by Amy Sandas
Lily’s breath became fitful as she stood there, open to him, exposed. Her pulse was frantic, and the muscles along her spine ached in her effort to remain composed despite the sensations running rampant through her body. She focused her attention on keeping her hands at her sides, though she would have loved to slide them into the cool silk of his hair.
In a whisper-light caress, he drifted his hand along the back of her thigh. His fingertips again came frightfully close to where her flesh throbbed gently with heat, making Lily catch her bottom lip in her teeth.
But he did not touch her there.
First, he lowered his head toward her inner thigh, a couple of inches above her knee. She heard his slowly drawn breath, felt his hand beneath her thigh, holding her steady. Then his lips.
So light at first. Just barely tracing a wandering path over the sensitive skin of her thigh. Lily held her breath in an attempt to eliminate any distraction from the delicate feel of his kiss.
The first unexpected touch of his tongue was wet and hot and sent a tingling jolt of fire through her core. She would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t splayed his hand over her hip to keep her steady while he teased her by easing his mouth ever closer toward her mound.
Lily panted. Her hands fisted against her outer thighs.
It seemed his intention was to torture her. Every time he got near enough for her to feel his hair brush against her belly, or the warmth of his breath bathe her heated folds, he would retreat again, sliding his lips back toward her knee.
Tension and frustration built upon itself. She knew what she wanted, had read about it with shock and amazement. But she didn’t know if it was a common thing outside the realm of novels. Would he be stunned by her overwhelming desire to feel his mouth on her? The longer he teased and tempted her with the proximity of his kisses, the more she suspected she might die if she did not experience that exact wicked pleasure.
It seemed her boldness had gone beyond anything she could have expected.
Finally, as he trailed his tongue along her inner thigh, again coming breathlessly close, Lily spoke without thinking. A single word, expressed on a tremulous sigh. “Please.”
He complied immediately, as though he had been waiting for just that entreaty. His hands tightened on her body, and his mouth covered her in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
Her knees trembled, and her chin fell forward against her chest. The focus of every nerve in her body shot toward the apex of her thighs. Pleasure rippled through her as his tongue slid over her folds. Languid at first, then with increasing demand. Her legs tensed, and her back arched. She rocked her hips against his mouth, seeking that pinnacle he had brought her so close to once before. She sensed it was near and craved it with every ounce of her being.
Then, as he flicked his tongue relentlessly over the most sensitive spot, he slid his hand up to cup her breast. One more long stroke of his tongue and a delicate pinch on her nipple, and her pleasure burst free. It pulsed from her center in a wave of sensation that reached out to her fingers and toes and slid up the back of her scalp.
Before the stunning sensation completely left her, she was brought abruptly back to reality as the earl pulled away roughly. He released her hips and leaned back, as though to put as much distance between them as possible. He grasped the arms of the chair in a white-knuckled grip and had lowered his chin to his chest. His breath was fast and ragged like hers.
Too late, she realized that in her mindlessness she had brought her hand up to grasp his shoulder. She could still feel the smooth texture of his silk shirt and the heat of his skin beneath burning her palm, though he had retreated out of her reach.
Lily caught her bottom lip between her teeth and took a step back. Her hands fisted at her sides, and tears burned in her eyes. Her body still pulsed with receding pleasure.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, hating that once again it was her broken promise that brought the beautiful experience to a crashing halt.
He did not reply.
The rigidity of his posture and the harsh pass of his breath implied that he was in pain and distress. Her heart stuttered at the turmoil she sensed in him. Lily wanted desperately to reach out to him, soothe him. She backed away instead. How could she think to ease his discomfort when it was clearly she who had caused it?
Dejected and confused, she returned to the chaise and quickly slipped her shift back over her head. She recalled his reaction the last time they had been together, and earlier, when she had touched his arm after he’d saved her from Fallbrook.
“Lily, I…”
Her entire body jolted at the sound of her name in his rough tone. There was a deep plea in his voice.
With her emotions thick in her throat, she turned to look at him.
He had risen to his feet and stood there so strong and stern. The rhythm of his breath had slowed, and the strength of his body was undeniable. But it was his vulnerability of spirit that struck her in that moment.
He pressed his mouth into a hard line before he cleared his throat and began again. “Believe me, Lily, I want you to touch me.”
His words were heavy with need. Yes. He desired her—she knew that much to be true. He had seemed to find enjoyment in moving his hands over her naked body, in kissing her intimately.
Yet a simple touch of her hand to his shoulder managed to bring it all to a crashing halt.
“Please, my lord,” she said, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. “If you want me to touch you, why do you forbid it? Why does it seem as though my touch pains you?”
“Because it does.”
The simple statement, spoken so plainly, caused her breath to catch. “Why? What happened to cause this? Has it always been thus?”
“Enough, Lily.” The exhaustion in his tone halted her curiosity.
Her chest ached. “I just want to understand. I have no wish to cause you pain, my lord.”
The way his eyes held hers, with such darkness and weight, filled her with sadness.
“Such is inevitable, I am afraid.”
* * *
Silence fell, and Avenell suspected she was trying to make sense of what he had said. He held himself rigid, waiting for her expression to shift into one of disgust or pity before she walked away.
He should have known taking a lover was an impossible endeavor. He should have called it off after that first night, should have accepted his failing as unavoidable.
What in hell had convinced him he could do this?
He stared at her as she stood in her shift and nothing else. Innocent, vulnerable, and so beautiful it made him ache.
She had convinced him he could do this. It was the way she looked at him, as though she truly saw him, not just his hard veneer. It was the softness of her mouth, her tranquil demeanor, and the fact that somehow, deep down he believed—he hoped—she would not be the same as the others in his life had been.
Avenell had experienced righteous cruelty and callous intolerance in his youth from those he had loved. His father had blamed him for his affliction, claiming Avenell possessed some moral or intrinsic defect. Others believed he was making it up—a spoiled child determined to be difficult in order to get attention.
Pendragon had been the first person to accept his condition without judgment, but Avenell wanted so much more than acceptance from Lily.
The feel of her body in his hands, her skin like warmed silk under his lips, had been intense. He had never experienced a woman’s body the way he had Lily’s, as though every bit of her was magic. Her softness and quiet strength had inspired him to a tenderness he had not known he possessed. The scent of the sweet jasmine and earthy sandalwood of his perfume mingled flawlessly on her body. On every inhale he had drawn her essence in with his breath, and his blood had heated dangerously.
And the taste of her…
Every quiver in her musc
les, every hitch in her breath had sent shocks of sensation through him. He had never derived such delicate satisfaction from anything before. His lust had distracted his every sense, so when he felt the pressure of her hand on his shoulder, he had reacted out of pure instinct for self-preservation.
And hated himself for the distress he had seen on her face, her breath still heavy and her eyes glazed with pleasure.
Craving her nearness like an intrinsic pull, he slowly approached her.
She drew a long, even breath as he came to a stop within arm’s reach of her. He could not resist the urge to touch her, even though in so doing, it brought the imbalance of their situation back into stark awareness.
She remained still as he lifted his hand to slide his fingers over the curve of her shoulder and around to support her nape.
Tipping her head back, she looked up at him. Her dove-gray eyes were filled with compassion, uncertainty, and the lingering evidence of her sensual release. The sight of it sent subtle rippling waves of desire through his system, despite his current tension.
He brushed his thumb along the line of her jaw, clenching his teeth when her lips softened in reaction.
“I cannot…” he began, then stopped.
She tilted her head to the side, and a small furrow formed between her brows. She wanted to understand. He could see it in her features—a hint of determination. After she took several breaths, her gaze slid from his to glance aside.
His chest tightened as he prepared for her rejection.
“Do you still want this?” she asked quietly. “Me?”
“With every breath,” he replied.
She brought her gaze back to his, and what he saw there stalled his heart.
“I can be patient, my lord,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard against the emotion pressing in his throat. His attention lowered again to her lips. He ached to taste them, to test their softness with his tongue.
Instead, he released her and turned away. “I have something for you.”
Nineteen
Lily released a shaky breath as she watched him stride from the bedroom. An overwhelming wealth of emotions swirled about inside her. Her whole body tingled in the aftermath of what she had just experienced. She was weak and unsteady from all the things he had made her feel.
But as powerful as their encounter had been, it had not affected her nearly as much as the quiet fear she had sensed in him as he struggled to explain. What could have caused such fear?
He reentered the room, and she watched his approach with a new kind of longing. He strode with such strength, yet she had seen the evidence of so much more within him. She wanted so badly to know everything.
“Please, sit,” he said as he came to stand before her.
She lowered herself to the red leather chaise. She had not even noticed that he carried something in his hands until he crouched in front of her and set the small white box on the bench beside her hip.
His gaze captured hers, sending sparks of renewed awareness through her body even as her heart clenched tightly at the hint of apology in the rueful pull of his lips.
“Since you prefer to keep our association secret, I cannot clothe you in gowns of the finest silks and satins, or shower you with jewels as I would wish to.”
He opened the box and withdrew something white and fine, drawing the silken contents across her lap.
“It will please me to know you wear these beneath your gown, as it pleases me more than you could possibly imagine to know you wear my scent.”
Lily’s gaze fluttered down to see the most delicate and beautiful pair of stockings she had ever seen. Tentatively, she ran her fingers along the embroidered silk, so soft and fine it felt like water beneath her touch. Stunned by the beauty of the artistry, the delicacy of the intricate embroidery, she could barely breathe. She had never touched anything so exquisite.
She swallowed hard, fighting the unreasonable prick of tears.
“They are unbelievably lovely,” she finally replied in a whisper. “How can I thank you?”
“You do not have to.”
She looked into his eyes, feeling so many things she feared putting a name to. “But I have nothing for you.”
An awkward curve shaped his lips. It was the first time he had smiled at her, and it stopped her breath. The subtle smile was all the more poignant in its tentativeness than it would have been if he had expressed it more freely.
“You give of yourself, Lily. That is a far more precious gift than anything I could give you.”
Lily bit her lip against the obvious comment that a more equal gift would be if he gave of himself in return.
“You will wear them?” he asked.
She nodded, and he swept the stockings up in his hands. One at a time, he smoothed them up her legs. They felt like rose petals against her skin, soft and luxurious.
He reached for the box again and withdrew garters of light-blue satin, embellished with tiny gems: sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and onyx in an intricate geometric design.
Lily gasped at the sight of them. A fortune was sewn into the decorative garters.
He secured the garters over the stockings above her knees, then braced his hands on the edge of the bench. His body hovered close to hers, his arms caged her, his chest was a breath away, but he did not touch her.
“When you wear these, think of me. Think of how I am counting the hours until I can see you again.” He bent to brush his mouth across the top of her thigh just above the garter. She fisted her hands against the leather to keep from sliding her fingers through his hair. “Know that I am dreaming of your softness and your smile.”
Lily could barely breathe. Her chest was tight, and her body hummed with awareness.
After placing another light kiss to the top of her thigh, he rose to his feet.
“I have also opened a spending account for you. I will give you the information you need to access the money. It is yours to spend as you wish. At any time, for any reason.”
Lily stiffened and looked down at her lap. It was difficult to process what he had said in practical terms just then. The thought of him giving her gifts, specifically those chosen by him with her in mind, was one thing. To know he had set aside funds in an account…was something entirely different.
She chided herself. This was what she had agreed to. She was a mistress.
Though Emma had won enough at Bentley’s party to get them through the Season, and Hale had relinquished any further claim against their family, life was still an uncertain thing. Lily could not deny it was reassuring to know she had her own means of financial security.
Still, she would prefer never to have cause to touch the account. Then she would not have to think on its existence and what it meant.
“We should be on our way,” he added. “Dawn will be coming soon.”
He left her there to finish dressing.
She was quiet and pensive when she entered the sitting room to see that he had also re-dressed in his waistcoat and coat. He held her cloak for her, and after setting it around her shoulders, he led her from the room. His movements had once again become stiff and efficient, his manner distant. They left their private sanctuary as they had arrived—in silence.
Lily knew what kept her from speaking; her consciousness was quite overwhelmed with the process of incorporating tonight’s revelations into her existence.
He had pleasured her with his touch—with his mouth—bringing her to a trembling peak of sensation so intense it shocked her to her toes.
How could a man so generous and tender one moment so forcefully close himself off in the next?
Lily had heard the raw tone lingering in his voice and knew by the sharp angle of his gaze that he had not been unaffected. She wanted to acknowledge it somehow, challenge the return of his cold facade. But as she glanced at him
walking beside her and noted the stern lines of his profile, she knew she would not.
She was not so daring after all.
The earl was the first to break the silence. “I will be unavailable for a few days. I will come for you again in three nights.”
She frowned. There was something vital she needed to tell him, some bit of information she was forgetting that seemed pertinent to the conversation.
They had just reached the bottom of the narrow stair, and Lily turned to start down the hall to their exit when she abruptly came up against an enormous wall.
No, not a wall. A man. A large man who smelled faintly of woodsmoke.
Alarm spread through her in a violent wave, and she tried to step back, but Hale had already grasped her upper arms in his hands. It had likely been a reflex to keep from plowing her over, but to Lily it was far too reminiscent of when he had held her still for Pendragon’s inspection.
“Oh-ho,” Hale said in mild surprise as he looked down at her. Lily suddenly realized that they had left her mask in the room. Her cloak hood had fallen back, and she could see that he recognized her. “What are you doing here, little dove?”
“Hale.” The earl spoke quietly, but his tone was deathly cold.
In her shock at coming face-to-face with the man who had abducted her, Lily nearly forgot the earl was behind her, but after that single word, there was no denying his presence. She had never heard such icy malice in a man’s voice.
Hale lifted his chin to glance over her head at the earl. His eyes flickered cautiously, but he said nothing.
“Release her. Immediately.”
Again, the steel in the earl’s voice startled Lily. It had an effect on Hale as well as wariness crossed his expression. But instead of letting her go, he drew her an inch closer in defiance. She resisted, and his hands tightened around her arms. Not painfully, but enough to keep her in place.
She looked up into the brute’s face, trying to gauge his intention. This appeared to be a random encounter. Surely, he had no purpose in detaining her. Hale’s manner was confrontational, but his focus was directed over her head toward the earl. Her initial fear slid to concern. But not for herself.
