger. When she couldn’t bear the silence any longer, she straightened her shoulders and said quietly, “I didn’t steal this money. I can’t explain how it got in my drawer, but I did not put it there.”
“She’s lying. She wants to leave here, can’t wait to get away. She’s still in debt for clothes and coach fare, so she stole the money. If I hadn’t caught her tonight, she’d’ve been gone tomorrow.”
A different light came into his eyes. For the space of a heartbeat, Lily thought she saw anger. “So you want to leave here, do you, Lily?” he asked softly, gently.
She didn’t know why, but something warned her the gentleness was deceptive, that under it lay a trap ready to spring. There was a long pause while she tried to decide whether to lie or not. In the end, she couldn’t. “Yes. I do.”
His face didn’t change. “Leave us,” he said to Howe, not looking away. “I’ll take care of it now.”
“Very good, my lord.” A twitch of satisfaction pulled at one corner of the housekeeper’s traplike mouth. She bowed obsequiously and walked out of the room. Soon they heard her thudding footfalls on the stairs.
Devon neither spoke nor moved. Lily stared hard at his closed, formal countenance, from which all traces of anger were gone now, but she could make nothing of it. Fearful again of the tense, expanding silence, she blurted out, “Do you believe her? Do you think I stole the money?”
“I have no idea. If you wanted to leave Darkstone, I suppose you’d need it.”
She closed her eyes for a second, wondering why she wanted to cry.
“And you did say you wanted to leave, didn’t you, Lily?” He pressed his fingers together under his chin and spoke with chilling matter-of-factness. “Perhaps I can help you.”
Her mouth went dry. A dark place inside knew what he would say next.
“I know of a way you can make quite a lot of money. Very quickly. Very simply.”
Everything went still, but she kept hearing the dreadful echo of his words as if he were saying them in her ear, again and again and again. When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she whirled around and darted toward the door.
“Stop!” He brought his fist down on the desk top in time with the shouted order. Lily jumped, stopped, but didn’t turn. Devon stood up. “Close the door,” he told her, more quietly but with the same ferocity. She didn’t move. “Do it.” He saw her hand go out to the doorpost, as if she needed it for support, and he came toward her slowly. When he was five feet away, he saw that her shoulders were shaking. “Lily?”
Her throat had closed; she didn’t think she could speak. But she had to tell him. “I did not—” Dry sobs racked her before she could finish. Her chest was burning, she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt his hands on her shoulders, and then her tears came. “Steal—your—money,” she got out in a series of hiccuping gasps, and hid her face in her hands.
“No, I know. Shh. It’s all right.” He put his arms around her and held tight, pressing her back against him, absorbing her convulsive shudders. “Shh, Lily, it’s all right now.” He tried to turn her around, but she resisted; she didn’t want him to see her face. He bent his head to put his cheek next to hers. “Don’t cry anymore.” She said something, but her voice was so thick he couldn’t make out the words. He put his lips on her throat, tasting her tears. “Look at me, Lily.” Very gently, he turned her in his arms. Her face was ravaged and tragic; she still wouldn’t look at him. But she spoke again, and although her voice sounded strangled, he understood her this time.
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes, of course. Of course I believe you.” And at that moment he did—but in truth, it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. He brushed his fingers across her slippery cheeks. “Don’t cry anymore, love. How can I kiss you if you keep crying?” She couldn’t smile back, but she let him dry her face with his handkerchief, and then she let him touch his lips to the corners of her mouth.
“I didn’t, I didn’t.”
“I know. Hush, now.” He kissed her with all the tenderness in him, a long, slow, soothing kiss that he broke abruptly when he felt the passion in him rising too fast.
She wiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Why would she say it?” she asked brokenly. And then, “Do you really believe me?”
“Yes, of course. You would never steal, you could never.” To his amazement, she put her arms around his neck, sighing, “Oh, Dev,” and offered him her mouth. He didn’t hesitate. He kissed her hungrily, holding her still with his hand at the back of her head while he coaxed her lips apart and tasted her tear-salty mouth with his tongue. She made a soft, ambiguous sound deep in her throat and took half a step back. He followed. Eyes closed, he found the door with one hand and closed it. He felt her stiffen and try to say his name, but he was kissing her too deeply, the word was muffled. “This is an abomination,” he muttered, dragging off her maid’s cap. Fingers tangled in her hair, he pulled her head back and covered her mouth again, drinking in the wet, intoxicating taste of her. She began to shake uncontrollably. He pulled back to look at her. Her lips were wet and bruised-looking, her eyes cloudy, the lashes spiky from crying. Very slowly, very deliberately, he began to unfasten the front of her gown.
“Oh,” said Lily—all she was capable of saying—for until now it had almost been possible to pretend that they were only kissing, that he was only comforting her. What he was doing now bared the flimsiness of the pretext. She brought her hands to his wrists and tugged—but so feebly it made him smile. And in that moment, that instant when his rapt, intent face softened and his eyes glowed with warmth, the fleeting wisp of a thought crossed her mind that she loved him. He had her dress open now, pushed back over her shoulders, and he was whispering sweet, extravagant praise against her lips. “Devon?” He bent to press moist kisses on her throat while he stroked her breasts. “Devon, I think we should talk.”
He didn’t bother to raise his head, but she heard the low rumble of his chuckle, warm on her skin. For a giddy moment she almost joined him. But then he covered one breast with his hot, open mouth, and she forgot what was amusing. Later, with great care, he drew her arms out of the sleeves of her gown, her shift. And when he hooked his fingers inside all the bunched-up cloth at her waist and yanked down, all she could do was hold on to his shoulders and try not to shake.
Immediately he took her in his arms and held her, just held her. His body was warm and real; when a little of her trepidation subsided, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed close, loving the hard feel of his chest, his solid thighs against hers. All at once he lifted her in his arms. She held on to his neck and buried her face there; all her turmoil returned and the realization struck that if she was ever going to make a choice, not just give in to the loveliest seduction she could imagine, the time was now. She hadn’t noticed that they were moving, so the bed was a soft surprise when he laid her in the center and sank down beside her. She bent her knees, bringing her legs up. He ignored that, but when she crossed her wrists over her chest he said, “Ah, Lily, don’t do that,” and dragged her hands away. Unaccountably, she obeyed. He smiled. Her eyes went wide when he licked his thumbs, touched them to her nipples, and made soft, raspy circles around the hard little tips. Her head fell back against the pillow; she tried not to make a sound, but her breath was coming in quick pants and it wasn’t possible. His mouth replaced one thumb, and his free hand drifted down to her stomach. She couldn’t help it—the soft kneading of his palm there made her moan. Then he slipped his hand between her clenched thighs.
“Devon—wai
t—I think we should wait—” She saw his head move from side to side in the negative, in time to the remorseless flicking of his tongue across her nipple, while his fingers pressed her legs apart with gentle but unrelenting pressure. She grabbed at the collar of his shirt, whether to push him away or hold him she no longer knew. The oddest thought crossed her mind.
“But I still have my shoes on.”
He looked up. While she watched, the scorching intensity of his stare faded and his mouth, wet from kissing her, twitched with amusement. He laughed. Astonished, she found herself smiling back. The sound of his laughter was so free and hearty that she felt as though some gentle balm was being poured over an old wound and she was healing. And she knew that they were going to make love, that there had never been a choice, or she had made it long ago.
“Why is that funny?” she asked. That only set him off again, and this time she laughed with him. They kissed with frantic abandon, while he ripped all the buttons off his shirt and stripped off his breeches. He took her shoes off next, and then her thin, patched stockings. He stared a moment, bemused, at one of her dingy garters, monogrammed in black thread with her initials, L.T. “You need some new clothes,” he told her. Then he stretched out beside her and took her in his arms.
Lily didn’t know what was more exciting, her nakedness or his. “I’ve never done this before,” she confided in a whisper, touching a shy hand to his chest. She knew he thought otherwise.
He didn’t believe her, but it didn’t matter; she could have told him anything at that moment and he would not have cared. He smoothed back strands of dark red hair from her face and kissed her until she was breathing hard, and then he slipped his knee between hers. Her eyes flew open and she tensed. “It’s all right,” he murmured, “I won’t hurt you.”
A sliver of leftover reality flickered in a far corner of her mind, like an old moon on the wane. “And afterward?”
His seeking fingers found her most sensitive place. She gasped. “Afterward?” He caressed her intimately, deeply, while his soft, tugging lips suckled at her breasts, then he said hoarsely, “There’s no afterward. There’s just now.” He slid both hands under her buttocks and sank into her all at once.
She was tight. Hot. Indescribably soft. And so sleek and wet he could have finished then, not waiting for her. Instead he held still inside her, feeling the deep blending of their pulses. She’d turned her face away, into the pillow. He put his lips to her ear and whispered, and delicate shudders shook her, lodging him higher. Her eyes were shut tight. “All right?” he breathed. She made a soft sound, and he began to move in her.
Lily lay quietly, alive to every sensation. The pleasure had faded at the moment he’d come into her, but faint tendrils were returning ever so slowly, curling in her loins and belly like a flower blossoming. She turned her head on the pillow to find him watching her. Self-conscious, she touched his face, stroked her thumbs along the deep lines at the sides of his mouth. His thick, straight hair tickled her cheek; she raked her fingers through it, pulling him nearer. Their mouths joined in a rapacious kiss, and the curling sensation tightened and gathered deep inside. She found his rhythm, and then it seemed to Lily that the mystery was solved. Her body strained, muscles taut, laboring, but inside she felt weightless and airy. And she was rising, floating, flying, her pleasure acute and growing, all but unbearable, an excruciating promise that must be fulfilled now, now—
“Are you with me, love?” Devon asked in a ragged mutter, face buried in her hair.
“Yes, yes,” she answered, although she didn’t quite know what he meant.
He slid his hand between them, to caress her just above their intimate joining. Lily’s head went back and her mouth opened on a long, soft cry. Mistaking her, he plunged deep and hard again and again, holding her in a fierce, possessive grip. His climax was silent and wrenching, a wild unraveling. He lost himself, forgot who he was, staggered by the intensity of the pleasure, and in the aftermath he felt weak and new. Free.
Frightened.
He withdrew abruptly and rolled away. But he took her hand and held it to his lips, not looking at her.
Lily threw her free arm across her forehead and stared up at the candlelight flickering on the ceiling. After a minute her breathing slowed and her pounding heart returned to normal. But her nerves still tingled, her body still felt stripped—skinned—vulnerable. What was this throbbing expectancy? Something had eluded her; that was all she knew. Still, she treasured the closeness, the unspeakable intimacy they’d shared. Had it meant as much to him? She stole a glance at his profile and saw that his eyes were closed. Impossible—he couldn’t be sleeping! All her senses were alert and alive and she was desperate to talk to him, reestablish the contact she could tell they were losing. He still held her hand, but she was afraid he was falling asleep—leaving her alone. “Dev?” she whispered. Saying his name excited her. “That was good, wasn’t it?”
A moment passed in silence. She was about to repeat the question, unable to let it lie, when he answered, without a smile and without looking at her, “Yes.” And that was all.
She felt a treacherous prickling of tears behind her eyes. She lay still for many minutes, listening to his quiet breathing. If he wasn’t asleep, it was clear he didn’t want to talk. Her presence in his bed began to seem more and more unnatural. She waited a little longer, praying he would speak, or move, or do something.
“Well,” she said at last. She sat up, her back to him. “I have to go now.”
Devon opened one eye and laughed, low in his throat, while his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her wrist. He gave a tug and she fell back to the mattress with a little cry. Facing her, securing her in the crook of his arm, he ran a lazy hand across her breasts, back and forth, establishing a soft, abrasive friction. Lily shifted restlessly. As he had before, he wet his fingers, then one of her nipples with them, and afterward he blew on the hard little peak. The icy, shivery sensation took her breath away and made her stiffen. Pleased, he made a circle around her navel with his forefinger, then dug gently into the delicate whorl, tickling her, making her back arch.
She turned her head to look at him. Their lips were almost touching, but he didn’t kiss her. He watched her eyelids widen and then flutter closed when his slow hand dipped lower. He used his leg to pull hers apart and keep them open. He cupped her with his hand, and curled a long forefinger inside her. She arched up again and cried out, something loud and unintelligible. He sleeked his finger in and out, softly, ever so slowly, watching the play of emotions on her damp, flushed face. All at once she set her teeth and stopped breathing at the top of a deep inhale. He took his hand away.
The disbelief, the look of cheated indignation on her face almost made him laugh again. “Ah, Lily, you are so beautiful,” he breathed against her lips, “and I want to be inside you when I make you come.”
Her voice was thready, a little hoarse. “When you what?”
Spreading himself over her, he parted her legs wider and made her put them around his waist. “When I pleasure you,” he explained, his voice not altogether steady either. He drove into her gently, embracing her, feeling the wild thud of her heart against his. Tenderness, new and unused and awkward, rippled through him. He drank in the achingly sweet taste of her mouth, and the wisp of a thought crossed his mind that he never kissed when he made love to women. Lily sighed against his lips, and her breath was warm and moist on his skin, gentle as a blessing. “Dev,” she whispered, so amazed. The straining weight of his body on hers felt perfect. She pulled him closer. They kissed with fierce, greedy passion until the last second. Then they just held on to each other, stunned and humbled, while time stopped and they suffered together the tumultuous recoil of an identical explosion. Lily thought she was lost, that it would never end, and the minuscule piece of herself that was still intact knew a second of panic—no more. But the storm subsided, and time started again, and Devon kissed the tears on her cheeks with such tenderness that her heart cracked
open and she loved him.
She started to tell him, but the words that came out were “Thank you.” His face was beautiful. How she loved him! They turned on their sides together and held each other.
They might have slept. It astounded her that they could make love again, but they did, and again after that. Every time it happened her wonder grew. This was, quite simply, too good to be true. Mere humans could not experience pleasure this profound, this often. This was a kind of happiness she’d thought heaven promised, not lowly earth.
Alongside the awe, the need to tell him everything increased as the long night slipped past. Each time she began, he kissed her into silence, for Devon did not want to talk, or to think. He only wanted to hold her, because she was a woman and it had been a long time for him. She was skin and flesh, warmth and heat and wetness, and he did not want to think about how it felt on the inside—only on the outside. Because she was just a woman. Close to dawn, Lily fell deeply asleep in his arms, and dreamed of him.
She awoke to the sound of rain blowing in gusts against the half-closed windows. The room was pearl-gray and chilly, and she was naked except for a tangle of wrinkled sheet around her ankles. She shivered and sat up. The same sleepy, sweeping glance that told her Devon wasn’t beside her soon spied him across the room, standing by the south, sea-facing window. Fully dressed in brown breeches, coat and waistcoat, white cravat. Watching her.
She smiled. “Dev,” she murmured, wondering how long he had been standing there.
“It’s almost daylight.”
“Yes,” she agreed, puzzled because his voice sounded odd. She wanted him to come to her and touch her.
“It’s time, Lily.”
“Time?”
“For you to go back to your room.”
Lily Page 17
