by Meara Platt
Guilt, which had flickered to life during the very practical and stiff wedding ceremony, was stoked even further by an unexpected attack of his conscience.
By God, she was a beauty. She deserved so much more than this.
He should have met with her mother. He should have given her time to accustom herself to the idea of marriage to him. He should have courted her properly, despite his own worries, so that she could get to know Bernadette.
She was a lady, a duke’s stepdaughter.
And yet his time could run out long before he might have accomplished any of this.
Bernadette had been anything but welcoming to her.
Christian’s blood ran cold. The young woman awaiting him next door had willingly taken on all of his troubles, displayed either astonishing courage or extraordinary foolishness.
Lillian.
His wife!
He’d remembered thinking she was pretty when he’d met her on the street but when he’d met with her earlier that morning, he had not been exaggerating when he’d told her that she wasn’t much more than a blur.
He’d only seen her in a hat before and this morning, she’d worn a bonnet. Tonight, her golden blond hair had been artfully pinned atop her head with tantalizing tendrils framing her heart-shaped face.
And her eyes.
Each time he’d felt an inkling of panic, she’d smiled at him and the warmth from her coffee-colored gaze somehow soothed him.
Which made no sense, since he hardly knew her.
He glanced down at his timepiece again and Horace nudged at his hand.
“I know, old boy. But you would be nervous too, trust me.”
Christian would swear his dog was laughing at him when he opened his mouth to pant slightly. Christian had discovered Horace just over eight years before behind one of the tenant farms. His seventeen-year-old self had just been informed that his oldest brother Abron’s ship had gone down while crossing the Channel. Christian remembered being angry with Abron for dying, for risking his life unnecessarily and leaving Calvin and him alone to care for Bernadette and everything else.
The farmer had complained that the dog was naught but a nuisance—a mongrel; the runt. He’d thrown the dog away.
In the face of such disregard for life, Christian had spent the following weeks caring for the pup in the stable behind the manor at the ducal country estate, Winter’s Edge. He’d fed Horace by hand and by the time his pet could lap up milk on his own, he’d become twice his original size.
Christian reached down and rubbed Horace’s scruffy head. He’d not realized how rudderless he would feel without Calvin. Christian, alone, was the head of the family now. All that was left of their family was him and Bernadette.
And now Lillian.
Which was why he faced this most unusual predicament tonight. He was to bed a woman, a beautiful woman who was also a lady, who’d married him out of nothing more than compassion—pity?— and a desire for future independence.
She was willing to help him. She was willing to marry him, bear him a son, and then wait for him to die.
Christian glanced down at the timepiece once again. Ten minutes had passed since she would have been expecting him. He grasped his knee to stop it from bouncing and yet still he couldn’t force himself to get up. What the hell had he done?
Chapter Five
So Much to Discuss
Lillian had sent Becky away nearly half an hour ago. Where was he? Had he changed his mind? A handful of maids from below stairs had delivered several trays laden with food and wine nearly twenty minutes ago. It sat waiting for the newly married couple in the elegant sitting room attached to her suite.
Lillian glanced in the mirror again. She’d not had time to buy any sort of trousseau to wear on her wedding night, and so she’d brought along the prettiest cotton night rail that she owned. Over it, she wore a pale pink dressing gown with lace at the wrists and also around the hem.
Her eyes looked larger than normal against her complexion, which seemed to alternate between looking either more pale than usual or unusually flushed.
She glanced at the adjoining door, where she hadn’t heard any movement at all since before the food had arrived.
Was it possible he’d left the house? Gone to one of his clubs to drink away the night rather than bed a woman who’d married him for such mercenary reasons as she had?
Lillian bit her lip. That did not seem like something he’d do. He’d requested to share a meal with her.
And yet she didn’t really know him at all…
What if he’d fallen ill? This explanation, unfortunately, seemed more probable than the first.
More worried than nervous for herself, she tiptoed across the room and pressed her ear against the door.
Nothing.
She knocked three times softly, and then three more times, louder and with more urgency. When met with only silence, she turned the latch and pushed it open.
“Christian?” she murmured, expecting to discover an empty room but then widening her eyes at what she saw. Not ten feet away, illuminated by just a few candles, Christian sat still as a statue upon a high-backed chair. Horace shifted a matter-of-fact gaze in her direction, but his master did not move. Her husband appeared almost as though he’d been hypnotized.
“Christian?” Lillian padded barefoot across the plush carpet. When she placed herself directly in his line of sight, he finally blinked, and then seemed to struggle to focus on her from behind his spectacles.
Horace hopped up and circled to the side of the chair, allowing Lillian to kneel on the floor before this man she’d married. Scared that something had happened, that he’d had an attack of some sort or that his illness had progressed, she took hold of Christian’s hands and rubbed them between both of hers. They felt cold as ice. The timepiece he had been clutching dropped and then swung from its chain. “Are you unwell? Christian?”
He blinked a few times. “You should not have married me so quickly. A lady such as yourself…” He frowned. “Am I late?” His voice came out little more than a whisper. He shook his head again. “Lillian? Forgive me.”
“But there is nothing to forgive, Christian,” she reassured him as her heart resumed it’s normal pace once again. “Are you unwell?” she repeated, touching his forehead, the side of his face, and then dropping once again to his hands.
As though emerging from a deep sleep, he slipped one hand out of hers and scrubbed it down his face. “I—“ He swallowed hard.
“Are you in any pain?” she asked more urgently this time, although he seemed to be coming back to himself.
“I ought to be. I deserve to be.”
“But why?” She felt thoroughly confused.
“I’m an insufferable villain for bringing you into this. You are too beautiful. I know you said you wanted your independence, but I pounced on your willingness to give up your chances…” He spoke without meeting her gaze. “What I am doing is unforgivable and I cannot take advantage of you this way. I gave you no time at all to make a decision that will change the course of your life forever.” He was shaking his head again.
She lifted one of her hands and settled it on the silk material that rested over his heart. It raced to the same rhythm that the tiny pulse at his throat fluttered. She had hardly heard his words; she’d been so worried about his health. “So, you are not ill? You are… feeling regret?”
Lillian licked her lips. She had thought he might regret tying himself to her because marriage would curtail his own freedoms. She had not considered he’d worry as to how it would affect hers.
Finally meeting her eyes, he nodded. “You are a lady and I have forced you into this without so much as meeting your family, your brother and your mother.” He shuddered and the flames on the nearby candles flickered. “It is a damnable state of affairs. My sister ought not be so vulnerable but that does not excuse my own selfish behavior.”
Lillian had not expected this. Even attributing him with exceeding
ly good character, she had thought he would wish to bed her expeditiously once she’d given him permission. Instead, he’d been overcome with debilitating guilt.
And he was wrong. He need not feel guilty at all!
“Cameron,” she began. “My brother—my stepbrother.” She licked her lips. She needed him to understand.
“He is Crawford now?” Christian confirmed, giving her all of his attention. “His father was killed in a mining collapse, recently?”
“A year and a half ago.” Nineteen months to be precise, since the former Duke of Crawford had wrought such havoc in the small community near their estate. “My stepfather not only caused his own death but also the deaths of dozens of his workers. He viewed his ducal responsibilities quite differently than you. His greed knew no bounds.”
Christian’s steady attention encouraged her to continue.
“He lusted for treasure as well as more sons.”
Christian frowned. “But he already had an heir.”
Lillian nodded. “It wasn’t enough for him. Cameron went to war, and Crawford didn’t trust that his son would live long enough to carry out his own visions for wealth and power. After his first wife died, just a few months later, he married my mother.” Lillian remembered how happy her mother had been… But her joy had quickly faded. “On more than one occasion, I overheard him chastising Mother for failing to conceive. Initially, she blamed herself, I believe, and simply did her best to appease him. Toward the end, she sought mostly to protect me and my sisters from his tempers. His violence escalated considerably shortly before his death.”
“God, Lillian, and now I’ve married you in order to secure my family line.” Christian’s jaw tightened as he expressed his dismay.
“Not for the line, Christian,” she said with great urgency, “but for the health and safety of your sister. My stepfather wanted to secure his line out of greed, not caring for anyone but himself and his own legacy. His obsession, in fact, killed his first wife. The difference between the two of you is stark.”
He smiled tightly. “It doesn’t sound as though you experienced much security as his daughter. God, Lillian. I’m so damn sorry. And now I’ve forced you into this...”
“You have forced me into nothing.” She rested back on her heels and squeezed his hands again. “Rather, you have given me an opportunity to… have purpose.” And this was true. It was precisely why she had agreed. “I want to do this for you. I believe you are a good man—in a difficult situation. Won’t you allow me to help you?”
She felt tiny as she kneeled on the floor before him, and yet she believed he could take some strength from her somehow.
“I am not a naïve girl but a grown woman, Christian, with a will of my own. If I had not wished to do this, I would not have. Other options have been presented to me, options I refused. Helping you allows me to have experiences I could never have otherwise, without sacrificing my freedom.”
His hands returned her squeeze. “I’m just so sorry for all of it. I cannot help but feel like—“
“You would apologize on behalf of the entirety of the patriarchal system?” Lillian laughed softly at this. “I did a good deal of thinking this afternoon, and if we can best this system and protect your sister somehow, then I am more than pleased to do my part.”
“Because you have had a taste of the consequences yourself.”
She nodded. “Crawford fixated most of his temper on my mother. She put herself between us. She rarely failed to protect her daughters. But we feared him. And fearing for my mother’s safety was likely just as bad.”
He searched her gaze with his for several moments before he seemed to arrive at a decision. “I apologize for not knowing this about you.”
At his words, she smiled. “But how could you? We have just met.”
“Indeed, we have. Lillian.” He seemed to be testing her name on his lips. “I will have to find out more about you. If you will allow me, I’d like to know your past—how you like to spend your days, your passions, your fears. I don’t completely understand what drives a woman like you, but I look forward to learning.”
“But of course, and I would like the same.” She only hoped that they had the time to do so. She swallowed hard.
Which brought her back to the original reason for this marriage to begin with.
“There is an elaborate spread of all sorts of delicacies laid out for you and me in our adjoining sitting room. Your cook has apparently gone all out, and I’d hate for her efforts to go to waste…”
He rose from the chair and with her hands still clasped in his, assisted her to her feet. “I do hope you’ll accept my apologies.” His jaw clenched, as though he frustrated himself.
She took the arm he offered and allowed him to escort her back into the chamber she’d been allotted. “All of this is lovely, really.” Lillian gestured toward the elegant room and the doorway to her bedchamber in an effort to keep from feeling awkward. She was a practical person by nature and was fully prepared to undertake marital relations, but the act was a rather intimidating one for an untouched lady. Now that she was no longer concerned for his well-being, a swarm of bumblebees took flight inside of her as she lowered herself to the loveseat beside him.
“Wine?”
“Yes, please.” Her throat felt thicker than it had only moments before. A thick silence had fallen between them, and she hoped that the effects of the wine would dispel it. Should she flirt? Should she attempt to entice him in some way? She hated not knowing.
“How should we do this?” she asked, unable to quell her curiosity a moment longer.
He handed her a full glass and took a long swallow of his own. His silence implied that he was not comfortable discussing such matters with a lady.
“My sister-in-law’s mother instructed her to lie still and endure her husband,” Lillian would take matters into her own hands, “but she also told me there was an altogether different type of approach.”
His leg began jumping again. “If we wish to avoid developing emotional intimacy, we could do this… by following the first method. I cannot help but believe my demise will be easier on my you if we abstain from sharing an abundance of affection.”
His words deflated her.
“However,” he continued, causing Lillian to sit up straighter. “I am not averse to...” He cleared his throat, that foot of his bouncing even faster now. “…the second approach.” He took another long swallow from his glass. “Do you have a preference?”
Lillian did not have to think about it. “I believe we ought to take the second approach, initially. If problems arise from doing so, at any time, either of us could request we exercise the more… detached method.” She lifted her glass and swallowed nearly half of its contents. “As long as you are amenable?”
She met his gaze from beneath her eyelashes. Was it possible that he already appeared more attractive than when she’d met him earlier?
He finished his glass and placed it on the low table set before them. But then he turned all of his attention back to her, placing his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers playing with a few strands of her hair.
“I am,” he finally answered.
A shiver ran through her when his thumb brushed along her jaw.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
He smiled and, in answer, leaned forward. She had read about the different types of kisses. The Romans had named them. A chaste kiss upon the cheek was named the osculum. The basium was more intimate, lips upon lips. And the third kind, the savium, was an oral representation of the act of lovemaking.
His lips didn’t settle on hers right away, though, as she expected. Hot breath hit the side of her mouth. “You have a lovely scent.”
Her breath hitched and those bumblebees took flight again. “Thank you.”
He’d barely touched her, and yet already her heart felt as though it was going to explode inside her chest. Had he known how his nearness would affect her?
“Have you d
one this often, then? Do you have a good deal of experience?” Most men were expected to be experienced, were they not? He didn’t seem like most men.
“Not often.” His lips trailed around to the edge of her jaw. “Some.”
Oh, but that was no answer at all. Lillian tipped her head to the side when he finally pressed his mouth against her skin. Cool lips at first, but then warmer, and moist. “As in weekly?” she persisted. “Would you say you’ve done this hundreds of times? More?”
She felt the effects of the vibration of his chuckle in her very core. She pressed her thighs together.
“My experience,” the heat of his mouth dragged toward her lips, “has come in spurts. Less than one hundred. But more than once.” He teased the edge of her lips. “And what of you, wife?”
And then his tongue slid along the seam of her mouth.
He’d gained intimate access to her mouth by now, exploring behind her teeth and mingling the taste of the wine they’d both drank.
“I have been kissed,” she somehow managed an answer when he released her just long enough so that he could find a better angle for this kiss. “But I have not done the other.”
He emitted a low growl as he reclaimed her mouth.
She arched toward him when his hand settled on her waist, inside her dressing gown. Without any underclothes, the warmth of his palm easily penetrated the fabric of her night rail.
“Do you wish to wait until we eat, then?” Lillian would be certain. He seemed quite intent upon their current activity, but if he required sustenance, she did not wish to deprive him.
“I believe that would be best.” His mouth abandoned her lips to journey down the length of her throat. Lillian was all but horizontal on the loveseat now, his weight pressing her into the cushions. “Unless you are hungry?”