Secrets of a Wedding Night

by Valerie Bowman

  Medford straightened and gave her a stiff nod. “I await your decision, Lady Merrill.”

  Eager to avoid a scene, Lily hastened to reassure him. “Thank you, Lord Medford. I’ll be fine.” She gave him a pleading look and excused herself from the group.

  Devon smirked at Medford and whisked Lily across the ballroom toward a set of double doors. His palm on the small of her back made Lily’s breathing hitch, and thoughts of Medford quickly faded.

  Colton’s hand dropped away as they passed the refreshment table from which he plucked two glasses of champagne. Lily expelled her breath. Without him touching her she could breathe normally again. He nodded, ushering her through the open French doors.

  Lily moved to a spot on the balcony far away from the other couples outside, and spread both hands on the railing.

  It was truly a work of art, how Colton had so smoothly extricated her from the Foxdowns’ company, not to mention a disapproving Medford. Oh, yes, Devon Morgan plied his social skills like a master painter with a brush.

  Lily reveled in the cool night air. Ah, it was lovely to be free from the stifling ballroom. She sucked in a deep breath and turned to face Colton. He stood in the moonlight, his shoulder propped against the stone wall of the house, his booted feet crossed at the ankles. How did that man manage to make debonair look so effortless?

  She straightened her shoulders. “I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me from the awful heat in there.”

  “No need,” he replied with his roguish grin, moving away from the wall, making his way slowly toward her. “I consider it a public service to rescue beautiful ladies from exceedingly dull conversation. Having suffered through countless awful conversations myself, I know what a chore it can be.”

  Lily couldn’t help her answering smile. She tamped down the twinge of pleasure that shot through her belly at his mention of the word “beautiful.” “The conversation was worse than dull,” she admitted.

  Colton moved closer. He offered her one of the champagne glasses. “You look as if you could use this.”

  She didn’t take the flute from his long fingers. “No, thank you.”

  He raised a brow. “You still don’t drink?”

  “No.”

  “Pity.”

  He set her glass on the balcony railing next to her and slid his free hand into his pocket. Then he tipped his own glass to his lips and leaned back against the railing, his elbow braced against the stone balustrade.

  He crossed his legs at the ankles again and gave Lily a sideways glance. “Tell me. What was the subject of the worse-than-dull conversation? Retainers? Land management? The ungodly cost of tea? Medford isn’t known for his stellar wit and repartee. I’ve no idea why you insist upon spending so much time in his company.”

  Lily arched a brow. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Lord Medford, nor that you were aware of how much time I spend in his company.”

  Colton barely shrugged. “Unfortunately, we’re more than acquainted. We were schoolmates at university.”

  Lily nodded. “Ah, I see. And something tells me you didn’t like him back then either.”

  Colton rolled his eyes. “Suffice it to say, Ashbourne and I were interested in more … social pursuits, and Medford was all about his studies and his marks.”

  Lily laughed. “That sounds like Medford.”

  “Tell the truth. He hasn’t gotten a bit more interesting, has he? What were you discussing back there?” Colton nodded toward the ballroom.

  “We were discussing a certain pamphlet actually,” she admitted with a wry smile.

  “Ah, Secrets of a Wedding Night, the subject on everyone’s lips these days. I must confess. I find it surprising you think it dull, considering you wrote the thing. Did you and Medford admit to your conspiracy to publish the piece?”

  Lily traced a gloved finger around the edge of her reticule that hung from her wrist. She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

  He flashed her a knee-weakening smile. “Still keeping up the pretense that you had nothing to do with it, I see. I may not be there to rescue you next time. You might try to fake a swoon.”

  She gave him a conspiratorial grin. “I did consider it.”

  His crack of laughter echoed against the stonework. “I should have known you’d take matters into your own hands.” He winked at her.

  “I always do.” She winked back. Ooh, where had that bit of sauciness come from?

  His eyes grew warm like melted chocolate. He pulled his hand from his pocket and pushed a wayward curl behind her ear. “I’m pleased to see you’re no longer wearing those ridiculous mourning colors. You look absolutely stunning in that color.”

  She glanced away and shrugged. “I decided you had a point. Perhaps it is time I stop wearing mourning colors.” It was a good thing that he liked the lavender. He’d certainly be seeing it more often. It was one of the few gowns she still possessed that hadn’t been dyed black or gray.

  He rubbed his thumb against her cheek. Sparks ignited along Lily’s nerves at the touch of his hand. She clutched at the balustrade as if it were a lifeline and swallowed convulsively. “Thank you,” she whispered softly. “For the compliment … and the flowers.”

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

  Lily fought her shiver and glanced away. They stood that way, comfortably silent, for several minutes. Finally, Lily sighed. “I suppose I had better return. No doubt Lord Medford will be looking for me soon.”

  “I’m sure of it,” Colton replied. “But you cannot blame Medford. You are the most beautiful lady here, after all.”

  Lily’s head snapped around to face him. That was twice he’d said she was beautiful. Was it possible he really meant it? “You … you think I’m beautiful?” Her voice cracked and she immediately regretted the question.

  His coffee-colored eyes caught and held hers. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful, Lily.”

  Her chest constricted. She couldn’t breathe. She was suspended in time. It was as if five years had never happened. She was back on the balcony with him at another ball, another night. And then, like now, she’d looked up into his eyes, and parted her lips, hoping he would kiss her.

  Colton’s breath hitched and his face tightened. He set his empty glass on the balustrade, took her hand, and pulled her down the stone steps and out into the night. Before she could turn to face him, he’d pulled her into a shallow, shadowed cove where the other guests could not see them. His lips swooped down to capture hers.

  The hot brush of his tongue coaxed her lips apart. The slide of his mouth against hers made heat well in Lily’s belly. Yes, finally. Colton was kissing her, just like she’d always wanted. She sank against him and moaned deep in her throat.

  Wait, no. What was she doing? This was not how this was supposed to happen. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t be wanting this, but her traitorous body was fighting with her bossy mind and somehow her body was winning.

  Desperate to regain control, she raised her hand to push him away. He grabbed her wrist in his fist and pulled it back to her side, pinioning her to him. He hoisted her against his rock-hard body.

  Her demand for him to stop never passed between her lips. Instead, she groaned and squeezed Devon’s fist. As if sensing her surrender, he let go of her hand. She feathered her fingers up his chest, into his hair, clasping him to her.

  He broke the kiss and slid his lips down the sensitive skin of her neck. Heat dashed down Lily’s spine. Oh, God, she already knew … she loved it when he did that. A firestorm ignited in her belly, and every nerve in her body tingled. She breathed him in. An intoxicating smell. The barest hint of horse leather mixed with a light cologne. It teased her senses.

  This was unlike any of the innocent kisses Colton had given her years ago. Back then, she’d been young, had foolishly believed in love. Their kisses had been considerate pecks, respectable and chaste. But there was nothing either respectable or chaste about this kiss. It promis
ed more than Lily had ever imagined.

  He was a drug. That’s what he was. Like opium. A maddening, unhealthy pleasure that left her senses reeling. She hated herself for not pushing him away. His mouth moved to her earlobe and tugged on the sensitive skin there. Ooh, if she’d missed that, she would’ve hated herself more for pushing him away.

  His hot, wet mouth was on her neck, her collarbone, raining little kisses that burned her skin like tiny flames. She tilted her head back, lost in a world of incomprehensible yearning.

  Devon’s lips moved to the tip of her chin, returned to her mouth. He kissed her cheeks, her nose, and finally, her closed eyes, before pulling her arms from around his neck.

  She shuddered and let her eyes flutter open. Scared. Terrified of the feelings he’d evoked in her. No one knew what this man meant to her—had meant to her—and no one ever would, but it didn’t excuse the fact that she’d just behaved like a shameless wanton.

  Lily looked up at him. She was undone. She’d expected to see that cocky self-assurance that made her want to shake him. Instead, she saw the same uncertainty she felt. Devon Morgan shuddered also, and in his eyes, she recognized … she was dangerous to him too.

  She drew a shaky breath.

  “My compliments on your finesse,” she whispered.

  He eyed her carefully. His voice was soft. “What do you mean by that?”

  She pressed a palm to her hot cheek. “You, trying to seduce me. A very good start, actually. Wh … what do you intend to do next?”

  Devon raised an eyebrow slightly, and the quirk of his firm lips made Lily press her legs together tightly. “Well, that’s an interesting question, isn’t it? But I never give away my hand.”

  And just like that, his arrogant demeanor was back. The wall between them erected again.

  Disappointment surged through her. Had it really been a game to him? Had he felt nothing when he’d kissed her?

  She pasted a smile on her lips, steeling herself against showing how deeply he’d affected her. She was trembling again. “Come now, Colton, you must be ready to spill your secrets.”

  “Spill my secrets? Hmm. Perhaps I should write a pamphlet.”

  There went his brow again. And just as easily, she was wanting him all over again. Even knowing it was all a game to him, she couldn’t help but wonder just what it would be like to be with him.

  He walked around her then, in a circle, giving Lily the impression he was a panther stalking his prey. He towered over her, examining her. Confusion warred with desire in her chest. Only Colton could make her feel like this. God knew, her husband never had. She’d never felt this quickening of her pulse, this increase in her breathing, this tingle in her midsection.

  Colton finished his perusal, and Lily expelled her breath.

  “Hmmm. If I were seducing you, I would encourage you to drink,” Colton said at last, stopping behind her, leaning down and whispering into her ear. The tiny hairs on her neck stood up as his warm breath murmured past. She squeezed her reticule, hoping he wouldn’t notice her shaking hands.

  “I don’t drink,” she informed him, swallowing convulsively.

  “Yes, we’ve established that. I’m sorry to hear it. You really should try it. It calms the mind. Takes the edge off.” He leaned in close and whispered right next to her ear. “Lowers inhibitions.”

  Lily closed her eyes. Suddenly, lowered inhibitions sounded oh, so tempting.

  “What would you do next?” she asked, breathless.

  Colton stepped in front of her and pushed a curl away from her cheek with his finger, which he allowed to linger near her mouth. He lifted the finger and traced it along her cheekbone. His rough thumb dragged along her bottom lip while his eyes captured and held hers.

  She squeezed her eyes shut this time. Could he see the gooseflesh that had popped out on her neck and shoulders? Oh, she hoped not.

  “And then?” she asked through parted, wet lips.

  “I would offer you a seat.” He pulled her hand, taking her along with him toward a nearby stone bench. Colton sat first and pulled Lily onto his lap. Pretty, whisper-pink April flowers cascaded out of a box behind them and nodded on Lily’s shoulders. The moonlit garden with its shadowy nooks and twinkling candles suddenly seemed nothing if not exceedingly romantic. And full of promise.

  Wrapped in his warm embrace, Lily wanted to melt. “Then what?” she asked, her heart pounding a heady rhythm in her chest. “What’s your secret?”

  She could hear his smile. That lazy, sensuous smile. His head was behind her, his voice sliding huskily into her ear. His fingers moved boldly over her scalp. Another wayward curl came loose from her chignon and he wrapped it around his finger. Lily closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his hardness beneath her.

  His voice surrounded her. “Then I would tell you”—his mouth brushed against her ear—“it’s high time we return to the house.”

  Lily shivered as if a cold breeze swept by. “What?” she asked, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. “Why?”

  He leaned in close again. The delicious tickle of his warm breath against her neck sent hot flashes zinging to her most private place. “Because,” he whispered, “the secret to seducing a woman, dear countess, is to make her think she’s chasing you.”

  The hazy cloud of lust that had been obscuring Lily’s mind evaporated in a flash. She leaped from his lap and swung around to face him. Straightening her skirts, she gave both kid gloves a vicious tug. Her reticule bobbed dizzily from her wrist.

  “Nothing could be further from the truth. I am not chasing you.” She pushed the traitorous curl behind her ear and squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself for getting caught up in his game. And that’s all this was to him. A game. She needed money, security, and Colton offered neither. She could not allow herself to fall for a man who had promised to seduce her and wanted to punish her.

  For a moment, Devon looked as if he might reach for her again, but he didn’t.

  Lily spun around and stalked back toward the house, not giving him a backward glance.

  Colton’s confident voice followed her through the darkness. “Not yet, Countess. You’re not chasing me. Yet.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Devon eyed the shifty man who sat across the table. Gilbert Winfrey. An inveterate gambler. An inveterate scoundrel. And a more arrogant bastard Devon had never met.

  “What’s the matter, Colton? Too rich fer yer blue blood?”

  Devon pushed back his coat and consulted his silver timepiece. Quarter past midnight. He’d been right on time. He’d left the Foxdowns’ affair after his stimulating interlude with Lily, and made it here in plenty of time to lose to Winfrey.

  Devon shook his head, trying to clear his mind of thoughts of Lily. What had that business in the garden been? He’d begun with his goal of seducing her and had allowed himself to get too caught up, almost forgetting what she was, nearly falling for that false look of innocence in her eyes.

  She’d been the one to remind him, actually. “My compliments on your finesse,” she’d said. And thank God for it. Just like that, he’d remembered that nothing between them was real anyway. It never had been and it never would be.

  She was part of a game he was playing. Just like a card game. Nothing more. She was no different than a jack or a queen or any of the cards that sat in a pack, waiting to be played at the precise moment. And just like when he was playing cards, he must remember to keep his wits about him while he sought his revenge against Lily.

  Slipping the watch back into his pocket, Devon scanned the dingy room. His gaze returned to his opponent’s swarthy face. “It’s you I’m worried about, Winfrey. Do you have the money to back up that voucher?”

  A hush fell over the crowd. Devon eyed the slip of paper Winfrey had tossed onto the gaming table. The beady eyes of the other men were fastened on him. They were not in the gentlemanly quarters of St. James, but the seedy backwater of the Rookery, that squalid part of London where only the vermin of soc
iety dwelled. True gentlemen rarely came here, and when they did, it was for a purpose. For the sort of gaming they couldn’t play in Polite Society.

  Devon had been here many times. Too many times. And the stink of the place, the unwashed bodies, the rotting food, the refuse in the streets, the smell of the poor and the hopeless, never seemed to leave his nostrils.

  At least he’d put his time here to good use. Employing his skill with numbers, he’d parlayed the money he’d earned gambling over the years into investments that had brought him more wealth than he could spend in several lifetimes. He owned a fleet of ships and a hefty interest in the canal system. He’d rehabilitated the Colton estates and purchased additional properties. But, still, that wealth and security wasn’t enough. There was something else he wanted.

  “I’ve got the money, yer high-and-mighty lordship,” Winfrey sneered. “Besides, yer memory’s short, t’seems. I’ve heard ye’re the one what usually walks away wit’ ye pockets empty of late. Seems yer luck has run out. Can ye match it or not?”

  Devon smiled, a completely humorless smile. A smile intended to project confidence, a smile intended to scare that bastard Winfrey into shutting the hell up for a moment. Devon reached into his pocket and withdrew his own voucher.

  One thousand pounds.

  A fortune. Five times as much as Winfrey had bet.

  Devon tossed the voucher on the table. “Not only match it. I’ll raise it.”

  A sharp gasp and a murmur rippled through the motley crowd.

  Devon kept his eyes trained on Winfrey. The man was dangerous. When confronted like this, he might make a scene to avoid the bet, he might accuse Devon of cheating, might even pull a knife. All of these things and worse had happened before in this place. Devon’s booted leg bobbed up and down on the grimy floor. He waited. Carefully, watching.

  Winfrey’s soulless eyes narrowed on him. He sniffed repeatedly and wiped a hand devoid of a handkerchief across his bulbous nose. “I’ll match ye,” he ground out, nodding once.