The feel of her burned him like a brand—the softness of that perfect mound in sharp contrast to the taut peak that he yearned to taste. With that goal uppermost in his mind, he pushed her wrapper off her shoulders entirely. The sheer linen of her nightrail laid over the lush curves of her body like a veil. While he could not see her fully, just enough was revealed to torment him.
Unable to resist the sweet temptation any longer, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to one linen-draped nipple. Then he closed his lips over it and laved the turgid bud with his tongue.
A soft gasp escaped her and her head dropped back even as her fingers slid into his hair and held him close. As if he had any intention of going anywhere. Never in all his life had anything tasted as sweet.
With her back bowed over the arm of the chair, her head back and the lushness of her breasts on perfect display, it was still not enough. So he reached for the hem of her gown and slid his hand beneath it, skating over the soft skin of her thigh, then moving inward. When he brushed the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, she gasped again.
“Part your thighs for me, Lillian,” he said. “If you truly want to know what ravishment feels like.”
She did, just enough that he could slips his hand between them. But as he caressed her, touching her with gentleness that was hard won, she opened to him completely. Only then did he part the soft folds of her sex and gently stroke that small bud that would bring her pleasure.
“Tell me, Lillian, have you touched yourself this way?”
The gasp that escaped her was both shock and pleasure. “I can’t… why would you ask me that?”
He grinned, then dipped his head to press a kiss to her other breast, neglected for too long. When he felt it had been suitably compensated, he replied, “It’s all right if you have… every woman is different. Some like a light and gentle touch, the barest hint of pressure. Other women like a firmer touch. Fast, slow, firm or soft… I only ask so that you can tell me what it is that you like.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never… I didn’t even know I could feel this way,” she admitted breathlessly.
God, but he ached for her. “Then we’ll discover what you like together.”
Val took her lips once more, claiming them as much from his own desire as the need to muffle any sound she made as he explored her intimately. He learned soon enough the touches that made her squirm, the ones that made her tense, and the ones that made her shudder. And even though it caused him an agony of need, he refused to hurry. Until she was clinging to him, gasping for breath, and her whole body trembling in his arms, only then did he push her over the edge.
*
Her body was on fire. She was burning up from the inside out. And she was his entirely. She wanted to plead with him, to beg for something she couldn’t name. Regardless, she was straining toward something, some ephemeral thing that hovered just out of her reach. And then his touch became more insistent. His fingers moved over her flesh in a way that heightened the impossible tension inside her.
“Let go, my sweet Lillian,” he whispered against her ear, and then his teeth scraped along the side of her neck just below her ear.
She broke, shattering into a million pieces as a feeling unlike anything she’d ever known consumed her. Wave after wave, she shuddered in his arms, clinging to him as he stroked her with a gentleness that made her want to weep. All the while, he pressed soft kisses to her cheek, her neck.
“Is that enough ravishment for you?” he asked with a wicked grin.
“Is there more?” she asked.
His grin faded, replaced by a look of hunger that might have frightened her before. But now she only yearned to know where else he could take her.
“Are you trying to kill me, Lillian? Because if you keep saying such things, I will die of the agony of wanting you.”
“I don’t want that,” she said, pulling herself up until they were face to face. His hand was still between her thighs, still tracing delicate circles on her skin that made her shiver.
“You are remarkable,” he said.
“Wanton and reckless. Wicked, I think you said earlier,” she replied.
“I was wrong. Magical, yes. Wicked, I think not.”
“Wanton then,” she said.
“God, I hope so.”
She kissed him, pressing her lips to his and nipping at the fullness of his lower one just as he had done to her. His answering groan told her precisely how much he’d liked it.
“Do you think I could ravish you just a little?” she asked in a teasing and coquettish tone that was rather a surprise to them both.
He dropped his forehead to hers and let out a shaking breath. “You don’t know what you ask.”
“No,” she admitted. “I don’t. But I clearly want to.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. I want to, but I only have so much control, Lilly. And we have tested it sorely. If I let you touch me…”
“I know the particulars of what is to happen on our wedding night… in the vague sense, at least. I know that our bodies will be joined. But the thing you did just now, bringing me such pleasure with only the touch of your hand—can’t I do that for you?”
She heard the breath rush out of him, felt the shudder that racked him. Then he closed his hand over her wrist and pulled her hand lower, sliding it between them until she could feel a hard ridge beneath her palm. He pressed her hand there, closing it around him. Then he groaned, a primal and animalistic sound that made her feel powerful. Just as abruptly, he pulled her hand away and somehow, even with her seated on his lap, managed to create distance between them. He was obviously torn between what he wanted to do and what he thought he should do.
“Show me how to touch you,” she urged. “How to make you feel what I did.”
“I don’t think either one of us is quite ready for that,” he said, his expression taking on a pained appearance. “It’s time for you, Lillian, to go back to your room while I still have the strength to let you.”
“But I want—”
“Tomorrow,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Tomorrow.”
“You’re certain?” she asked. “There’s nothing I can say to persuade you?”
A strangled laugh escaped him. “I’m sure there is. And God help me when you discover it.”
She wasn’t quite sure how it happened but, suddenly, her wrapper was back on her and he was tying it with an efficiency that set her mind to wondering about his familiarity with women’s clothing. Then he lifted her to her feet, pressed her walking stick into her hand and unceremoniously shoved her out the door. But as she stood there in the hallway, she heard the strangest sound and could feel the reverberation through the door. “Are you hitting your head?”
“Yes,” came his muffled reply. “I am. If I’m lucky, I’ll render myself unconscious. And while I’m doing so, I’m cursing both you and my own nobility with every strike. Go to bed, Lillian. Heaven help us both if you do not.”
Even with her disappointment at having their very intriguing and scandalous exchange halted, she couldn’t help but smile. He truly wanted her, just as she wanted him. They might be marrying in haste, but perhaps they wouldn’t have cause to regret it.
Walking away from Val’s chamber, she headed in the direction of her newly-appointed accommodations. As she paused in front of the door, a shiver raced through her. It was not of the pleasant variety. Glancing back down the corridor, she saw Elsworth emerge from the shadows near Val’s room. He gave her a mocking bow and began to move toward her.
Lilly didn’t hesitate any longer. She opened the door, all but threw herself inside and then turned the key in the lock. For added measure, she pulled a chair over and placed it beneath the door knob. It was a good thing as she heard the metallic snick of the key being inserted into the lock on the other side. Where had he gotten a key to her room? From the butler? From somewhere else in the house? Had he stolen it from his grandmother or the housekeeper? She didn’
t know. But as the door knob rattled, she vowed not to be some helpless victim. Should he get inside, she’d give him the fight of his life.
She lifted the walking stick high and brandished it like a club. The elaborate silver handle turned in her palm and with a sharp click, the handle separated from the shaft to reveal the gleaming metal of a blade.
“And he doesn’t wish to be called a spy,” she muttered, freeing the blade completely. It was, to her mind, a far better weapon as it was one she certainly knew how to use. Effie had insisted that the lot of them have fencing lessons and she was never more grateful to her forward-thinking friend and mentor.
The door pushed inward but only by an inch or so. The chair did its job, halting its progress. If he attempted to force it open, the resulting destruction and ruckus would bring everyone in the house running.
“Aren’t you a smart little mouse?” he whispered through the crack. His words were slurred and he was obviously deep in his cups.
“What is it you want?” she demanded.
“Only to sample whatever delights it is that have blinded my cousin to your grasping, social climbing ways. Tell me, Lillian, did you learn those tricks from your whore of a mother? Or is that something else that your Miss Darrow provides instruction in?”
Approaching the door cautiously, Lilly kept the blade out of his sight. But as she neared it, she could see him peering in at her. It wasn’t just that he had overimbibed. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. There was also a sallowness to his complexion and deep hollows beneath his eyes. He was clearly foxed. Completely and utterly foxed, but not just foxed. She’d seen enough people on the streets of London who’d succumbed to opium to know that he’d been sampling that deadly flower. Even through that narrow crack in the door, she could smell the brandy and smoke on him. He shoved at the door again and, without hesitation, she slipped the blade through the opening, slicing his forearm.
With a cry, he stumbled backward, clutching the wound with his hand. “Bitch!”
Lilly stepped forward, pressing her face to that small opening and peering out at him. “Return to your chamber, Mr. Somers, and I won’t have to tell anyone about your unwelcome visit.”
He looked up at her then, pure hatred and venom in his gaze. “Tell anyone about this, and the whole world will know you were servicing my cousin on the eve of your wedding.”
With that, he rose and stumbled away, still clutching his forearm and cursing her under his breath.
Lilly closed the door again, locking it firmly, as if that did any good. And the chair was once more placed securely beneath the knob to prevent anyone else from entering. Warily, she backed away from it and climbed onto her bed. The blade from the walking stick was placed carefully on the table beside her. But she didn’t recline. Instead, she sat there and watched the door, her heart racing. Every creak and groan of the house made her jump. She wouldn’t be caught unawares. Not by him.
Chapter Fourteen
Lilly entered the church on Val’s arm at five minutes to nine o’clock, the first hour in which any wedding ceremony could be legally performed. She was tired. Her sleep, limited as it was, had been fitful the night before after the encounter with Elsworth. It was something she’d have to share with Val, she knew, but it didn’t seem quite the time.
As she looked toward the altar, a smile spread across her face. He’d said he would take care of the witnesses and when she saw Effie standing there, next to a man with dark good looks and questionable fashion sense, she couldn’t help but smile.
“Thank you for thinking to invite Effie,” she whispered. “With Willa in the country, it’s nice to have someone here that I consider family.”
He nodded but seemed uncomfortable with the praise. “You’re very welcome.”
“Who is that with her?”
“He’s a friend,” Val replied. “Lord Highcliff. He issued the invitation to her on our behalf.”
“Why would he do that?” Lilly asked, eyeing him with curiosity.
“I believe that he and Miss Darrow are well acquainted with another,” Val answered.
He wasn’t lying. But he wasn’t telling her the entire truth. Lilly was certain of that. If he was as easy to read at the card tables as he was with her, it was a wonder he’d ever managed to fleece anyone. “I don’t know whatever made you think you could be a spy! You’re a terrible liar. Say what you mean, Valentine.”
“I think they have an affection for one another… but one they are both clearly in denial of at present,” he admitted. It was still carefully worded and very cagey, but his meaning was abundantly clear.
Lilly looked at them, once more, her gaze traveling back and forth between them. Surely not. The man was barely respectable from what she had heard. He was not dressed in the standard of the day. He’d eschewed Beau Brummell’s more minimalist and masculine style in favor of something that harkened back to an earlier time—so much so that he appeared rather foppish. The morning coat he wore was not the gray, blue, black or even deep green favored by so many. It was a shocking shade of chartreuse that clashed with his blindingly yellow waistcoat. If that wasn’t enough, his breeches had been tailored so closely to his body that it was surely a wonder they had permitted him in the church.
As they neared the pulpit, the bishop emerged from a doorway to their left. He was dressed in a red cassock and looked terribly important. And terribly disapproving. “This is the couple, Lord Highcliff?”
“Yes, your grace,” Highcliff replied. “Lord Valentine Augustus Somers, Viscount Seaburn and Miss Lillian—forgive me, my dear, but I do not know your middle name?”
“It’s Avon, my lord.”
“Like the river?” he asked.
“Yes.” The name had been a final insult from her father given the manner in which he claimed her mother had died. She should only be thankful he hadn’t named her after the Thames.
“Shall we get started?” Effie asked cheerfully, clearly knowing that it was a sore subject.
“Yes,” the bishop agreed. “You have the license?”
Highcliff produced it from inside his coat pocket, revealing that the lining was a shade of pink she had never seen before. The effect of so many colors was dizzying.
The bishop reviewed the license. He made a sound that could have been assent or denial. Then he immediately opened the small, ornate tome on the altar table and began to read from the Book of Common Prayer.
At first, Lilly wasn’t entirely certain what was happening. Then as she realized that her wedding ceremony had begun so, well, unceremoniously, she had to stifle a giggle. Perhaps it was her degree of exhaustion or the turmoil that had led them to that point, but it all seemed rather ridiculous to her. Or it did until she looked up and met Val’s gaze. He didn’t appear amused. In fact, he looked serious and intense, as if what was being said was of life or death importance. In that regard, Lilly supposed he was correct. It sobered her giddiness immediately.
In all, it was quick and efficient and alarmingly anticlimactic. Val slid a ring on her finger, they signed their names in a book, as did Effie and Lord Highcliff, then they were all shuffled out of the church and were standing in the middle of the crowded street before she could even appreciate all that had occurred.
“That was…” She trailed off, uncertain what to say about the very brief ceremony.
“I believe the word you are looking for is perfunctory, my dear Lady Seaburn,” Highcliff offered, ever helpful. “I’m afraid a special license on a Tuesday only gets you perfunctory. Pomp and circumstance are reserved for those who have a planned wedding with the posted banns and orange blossoms. It does not accompany a hastily called in favor, sadly.”
“Well, I suppose it’s efficient, at least,” she said.
“Thank you, Highcliff, for your assistance,” Val said.
“You are more than welcome, my friend. I’ve arranged a carriage for you which is waiting just down the street. It will take you to my house in Richmond… out of the city a
nd away from your grandmother and Elsworth. It’s hardly a wedding trip, but it will at least offer a bit of privacy. I’ll send a note around to the dowager duchess when I’ve returned home,” Highcliff said, his manner breezy and indolent. “The last thing anyone wants is a search party to interrupt their wedding night!”
As Lilly watched him, she noted that the movements were not truly natural. It was almost choreographed, like a person executing dance steps with a kind of studied precision. An act. All of it. His clothes, his manner, even the affectation of breathlessness in his speech. It was all an act.
“You and my husband aren’t simply friends, are you, Lord Highcliff?” she asked.
“My dear, what else would we be?” Highcliff asked, staring at her with something akin to shock.
“I think I would classify you as comrades-in-arms. But it isn’t cards for you, is it? It’s something else altogether,” Lilly observed and allowed her gaze to land pointedly on the hideous waistcoat. “You’ve created quite the illusion, my lord. I hope it serves you well.”
Highcliff grinned. It was the first honest expression he’d worn the entire time. It vanished as quickly as it had come. “I think you are a dangerous woman, Lady Seaburn. And my dear friend should be very cautious with you, indeed. Off with you both,” he said dismissively. “Now, Miss Darrow, may I see you home?”
“Thank you, Lord Highcliff. I would be delighted,” Effie said, and placed her hand on his arm as they walked away.
“What’s he really like in private?” Lilly asked.
“Intense, terrifying, impatient, unwilling to tolerate any foolishness or cowardice, and loyal to the very depths of his soul,” Val replied. “Shall we go?”
Barefoot in Hyde Park (The Hellion Club Book 2) Page 12
