by Jo Goodman
She turned back to him and discovered his interest was not the wall, but her. “You do not mean to kiss me again, do you?”
“No, but then I did not mean to do so the last time. It just happened.”
“I would not have reckoned you to be so impulsive a gentleman.”
“I am having difficulty coming to terms with it as well.”
Lily’s eyes were made gray by the moonlight, and her complexion was without color. The effect lent her countenance preternatural gravity. “If you will allow that a kiss can be on my terms, then I think we might arrive at some satisfactory arrangement.”
“Terms.” He said it as though testing the word. “You have terms. Why does that not astonish?”
“Perhaps because you comprehend very well that I am not tractable.”
“That must be it.” He inclined his head. “Please, go on. I am frankly fascinated.”
Lily’s mouth flattened briefly, and her eyes reproached him. “I cannot know with certainty, but I think the kissing will be improved if I am permitted to begin it.”
Sherry waited. When nothing more was forthcoming, he said, “You have but the one term? Then by all means, be—”
“I do not want your tongue in my mouth.”
This last was said so rapidly that Sherry required a moment to interpret. “I was not aware that I—”
“You didn’t,” she said quickly. “It is just that you should know at the outset that I don’t want it there. And I won’t put mine in yours either.”
“Apparently I am not as fastidious as you, for I don’t mind in the least.” He held up one hand when she looked as if she meant to admonish him again. “Is there anything else? Perhaps you do not like it that I have been drinking spirits.”
“No, that is of no consequence, though I shouldn’t like it if you were foxed. I told you I acquired a taste for ale at Blue’s.” A half smile played about her lips. “I am not of a mind to kiss you now, so you should not anticipate that I will.”
“But I can anticipate that you mean to do it eventually, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will require your assistance negotiating the route back to the inn, for I am weak-kneed.”
“Fool.”
“Quite possibly.”
He was so cheerful about this assessment of his character that Lily reversed her own decision. She found a foothold for her heels between the stones and stood, then before he backed away, she steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders. She pressed her mouth to his and found at once that this was most sincerely more to her liking.
Lily allowed her lips to soften and tilted her head a fraction. She touched the corner of his mouth so lightly that it was merely a promise that more was to come. She nudged his upper lip with hers. His mouth did not part but hers did. She nibbled at his lip with her own until she arrived at the other corner. Was he smiling? she wondered.
She drew back a fraction and regarded Sheridan. Turned away from the moonlight, his features were cast in shadow. His eyes were so dark as to be black, but nothing in his look suggested a predatory intent. There was curiosity there, and amusement. He was completely at his ease waiting her out.
She faltered a bit as she bent toward him. “Perhaps you will put your hands at my waist.”
“Of course. There?”
Lily nodded. She felt the placement of every one of his fingers through her muslin gown. His hands were softer than hers and more elegantly tapered. She bit her nails, sometimes to the quick, while all of his were buffed and neatly trimmed. “You do not mind that I am kissing you?”
“No. I am perhaps too tolerant in this regard, but I do not think I will alter my views just yet.”
This time when Lily kissed him it had all the sweetness of her smile. She worked her mouth over his, paying particular attention to his lower lip, worrying it gently between hers. The tip of her tongue ran along the line of it, but she did not thrust it in his mouth.
“You will think I am splitting hairs,” she whispered against his lips. She flicked her tongue and it caught the upper curve of his mouth. “But I find I want the taste of you again.”
Sherry felt a shudder begin at the base of his spine and slip all the way up to his shoulders. His voice was husky. “It seems I can adapt.”
Lily wet her own mouth with the tip of her tongue then laid it gently over his. She felt his fingers tighten at her waist, not so firmly that there was discomfort, but enough to let her know he was not unaffected. Still, it was puzzling because he was not returning any measure of the kiss.
“You wish me to stop?” she asked.
“No. Does it seem that I do?”
“You’re not kissing me back.”
“I didn’t know if it was permissible under the terms of the arrangement.”
“Of course, once I begin the thing I am all for it.”
“You might have been clearer on that count.”
Lily did not explain that except for the scoundrels and her own father, she had never initiated any kiss. It did not seem likely that Sheridan would believe that confession, not after she had set herself on her knees before him.
“Lily?” Sherry lifted his head a fraction when he felt her entire frame stiffen. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Not nothing. I do not think you are ready for me to—”
Lily lifted her hands from his shoulders and plunged her fingers into his hair, cupping the back of his head to hold him steady. She slanted her mouth across his and felt his surprise, then his response.
His lips moved over hers, tugging at first, then sucking. She felt the dampness of his mouth, the rough edge of his tongue, but he never pressed more deeply than to trace the outline of her lips. A delicious frisson slipped under the surface of her skin, and moments later she was aware of a blossom of heat between her breasts.
This was better, Lily thought, infinitely better than anything in her experience. His teeth did not grind against hers, and he didn’t mash her lips until they were bloodless. He did not bear down on her, did not force her mouth open. Whatever he did to her was what she had already done, so that his kiss was like an echo of her own. There was no coercion, no force, merely gentle persuasion.
Her fingers curled lightly in his hair. She brushed the tapering ends just above the collar of his frock coat and felt his breath hitch. It was as if he stole her breath as well, and Lily wondered how it was possible that she had not moved but had surely lost her balance.
It was Sherry who broke the kiss. He could no longer recall the terms of their arrangement, or if he’d ever agreed to them. He set Lily from him, drew a steadying breath, and said in mildly mocking accents, “Perhaps we need to clearly define the parameters of kissing. Duration. Frequency.” He paused. “Intensity.”
Lily nodded dumbly.
“But not at the moment,” he said. “I am for returning to the inn and my bed.” Sherry watched her pale eyes grow wider; fear made her blink. He realized that if he was not careful he would step into it again. “To the inn and my bed to sleep.” When this explanation did nothing to allay her suspicions, he added, “Alone. At least I will be alone. You will be with the lads.”
“Oh.” Lily wrapped her arms about her middle. “Then you will require nothing else from me?”
“No. And, Lily, I did not require that you kiss me. At any time.”
She flushed a little. “I should also like to go back.”
“Of course.” He removed his frock coat and laid it across her shoulders. “Don’t argue. It is plain to see that you are shivering.”
She was, but it was not entirely from exposure to the chilled air. Lily thought he probably understood and was grateful when he made no mention of it. “Thank you.”
“That was not so difficult, was it?” When she shook her head, several heavy curls slipped out from under her lace cap. Without thinking, Sherry reached out and removed the modest covering altogether. He pressed it into her hand whe
n she held it out for it. “It is an affront to nature that you hide your hair. There is no one here to see and at the inn, no one who knows you.”
Lily was so taken aback that she had to hurry to catch up with him. He shortened his stride once she was at his elbow. “What did you mean by that?”
“Merely that I would be in favor of a law that would make it a crime for you to cover that extraordinary hair.”
“No, not that. The other thing you said.”
“You can’t have mistaken my meaning. Or did you think that it had escaped my notice that you’re in hiding?”
“But—” She broke off when he paused in his step long enough to cock an eyebrow at her. Bowing her head, Lily studied the ground as she walked. “It is not what you think.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I am not a criminal.”
“By your own admission you are a practiced thief, so it is disingenuous of you to proclaim your innocence. Nevertheless, that is not why you are hiding.”
She decided it was better not to provoke him into putting the whole of it before her. If he did suspect the truth—and he could not possibly comprehend it in its entirety—her need for safety would still require that she lie, and she knew herself to be oddly reluctant to do that. She would also have to run. She could own that it held as little appeal as lying.
The best she could hope for was that he would lose interest in her—in every manner that such a thing was possible.
“What is it?” he asked, not breaking stride this time.
“Hmm?”
“You sighed. Rather heavily, I might add. Frustration or fatigue?”
It was disappointment, but the Grand Inquisitor himself could not have wrested that from her. “Fatigue,” she said. There were lies, then there were lies worth telling.
And there were consequences for both, she realized, as Sheridan swung her easily into his arms. She sighed again.
“Frustration,” he said.
Indeed it was.
Granville Hall was approached from the southeast by the route that skirted the lake. The boys had chosen to make this last leg of the journey perched atop the trunks and valises on the roof, and now they were exuberantly pointing out their discoveries.
“Look!” Midge cried. “There are fish in the lake! Did ye see that one jump, Pinch? I’ll wager they are man-eating fish. Do ye think there will be a moat? Oh, I ’ope there is a moat.”
“A tower!” Dash was up on his feet, straddling a bag and pointing to the distant house. The sun winked in one of the windows. “There! The ghost. I feel sure of it.”
Pinch grabbed Dash by the back of his jacket and pulled him down. “Mr. Pipkin will ’ave yer guts for garters if ye don’t sit.”
Dash sat, but he was in no way subdued. “It’s as grand as the Opera House, Pinch, just as ye said. We’re in for a bloody good time o’ it, I tell ye. A bloody good time.”
Below them in the carriage, Lily offered Sheridan an apologetic, if somewhat guilty, mien. “We have all been speculating about the house, you see. We made a game of it to pass the time.”
Sherry glanced up at the roof. “They are sure to be disappointed. There is no moat.”
“Midge is the only one set on a moat. The lake will do wonderfully well for him. I cannot say how he will take the news that there are no man-eating fish, but I believe that eventually he will find it a good thing.”
“What about your own curiosity? I notice you have not looked out.”
“You wouldn’t mind? I confess, were you not here, I would have my face pressed to the window in the same fashion the boys did.”
“By all means.” He gestured toward the door. “You will have a good view of the hall when we make the next turn in the road.”
Lily sat forward on the leather bench and braced herself with one hand on the curve of the seat and the other on the door handle. She was leaning toward the smudged glass just as the carriage began taking the slow, wide curve.
There was no rosy cast to the sky that could lend the pale ochre stones of Granville Hall more color, but it was of no consequence. The grandeur of the home was set first with its positioning on a verdant rise just beyond the lake. Like the facets of a yellow diamond, every window exposed to the southern view winked sunlight, and the three squared-off towers that were visible from this approach stood splendidly taller than the rest of the house, drawing the eye and supporting the setting.
“Are there ghosts?” Lily asked.
“I’m afraid not. Is it Midge who wants ghosts?”
“Dash. Besides the moat, Midge is set on a dungeon. Granville does not look as if it might have one.”
“No,” Sherry said. “No dungeon.”
“Then you will have no hapless fellow manacled to a wall.”
“Only if the housekeeper is having words again with the second butler.”
Lily chuckled. Her gaze dropped away from the towers to the surrounding park. There were terraced gardens from the crushed-gravel drive all the way to the lake. Rows of neatly trimmed box hedges and topiary lined the walking paths. Openings in the rows were an invitation to step into one of the gardens where rosebuds, in their seemingly infinite variety of textures, fragrances, and shades, were beginning to bloom.
As the carriage made its slow arcing ascent to the house and passed the gardens, Lily pressed her palm to the glass. She stared out for a long moment, then closed her eyes and secured the memory. It would come to her again when she had need for it. Time would soften the colors but not change them. She would be able to feel the downy side of rose petals against her skin and know the individual scents or the redolence of the whole.
With these last memories captured in her mind’s eye, Lily sat back. “Will you not also have a turn at the window, my lord?”
Sherry shook his head. He did not think he had ever seen his home more beautifully rendered than through Lily’s eyes. Like her, he had also secured a memory, but his was of her hand splayed against the glass, the long, shapely fingers perfectly white at the tip with the pressure she applied. He would always know reverence by the fixed expression of Lily’s profile, the parting of her mouth, the lift of her lashes and tilt of her eyes, the way her slim nose flared slightly when she drew in a hushed breath.
This is what he had imagined when he decided to leave London. This is what he had come home to.
“How is it you ever leave?” she asked.
“Duties.”
“I suppose you have a great many.”
“I have no idea. I have no sense how to measure them. They just are.”
Lily considered this. She suspected he was not the sort of man to complain under the weight of duty. “They are not a burden to you then?”
“A burden? They are the responsibility of privilege. One does not accept one without the other.”
“Truly?”
Sherry did not miss the cynical inflection. “I cannot speak for what others do, but it is my way.”
She smiled a little. “Of course.”
“Did I sound pompous just then?”
Lily worried her lower lip between her teeth. “A tad, yes, but I have always supposed it is one of the privileges of rank.” When he offered no opinion save for a soft grunt, Lily bit her lip harder to moderate her humor. She thought it prudent to change the subject. “Who will be in residence?”
“No one save the servants.”
“Well,” she said, not troubling herself to conceal her surprise. “I suppose that means there will be no end of rooms for the boys to hide in. They will be glad to hear it. It is Pinch’s fondest wish to avoid notice of the housekeeper, first butler, and the head cook until he is quite in his dotage.”
Sherry laughed. “What about my notice?”
“Oh, you must not worry that any of us will ever be underfoot, my lord. Once we are assigned our duties, I suspect we will never cross paths. You have back stairs, do you not, for the servants to use?”
“Yes, but—”
> “Then you will not be troubled by our presence.”
“I see. It seems you have considered it all carefully.”
“I have tried. I had hoped you would explain to me last night the manner in which we might serve at Granville, but I collect that you will leave that decision to your housekeeper or steward. They will know best how we should be employed, and I should not have pressed you in that regard.”
Sherry tipped back the brim of his hat and regarded Lily with a hooded glance that was at once cool and considered. “So you do not think the boys will really shirk their duties.”
“No, my lord. They will get up to tricks, I suspect, but they will work very hard for you. Please do not think they won’t.”
“And you, Miss Rose? If the scullery requires a maid for cleaning dishes and scrubbing pots, will my cook find you in a cupboard reading Madame de Staël’s latest novel?”
“No. I mean to do whatever is required.”
Sherry nodded slowly, in perfect tempo with the gradual halting of the carriage. “It is what I hoped for, then,” he said. “The lads will be set up in the schoolroom, and you will see that no matter what tricks they get up to, no one is harmed.”
“But—”
Sherry threw open the door of the carriage, pausing just once before he descended. He fixed Lily with his implacable glance. “Whatever is required, Miss Rose. You said it yourself. And what I require is a governess for the scoundrels.”
Eight
Pinch’s gaze wandered to the bank of windows in the schoolroom for a third time before Lily surrendered. She closed the book she was reading from with enough force to garner Pinch’s guilty attention, then took the sting from her reproving glance by announcing they would continue their lessons out of doors.
“Science, I think,” she told them. “There is a good breeze today. I believe we can do our wind and water experiments.”
“Boat racing, you mean?” Midge asked, excitement bringing him out of his chair. “Oh, please say it is to be boat racing!”
Lily rose to her feet, her mouth set primly. “Water displacement and buoyancy. Wind direction and speed. Perhaps barometric pressure.”
