by Stacy Reid
If she stepped into the secret passages tonight, that would be owning up to her identity. All her feminine instincts said he would be there, despite all the guests having left. Or perhaps she was just being silly. What reason would he have to roam those corridors? It was distressing to know their affaire de coeur, or whatever their nightly assignations had been, were over. The pang of loss that tore through her heart was frightening.
With an irritated huff at herself, Lily pushed from the bed and tugged her robe from the peg, slipping it on over her nightgown. She moved at a sedate pace as she made her way down to the library. A solid, good book was what she needed before turning in to bed. And if that didn’t work, she could also do some sketches on an idea she had for a gown.
The house echoed with emptiness, and she wondered if the marquess was still in residence. She had taken a tray into her room earlier to work on the designs for a peignoir, which was scandalously sheer. It was clear the household was abed, and as she sauntered down the hallway, she glanced at the grandfather clock near the library’s entrance. It was twenty-five minutes past midnight. Though it was unlikely Oliver was up if he was in residence, she knocked on the library door and waited a few beats. When no answer came, she entered, grateful that a fire blazed and that several candles were lit, bathing the library in a warm, inviting glow.
Lily went over to the bookshelves and perused several tomes. Her fingers danced over the spines as she tilted her head, reading the titles. With a triumphant grin, she selected The Lady of the Lake, a book she had been longing to read.
There was a creak, and she spun around to see Oliver close the door and then lean against it. His thick hair was disheveled, and a stubble of beard shadowed his strong jaw. He was without a jacket, his cravat was loosened, and he was…he was barefoot. Something elusive pooled in the gaze that regarded her. He had never looked at her like that before. As if he was captivated.
Her heart pounded with equal measures of delight and apprehension.
Don’t be silly, Lily! Though at times she had caught a lingering stare from him, it was not one filled with any fleshly longing. Unless… Dear God, the very notion left her mouth dry and her heart trembling.
He noticed her looking at his toes and a lazy smile swept his face. “I was in the process of undressing. I assure you, my valet is even more perplexed, since I simply left my chambers.”
Her smile dwindled at his intense regard. “Is everything well, my lord…Oliver?” Of course something was the matter, or he wouldn’t have abandoned getting ready for bed.
“It is.” He lifted a chin to the book clutched in her hand. “You are unable to sleep.”
“I…yes.” Alarm slithered through her when he closed the lock with a snick. He had never been anything but proper with her, even when his stare had said he wanted to do wicked things with her.
“My lord—”
“We are on more intimate terms, Lily.”
“Oliver—”
“I know who you are.”
His pronouncement crashed into her chest like a wave, drowning her senses with panic. “I am not sure I comprehend your meaning,” she said with impressive calm.
He pushed off from the door and prowled over to her, darkly dangerous and imposing. His cobalt eyes pierced her with an awareness that was disturbing and electrifying. Oliver paused only a mere inch from her, the hem of her nightgown curling around his shin. His warmth surrounded her, at once soothing and perplexingly intimidating. She knew this man…carnally…and the gentleman at the heart of him. She had nothing to fear. Yet Lily felt vulnerable in a manner she had never endured before. There could be no denying the knowledge in his eyes or the thick, heavy, predatory tension that rode the air. He lifted his hand and, with painstaking slowness, removed her mobcap and every pin that held her hair together. The risk she was taking by allowing his ministrations was so enormous she couldn’t contemplate it. Nor could she move away.
“For the last few nights, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you, Lily Layton. In the days, you smell like lavender…but in the nights, I can smell honeysuckle wafting from your chamber. You walk in a room, and I am aware of every breath you take. You smile, and suddenly I know the sweetly sensual shape of lips in the dark are yours.”
Nerves and anticipation clutched at her throat. If she possessed any wisp of rationality, she would flee from this encounter. If he thought she was Dahlia, why wasn’t he disgusted at the notion? He seemed remarkably accepting of the fact that he’d been bedding a servant.
The wavy strands tumbled down her shoulders to her mid back. “Glorious,” he murmured. “What are you going to do…run…or fuck me?”
The challenge in his eyes almost felled her. An overwhelming weakness quivered through her. “My lord!” she gasped, her gaze flicking to the door and back to his. “You are being improper.” Oh God, why did she continue along this vein? Surely he had irrefutable proof to approach her with his suspicions.
“Ah, denial, is it?” Oliver gripped her hips and tugged her to him, almost lifting her to the tips of her toes. The dominance in his touch had the sweetest feeling throbbing between her legs.
“I know—”
She covered his lips, her fingers trembling. “Don’t say it, please, my lord.”
He sucked her fingers into the heated depth of his mouth, and Lily’s knees buckled, and she sagged against him. With a soft cry, she reclaimed her fingers. “Oliver, there is some mistake.”
The devil smiled. “The only mistake is that I should have known sooner. Against my better judgment, I hungered for Lily Layton…I should have known you were her.”
He ran his lips up the side of her neck, scraping his teeth against the slight hollow. “I want to see you naked.”
Her heart fluttered madly, like butterflies trapped in a bottle.
Show some decency, the vicar had roared, spittle flying from his lips the one night she had dared to leave a candle lit in anticipation of the vicar coming to their marital bed.
Her reply, No, I want to see you, us, had earned her a slap on her cheek and prayers on her knees begging forgiveness for her lust filled heart for days. The vicar had ignored her then, even halting his customary peck on her cheek in the morning. Her husband hadn’t visited her bed in the last two years of their marriage.
“No man has ever seen me naked,” she whispered, stepping a little bit closer to the edge of madness with which he seduced her.
Oliver cupped her cheeks in strong, gentle hands. “I watched you a few nights ago as you pleased yourself and moaned my name. You were so fucking beautiful, Lily. Every dip and curve of your body was a sensual delight. I would be honored if you would bare yourself to me, my sweet.”
Unspeakable desires and hunger stirred in her soul.
What are we doing, Oliver? Her tongue would not loose. Instead, Lily stepped back and pushed her nightgown from her body. Lust darkened his gaze, as she was bared before him.
An approving smile touched his lips, and he stared, his expression taut and sensually intent. “I want to take your mouth, to slide my cock past those lips and feel them suck me into heaven with hot, wet pulls.” He ran his fingers down the shadowed cleft of her rear. “Before the night is over, I am going to oil you and take you here.”
She shivered, a delighted thrill going through her heart as the illicit and forbidden images filled her mind. “Undress for me,” she said softly. “I want to see you.”
Approval flared in his eyes, and the marquess removed his shirt and trousers. He was tall and so muscled, the very picture of masculine beauty and power. She almost whimpered at the spear of lust that spread to her cunny. “I’ve dreamed of your lips doing wicked things to me. I’m not proper, I fear, and I will never be…”
His lips shifted into a slow, upward smile. “Any sensibilities you have left will be ruined tonight, my sweet. I am not interested in proper.”
A moment later, he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her with such reverent pas
sion that Lily’s heart melted, and she knew without a doubt she was in love with the Marquess of Ambrose, a terrifying truth to contemplate.
…
Lily stood naked in front of Oliver, a flush covering her entire body in the most delightful pink. Her eyes glistened, and there was a slight tremble in her lower lip. Her evident vulnerability had an ache settling deep inside him.
Our wives are ladies who we must treat with revered respect. They are not common strumpets. Keep it in mind, boy, and never forget it.
Ignoring the ghost of his father’s whisper, Oliver trailed a finger along his lover’s jawline, down to her wide, sensual lips. She had high, graceful breasts, rounded hips, and legs that would easily wrap around the high of his back and hold while he rocked his cock into her.
“I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman,” he said, mildly surprised at the hoarseness of his voice and the heavy ache in his loin.
Her eyes widened, then a smile curved her lips. He could do so many things—kiss, her, slowly worship the underside of that delectable breast, lay her down and feast on her sweet pussy. Instead…
“Take my cock into your mouth.”
Without question, she lowered herself to her knees and clasped his cock in her soft hands. She examined his organ quite thoroughly, running her fingertip over his length to the flared mushroomed head. Then she leaned in and kissed the tip.
Sweet mercy. Her tongue was timid but felt like a whip of fire on his flesh.
Her pouting lips begged to be taken, bruised, fucked. As if she knew his carnal heart, she fisted his length and slid her mouth over his cock. He fucked slowly into her mouth, holding her hair in a firm grip, groaning at the heated wet glide of her tongue. She was so damn beautiful, with her eyes darkened and her cheeks flush with lust.
She began to move her mouth on the throbbing flesh, her tongue flickering over it, killing him with pleasure.
“That’s it, Lily. Suck me deep just like that.” He thrust his fingers into her hair, using his grip to anchor her as he slowly worked his prick in and out of her mouth. She stared up at him, her eyes dark pools of lust…and something far warmer than he’d anticipated.
I like you…so damn much, Lily.
He flexed his hips, pushing his flesh farther into her mouth.
She moaned around his throbbing length, a whimpering, needy sound that made his body flame. He was too close to the edge, and he wanted so much for a quick release into the silken depths of her hot little mouth. His cock sprang free from her mouth, heavy and engorged. Oliver tugged her up, and as she rose, she lightly licked his thighs and up over his rippling abdomen. His hands tightened in her hair, and a rough groan broke from his throat. He arched her, pushing her breasts up to his face. Her nipples were tight rosy buds he sucked into his mouth.
Impatience tore at him, and he walked her back toward his desk, easing her down onto the surface, and splayed her wide.
Her cunt was so pretty and pink, wet with her need for him.
“Oliver,” she moaned, her thighs opening wider, her hips arching to him. “I need…I need you in me.”
He tucked the head of his cock into the narrow, clenching entrance to her pussy. She cried out as he stroked inside her tight sheath, deep and hard. “Watch me take you,” he murmured, glancing between their bodies as he slowly withdrew from her snug depth.
She stared up at him, her eyes dazed, unfocused, her face flushed with passion, then glanced to where they were joined. Her entire body colored red, and her tongue darted to wet those pouting lips.
Oliver groaned at the carnal picture she presented sprawled wide on his desk, her cunt stretched to take his thick length, her hair tumbling across her body and brushing her distended nipples, and those sweet, swollen lips glistening.
He slid inside her, working his length slowly and easily into her so that she felt every drag of his cock against the tightness of her slit. He pulled back, watching his cock slide nearly free of her, then worked himself back to the hilt, loving the tight grip.
She whimpered, a low, desperate sound that had his cock jerking in response.
“Oliver.”
“Lily.”
Then incredibly she smiled, and he understood. It felt different, better, hotter, yet so much sweeter now they had knowledge of each other. Her tongue darted and wetted her lips once again. With a groan, he thrust deep, spearing into her, feeling her pussy part to envelop him in pure bliss. “Yesss,” he hissed in pleasure. “Wrap your legs around my hips.”
She complied, and he lifted her from the hard desk, and with a few steps, he took them to the sofa closest to the blazing fire. He braced her against the padded arm of the couch, lifted her leg, and rocked harder and heavier inside the sensitive depths of her pussy, over and over and over.
She convulsed on his cock several times, screaming her delight, and Oliver wasn’t remotely satisfied. Perspiration gleamed on their bodies as he allowed himself to be swept under the dark tide of lust, fucking her long and hard, secure in the knowledge that she matched his passions perfectly.
Chapter Twelve
“Checkmate,” Lily said with a grin, peeking up at Oliver from beneath her lashes. She still wanted to pinch herself, to know they were sprawled atop a large blanket spread on his library floor, playing chess and sipping brandies, naked. It was horribly wicked of her, and she loved every minute. She felt no shame in being so bare before him, and he seemed equally amused and captivated whenever he caught her staring at his muscled form. Their clothes and unmentionable garments remained scattered on the floor, and her marquess had taken several cushions from the chaise and littered the floor with them.
He knew she was his mysterious lover and there had been no condemnation. In fact, Lily believed he was quite relieved to discover Mrs. Lily Layton and the provocative Dahlia were the same. That knowledge was distressingly fascinating. He had made no mention of courtship, which tempered her intrigue, considering it was the reason he had proffered for wanting her identity. Not that she would have said yes—he deserved better—but it would have been so wonderful to know he would still want her, without a dowry and connections.
How long did they really have as lovers? The marchioness’s new lady’s companion would arrive at Belgrave Manor in two weeks’ time. Then Lily would take herself off to town to start the wonderful journey of opening her own business. Would the marquess wish to continue their affair?
“You are a very crafty player,” he said with a smile, finally ending his analysis of the board.
“That I am, my lord.”
“Who taught you?”
“My papa did. He was delighted when I showed interest at a young age. I felt like I had given him a great gift because I was smart. It was as I grew older that I realized how very different and wonderful Papa is. He encouraged my learning and did not believe certain pursuits were reserved for the men of our society.”
He reached for the tumbler and refilled their glasses. “He sounds like a good man.”
Lily felt as if she were floating but did not protest, taking another healthy swallow of the amber liquid.
“Easy,” he cautioned.
“Who taught you?”
His beautiful eyes shadowed. “My father.”
“You do not like speaking of him?”
Oliver took several sips of his brandy, his gaze considering her for several seconds. “My father was quite a brilliant businessman and strategist. From the age of twelve, I was at his side, learning how to manage the estate and other investments. He was not like other lords who believed owning businesses and working to ensure those interests remain profitable were bourgeois. He was a good father to my sisters and me.”
“And you have businesses outside of your lands and property?”
“Several.”
“May I ask, how did he die? The marchioness never said.”
A frown split her lover’s brow, and a faraway look appeared in his eyes. “In his sleep.”
“Oh!”
> “He was in robust health and had only ever gotten a good report from the doctors when they attended him. My father complained of a headache. He went to lie down, and a few hours later when my mother went to check on him…he was gone.”
“Oh, Oliver, I am so terribly sorry.”
“It was years ago, Lily, and the passage of death is normal,” he said flatly.
Yet there were still shadows in his eyes. “Then why do you seem so troubled, angry even?”
Lily pushed aside the chess set, uncaring when the pieces fell from the board onto the carpet. She shifted closer to her marquess, and it felt so natural to press a kiss along the strong line of his jaw. She wanted so much to comfort him, even if she hardly understood the source of his discomfort.
“We had an argument the day before he died,” Oliver said gruffly. “I felt we never repaired the hurt our words caused, and then he was gone.”
She leaned back, searching his shuttered expression. “One argument and heated words can’t replace a lifetime of love.”
“It was rather vile, and I did not temper my anger. I found him with a kitchen maid…he was tupping her, and the girl was only fourteen.”
Lily gasped.
“It was my father’s vice to dally with whomever he pleased, whenever he wanted, and he often turned his lascivious attention to the servants in our household, women who I believe had little choice, even if they had wanted to decline.”
“They wouldn’t have refused for fear of losing their position without a recommendation,” Lily said.
He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “And despite his proclivities, I loved him, Lily. I loved my father still.”
“I think that is the best kind of love, knowing the fault of the person and still feeling such strong sentiments.”
Her lover regarded her. “I like you, Lily. I’m very glad you are Dahlia, for you see, I’ve been having very explicit thoughts about Lily Layton and hardly knew what to do with them.”
