Lyn Stone Read online

  Guy smiled. “Viscount Duquesne to see the Bradshaws.”

  “I’m sorry. They…they are not here, my lord.”

  “Where are they?” Guy asked.

  “Gone to Maidstone for the day, I believe.”

  “Ah. Then I’ll not wait. Who are you, by the way?”

  “They call me Evan, sir. Evan Reese.”

  “Do you work for the estate or are you privately employed by the Bradshaws?” The handsome fellow was nattily dressed and very well-spoken for a servant.

  “Lady Bradshaw has hired me on as a man-of-all work, sir.”

  Ah. Guy wondered what sort of work she had in mind. The lad looked sturdy enough to handle just about anything. “Are you the only one about?”

  Light eyes shifted to the right, avoiding Guy’s. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, Evan, tell them I came ’round if you will.” Guy wanted them to know he was keeping a close watch.

  He walked back to his mount and turned to look at the house. A curtain at a window of the top floor stirred. Evan Reese had gone back inside, but had not had time to reach that window. So at least one of them was home and they were not receiving guests today. At least not this guest. Guy smiled and resisted the urge to wave at the one watching him.

  He knew he had Clive scared, if not running scared. Perhaps his visit would make an end to the plot against Lily if there were one.

  Of course there was one. Guy mentally shook off the doubt that persisted in rearing its head at the odd moment. Why else would she have been taken all the way to London for committal? To add validity to the act that might not have passed inspection locally, that’s why. And why would the guard have been planning to give her medication to convince the authorities she was mad when they came to evaluate her? Because she was not really insane.

  Guy damned himself for not having absolute trust in her faculties. She certainly had absolute trust in his, otherwise she’d not have put her life and that of her son into his hands. But he could not help thinking her just a little mad to do that. After all, his own faculties were certainly more at risk than hers.

  He galloped on to the post station, hurriedly mailed his letters and returned to Sylvana Hall, still uneasy about leaving her for very long.

  “Has he gone?” Bernadette asked Ephriam. “Did Evan convince him that I’m not here?”

  “Yes, he’s ridden off.” He straightened the curtain. “Shouldn’t you have spoken to Duquesne to see what he plans?”

  “He has cast me out of my own home. That was his plan.”

  “Darling, please don’t be distressed.” Ephriam went to her then and knelt at her feet, as willing a slave as he had been for years.

  Bernadette leaned her head against his. “But how can I help it, Augustus. This marriage of Lily’s is disastrous. Now what am I to do? Clive is so upset. He has hardly spoken since.”

  “There, there. He’s a grown man, sweetheart, not a child you need to protect.” When she would have argued that Clive would always be her son and her reason for living, he shushed her. “I will speak with him if you like. Calm him and assure him that everything will come right eventually.”

  “Will it, Augie?” she allowed artful tears to course down her cheeks. “Will there be justice for all this?”

  “Absolutely, my sweet. You’ll see.” He reached for the bell cord. “Let me summon that new footman of yours to fetch you some tea. Doctor’s orders!”

  “He’s a man-of-all-work, dear. That’s the proper term.” Bernadette cradled his face in her hands and gazed soulfully into his eyes. The lines around them, the faded blue of the irises and the pinkish cast of the whites reminded her that he was no longer young. Thank goodness she had hired Evan.

  Lily spent the remainder of the day arranging her wardrobe. Guy’s things would be arriving soon and he would need a place to put them. She packed away the drab mourning attire she had grown so accustomed to wearing and replaced it with her brighter gowns and accessories.

  Performing the mundane task soothed her, made her feel as though everything was quite normal. Perhaps it would prove to be. She had a new husband who seemed to like her very well. Her son accepted him. The daily routine of those at Sylvana Hall would scarcely change except for the better. Not having Clive and his mother about would lighten the load, and probably the disposition, of the servants. How relieved she was to have them out from underfoot.

  She tried not to think of her own added duties as a wife, but that was difficult. Not that those duties were unpleasant, by any account, but she could hardly go about sighing and blushing or someone might suspect.

  A small smile escaped even now as she allowed a moment’s anticipation of the adventures that might lie ahead, after dark.

  “So here’s where you’ve been hiding!”

  Lily jumped and dropped the frilled petticoat she was folding. “Good heavens, Guy! Announce yourself next time.”

  He laughed and sauntered into the bedroom, his hands on his hips. “Look at you, all housewifely. I would think you’d have a maid to sort your laundry, at the very least.”

  “We do. I was merely making room for your clothing and storing my widow’s weeds.”

  “Ah, yes, you’re only just back into colors.” He plopped down on the bed and lifted the ruffled petticoat with its pale blue crocheted-lace edging. He fingered the handiwork. “You do this?”

  “Goodness, no. I haven’t the patience for any sort of needlework.” And no mother to have taught her, she thought sadly. “But I do paint a bit, so I’m not totally unaccomplished. And I do play tolerably well.”

  He grinned that naughty grin that always stirred something in her midsection. “You certainly do.”

  Embarrassed by what might possibly be ribald teasing, she returned to her folding. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You’ve never heard me play.”

  He caressed the soft garment he held. “Let me guess. The violin?”

  “Hardly.” She held up a camisole. Realizing how intimate she was being with a man in the room, she quickly rolled it up and tucked it in a drawer.

  He hummed appreciatively and rubbed the ruffles against his lips. “The oboe?”

  Lily laughed. “You know very well it’s the piano-forte. It is the only instrument in the house. And I would be willing to wager you’ve searched the place thoroughly.”

  He looked artificially wounded. “You believe I would be so bold as to pry?”

  She inclined her head and looked at him. “It is what I would do if I were you.”

  With a sigh, he collapsed back on the bed, his arms spread wide, a fetching sight. “Lord bless us, I’ve a wife who understands me.” He cut his gaze to meet hers. “We do rub on rather well so far, don’t you think?”

  Lily smiled at him, pleased at this small, precious slice of domesticity. Tempted to lie down beside him, yet knowing that wouldn’t do in the middle of the afternoon, she turned away. “Yes, it seems we do, at that. Thank goodness.”

  He curled up off the bed and straightened his jacket. “So, I shall leave you to your chores and go and do mine.” He closed the distance between them, grasped her face in both hands and kissed her soundly before she knew what was happening.

  He released her just as quickly, before she could respond, and left her standing there with her mouth open.

  And wanting.

  Damn the man. She touched her lips with fingers that trembled. Did he never do the expected?

  The rest of the afternoon, Guy looked for things to do so that he could avoid Lily. He had a purpose, of course. He had very nearly eaten her up earlier. And she would have been willing to let him, he was sure. Then she would have lain there as she had before and would have allowed him anything. For Guy, that was not enough. He could hardly bear this passivity that seemed to engulf her here in this place.

  Maybe it was the ever-present memory of Bradshaw that caused her to be so. In London and on the way here, she had let loose her inhibitions. Wearing men’s clothing, even t
hough Guy had joked about it, might be what had prompted her to act differently then. If so, he was all for getting her a pair of breeches right away.

  But Lily’s softness and gentility had an appeal all its own. If only she would give her passion free rein, Guy knew she would be happier. And he certainly would. If it killed him, this waiting, he meant to show Lily eventually the absolute joy they could bring one another.

  He believed the longer he teased her and put off their next coupling, the more ready she would be for it and the less likely to let her shyness intrude.

  To tell the truth, he wanted her to give him everything that she was and also to accept him, faults and all. Maybe that was selfish.

  Of course it was. Expecting her to change when he wasn’t able to do so himself? Worse than selfish, it was unrealistic. But Guy knew he could never be the strait-laced gent she seemed to expect in bed.

  He could never be another Jonathan Bradshaw, not for her or anyone else.

  Perhaps she could not be what he wanted, either, but Guy knew he had glimpsed a glorious wild streak in Lily that was too natural to be feigned. It was there somewhere, and somehow he meant to bring it to the fore again.

  If he had to change a little, maybe lean toward the gentler side of his own nature, maybe they would both benefit. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

  His father had advised him long ago to begin as he meant to go. Guy had taken that to heart. It was good advice and had served him well.

  His beginning in bed with Lily did not do him credit.

  Chapter Ten

  At their informal supper, Guy launched his plan to draw Lily out of the prim role she had assumed. Firing double entendre comments that went over Beau’s head and provoking her with suggestive looks proved difficult while, at the same time, attempting to play the noble husband and circumspect stepfather.

  The lecherous looks weren’t a pretense. She’d worn a deep red gown to dinner that set him afire. Though her breasts weren’t overly large, she certainly knew how to show them to best advantage. Her waist appeared wasp-thin while her shoulders shone with a pearl-like luminescence. The hooped skirt she wore swayed enticingly. He had never cared much for the fashion, but tonight it was all he could do not to pant.

  She was on to him, casting him the occasional come-hither glance from beneath her lashes as they ate the fancy turtle soup she had ordered Cook to prepare. The expense was a complete waste, since he could taste nothing but the memory of his lips on her the night before last.

  She had swept her golden curls back and caught them at her crown with a simple crimson ribbon and small silk flower.

  “Dressing for dinner certainly has its advantages,” he commented, his voice a grumble of frustration. He’d have liked to eat her up with his soup spoon.

  His own dinner clothes were outdated, some older things he had stored at Edgefield when he’d returned from school. At least he was dressed decently for the part of a country gentleman dining en famille.

  Her dimpled smile distracted him from his thoughts. So did her voice. “More soup?”

  He laughed wryly. “I think perhaps I’m ready for dessert.”

  “No dessert until you finish everything else,” Beau announced with the last slurp of his soup. “It’s Mother’s rule.”

  Guy laughed and shook his head. “By all means, we must follow Mother’s rules.”

  Lily continued to smile at him, one eyebrow cocked, ever the lady. And yet he enjoyed some success. Instead of going all cool and icy on him because of his teasing, she found some humor in it. He felt ridiculous.

  When they had at last finished the strawberry trifle, Lily excused herself. “If you two will excuse me, I shall leave you to enjoy your after-dinner drink.”

  She was instilling proper protocol and procedures in her son, Guy realized. Tradition. More rules. The ladies left the gents to their cigars and brandy once the formal meal was finished. He wondered whether she thought it was necessary to work on his manners, as well. He toyed with the idea of offering Beau a cigar. That would teach her a thing or two.

  One of the footmen arrived as if by magic to serve them.

  Beau was having goat’s milk, something Guy could never tolerate. He opted for the more traditional brandy.

  When they were alone again, Beau spoke, sounding very grown up. “I wanted to speak with you, sir.”

  So this was not all to do with tradition. Guy sipped the liquor and nodded encouragement.

  The small face frowned, laughably serious with its mustache of milk. “It is about school.”

  Guy shrugged. “We had that discussion. I promised not to send you away. Are you still worried that I will?”

  Beau’s brow furrowed even more. “Perhaps I should go. Mother is afraid she will frighten me again. I promised her I would be brave next time, but she worries. I don’t like to worry her. Is school so very bad?”

  Guy sighed. “No, it can be fun. I enjoyed it very much. This is your choice, of course, but as for me, I’d rather see you go at ten, or perhaps twelve.”

  Hope lit Beau’s face like a lamp. “Truly? Why?”

  There was no point in lying to the boy, Guy thought. He only wished someone had advised him before he had gone. “Often the younger boys have problems fitting into an established group of older mates.”

  Beau nodded thoughtfully and drank another swallow of the milk. “They get beaten?”

  Guy smiled. “Sometimes.” Almost always, he wanted to add. It was the nature of the little beasts to ride roughshod over the weaker ones. “Of course, at ten or twelve you will have grown considerably. And I’d be happy to lend you what knowledge I have of the sports they play so you’ll have something to offer the team.”

  Beau finished his milk, set down the glass and rose to leave. “You’re a brick of a fellow, sir.” He grinned and licked his upper lip. When he passed Guy’s chair, he thumped his fist lightly on Guy’s shoulder. “Good night, Duquesne.”

  Guy toasted the boy with the remainder of his brandy. A smile and nod were the best he could manage. He felt so moved, speech failed him, a truly unusual circumstance.

  Guy had the urge to share with Lily what had happened, but it would probably seem insignificant to anyone else in the retelling. She might even see it as interference this early on. So he was left with hugging to himself the knowledge that he was becoming a father, after all. It was something he had never realized he’d wanted so badly, or even wanted at all.

  Lily tucked Beau into his bed, heard his prayers and kissed him good-night. He seemed calmer, as if a great weight had been lifted off his small shoulders. Sharing their troubles with Guy had that effect. She had no idea what she would have done if he had not accepted her proposal, if he were not here, taking charge of things.

  She returned to her room and changed out of her evening clothes. Tonight she would not go down to join Guy in the library. He would come to her.

  With that in mind, she took out a simple nightgown and wrapper of ivory silk that she had never worn before. The restructuring of her wardrobe had produced things she had forgotten she had.

  The dressmaker in Maidstone had made several sets of revealing nightclothes when Lily had ordered her trousseau before her wedding with Jonathan. Lily had never felt the garments quite proper enough to wear even in the privacy of her bedroom and had packed them away. The scent of lavender in this one was still a bit overpowering. She shook out the folds and fanned it in the air before slipping it over her head.

  The slide of the fabric against her skin made her feel daring, sensuous. For a moment she imagined Guy’s hands slipping around her waist, over her hips, gathering the liquid feel of the gown between his long, strong fingers. A sigh escaped her.

  Tonight would be different. Tonight she would not require a dare. Tonight she would be the woman who had boldly asked Guy to marry her and confessed that she had missed being a wife.

  How had she ever done that? What had come over her to make her so blatantly aggressive?

&n
bsp; She looked into her mirror and produced her sultriest smile. Then she grimaced at herself. He really would think she had lost her mind. With a huff of self-disgust, she tore at the tie of the wrapper and started to change again.

  “Ah, what’s this then?” Guy asked, his voice a low growl of appreciation.

  “Guy!” He had been standing behind her to one side so that she had not seen him reflected. She jerked the robe together and tied it, laughing nervously. “You frightened me.”

  His lazy smile was knowing as he approached and handed her a snifter. “Thought you might like a bit of brandy.” His lips pursed as his gaze traveled down her body and back again to meet hers. “How…intoxicating you are. I could have done without the liquor.”

  Again she laughed and skirted around him, holding the brandy close to her chest in an attempt to cover the low décolletage and the protrusion of her nipples beneath the soft silk. His very voice did that to her, excited her unbearably. And his eyes, dark and heavy-lashed, penetrated her very soul, not to mention her clothing.

  With her back to him, she hurriedly sipped the brandy, gulped it really, and began to cough when it burned her throat.

  “Easy there,” he crooned, taking the glass from her and rubbing her briskly between her shoulder blades. “Why do I frighten you, Lily?”

  She shook her head vehemently, appalled at her cowardice. “You don’t!”

  He was her husband, after all. They had already made love. It wasn’t as though he would hurt her in any way. It was herself she feared, what she might become if she let herself respond fully. “I told you I’m not afraid of you.”

  His chuckle was wry. “Well, darling, you scare the hell out of me.”

  Surprised, her train of thought lost, she turned to face him. “I do?”

  He nodded, one side of his mouth kicking up in a half smile. “Indeed. You are so different from any woman I have ever known.” He trailed one finger up her arm to her shoulder and played with the edge of her wrapper. “So very different.”

  Lily closed her eyes and sighed. She could guess what he meant by that. He was well used to courtesans and others with vast knowledge of pleasurable pursuits. She was but a village girl at heart, a simple vicar’s daughter with very limited experience in a man’s bed. “I don’t know what you want,” she confessed, feeling breathless and deliciously undone.