Lily Mine

by Joseph, Annabel

  Her lips pursed a little. "I never meant to cause you unrest. I needed some time to sort out the way I'm feeling."

  "And have you sorted things out?"

  "Not in the least." Her guarded gaze began to disintegrate back into the artless, open expression he remembered and so loved, like an obscuring veil was being pulled away. "I'm afraid I am as confused as ever, but holding myself away from you only makes me confused and lonely."

  "Oh, Lily." He reached for her and she came to his outstretched arms, collapsing against him with a sigh. He held her close, burying his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar, beloved scent of her. "I can't bear to see you so unhappy. We'll only stay another week, I promise. We'll leave Christmas night and be back in Lilyvale by morning. I know it solves none of our greater problems but--"

  Her delicate finger against his lips silenced him. He clutched her close, meaning to be gentle. He was not. He slanted his kiss across her mouth and quickly turned possessive. Without thought he was half leading, half carrying her to the bed. The faint but urgent moans she made against his lips drove his desire higher, so that he pushed her down much more roughly than he intended.

  He held her wrists to the bed, wanting to trap and keep her there, as if she might fly at any time. They kissed like combatants, the pent-up passions of a weeklong separation igniting a fire between them. She fought him, only to regain the use of her hands and push at the robe still pulled across his shoulders. With a growl he tore off the garment and her own robe and chemise, rending the fine silk fabric with a harsh noise that made them both pause for a moment.

  And then she smiled.

  Ever the wanton, she looked down at his swollen, jutting cock and then smiled up at him with beguiling invitation in her gaze. He lunged for her wrists but he was a second too late. She was scrambling, her breath coming fast and excited. She turned and attempted to crawl away. He caught an ankle and dragged her back downward, letting go to deliver a glancing blow to her pale bottom cheeks. It had been too long since they'd played, and he could tell she was in as high a mood as he. She struggled to get away and he delivered three more smacks in succession, then flipped her over, looking down at her with bared teeth.

  She answered with another challenging smile and launched herself at him just as he once again moved to pin her down. He caught her around the waist and turned with her, pulling her over his lap. He reached with the other hand to yank the waist tie from his bed robe. By pure will and brute manhandling, he worked her arms behind her squirming body, pinning her wrists together and encircling them with the velvet tie. He bound them tightly as she yanked and twisted to get away. When that failed, she ducked her head and bit the inside of his thigh, a little more than a playful bite. He made a feral sound and twisted his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back.

  "Dearest Lily. If you are truly spoiling for a tussle, you shall have it--but I fear you are already at quite a disadvantage." He chuckled, gazing down at her wide, melting eyes. "Although I daresay you enjoy being at my mercy, so perhaps advantage favors us both in this case."

  "I have a favor to ask, dear sir," she said in a docile voice.

  "And what is that?"

  "That you let me go!" she said, resuming her squirming with new vigor. James only laughed and held her tighter, enjoying her distress, which he knew was only partly feigned.

  "I will let you go when I'm done with you. Not before. You know how this goes."

  He brought his hand down again on her lovely bottom, already stained a soft pink from his earlier assault. She ducked her head and opened her mouth against his leg again. He made a threatening sound that brought her to heel, and instead of teeth, he felt a soft tongue soothing the skin she'd bitten earlier. He spanked her thoroughly, reveling in her jolts and jerks and melodramatic pleas for mercy. Before the pleas turned genuine, he stopped and ran his hands across her shapely cheeks.

  "Ah, but I love to belabor your bottom, you little minx."

  "Well I know it," she said on a sigh.

  "Did I hurt you much?"

  "A little. Perhaps you will endeavor to make it all better." She turned to peek up at him with a coquettish gleam in her eyes.

  He gave her another lazy smack, his mind already moving on to more carnal pleasures. "Perhaps I will, if you apply yourself to arousing me sufficiently." With those words he pushed her off his lap onto the floor, arranging her before him on her knees with her hands still bound behind her back.

  She took a long look at his swollen, surging rod. "You are not yet sufficiently aroused, my lord?"

  He grinned back at her, twining his fingers in her mass of auburn hair. "Open that pretty mouth and be a good girl, or else take your chances back over my lap."

  At once, she was kneeling up and leaning forward to caress him with long strokes of her tongue. He tightened his fingers in her hair at the burgeoning pleasure. She was so eager in her attentions that he found his control slipping. He pulled her away with a subtle jerk of her hair and lifted her, turning and bending her over the bed. Her hands clenched into fists within her bonds and her hips twitched as he took his place behind her, running his hands once more over her heart-shaped crimson cheeks. His cock nudged at her opening, drawing a throaty moan from her. She tried to arch back against him, but he stilled her with a firm grip of her hips. "No. Not yet."

  She moved again back toward him and he held her harder, then delivered a sharp slap to the outside of one thigh. She moaned and went limp, conceding to his control of her.

  "Yes, you wait for my pleasure, don't you? There's no other way to get what you want."

  "Please," she begged softly. "Please join with me. I want you, James."

  I want you, James. He let the pretty words wash over him, slip down inside his mind and heart, his shoulders and back and belly and down to the part of him that searched to join with her and be complete. He took the velvet tie that bound her hands, gripped it hard in his fingers and spread her legs wider with his knees. No matter his perversity, his coarse, rough desires, this lovely woman wanted him. It was pure chance that she'd walked down the road to Lilyvale that late-summer day, and that she'd just happened to resemble his wife. He felt the most fortunate man on earth to possess her. He leaned close and bent down to whisper in her ear.

  "If you want me, I'm yours."

  She groaned and arched her back as he finally nudged inside her, a slow deliberate slide meant to drive her mad. Her groan rose to a cry of relief as he filled her completely. She swiveled her hips, clenching against him so he had to grit his teeth not to spend then and there.

  "Be still a moment," he gasped. "I will endanger you if you will not be still."

  She ceased at once, ever obedient. She knew the peril as well as he--the threat of a child. But part of him, as ever, yearned to spill in her anyway, consequences be damned. Part of him craved to make her the mother of his child, to see her grow fat with a life they created. It was a selfish wish, but one that haunted him. He tightened his fingers on the tie that held her and he willed himself to control. He must protect her. He must protect her.

  She moaned softly against the bedclothes, burying her face in the white linen and pulling restlessly at her bound hands. With a quiet sound of capitulation, he surrendered and thrust inside her again. He slid his hand beneath her to tweak and caress her breasts as she struggled under him. As he slid his hand lower to stroke and tease the wet, swollen secret between her legs, he thought of work duties and political dogma to distract himself long enough for her to reach her pinnacle of completion.

  Once she achieved it, bucking against him, he let himself go. He drove into her wildly, grasping what parts of her he could--her shoulders, her hips, her neck and her long, thick hair. He felt the pressure come to an apex, the white-hot ecstasy blinding and stunning him with its power. But he pulled away in time, just barely, and fell panting over her back. She lay still beneath him, her back rising to meet his chest so he felt like one creature with her.

  "God he
lp me, but I love you," she whispered in the darkness.

  "God help us both," he whispered back against her ear, nuzzling her nape before he leaned away to free her hands.

  * * * * *

  The week leading up to Christmas seemed a magical interlude to Lily. The servants busied themselves decking the house with holly boughs and mistletoe, and laid bowls of wassail to steam over the fire. The pungent aroma seemed to sink into Lily's hair and clothing so she felt festive no matter the time or where she was. Social cards continued to arrive with invitations to balls and parties, but the weather turned so poor and snowy they were able to use it as an excuse to stay indoors.

  And they found much to do indoors. They retired in day and at night, not caring if the servants knew and gossiped. They read James' books together and created their own perversities that surely merited their own volume. She told James so and he smiled and said she ought to write it, now that her writing was much improved. She could never do such a thing, although he teased her about it often. How else are we to remember these many depravities we commit together? For Lily, it was a question of ever being able to forget.

  Sometimes she thought about her old life, and returning to it. The idea that she might marry seemed even more unlikely now. She couldn't bear to be with another. No one could be as James had been to her. No one could ever come close. She would be left with only memories of what she and James had shared, memories she thought would haunt her her entire life. She wondered about her family. James told her he had someone looking into their well-being, and he was due to report back any time. She hoped they were fine and healthy and warm in this Christmas-y time of year. Sometimes she imagined taking James' carriage and going to call on them. But no, she could do no such thing. What would they think of what she was doing? Her activities these past months would only confirm her father's condemning opinion of her. No, she would not give him the chance to cut her down again.

  Christmas day dawned at last, an unusually bright day, and Lily steeled herself to make an appearance at the Holts one last time. They were having a small gathering of friends and family, and Lily and James would have to be there. She hoped the excuse of her invented "prolonged illness" would explain away any inconsistencies between her behavior and how the real Lilliana might have behaved. Afterward, to her relief, she and James were leaving London. The trunks and valises were already packed. But first, down in the parlor by the roaring fire and holly branches, James drew her into the circle of his arms and gave her a soft kiss.

  "I've gotten you a present," he said.

  "Oh, no! But I've nothing for you."

  "Hush, dearest. It doesn't matter. You've been cooped up in this house, hiding." His lashes dropped lower and his gaze turned flirtatious. "Hiding and giving me gift after gift, my love. So don't fret."

  Lily pressed her face against his, suddenly feeling shy as he placed a rectangular package in her hands. It was wrapped in fine printed paper and tied with a velvet bow. She untied the length of velvet and pulled it away, blushing. She'd been bound with velvet far too many times by now for perverse thoughts not to spring to her mind.

  James only smiled and watched her expectantly. She pulled away the paper next, being careful not to tear or crinkle it, to reveal a leather-bound book. It was finely tooled, a deep brown volume of medium size and thickness, but there was no title at all on the cover or spine. In confusion, she opened the book to leaf through the pages. They were blank, empty. She lifted her eyes in confusion to his.

  "It is not for reading, Lily. It is a journal for writing. For keeping thoughts and moments. But there is a little writing in it."

  His hands covered hers and he flipped back through the pages to the beginning. In his tight, neat hand, he had done an inscription on the first page. To my beloved Lily, it said simply, with the date scribed beneath. And under that, another passage in slightly smaller script.

  To see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower,

  Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.

  Lily gazed at the words, pretty-sounding and poetical. She wasn't sure if she understood the exact meaning, but the tender regard was evident enough.

  "Such lovely words, sir. You have always had the best way of expressing things."

  "They are not my words. They are by a fine poet I know named William Blake. But he says what I feel in my heart. Every moment, even the smallest moment with you, is immeasurably precious. If my whole life was only the time I've had with you, it would be enough."

  Lily ducked her head, her lips trembling against tears. "You are the very crack of a poet yourself. Such words you say. I wish I could never forget them."

  "Well then." He lifted the journal from her hands and went out the door. She followed him to the library and the desk, where he took up an ink pen. Beneath the inscription from Blake he wrote the other words, his own words that glowed like a fire in her heart. Every moment with you is immeasurably precious. If my whole life was only the time I've had with you, it would be enough. He dried the words and ran his fingers over them with gravity before closing the journal and handing it back. Lily took it and gripped it in both hands, like a priceless amulet. As long as she had it, she would have his words to fortify her in times of loneliness and despair.

  "Thank you," she said. "I will treasure it always. I only wish I had something equally special to give you."

  He took her hand and kissed it, then turned it and held the palm to his cheek a long while, saying nothing, until she excused herself to go abovestairs and get ready to go.

  * * * * *

  Lily held the prettily decorated basket of chestnuts and figs on her lap and James regarded her sympathetically, squeezing her hand the whole way they crawled along the busy streets to the Holt mansion. Everyone in London was making Christmas morning calls and traffic was a snarl. He wanted to tell her not to worry. He had made a tremendous decision that very morning, as Lily gazed at him, clutching the journal he'd given her.

  Enough was enough.

  After today, after one last quiet holiday party at the Holt house, he was going to take Lily to the country and wed her. Society and judgment be damned, but he would make an honest woman of this treasure he loved. The Holts could do what they would, scramble to mend their own fences. Lilliana's misbehavior would no longer be his burden, nor Claire's chance at a worthwhile match his responsibility. He would give them this last holiday to make merry and take callers. After that, they would be on their own.

  As for his shame, he would welcome it. He deserved it for agreeing to this farce for so long. He could bear any shame or scorn so long as Lily was at his side. The ton's derision would be as nothing, the buzzing of gnats about a beautiful flower. She would remain bright and unaffected--he would make it so. He would shelter her at Lilyvale forever and in time, when his own sons and daughters came out, the gossip would have subsided to whispers and vague memories. A small taint on the name perhaps--a common mother, a lifestyle out of society--but their children would overcome it. Perhaps marriage into the oldest and greatest houses would be precluded, but he thought, all things told, that might not be a bad thing. Perhaps their children would also choose to wed commoners. So be it, as long as they found love.

  He would tell Lily after the Holt gathering, when they were on the way back to Lilyvale. He would let her plan a lovely country wedding with the servants. Perhaps they could be wed on the first day of the new year, a few days hence. All of Smeeth would contribute to the cause of last minute preparations, for Lily was beloved there.

  "Oh!" James sat up straighter, remembering. "I had a letter of Mrs. Hanover, by the doctor who cares for her. He says she does infinitely better already, now that you have warned her off her potion."

  "Does she?" Lily smiled, clasping her hands together.

  "He spoke of her improvement in the most glowing terms. I meant to show you the letter, but it only came yesterday. So you must be glad, dear. He says she is no longer strange or
forgetful, but almost as sharp as she used to be. He is using liniments to cure her various aches, and they are proving much less harmful."

  "Oh, I am glad." Lily settled back on the cushions with a smile that was vastly better than the nervous expression she'd worn before. "I cannot wait to return to Lilyvale and see her, James. That is the most wonderful news."

  Not as wonderful as the other news I have for you. He squelched the urge to spill it now, as they were pulling up to the Holt gatehouse. He pressed a kiss against her temple, his fingers glancing over her beautifully coiffed hair. "You are a vision, dearest. Do not fret one bit. Try to enjoy the festivities."

  He led her into the Holts' salon, patting her hand where it rested on his arm to give her strength. As Lady Holt promised, the gathering was small and intimate. Aside from Lord and Lady Holt, there were only a couple of neighboring families, along with a somber Claire and the aged dowager Holt, already nodding off in her voluminous puce silk dress with her head propped on her cane.

  Introductions were performed, and even the elder Lady Holt managed to rouse herself from her doze to greet Lord Ashbourne and his "lovely Lilliana." Lily smiled through it all as gamely as ever. Polite inquiries as to married life and her time at Lilyvale were answered in vague generalities. Lilliana had been quite an animated girl and he thought the guests considered her reserved responses a bit out of character. Hopefully they put it up to her recent illness.

  Fortunately, Lady Holt cut in to the conversation to guide her guests into the more formal sitting room. The men retired to a cluster of chairs in the corner to chat and have a holiday cordial.

  James didn't wish to leave Lily, but it would have looked quite unnatural for him to sit with the women while the men all took themselves off. He sat in the chair closest to the area where the women gathered and eavesdropped on their chitchat about Town happenings, and the latest betrothals, and the state of fashion at Madame Dumont's dressmaking salon. Lily continued quiet and circumspect, but Lady Holt adeptly steered the conversation so that her retiring nature did not seem too overt. That was, until the dowager Holt leaned forward on her cane and fixed Lily with a critical look.