Jordan Summers - Gothic Passions (Ellora's Cave).htm

by Gothic Passions (Ellora's Cave) (lit)

  He dressed in a flash, years of practice coming into play. Lily watched Richard slip through the window, silence followed as he went over the edge. She listened to hear his footsteps but none came, which seemed odd, but not necessarily unusual. Richard wasn’t like other men. He did things with an inborn flair and finesse. She rose and gathered her gown, quickly dressing, then laid back down.

  The room smelled musky from their lovemaking. A sliver of blood stained her sheets. She stared down at the spot beside her, trying to figure out what excuse she would use with Tildy. Not that she had to give her friend one, but since they’d grown close through the years, Lily knew Tildy wouldn’t let the stain go without an explanation.

  Perhaps she could tell her she’d injured herself with the letter opener. Lily giggled as she imagined Tildy’s disbelieving expression. Her body continued to tingle from the bed play with Richard. She’d always wondered what the fascination was about making love, now she knew. Some matrons made sex sound like a duty one must perform. They’d gone so far as to suggest a proper young woman, when pressed upon by a man, should lie back and think of England.

  From their conversations Lily got the distinct impression, the act was unpleasant. Tonight with Richard had been anything but. She smiled and snuggled deeper into the linens. Richard’s distinct scent lingered, surrounding her. The scrape of a door drew her attention from her wayward thoughts.

  *

  Lord Archibald Devlin stumbled into his home near dawn after using the latchkey to gain entrance. He’d spent most of the night at Caulfield’s gaming. He was in a foul mood from having lost more blunt and seeing his daughter’s fiancé partake of Rose, who should have been his pound of flesh for the evening.

  Was it not bad enough he had to give his only daughter to the fiend, did Richard have to take his night’s entertainment, too? Archibald scoffed. He’d promised Lily to Lord Nathaniel Martins, not that she’d known until recently, but the change in plans angered Martins enough to call in Devlin’s gambling markers. He should kill the bastard—both of them, that way he’d take care of two problems, Lyon and Martins at the same time.

  Everything would have been so much easier if Lily had just married Martins. The man could be controlled, shaped, molded into a financial partner, unlike Lyon who could not be bought. Devlin wavered as he walked to the library. He threw back the door with a bang and made his way to the tantalus, removing a bottle of brandy. He poured some into a glass, sloshing it over the sides.

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

  He brought the pungent liquid to his lips and tipped the glass back. Fire burned down his throat as he swallowed the amber brew. He inhaled, his nostrils singeing from the brandy.

  “I ought to tell her exactly what kind of man she’s marrying,” he grumbled. “Would serve Lyon right and maybe, just maybe change her mind about marrying him.” It was his last chance, last hope.

  He swayed, the room swimming before his eyes, then refocused. Devlin refilled his glass, setting the bottle down with a clank, continuing to mumble to himself. “Thinks he can do anything, because of paying off my debts,” he snorted. “I’ll show him… happy marriage… ha! By the time I’m finished talking, Lily won’t want anything to do with him and my plans will be back on track.”

  Archibald took another drink, then grabbed the bottle and staggered for the library door. His face twisted into a drunken sneer as he made his way down the corridor and up the stairs to Lily’s bedroom. The higher he climbed the better his spirits became. He traveled down the wing, bumping into the wall. His brandy continued to spill from his glass, onto the floor and his breeches.

  “Damn, wasting good Napoleon.”

  He reached Lily’s bedroom a few moments later, his eyes trying to focus in the dark. He was doing the right thing. He knew it. Devlin tapped the bottle against the wooden door. It clanked loudly in the silence of the night. He heard not a sound from inside the room. Archibald hit the door a little harder, this time shattering the brandy bottle.

  “Damn! See what he made me do.” He leaned up against the door, nursing the remaining liquid in his glass.

  A voice called out. “Father is that you?”

  Archibald cleared his throat after taking another pull from the glass. “Open the door, gel. I’ve got to speak with you.”

  Lily slipped the latch and opened the door. Her father swayed and almost fell inside at her feet, catching himself at the last moment on the frame. A fume of brandy surrounded him, causing her to gag. Lily’s stomach rolled as she took a step back and went to stoke the dying fire in the hearth.

  “I must tell you something.”

  The flames grew brighter, casting a warm glow on the two chairs placed in front of the hearth. “Please come sit down, Father.” Lily lit the candelabra nearby and took a seat in one of the chairs.

  Archibald stumbled forward, his feet dragging against the carpet. Brandy swirled and sloshed out with each step. Lily cursed inwardly and waited for him to reach her. He plopped down in the seat opposite and eyed her for a moment over the rim of the glass. It was difficult not to compare his character to that of Richard’s. Lily’s heart swelled at the thought of her fiancé—her lover.

  In a week’s time they’d be married and her father could find himself another caretaker. She was finished. Tonight she’d experienced something so gloriously precious, that not even her father’s drunken state could ruin it.

  “What I’ve got to say, you’re not going to like, but it’s got to be done.”

  “Is it about my missing dowry?”

  “Dowry?” He paused and met her eye. “No, no not that, the dowry’s been gone for years.” He waved his hand dismissively as if the fact that he’d spent her dowry meant nothing.

  Every muscle in Lily’s body tensed. She knew without a doubt she wasn’t going to like what her father had to say, but had no choice other than to listen. She inclined her head for him to proceed.

  “Tonight I was at Caulfield’s.” He slurred.

  Lily’s lips thinned.

  “Don’t pull a face on me, daughter. I’m not the one in the wrong here.” He waved his hand in front of him sending brandy dripping onto the carpet.

  “Father, what are you talking about?” Lily tried to hide the bitterness in her voice without success.

  “You won’t feel so haughty in a moment.” Archibald’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

  Lily was tempted to hold out her hand to push him back for fear he’d topple onto his nose. She decided in his present state he wouldn’t feel it anyway so there was no need. Lily took a steadying breath, trying to brace herself for his news.

  “You think that man of yours is so perfect, so much better than Martins.” Spittle shot from his mouth and landed on her robe. Lily curled her lip in disgust. “Well let me tell you he isn’t.”

  She wiped the spittle away, her stomach knotting into a tight fist. “What are you talking about Father?”

  “You think once you marry, he’ll be true, but that’s not so.” Archibald took another swig. “He’s like all the others of his ilk. They marry because they have to, not because they want to. Everything boils down to money. You mean no more to him than a purchase, at least with Martins there may have eventually been feelings of fondness.”

  Lily’s heart pounded, as if the hounds of hell nipped at her heels. “Why are you telling me this Father?” Her hands twisted in her robe, her knuckles turning white under the pressure.

  “Don’t think this arrangement is made of love, gel. There is no such thing,” he barked.

  “Not even you and mama?” Lily’s eyes began to sting as tears threatened to spill. It was one thing knowing the truth, but hearing it brought home the reality.

  Archibald took a deep breath, his blue eyes softening for a moment. “Your mother was an exception, very rare in this day, but it didn’t stop me from seeking others to warm my bed.”

  Lily’s body trembled. The fire cr
ackled beside them. Her mind raced back to the moment by another fire, Richard had proposed. Warmth lit her heart and spread throughout her body. She held that memory dear, refusing to release it. He’d professed… what had he professed?

  “Get to the point, Father,” she bit out brittlely.

  He glared at her. “You were bought and paid for, plain and simple.”

  Lily felt the blood drain from her face. “What?” Her gaze darted to the bed across the room, where only an hour ago Richard had filled her. Newfound warmth pooled in her belly, prodding her nipples until they grew taut.

  “I told you that a sacrifice had to be made to save the family.” He pointed to her, snapping Lily back from her musings. “You, my dear, were that sacrifice.”

  Suddenly Lily felt cold. She rubbed her hands along her arms willing warmth into her body. “What do you mean? You are talking in riddles.”

  “I mean, Lord Lyon paid off half our debts for the privilege of marrying you. The other half will be covered after the wedding. He simply dressed up his intentions in a prettier package.” Archibald sat back, staring at the empty glass in his hand. “He’s been fucking a whore named Rose on the side and he’s not likely to stop after you’re wed.” He shrugged. “I caught him with her tonight, not that it matters. It’s a man’s right to seek his pleasures where he may.”

  Lily’s stomach rolled again, churning her insides. There must be some mistake. Her father’s next words erased the last glimmer of hope from her heart.

  “You had better get used to how things are in the world. At least with Martins his intentions weren’t hidden behind a façade of righteous nobility.”

  “What about our fortune?” she choked out the question past the lump in her throat, even though she knew the answer from examining the books.

  Archibald’s face looked pained for a moment before it hardened once more. “Gone.” He paused. “All gone.”

  Lily sat stone still, refusing to meet her father’s gaze, focusing on the flames instead. It would have hurt less if he’d struck her. In a way he had, just not with his fists. She heard him rise out of the chair. Paying off their debts for the privilege of marrying her was one thing, business in wedding arrangements were common, but to lie and claim she was the only woman in his life was quite another. Richard hadn’t even had the decency to look away, when he’d done so.

  He never told you he loved you, the little voice inside her head whispered as if she needed reminding.

  Lily’s heart skipped a beat and pressure closed in around her chest. She gasped desperately for breath. She heard the latch slip and the door close as her father left her room. She glanced up at the closed door, unable to move. Pain seared through her, threatening to overwhelm her sanity. She’d known from the start he was a rake. Had known and chose to look the other way, believing that he’d become reformed by her love. She’d even allowed him to make love to her tonight, giving herself freely.

  She choked back a laugh. Her eyes stared unseeing. She’d been such a fool. He’d probably considered her a dim-cap for being so fanciful. Lily’s stomach lurched, emptying its contents onto the floor. She bit back a cry, her hand flying to her mouth.

  Her mind raced through possibilities, only one seemed open to her, even though the act would bring scandal upon her family name. Dare she call the wedding off? Lily saw no alternative. She could not abide by the lies.

  He lied to his friend, he told you as much. Why are you surprised? Then it hit Lily, she and Richard had been discussing her the other night in the carriage. That could be the only logical explanation and like a true dim-cap she’d given him advice. What a laugh he must have had when he drove off. Had he planned on telling her the truth tonight? Was that why he hesitated removing his clothing? Anger surged through Lily, the likes of which she’d never experienced. Her entire being seethed with fury.

  Tomorrow she would call upon Richard Sebastian Stuart, the sixth Earl of Lyon and announce the dissolution of their pending union. It mattered not that she’d never make a match thanks to her father’s loss of her dowry. After Lord Lyon, she was through with rakes, through with men.

  Her father would have to come up with some other way to pay off the debts he’d incurred. Need be she’d become a governess. Lily wasn’t averse to work. In the end it would be for the best. She’d almost made the mistake of marrying for love, a mistake that would have cost her dearly in the end, like her poor mother.

  Luckily her father had opened her eyes to the deceit in time for her to remedy the problem. She would not be marrying Richard, Martins, or any man for that matter. Decision made, Lily rose from the chair. She grasped the bell pull and summoned Tildy to help her clean the mess in her room. Moments later a sleepy Tildy arrived, tidied the mess and helped Lily slip out of her soiled clothing.

  Lily changed into a clean gown and slipped beneath the covers of her bed. Tomorrow would be a taxing day, requiring all of her strength. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the ache in her chest, which was easier said than done.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning Lily awoke to red, puffy eyes and ultra pale skin. Tildy entered her room and gasped.

  “My lady, you must rest. I fear you’re coming down with something. It is well past the luncheon hour.”

  Lily stared at Tildy for a few moments waiting for her words to register in her foggy mind. She was numb inside, unable to feel even the tiniest fragment of pain. She glanced out the window. The sun peeked through the heavy navy curtains. Normally a day like today would lift Lily’s spirits greatly, but not now, not ever again. She pushed back the coverlet and reached for her robe.

  Tildy gasped, her gaze locked onto the blood staining the linens.

  Lily grimaced. “I injured myself last night.” The maid’s eyes widened. “‘Tis of no import, I’m fine. Tildy, please run me a bath and ready my travel gown.”

  Tildy frowned, her gaze narrowing before bustling off to do as she was bid.

  Thirty minutes later Lily sat in a hot bath with a sponge in her hands. The steaming water felt good against her aching muscles, releasing some of the tension from her exhausted body. She’d considered every word her father had uttered and came to the same conclusion she’d reached last night.

  She squeezed out the sponge, water sluiced down her chest and over her sensitive nipples. They beaded instantly. Lily closed her eyes against a moan, her body remembering the way Richard had suckled and laved her puckered crests. She soaked the sponge again and repeated her previous action. Lily gasped, as her nipples budded. She circled the sponge around her peaks, rasping first one then the other. Her body heated. The ache she’d always felt when around Richard sprang to life between her thighs. Last night he’d driven his cock so deep inside her core, he’d shattered her need, yet today it was back with a vengeance.

  Lily sat back, her lips parting on their own accord. She listened, straining to hear footsteps in the hall, signaling Tildy’s arrival. No sound came. The fire in the hearth warmed the room, lending heat to her already inflamed skin. Pain gripped her heart like a vise as her body remembered Richard’s skilled touch. Lily lowered the sponge to the place that he’d so lovingly ministered to last night. When the material scraped her hidden pearl, the air rushed from Lily’s lungs. Blood began to pound in her head, drowning out all sound. She pressed down, sending rioting sensations through her body.

  She moved over the tender flesh, her fingers tangling in the curls. Lily’s breath seized for a moment as the familiar pressure coiled. She sped up her movements, her lungs heaving in rhythm with her hand. Every muscle felt as if it were stretched taut, ready to break. A moan passed her lips, as shivering darts of pleasure lanced through her. She wriggled trying to push herself over the edge. Her nipples jutted proudly on the surface of the water. A buzzing noise started in the back of her mind and Lily cried out jackknifing up in the bath as her climax slammed into her.

  In her mind she could see Richard’s massive cock sinking into her moist opening. Mah
ogany hair pulling free from his queue, as she burrowed her fingers in his silky strands. His pink tongue darting out, wetting his bottom lip a second before he claimed her mouth. The coppery-mint taste of his kisses as he probed her recesses. His firm lips latched onto her proud peaks. Lily blinked trying to dispel the images.

  There was no use thinking about such things, not after today, not ever. Holding firm to her resolve, she would go to his house on Jermyn Street, no matter how inappropriate and speak with him whether he cared to or not. Tildy entered a short time later and helped Lily dress.

  “Has my father surfaced from his apartments yet?” Lily asked, unconcerned whether he had or not. She would not be swayed from the path she’d chosen.

  “No, my lady. He called for a tray, which was taken up about an hour or so ago and then asked not to be disturbed.”

  Lily stared at her maid. “Very well, if he rises later and asks where I’m at, tell him I’m going to settle the business arrangement we spoke of last night.”

  Tildy frowned, her brows furrowing.

  “He’ll know of what I speak,” Lily said firmly, then slipped on her pelisse. “Have a hackney waiting out front for me in ten minutes.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Her voice pleaded.

  Lily paused. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

  “Does this concern Lord Lyon?”

  Lily grimaced.

  Tildy gasped. “He seemed like a nice gentleman. I mean he did propose and all even after he found out you had no dowry.” She bit her lip and reached for her handkerchief.

  Lily swallowed hard, fighting back fresh tears. “I’m afraid appearances have deceived us both.”

  “Oh, my lady,” Tildy sniffed. “Are you certain?”

  Lily nodded.

  “Well then, he deserves to be horse whipped, he does.” Tildy wiped at her eyes, then bobbed a curtsy and left the room.

  Lily glanced once more in her mirror, rechecking her appearance. Her gown was of deep blue muslin, threaded with silver ribbons to add sparkle. It had been designed for soirees, but would not stand out too much in the light of day. She wore a matching set of silver jewels in her ears and around her throat, the glowing color setting off the fire in her eyes. Slippers of the same hue wrapped her feet comfortably.