Lyn Stone Page 15

  He took her by her shoulders and kissed her forehead. His lips were hot against her skin. “Yes, you do. I want all of you, Lily. Everything within you. Everything you are.”

  Even as he spoke, he kept pressing kisses to her face while his hands caressed her arms, her shoulders, her neck. She could hardly think. Her head swam and her knees felt weak as water.

  “I surrender,” she whispered.

  Suddenly he backed away from her and when she opened her eyes to look up at him, he frowned. His huge hands cupped her shoulders, his grip harder. He gave her a gentle shake. “No.”

  “No?” she repeated, her brain refusing to function properly, still mired as it was in the wonder of his touch, the heat of his lips.

  “No! I’m not some conquering force come to master you this way. Or any way at all! You surrender? This is not a war, damn it.”

  “But you have won,” she argued softly. “What more can I do but give you what you would have?”

  His shoulders slumped a little and he began to shake his head. “Ah, Lily.” His sad gaze traveled over her body again, stoking the fire that was already raging.

  Then he released her, turned and left the room. For a long time Lily stood there quivering, wondering what she had done wrong. He no longer wanted her. She had somehow failed.

  Guy slept little in the guest room that night. Again, he had handled things badly. Subtlety was not his forte, that was for sure. He had been too direct with Lily. He had pushed too hard, demanded too much of her too soon. Why could he not get it right with her?

  When morning came, he wished he could ride out alone and work off some of the frustration and clear his mind. True, they had years in which to come to terms as man and wife, but he found his impatience to do so outstripped his good sense.

  Damn it, he wanted her. He could have had her, of course, right then and there. He still could. All he had to do was to go back to her bedroom, kiss her senseless and undress her. But what would that say to her? That he had power over her? He did, obviously, but she also had it over him if she would only recognize it. He wanted Lily to desire him as much as he did her. That was the problem.

  He wanted her to love him.

  When he went down for breakfast, she was in the morning room finishing her meal alone. She didn’t appear to have slept any better than he had. There were slight circles beneath her eyes, marring the flawlessness of her complexion.

  She bade him good morning, her greeting tentative, as if she expected him to accuse her of something. He hated the vulnerable look in her eyes that he knew he had caused.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said, taking the chair across from her, deciding he might as well be direct about it. “This marriage business is new to me, Lily. I behaved badly last night. Will you forgive me?”

  She gave him a tight little smile. “Of course.”

  Guy cleared his throat and started to elaborate. But Lily was already rising to leave. A lady would consider it highly improper to discuss things of this nature at the breakfast table. Even he ought to have realized that. This evening would be a much better time. It’s what he had meant to do and should have done last night, discussed things between them instead of blundering immediately into a seduction. The sight of her in that silk confection while surrounded by the heady scent of lavender, had thrown him off course.

  He stood immediately. “Lily, don’t go. Not another word about that until tonight, I promise.”

  She managed a more sincere smile. “It’s not that. I have things to do this morning. What are your plans for today?” A very proper question for a dutiful wife, he supposed.

  “I need to ride into Maidstone to see the solicitors about the will.”

  “Will you take Beau with you? It is Mrs. Prine’s off day.”

  “Yes, I promised him. You come, too,” he suggested.

  “I would, but I’m off to Edgefield for that tea the vicar’s wife has planned. I must go alone after all, by the way.”

  An uneasy feeling crept up Guy’s spine. “No, I’ll drive you there, complete the business in town and collect you on the way home.”

  He thought she would protest, but she merely hesitated, then nodded, giving in gracefully. She still looked worried.

  “About the other, Lily… We’ll work things out,” he told her, wishing he could do more to convince her of it. But if he did, nothing else would get done for a while. Besides, he wasn’t certain she was ready yet.

  “I hope so,” she replied, almost in a whisper. “I sincerely do.” The woeful way she shook her head told him she hadn’t much hope at all.

  There was a table between them. And much more than that. If he planned to extend the measure of comfort he wanted to provide as a husband, Guy knew he needed to clear the air.

  If last night had left him upset, he could only imagine what she must be feeling. She might even believe that it was somehow her fault. How stupid he had been that first time to try pleasing her when what she really had needed was solace. And then leaving her so abruptly after she had offered herself up like a sacrifice. What had he been thinking? Not of her, but of himself.

  “We should leave at two o’clock,” she told him and hastened to leave again.

  “Lily?” he called as she reached the open door. She stopped and turned, a question in her eyes. He cleared his throat. “About last night…”

  “Please.” She held up one hand, effectively halting him midsentence. She blushed bright pink. “You promised to wait until tonight…if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Yes, tonight,” he muttered, watching her scurry from the room.

  He sighed and sat back down. The friendship they had established in their short but eventful time together had become a stilted, overly polite acquaintance and it was his doing.

  Tonight would be different. If she was unwilling to discuss it in the bright light of day, at least she had not forbidden him to speak of it at all. They would work things out together and then he would make it up to her in the best way he knew how. If ever there was a pleasured wife on this planet, come morning it would be his Lily.

  The afternoon brought a light rain, dampening everyone’s spirits except for Beau’s. Lily had to insist on his wearing a cap and redingote. He fidgeted frightfully in the seat between her and Guy, complaining constantly about having to take the closed carriage instead of the open buggy.

  Normally she would have spoken sharply to him to curtail his bad behavior, but she suspected that his worry for her had instigated it.

  Guy leaned one arm against the wall of the carriage and propped his head on his hand, observing Beau’s wriggling. “You surely wouldn’t have your mother soaked through to the skin when she arrives at the vicar’s. Can you feature what those women would say of us, Bradshaw?” He scoffed. “They’d say we prized our sport over the welfare of a lady, that’s what. I don’t know about you, but I’d as soon not be the talk of the county in that respect.”

  Beau stilled. He looked up at her. “I never thought of that.”

  “Well, now you have,” Lily said, smoothing the skirts of her blue gown and tugging her pelisse closer at the neck.

  How did Guy know precisely what to say in order to insure Beau’s compliance without seeming to chastise him? It must be an inborn gift that had been denied her.

  Though she seldom raised her voice to her son, she often found it necessary to be quite firm. He was headstrong and stubborn, a failing inherited from her, she knew.

  Guy grinned at her over Beau’s head. “Imagine me at seven,” he said.

  Lily suppressed a laugh. He must have been a terror. Much of the boy survived in Guy.

  When they reached the vicar’s house, Guy alighted first and helped her down while the driver held an umbrella over her to keep her free of the mist. “I believe we are early,” he commented, noting as she did that there was only one conveyance parked near the old stone cottage. “Shall we return for you at five?”

  “Perfect,” she said to Guy. She startled
a little when he leaned to brush her forehead with his lips.

  To cover her surprise at such an intimate gesture in public, she quickly moved away from him and touched Beau’s hand when he extended his arm out the window to her. “Be a gentleman,” she warned her son with a pointed look. He smiled back and promised he would.

  Lily trusted Guy implicitly where Beau was concerned. The two got on famously and she thanked God for that. She wished she knew how to reclaim that camaraderie between Guy and herself. He wanted that, as well, so she was certain they would somehow work things out eventually.

  For now, all she had to worry about this afternoon was charming the ladies of Edgefield who were going to so much trouble to welcome her as wife to the future earl.

  The carriage rattled down the lane as she hurried to the entry of the cottage where the vicar’s wife awaited her in the open doorway. Handing off her umbrella and pelisse as she greeted the woman, Lily noted that two other guests were already seated in the parlor. To her dismay, she saw that one of them was her former mother-in-law.

  Lily knew she should have foreseen that the woman would be invited. She was, after all, the only female relative Lily had left, even if they were only related by marriage. The vicar’s wife would have no way of knowing they were not congenial.

  She entered the parlor and dropped a curtsy. “Mother Bradshaw,” she said by way of greeting, determined to be pleasant and not spoil the event for everyone.

  “Lillian,” the dowager baroness replied with a tight expression. “You are too early. One would think such a grand lady would effect a grand entrance after everyone was here.”

  The vicar’s wife shot Lily a concerned look, obviously realizing her mistake in including the former baroness. “The others will arrive soon. Won’t you have a chair, my lady? Perhaps a dish of coffee to warm you? There’s such a chill in the air today.”

  There certainly was, especially in this room. “Of course,” Lily replied, heading across the parlor to sit beside the one unfamiliar guest. The dark-haired woman had immediately risen when Lily entered and now curtsied to her.

  “Lady Lillian, this is our niece, Miss Sara Ryan. She is visiting from London and is thinking of residing here permanently,” said the vicar’s wife.

  “Miss Ryan, so nice to meet you.” They were of the same age, Lily thought. It would be nice to make a new friend.

  “And you,” Miss Ryan replied. “I know Lord Duquesne quite well, as it happens. We are old friends.” The woman’s expression was that of a cat with feathers ’round its mouth.

  “Ah, I see,” Lily said, recognizing a challenge in the woman’s implication.

  A maid brought in a tray with two cups of coffee and proceeded to serve Bernadette first. Then she crossed to where Lily sat with Miss Ryan.

  Lily accepted the remaining cup and busied herself stirring in several lumps of sugar. As she drank it, she wondered just how well Miss Ryan did know Guy. “You will surely wish to renew your acquaintance when he comes to collect me,” she told the woman.

  “It will be delightful to see him again,” Miss Ryan replied, her smile widening to display a row of even white teeth.

  Lily drank the hot liquid, wishing Miss Ryan would go away. She noted that Bernadette Bradshaw had left the parlor in the meantime. It was too much to hope she had gone home. Thus far, this afternoon was an unmitigated disaster.

  “I hear Lord Duquesne’s father is still indisposed,” Miss Ryan said. “That must have put a damper on your wedding day. Not much of a celebration, I’ll wager.”

  “We had a quiet civil ceremony with several friends in attendance. That was what we both desired,” Lily replied.

  The vicar’s wife dithered, interrupting the uncomfortable discourse with a clearing of the throat and wringing of hands. Lily wished she could alleviate the woman’s obvious distress. Two social faux pas on the same occasion must be the devil to face.

  “You have done absolute wonders with this room, Mrs. Oliver,” Lily said in a determined effort to change the topic. “It appears much warmer than when Father and I resided here. I see that you crochet.” Lily glanced about at the numerous antimacassars, furniture throws and an enormous fringed piece draped over the top of the upright piano.

  The entire parlor seemed webbed in white thread. Lily felt much like the fly caught up in it while spiders loomed.

  “Oh, yes, and thank you, my lady. Would you care to revisit the other rooms?”

  Lily thought not. “Oh, but surely other guests will be arriving soon and you—” She set down her cup as she protested. Bernadette Bradshaw had come back in, wandering around the room now, examining the pictures on the wall, pointedly ignoring Lily.

  “Come, come, I will show you the other rooms, Lady Lillian,” offered Sara Ryan. Before Lily could object further, the woman took her arm, urged her to get up and guided her toward the hall.

  “Really, I prefer to remain in the parlor,” Lily stated, barely resisting the urge to snatch her arm away.

  “Seeing how you used to live before you became a baroness should remind you how fortunate you are. And now you’re the viscountess,” she purred. “It almost makes the institution of marriage seem acceptable, doesn’t it. Especially when one marries up.” She actually laughed.

  “Sara, really!” the vicar’s wife exclaimed in horror.

  A wicked snort from the opposite side of the room announced that Lily’s former mother-in-law had heard and found the entire episode vastly amusing.

  Lily withdrew her arm from the grip of her new acquaintance. “I assure you marriage has much to recommend it other than material acquisitions, Miss Ryan.”

  The woman laughed out loud at that, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “I daresay it does, at least with regard to Duquesne.” She chuckled, a low throaty sound. “And do call me Sara if you like.”

  Lily bristled. “I shouldn’t like that at all.”

  “Oh, come now. We have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Miss Ryan said with a frown. “I do apologize for my presumption. Come, let me show you my aunt’s handiwork. The dining room is a wonder.”

  Lily went for no other reason than to avoid seeing the dowager’s smug expression.

  The moment they were out of earshot, Sara Ryan turned to her. “Look, I should explain. I owe my life to your husband and I think the world of him. As a friend,” she added with feeling. “If I gave you the wrong impression, I am truly sorry for it.”

  Lily regarded her sincere expression. “Duquesne saved you? How so?”

  A mixture of emotions animated Miss Ryan’s dark, classic features. “I eloped with a young man who promptly discarded me without the promised wedding. When I found myself alone in London, I remembered that Lord Duquesne kept a house there. It was either go to him and beg his assistance, or take to the streets. I knew no one else.”

  “And he agreed, of course.” Lily could see Guy taking Sara Ryan under his protection. What man would not? She was very beautiful.

  Then Lily realized that she and Sara had much in common with regard to Guy. She had done virtually the same thing, applying to him for help when stranded in the city. He had not taken advantage of her, had he? She decided to give her husband and Sara the benefit of the doubt. “Thank you for explaining.”

  “I knew you would understand. I fear my insult to the state of matrimony offended you, but the feeling of betrayal is still quite fresh.” She dimpled fetchingly. “I am something of a cynic. And far too outspoken. Say you forgive me.”

  Lily nodded, but refrained from any other comment. Instead she changed the topic to their surroundings. “So, have you learned to crochet? All of this looks to be the work of more than two hands.”

  As the tour of the vicarage progressed, Lily became lost in recollections of a girlhood spent in the place. Indeed, it had changed. Without her mother to guide her hand, Lily had never been able to impart the proper hominess to it. Her father should have remarried.

  When they returned to the parlor, she was
surprised to see it nearly filled with ladies. Caught up in greeting faces she scarcely remembered and trying to match them with names, Lily felt relieved when tea was served. Her mouth felt incredibly dry and her head had begun to ache. This fete had become a chore she heartily wished to be over.

  “These are delicious,” Sara said, handing her a porcelain plate with several tiny cakes. “My aunt outdid herself.”

  Lily nodded her thanks and concentrated on finishing the elaborate little sweets and washing them down with the worst tea ever brewed. The vicar’s wife refilled the cup herself. Even as Lily complimented her hostess, she made a note to send over a tin of her best blend as a thank-you. Perhaps some coffee, as well. What she had drunk earlier tasted musty.

  The chatter became unnerving, its volume increasing by the minute until Lily thought her head would explode. Even as the number of guests dwindled, the noise did not. Louder and louder it grew until she could hardly bear it.

  Lily paced the parlor, desperate to find a quieter spot. It seemed imperative that she do so.

  Pictures on the wall swayed from the wires suspending them from the moldings. Furniture appeared where she thought there was empty space. Her eyes would not focus. She wanted to scream for quiet, for stillness, for peace!

  Where was Guy? Why wasn’t he here? He should be here to take her home.

  Suddenly she stumbled against a sofa, barely catching herself as she tumbled to the floor. She was on her knees.

  Voices battered her from all sides, bodies closing in around her. Hands, rustling skirts, attacking. Bats swirled, plucking at her hair, her upraised hands. Squeaking and screeching at her. She beat them away, frantic for a breath of air, for safety.

  “Thank God you are here!” Lily heard the dowager’s exclamation above the horrible sounds and prayed Guy had come to save her.

  Then a high keening in her own throat drowned out the frightening noise. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. It was the last thing she knew.