A Season to Be Sinful

by Jo Goodman

  Sherry’s brows lifted a fraction. “Do you know there is an element to your reasoning that puts me quite off my balance?”

  She looked at him pointedly. “Truly? Then mayhap you should not be sitting like that.”

  It was then that Sherry realized he was balancing himself precariously on the back two legs of the Queen Anne chair. He had no doubt that it was the vehemence of Lily’s argument that made him rear back. Grinning, he dropped it to all fours. “You are kind to warn me. I might have prostrated myself at your feet.”

  Lily snorted lightly. “Fool.”

  Sherry waved her back to her chair. “Come, I will teach you a song, then I will play for you.”

  Judging his offer to be sincere, and knowing he meant to put a period to her speculation regarding the family member he would attempt to avoid, Lily acquiesced graciously.

  He taught her a simple country air on the pianoforte, playing the left hand while she worked on the melody. Hesitation made her fingers clumsy at first, but with each passage that was learned and memorized, Lily’s confidence grew. Delighted with the music they made, she laughed as the last notes faded away and turned to Sherry in expectation that he would join her. His look made it clear that he was entertaining a wholly different idea.

  “You said you would play for me.” She placed one hand on his chest as he began to lean toward her. “Sherry?”

  “Later. I find myself inspired by music of another kind.”

  She moaned softly just before his lips covered hers. They were on their feet together and moving toward the chaise. Neither one had suggested it, but the thought was communicated between them just the same.

  Sunlight streamed in the window and laid its translucent brilliance across Lily’s hair, making it seem as though it were woven through with fine filaments of copper and bronze. Fire in the color made it like molten metal. Sherry dipped his fingers in her hair and cradled her head.

  He kissed her. First on the mouth, then just at the corner of it. His thumbs grazed her cheeks. His lips touched her jaw, her chin, then settled in the curve of her neck. He sipped her skin and pushed at the neckline of her dress, widening it enough so that it slipped over one shoulder. He kissed her pale skin and traced the line of her collarbone.

  Lily trembled under his light touch. She recognized the depth of his concentration, understood it was very much the same when he played. He was learning her like he would a passage of music, a particularly difficult piece, playing it through first, then again . . . and again. It was more than memorizing the notes that he did; it was learning the nuanced language it evoked.

  And with each successive pass of his fingers, what he was able to draw out was something of himself.

  Sitting on the landing of the main staircase late at night, this is what she heard when he played. She’d felt it also, but not quite like this. His music had floated up to her from the salon, had settled like a mist around her, but now he was making it as essential as breathing.

  She helped him lower her gown and muslin shift over her breasts. She moved higher on the chaise so the beam of sunlight slanted across her skin. His eyes darkened, then his gaze fell. She stroked her breast, cupped the underside, and arched her spine, offering herself up to him.

  He was as greedy as she’d hoped he would be. The flush of pleasure was washing over her even before his mouth surrounded her shell pink aureole. The rough edge of his tongue made the nipple bud. Heat pooled between her thighs. Her fingers scrabbled in the fabric of her dress and began to gather it up. He worked the buttons of his flies.

  She was frantic for him by the time he was inside her, and she cried out softly, frustrated when his tempo changed.

  Chuckling deeply, wickedly, he nibbled at her lips. “You did not expect that, did you?”

  “I thought I knew the piece you were playing.” That made him smile. He was beautiful when he smiled, she thought, and nearly told him so. It would embarrass him; knowing that kept her quiet. Lily smoothed his brow with her fingertips and flicked back a heavy strand of dark hair that had fallen forward. “I could not imagine this,” she said quietly. “I could not imagine you. No, do not say anything. It is for me to say this time. I love you, Alexander Henry Grantham. What? Did you think I did not remember your name? Alexander. It is an impressive name. It has an impressive pedigree.” She laid her palm against his cheek and ran her thumb along the line of his mouth. “Still, I like Sherry. I have never tasted it, you know. Sherry. Is it as smooth and sweet as I have always thought?” When he kissed her, she murmured agreeably against his lips that it was.

  “Say it again,” he said, seating himself more deeply inside her.

  “Your kiss is as smooth—” She stopped because he was shaking his head.

  “No,” he said. “Say the other.”

  “Alexander Hen—” Again she stopped. He’d made another small negative shake. Then Lily understood. “I love you,” she said. “Can you have doubted it? I have loved you since the scoundrels pinched your handkerchief, and you did not mind in the least.”

  “Ahh. If I had but known you were so taken by that, I would have let them make off with the silver.”

  She was going to warn him that they still might, but he stirred in her again and the words were simply lost to her. In mere moments it was as if they had never spoken. It had only been the brief lull at the end of one movement. Now it was the beginning of another.

  She let him take the lead. As he had at the pianoforte, he guided her hand through the motions first, then added his own. Her sex felt swollen and heavy. Ripe. She raised her pelvis and rubbed against him. She could feel her own dampness and knew he felt it too. His nostrils flared; his lips parted. The sense of fullness that he gave her was exquisite, the heat something she was not certain she could bear for long.

  He did not simply make her want him but made her want more of him. Her hips jerked, ground, and she squeezed her eyes closed as she felt herself being lifted. It was only pleasure that made her rise. His hands were not under her but holding hers. She pressed her heels into the chaise, groaning in frustration when she could find no purchase against the sateen fabric.

  They adapted, changing positions, turning so that she was still under him but with her bottom raised. He knelt behind her, holding her hips, thrusting as deeply into her as he had before. Her skirt bunched around her hips, and the hard points of her nipples rubbed against the smooth chaise. Lily jammed her knuckles against her mouth. She heard the change in Sherry’s breathing, the roughness of it as he pressed her harder.

  It was a crescendo of pure joy that he evoked this time, each note of pleasure more deeply resonant than the one before it. Just as she had known would happen, what he was able to evoke in her became part of him. When his rhythm changed to one that was both quick and shallow, she thrust back harder, urging him toward the same release she had known.

  Sherry did not surrender to the urge to shout, though considerable effort was required. It was just as difficult not to fall forward and crush Lily beneath his weight. The familiar lethargy that came in the aftermath of pleasure was upon him quickly.

  Easing himself out of her, he repaired his clothing and lay down beside her. He helped her right her drawers and shift, then pushed at her dress so that it covered her thighs. The chaise was narrow, and each time their knees bumped they were in danger of falling off.

  “We are like two magnets facing each other at the north end,” he said. “Turn on your other side.”

  “And give you my south end again? I know what you did the last time it was presented to you.”

  He did give a shout of laughter then. Almost immediately, he felt Lily’s palm clamp across his mouth. It did not sober him, but it muffled him well enough. “Alukdthadurr.”

  Lily frowned. “What?” Although she asked the question, she refused to lift her hand even a fraction to hear the answer while Sherry’s shoulders were still shaking.

  “Alukdthadurr.”

  “You must compose yours
elf, m’lord.”

  He struggled manfully, though he thought her unappreciative of his efforts. Her mouth remained primly flattened, and the manner in which she eyed him was a look she usually reserved for the scoundrels. When she judged his laughter had subsided enough, she raised her palm. He said the words quickly, lest she changed her mind. “I locked the door.”

  “What does that signify? If you bring so much attention down on us, it will not matter that no one can get in. Everyone will imagine the very worst.”

  “The worst? Surely not.”

  Lily gave his shoulders a small shove, not enough to dislodge him from the chaise but enough to make him reconsider the notion of lying there long. “Play for me, Sherry. I want to hear your music in this room.” Blushing slightly, she added, “Your other music.”

  He grinned and dropped a kiss on her parted lips. “Very well, but stay just as you are. It will inspire me.”

  Lily thought she liked the sound of that. “It is a very pretty compliment, m’lord.”

  Sherry sat at the pianoforte and prepared himself by playing a series of scales, then slipped easily into a Mozart piece that he had committed to memory years ago. He did not know what had inspired Mozart, but the exquisitely complex melody, the intricacy of the fingering, and the brilliance of every measure did indeed remind him of Lily.

  From time to time as he played, he glanced in her direction. She never moved. Lying on her side, her head supported by an elbow, one knee drawn up higher than the other, she might have been arranged in just such a fashion for the pleasure of a painter. What artist, he wondered, would have been able to capture the brilliant play of sunlight in her hair or the incandescent gleam where it rested on her white shoulder? Vermeer? Titian? How would it be possible to give full expression to the essence of her on canvas? Which master could do justice to her singularly splendid eyes and bring to mind the harmony of mystery and frankness that existed there?

  She was an exquisitely complex piece of work and, to Sherry’s thinking, worth devoting a lifetime to appreciating.

  He set his palms on his knees when he finished playing. The final notes still echoed softly in his ears, and he waited for them to fall silent before he turned to her. When he did, he saw that her eyes were luminous with unshed tears but that there was no aspect of sadness in the cast of her features. On the contrary, she looked radiantly happy.

  “Will you marry me, Lily?” Sherry watched her blink, then become still. What was in her face remained frozen, but there was no longer any joy behind it. “I had thought to say it better,” he said quietly. “I had other words, prettier ones, in my head that would explain how you have come to be my heart, how I recognize you as both separate from me and a part of me, and how I cannot imagine my life with you outside of it. Selfish, is it not, to insist you know all the ways I will benefit.” His faint smile held more in the way of mockery than humor. “Are all offers of marriage made in that same vein, I wonder? I have never made one before.”

  “I don’t know.” Lily’s voice was husky and not much above a whisper. “I have never received one before.”

  He nodded slowly. “I cannot even say where one goes for advice on the matter. And it begs the question: what is the measure of a good proposal? Can the woman’s reply be the only yardstick of its worth? If the thing is completely fumbled and she says yes in spite of that, what does it signify? In contrast, what if the proposal is intelligently conceived and she—” He stopped because Lily was rising to her feet. His heart hammered in his chest as she approached, and when only an arm’s length separated them, he stood.

  “It was a beautiful proposal,” she said. “And my answer has nothing at all to do with what is in my heart. It is my head that will not allow me to accept.”

  “Don’t say anything else. Not now. Think on it, Lily. Think toward the solution. I know the problems well enough. I know why you believe you cannot say yes, but do not say no. Once spoken aloud, you will find it even harder to back away from it. Perhaps you think I spoke out of turn or should have never thought of putting the question to you, but it has been on my mind, and I decided it was unfair to both of us to not give it voice.”

  Sherry held out his hand to her. “There was also the sunlight in your hair.” He shrugged a bit diffidently. “I could not help myself.”

  Smiling, Lily took his hand and let herself be drawn into his embrace. “I did not know you could be so impulsive, or at least moved to it by sunshine in a woman’s hair.”

  He tried to dismiss it with a soft grunt at the back of his throat, but his arms came around her more tightly. “Will you think about it, Lily?”

  “I have not said no, have I?”

  Sherry placed his lips against her hair and breathed deeply of her fragrance. He knew he had pressed her into giving him this reprieve. Depending upon the generosity of her spirit had never failed him, though he experienced a flash of guilt for doing so. “You will not be sorry.”

  “No, I do not think I will be.”

  It was Lady Rivendale’s idea to invite Lily to dine with her and Sherry. Lily could think of no plausible excuse that would permit her to beg off. The boys had already had their meal and submitted to a bath with hardly a protest. When they emerged, only Midge needed a second dunking to scrub behind his ears. They’d dressed for bed in record time and waved aside her offer of having something read to them. She should have suspected then that they had already been apprised of the countess’s intention, but she was still revisiting Sherry’s proposal and did not see their part in the plan as it was unfolding.

  Lady Rivendale’s invitation took Lily quite by surprise, and there was but a single answer that she could give. “Thank you,” she told the maid who came to her room with the message. “Tell her ladyship I shall be happy to do so.”

  Lady Rivendale received this news calmly enough. It was only when the maid departed that she turned to Sherry and allowed him to see her relief. “I confess, Sherry, I was not certain she would accept. She must imagine it will be as comfortable as having thumbscrews applied.”

  “That is what I am imagining, Aunt. She deuced well better find another vision that will serve. She cannot have mine.” He closed the book he was reading and set it on his lap. “Please say you mean to behave yourself.”

  “Sherry. Is it possible you do not trust me? Of course I will behave. I only wish to know her better. How that can give you the least pause I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “What gives me pause is that you have been planning it all day. The scoundrels are never finished eating, bathing, and abed so early. I’d like to think it is because you wore them out, but I suspect it is because you drew them into your confidence. Cybelline is to have a child, you know. Is there not some attention you should be paying to her?”

  “Cybelline is wonderfully well settled, thanks in no small part to me. You are not.”

  “Neither are you. I thought Sir Arthur would have visited by now. He was certainly attentive to you in his home. Why have you not invited him here? Shall I ask him to dine with us tomorrow?”

  “If you do, I shall never speak to you again.”

  “You will have to explain why that should deter me.”

  Lady Rivendale laughed. “That is very bad of you. If I thought it was in any way truly meant, I would be hurt beyond reason. Arthur and I have an understanding, Sherry. He will be available when I have need of him, and I will be available as it suits me.”

  “It seems all the advantages are yours, Aunt.”

  “Yes, and that is why it suits me so admirably.”

  Sherry simply shook his head. It was probably not possible that he would understand women, but that did not preclude enjoying them. He might have said as much to his godmother—he certainly considered it—but Wolfe arrived to announce that dinner was ready to be served.

  Setting his book aside, Sherry stood and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Lily was coming down the stairs when Sherry and Lady Rivendale stepped into the ha
ll. They stopped and greeted her, then continued on so that she followed naturally in their wake. Those first moments were not as awkward as she’d thought they would be, and once they were seated, dinner proceeded with remarkable ease.

  They spoke of things both inconsequential and of import, but none of it of a personal nature. Sherry listened as his godmother skillfully drew Lily out, getting to know her not by means of who she was but by means of what she thought. Her ladyship was too clever for thumbscrews. She accomplished her ends with humor and grace, by listening more than she spoke, by challenging with a well-considered question, and by remaining nonjudgmental while giving no ground on her own positions.

  It was a masterful performance, and Sherry was moved to slyly salute her with his glass of wine when Lily’s head was turned. His godmother’s faint smile told him the gesture was appreciated.

  There was hardly a lull in the conversation as dishes were served and taken away, and the only awkward moment was when Lady Rivendale suggested they retire to the music salon so that Sherry might play for them.

  “Do you not wish to play?” she asked. “I confess, it did not occur to me that you would not want to, though I have heard little enough of it since my arrival.”

  Sherry held up his left hand and stiffly wiggled his thumb and index finger. “A recent injury, I’m afraid. Dislocation. I should rather play when it’s not quite so painful.”

  Lily kept her eyes on her dessert plate. She had no idea whether Sherry’s explanation was truly accepted by his godmother or simply allowed to pass without scrutiny. The outcome, though, was that they retired to one of the intimate drawing rooms on the ground floor.

  Lady Rivendale accepted a small brandy and encouraged Lily to try the same. Sherry had a glass of port.

  “Do you play cards?” Lady Rivendale asked Lily.

  “No. As you might imagine, it was discouraged at the abbey.”

  “That is the problem with a religious order taking up the cause of education. I suppose they did not allow gambling either.”