by Amy Sandas
Lily trembled from head to toe. His explanation swirled through her brain. She was still terribly confused, but her body lit up again with the fire he had sparked with a glance.
Before she could reply—before she could think straight—the carriage came to a rocking halt. The footman opened the door, and the yellow glow of streetlights stretched into the interior of the vehicle.
Lily was provided with the breath-stealing sight of Lord Harte, sitting stern and handsome across from her. His expression was coldly emotionless, but in his eyes burned a hunger that curled her toes.
With slow, elegant movements, he leaned forward in his seat.
Lily sat stunned while he reached for the edges of her cloak, which had fallen open. The midnight depth of his eyes held her captive as he clasped the material between his long fingers and brought it together in front of her. It seemed he made a deliberate effort not to touch her body, not even with an accidental brush of his knuckles as he covered her exposed gown. Then he drew her hood more fully over her face.
“For your protection,” he explained. He withdrew his hands and turned to exit the carriage.
Lily exhaled slowly to quell the jittery feeling in her belly. She glanced out through the door to see that they had pulled up in front of a large brownstone building. The wide front windows were dark, but Lily thought she heard the muted sounds of music coming from within.
From her brief view of the earl’s mansion, she knew he had not brought her back to his home. While she wondered where they were, he stepped into the doorway of the carriage. The streetlights cast his features into sharp, contrasting shadows as he offered assistance.
Lily set her hand in his, again feeling the shock of contact, and stepped down to the pavement beside him. She was careful to keep her chin lowered and her cloak secure around her.
After taking exceptional care in settling her hand into the bend of his elbow, the earl led her down along a narrow drive beside the building.
Something uneasy pricked at Lily’s awareness. Since the night of her abduction, memories had continued to filter back. More details had been retrieved and vague impressions clarified. The alley they continued down was disturbingly familiar.
Her steps stuttered, and tightness squeezed at her chest.
The earl said in a whisper, “I am with you this time. You are under my protection.”
His words confirmed her suspicion. He had brought her back to the brothel. Why?
They reached the side door where Hale had carried her into the building over his shoulder. Tension stiffened the muscles along her spine. She considered refusing to enter. She turned to look up at the earl from beneath the shadow of her hood.
His angled his head to meet her gaze. It was far too dark to read his expression.
“Trust me,” he said quietly, then lifted his hand to knock on the door.
It was opened immediately by an intimidatingly large young man in footman’s garb. Once they stepped into the hall and the door closed behind them, Lily acknowledged that there was no going back. She focused on the heat radiating from the earl’s body despite his distant manner. She was his mistress now, not a frightened girl with no knowledge of what was to come.
She had chosen this. She had chosen him.
“Follow me, my lord,” the footman said as he turned to lead them down the hall.
“No,” the earl said in a clipped tone. “We will make our way without escort.”
Lily wondered at the obvious strain, not only in the earl’s voice but in his demeanor as well. If it were not a ridiculous notion, she may have thought he was as nervous as she was.
The footman gave a brief nod and extended his hand toward the earl. “A key, my lord. Madam said you may keep it for your personal use.” Then he stepped back to allow them to pass. “Up two flights. Your room is the last door at the end of the hall.”
They took the same narrow stairs she had been carried up by Hale. But instead of turning down the hall of the second level, they continued upward. Though the sounds of a party she had first heard on the street were louder inside the building, they remained muffled and distant, telling her they were somewhat removed from the main part of the house.
With each step they ascended, it seemed to Lily as though they had entered a private world made just for them. The long shadows extending from the sparsely lit candle sconces created an atmosphere of mystery and anticipation.
Thick scarlet-colored carpeting cushioned their steps along the third-level hallway, and closed doors interrupted the wood-paneled walls. It was far more modest than she would have imagined for a brothel. No risqué paintings or scandalous decor. Perhaps such things were more prominent down below. They had clearly bypassed the main part of the building by entering through the side door.
She realized she could no longer hear the sounds from the main level. They were entirely alone in the deepening silence. Again, she experienced an odd sort of fear that wasn’t fear.
The earl seemed intent upon ensuring a proper distance between them, not even allowing for a casual brush of their bodies against each other as they made their way. Lily risked tipping her chin up to glance at the earl’s face. Though he surely had to know she was looking at him, he kept his focus forward so she could see only his profile.
But what a handsome profile it was.
His forehead was wide and swept regally upward. His thick black hair was trimmed much closer than the current style, but it worked well with his angular features. Heavy black eyebrows were drawn low over his eyes.
The unforgiving line of his jaw was more evident from the side, and Lily noticed a shadow of beard spreading from his sideburns to his chin. The shadow hovered over his mouth as well. Lily’s attention snagged there for a moment. His lips fascinated her. The harsh expression he donned worked so well to eliminate any sign of softness, but not there. His lower lip was too full, too gentle to be affected by his stern manner.
Lily experienced an urge to test the resilience of that lip with her teeth.
The thought came so unexpectedly it startled her, then filled her belly with a spreading warmth that angled down between her thighs.
She glanced away quickly, worried that her reaction might be apparent.
At the same time, Lord Harte brought them to a halt. They had reached the very end of the hall and a solid wood door.
“We are here,” he said.
Withdrawing the key from his coat pocket, he released Lily’s hand to unlock the door. He pushed it open and stepped into the room beyond then turned back to look at Lily.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were compelling in a way she felt down to her toes.
Her rising nerves, rather than holding her back, increased her newfound boldness, and she stepped forward without hesitation. With her body relentlessly craving his nearness, she reveled in the small pleasure of having to pass close by where he stood holding the door.
Looking around, she was astounded by the luxury of the room. The plush carpeting was the same scarlet color as the hallway. An enormous gilded mirror spanned the wall between two small windows that were covered in heavy curtains of gold brocade. There was a dining table big enough to serve two, with gold-painted chairs cushioned in velvet. An elegant settee sat facing the fireplace already glowing with steady flames.
Two doors opened off the sitting room. She thought she caught the shadowed image of a large four-poster bed through one of them, but the room was unlit, and she may have been mistaken. Her nerves went wild at the thought of a bed so close, reminding her why she was there. But before the idea had a chance to sink in, her attention was claimed by the sound of the door closing behind her.
She looked over her shoulder to see the earl turn the key in the lock. The jolt of a different sort of anxiety pierced through her.
He turned back to face the room and his eyes locked with her
s. His jaw clenched, and he set the key in the center of a small table beside the door.
“To secure our privacy only.”
Seeing the key so easily accessible helped to ease her sudden alarm, but only just.
He did not move from the door, but stood watching her, a possessive gleam in his eyes.
Licks of flame danced through her blood, and the boldness she had momentarily possessed left her in a long exhale. He wanted her. It was an amazing thought. And though the forbidden novels she had read had given more insight into what happened between a man and woman in the bedroom than any young lady should have, there was simply no way to feel prepared for what was to come.
Even though this moment was inevitable and had been from the first time she had seen him.
As she stared back at him, his brows lowered even farther over his eyes, intensifying the delicate anticipation roaring through Lily’s body.
His rich voice, when he spoke, flowed through her like fine wine.
“Remove your cloak.”
Fourteen
Avenell waited, governing the rush of need that coursed through his body by focusing on his hands. He curled them into fists before extending his fingers again. Exerting his will over even that small measure of movement reminded him that he was in control.
He noticed that her gaze dropped to watch the repetitious movement, and he wondered what she must think of him.
But after a moment, she pushed the hood of her cloak off her head. The light from the fireplace danced over her creamy complexion and caressed the burnished brown silk of her hair. Lifting her eyes to his face, she released the ties beneath her chin. One graceful sweep of her arms and the voluminous cloak lifted and spun away from her lovely figure.
His heart jolted at the sight of her.
Earlier in the evening at Beresford’s ball, he had made a serious effort not to study her too closely. It had been unbelievably difficult to see her with other men. It was a stark reminder of how commonplace a thing it was for a gentleman to lead a lady about on the dance floor, when for Avenell, it was anything but simple. Seeing her triggered old frustrations he thought he had learned to manage.
At least now he finally had her to himself. He slid an intent gaze over the vision she presented.
The pure white of her gown was cinched tightly beneath her breasts before falling gently past the generous curves of her waist and hips. Her bodice was overlaid with lace and fitted securely over her bosom, suggesting the lushness there but revealing only a modest expanse of bare skin.
Her slim neck was arched proudly as she endured his perusal. Her gloved hands were clasped in front of her, and her lips, a perfect rosy pink, were shaped into a gentle bow as her gray eyes stared back at him. There was caution in her gaze.
She was the epitome of the sweet and modest maiden.
And she had agreed to be his.
Deep disquiet rolled through him. He had begun something that went way beyond his capabilities. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop his forward progression.
He wanted her.
He could never have expected the intense sensuality in the act of drawing her clothing onto her body that night in his bedroom. The lightest brush of his fingers over her smooth skin had fired his blood in a way he had barely been able to contain. For a moment, he had given in when he had pressed a kiss to her heated body.
The experience had left him shaken and convinced he would have to advance carefully. Taking them out of the intimate spaces of his personal bedroom was a start. But tonight would be the true challenge to his control. His desire for the untutored woman before him was unprecedented, and she had placed herself in his hands. He had yet to prove worthy of her confidence.
Neither of them had spoken for several long minutes. In fact, she hadn’t said a single thing from the moment they had arrived at the brothel. Yet, the silence between them was not uneasy.
He lowered his chin to study her expression more carefully.
Steady gray eyes returned his gaze. The firm angle of her head revealed a hint of determination in her manner. The subtle parting of her lovely lips suggested…anticipation.
“Make yourself comfortable, Miss Chadwick,” he instructed a bit more sternly than he had intended as he crossed the room toward a bottle of champagne he had requested be waiting for them.
He was not about to rush things.
“Are you hungry? There is fruit and other light fare.” He tipped his head toward a sideboard holding silver-covered trays.
“No. Thank you.”
Taking the time to pour two glasses of the sparkling wine allowed for a slight easing of his heightened senses. But not much.
“Did you have trouble getting away?” he asked.
Turning back to the room, he saw she had taken a seat on the delicate settee facing the fireplace. He approached her from behind, and his attention was drawn to the graceful line of her neck and the way light wisps of brown hair had escaped her coiffure to curl against her nape.
She turned to look up at him, and the softness of her eyes reached into the innermost parts of him. He handed her the glass of champagne before stalking toward the fireplace. The fire burned hot in the grate, but it was not nearly as heated as the blood in his veins.
“No. The house was quiet and still when I slipped out.” She paused then asked, “Why did you bring me here?”
Avenell tensed. He had not expected the direct question. But she deserved an answer. He turned back to meet her steady gaze. Her eyes were calm but certainly not relaxed. Focused but not contentious.
“Considering your desire to keep our association a secret,” he began, “it seemed appropriate to arrange our meetings at a location with no specific ties to our identities. Even the best servants will gossip. Here, we have some assurance of anonymity.”
She remained silent, as though considering his reasoning.
“We are in a private wing of the building and are quite removed from the house’s public activities.” He lowered his voice, hoping to assure her in case she still had any misgivings. “I will always be with you.”
Avenell’s chest constricted as he waited to see if she would balk further.
And if she did? How could he explain that having her in his home, in his bedroom, was distressing to him personally when he did not fully understand it himself?
An odd light flared in her eyes. With a graceful turn of her head, she slowly scanned the room. “I never could have expected the path of my life would lead to a brothel,” she said softly, “and more than once.” She brought her gaze back to meet his, and a curious little smile curled the corners of her lips. “It is interesting how a single event can so dramatically alter one’s existence.”
She astounded him. He wondered at the nature of someone who could face such a dramatic alteration in circumstances with the sort of serenity and gentle acceptance this young woman possessed.
A slow blush lit her cheeks while she sat under his regard. “You look at me as though you do not know quite what to make of me,” she said.
“That is because I do not,” he admitted.
The way she stared back at him gave him the oddest sense that she was challenging him. It was in the way she held a subtle curve to her lips as she tilted her head. And in the direct focus of her gaze that darkened as he watched. It seemed as though she was keeping herself just out of his reach while silently daring him to come closer at the same time.
Then with a gentle flutter of her lashes, she lowered her eyes, and the moment passed. She lifted her glass of champagne, and Avenell’s attention was drawn to the purse of her lips over the rim of the narrow glass as she took a sip. By the time she lowered the glass again, the muscles in his stomach had drawn taut.
“Are you going to try the champagne?” she asked.
He looked at the elegant glass in his hand. The act had bec
ome such an ingrained habit that he never even thought about it anymore. But then, no one else seemed to notice when he did not actually raise his glass to drink.
“I prefer not to have my judgment clouded.”
In truth, he never consumed anything that might promote a loss of control while among society. He had to be ever diligent if he was to successfully maintain his composure.
Perhaps tonight more than ever.
“Then why pour yourself a glass?”
“It has become habit, I suppose. A way to blend with my peers and avoid drawing attention.”
She tilted her head. A smile played about the corners of her mouth. “You do what you can to blend in, whereas I’ve always secretly wished I possessed some quality that might help me to stand out. We make an odd pair, my lord.”
Avenell’s lips curved upward involuntarily. “We do indeed, Miss Chadwick.”
He hadn’t intended the intimate tone that had crept into his words, but in seeing her eyes widen with that barely perceptible reaction she had to him, he was glad for it. Knowing he could cause the involuntary response made him feel as though they were on a bit more equal ground.
“Will you call me Lily?” she asked with a modest dip of her chin. “It feels odd to be so formal, considering our…association,” she added hesitantly.
It took him a moment to gather himself enough to respond. “Would you like me to call you Lily?”
“Yes. I think so.”
He nodded.
“Shall I call you Avenell?”
Hearing his name on her lips created a fine point of pressure in his chest. He instinctively squared his shoulders in defense. Although he was pleased she would allow him the intimacy of using her given name—in fact, he intended for her to share far more intimacies with him—he could not do the same in return.
“I prefer you address me as Lord Harte.” He knew his words sounded cold, but there was no help for it. “Or my lord.”
A shadow slid across her expression at this response. Her mouth curved softly downward in a way he found intensely alluring. A tiny line formed above her brow, then quickly disappeared. He could see his refusal bothered her. For a moment it appeared she might dispute him, but she held her tongue.
