Lily

by Lauren Royal

His hand squeezed hers. “No one will be coming out in the rain to look for us, will they?”

  The way he said that made a shiver of another sort run through her.

  Summer rain blew in when he pushed open the door. They made a run for it, Rand holding Lily with one hand and the champagne bottle with the other. After crossing the courtyard to the outbuildings, they finally ducked into the dairy.

  Though Rand shut the door against the rain, it still pattered on the roof and slashed against the dairy’s diamond-paned windows. Lily remembered peeking in here once and seeing a dairymaid with a pockmarked face and a pretty, shy smile.

  She glanced around the small room. “Where is everyone?”

  “Inside, helping with the wedding. No one will interrupt us.” He grinned. “Even Beatrix failed to make it out here.”

  The walls were plain and whitewashed. Lily turned in a slow circle, her shoes leaving wet prints on the red tile floor. Pails, pans, and strainers sat on a wide marble counter supported on legs that ended in cows’ hooves. She hugged herself, smiling at the whimsy.

  “Cold?” Rand asked.

  “A little. There’s no fire.”

  “I’ll warm you up,” he said, the tone of his voice leaving no doubt how he planned to accomplish that end. He set the champagne bottle on the marble surface with a definitive clunk.

  A nervous laugh bubbled out of her. “I hope you’re not planning to warm me up too effectively. There’s no bed, either.”

  “I plan to warm you effectively indeed.” Both hands on her waist, he lifted her to sit on the counter. “And we’ve no need of a bed.”

  The marble felt cold beneath her skirts, but Rand’s fingers felt warm on her shoulders as he maneuvered himself closer, working his way between her knees. When he looked pointedly down, her gaze followed, her heart hitching as she saw how it could work.

  “I guess we don’t need a bed,” she whispered as his mouth descended on hers.

  His lips were gentle and cherishing, and when he coaxed her mouth open, his tongue was gentle, too, exploring as though he had all the time in the world, as though he wanted nothing more than to taste her thoroughly, to commit her texture to memory.

  She felt drugged. The pitter-pat of rain blended with her breathy sighs, blocking out the rest of the world. Here and now, it seemed there was only she and Rand and their love.

  Easing away, he took her hands and raised them to his lips. Slowly he kissed the palms and the backs and the fine white scars.

  “Don’t flinch,” he murmured when she did. Looking down, he traced the webbed patterns with a fingertip. “They’re beautiful, because they’re part of you.”

  Her throat closed with emotion, but she managed a shaky smile. “They remind me that I’m imperfect, which I suppose is not such a bad thing.”

  “It’s a good thing you have one flaw.” He kissed her nose and then her mouth, tiny damp kisses. “I’d feel damned inferior living with perfection.”

  Something twisted in her heart. “There were times when I feared you’d never be living with me at all.”

  “Never say never,” he murmured, reaching for the champagne bottle. He tipped his head back and took a sip, then bent to nuzzle her throat. The wine fizzed in the hollow beneath her chin. She arched her neck, the combination of cold, bubbly liquid and warm, soft mouth sending shivers rippling through her.

  As he nibbled his way up to her ear and drew the tender lobe between his teeth, she threaded her fingers into his hair. A soft groan rose from his chest, and suddenly he was kissing her again, more demanding now, nipping on her bottom lip before his mouth crushed hot against hers.

  Instantly a matching heat flared up inside her. It had been there, building all day, and now it flamed to life. Her heart thundering, she gave as much as she took, a reckless meshing of lips and tongues and teeth that made her blood race with excitement. When he finally broke away, she was breathless.

  She worked her hands beneath his surcoat as he flicked open the tabs that attached her stomacher. He dropped frantic kisses on her cheeks, her chin, her neck, and the expanse of trembling skin afforded him by the wide, low neckline of her saffron gown. With her stomacher removed, he loosened her laces and spread her bodice. Hooking the lacy edge of her chemise with a finger, he dragged it down, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.

  Once more he reached for the champagne, tilting his head back to take a mouthful. Then he leaned forward and fastened his mouth on a sensitive peak.

  The wine was cold and tingly, his mouth hot and emphatic. The combination robbed her of thought. Her senses reeled wildly as drops of champagne trickled free and he followed them with his tongue, leaving warm trails of sensation. She trembled with need, an urgent ache growing within her.

  “Now,” she breathed, and he shot her a wicked smile, reaching down to ruck up her skirts. His fingers danced up her legs, grazing the delicate skin on her inner thighs. The ache grew unbearable, and she gripped his shoulders. “Rand, we’ve waited long enough, days and days—”

  “Hush,” he whispered, reaching higher, brushing against where she ached. Then stroking, over and over, slipping a finger inside and back out to stroke more. His mouth slanted against hers again and again as his hands worked magic. Her eyes drifted shut, and she locked her arms behind his neck, tremors shimmering through her. The sweet torture continued until she was certain one more velvet stroke would be her undoing.

  “Rand!” she cried out.

  Suddenly their four hands were tearing at the laces that secured his breeches. And at long last he pulled her close and buried himself inside her.

  Her arms and legs went around him, welcoming, squeezing tight. It had felt like forever, all those days they couldn’t be together. Tears welled in her eyes at the sheer joy of him finally filling her, making her complete.

  Their mouths met, hot and wet as he rocked up against her, as they rocked together, an exquisite rhythm that built and built until she came undone with a little cry that was swallowed by his own deep moan of pleasure.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered after she caught her breath. “That was one perfect moment.”

  One perfect moment of euphoria.

  “We’ll have more,” he murmured, pulling back to wipe traces of tears from her cheeks. With one gentle finger, he touched the dent in her chin. “A lifetime together.”

  Nothing would ever come between them again.

  FOR A LONG time Lily stayed wrapped around Rand, and he held her close, cradling her head against his chest, his gaze drifting out the window. Rain pattered softly against the leaded panes. Beyond the glass, tall old trees danced in the blustery breeze, bright green against the dark gray sky, and farther beyond that, the red brick of Hawkridge Hall loomed majestically.

  This, Rand thought—all of it—would someday be his. And he belonged here, as much as he belonged in a lecture hall or huddled over a cryptic passage of ancient text.

  As a lad, he’d sought acceptance from a father who couldn’t stand the sight of him and a brother who’d hated him since birth. Alban was dead now, his evil laid to rest. And as for the marquess…maybe now he would finally offer that approval that had been so elusive.

  But to Rand it didn’t really matter anymore. Because now he had Lily.

  A contented sigh drifted from her, and he raised her face for his kiss. He would never get enough of her, he thought as he grazed her eyes and her cheeks and her lips, settling there to savor her sweet mouth. A kiss as gentle as the summer rain, a kiss for them both to melt into, a kiss to meld bodies and souls. And then another kiss. And another.

  And another, until they heard a scratch and a peck and a tap against one of the dairy’s windows.

  THANK YOU!

  Thank you for reading Lily! I hope you enjoyed it!

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k, please consider posting a review. Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all reviews, no matter how long or short!

  Next up is Rose’s story in Rose. Please read on for an excerpt.

  If you’d like to learn more about the real places and events in Lily, read on for my Author’s Note…

  BONUS MATERIAL

  Author’s Note

  Explore the Chase Family World

  Excerpt from Rose

  Books by Lauren Royal

  Free Historical Recipe Book

  Contest

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Jewels of Historical Romance

  Contact Information

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  Before I receive a bunch of letters claiming that mastiffs are gentle, protective, indoor, family-type dogs, I want to say that all of that is true—for today’s mastiffs. But in days gone by, the mastiff was known as a fighting dog. Caesar mentioned mastiffs in his account of invading Britain in 55 B.C., describing the huge British dogs that fought beside their masters. Soon afterward, mastiffs were bought back to Rome, where they saw combat at the Circus, matched against not only other dogs but also bulls, bears, lions, tigers, and human gladiators. Marco Polo wrote of Kubla Khan, who owned five thousand mastiffs used for hunting and war. Henry VIII gifted Charles V of Spain with four hundred mastiffs intended for use in battle.

  However, by the 1920s, mastiffs were disappearing from England. During World War I, people thought it unpatriotic to keep dogs alive that ate as much in a day as a soldier. By World War II, they were nearly extinct in England, but afterward, mastiffs were imported from Canada and the United States to start new kennels. Now they are well established again, but with a change: modern breeders have bred the mastiff for gentleness and companionship rather than fighting. In his Knight’s Tale, Chaucer described mastiffs as large as steer, which sounds unbelievable until we remember that cattle were much smaller in those days. Today’s mastiffs are the same massive size, but they’re loving and sociable pets.

  In 1680, Irish scientist Robert Boyle began selling coarse sheets of paper coated with phosphorus and wooden sticks with sulfur. A stick drawn through a fold of the paper would burst into flames. This device was the first chemical “match” and ultimately led to what we think of as matches today. In 1855, the first red phosphorus “safety” matches were introduced in Sweden, and paper “match books” were invented in the United States in 1889.

  Bawdy songs have always been popular, and in the seventeenth century the English were more comfortable singing such verse than they tend to be today. They relished the ribald and didn’t take pains to disguise sex as love. Cromwell’s Puritan Protectorate may have driven lusty singing underground, but with the Restoration, the ballad sellers returned. These early entrepreneurs sold single-sheet songs on the street, cheaply printed overnight to gain the most profit from each newly written piece.

  In 1661, publisher and composer John Playford put together a collection of these songs and ballads and called it An Antidote Against Melancholy. In 1682, his son Henry expanded the collection and published it as Wit and Mirth: An Antidote Against Melancholy. By 1698, the book was so popular that Henry expanded it again, this time sold as Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy. It proved so successful that after Henry’s death it was published by others, and five further volumes were eventually added. By the time Thomas D’Urfey edited the final edition in 1720, the six-volume set contained more than a thousand bawdy songs.

  Most of the homes in my books are inspired by real places you can visit. Trentingham Manor came to life after I saw The Vyne, a National Trust property in Hampshire. Built in the early sixteenth century for Lord Sandys, Henry VIII’s Lord Chamberlain, the house acquired a classical portico in the mid-seventeenth century (the first of its kind in England) and contains a grand Palladian staircase, a wealth of old paneling and fine furniture, and a fascinating Tudor chapel with Renaissance glass. The Vyne and its extensive gardens are open for visits April through October.

  Hawkridge Hall was modeled on Ham House, another National Trust property. Known as the most well-preserved Stuart home in England, Ham House was built in 1610 and enlarged in the 1670s. The building has survived virtually unchanged since then, and it still retains most of the furniture from that period. The house and gardens are open daily from April through October. Ham House was owned by the Lauderdales, one of the most powerful families in Restoration England, and a visit gives a wonderful picture of seventeenth-century aristocratic life.

  Rand’s house in Oxford was inspired by the house Edmond Halley (1656-1742) lived in while he held the post of Oxford’s Savilian Professor of Geometry. If you visit Oxford, look for the house in New College Lane near the Bridge of Sighs. The building isn’t open to tourists, but you can see the outside, including the rooftop observatory Halley added (although he never saw Halley’s Comet from it, since it made no appearance during the years he lived in the house).

  I hope you enjoyed Lily! If you’d like to revisit Lily and Rand, check out my next novel, Rose. Please read on for an excerpt as well as more bonus material!

  Always,

  EXPLORE THE CHASE FAMILY WORLD

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  LAUREN’S NEXT BOOK IS…

  Rose

  Book Three of

  Chase Family Series: The Flowers

  The last of three sisters to marry, Lady Rose Ashcroft is determined to land a wealthy, titled husband—a marquess perhaps, or even a duke. Having had her heart broken in the past, she’s decided the key to enticing a man lies in hiding her intelligence and academic interests while flaunting her more feminine qualities. Matchmaking mother in tow and strategy firmly in place, Rose heads off to Charles II’s court to find love…

  And runs smack dab into Christopher “Kit” Martyn, the one man who could ruin all her plans. Kit is a dashing, successful commoner with his sights set on landing the post of official Royal Architect—and he’s the only man Rose feels she can honestly talk to about anything. Kit knows the true Rose, and he wants her, but she thinks of him as a family friend. Can he convince her that a title is unimportant compared to the passion he knows they’re destined to share?

  Read an excerpt…

  Trentingham Manor, the South of England

  September 1677

  STANDING IN her family’s small, crowded chapel, Rose Ashcroft shifted on her high Louis-heeled shoes, wishing she were in a cathedral so there would be somewhere to sit.

  Wishing she were anywhere but here watching her sister get married.

  “Randal John Charles, Earl of Newcliffe, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will.” The confident words boomed through the magnificent oak-paneled chamber, binding Rand to Rose’s sister Lily.

  But Rose wasn’t listening to the ceremony. Instead she heard twenty-one, twenty-one, twenty-one running through her head. Twenty-one and a lonely spinster…while both her sisters had found love.

  Happy tears brightened their mother’s brown eyes. She leaned close, bumping against Rose’s left side. “They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” she whispered.

  Rose could only nod dumbly, staring at her sister’s petite form laced into a gorgeo
us pale blue satin wedding dress embroidered with gleaming silver thread. Lily’s hair, the same rich sable as Rose’s, cascaded to her shoulders in glossy ringlets. Beside her, Rand beamed a smile, looking tall and utterly handsome in dark blue velvet, his gray gaze steady and adoring.

  The two were so clearly in love, Rose knew they belonged together—and truly, she was happy for her sister.

  If only Lily weren’t her younger sister.

  The priest cleared his throat and looked back down at his Book of Common Prayer. “Lady Lily Ashcroft, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…”

  Standing on Rose’s right, her older sister Violet shifted one of her twin babies on her hip and gazed up at her husband of four years, Ford. Sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, glinting off her spectacles. “Oh, isn’t this romantic?” she sighed.

  Holding their other infant, Ford squeezed Violet around the shoulders. Seated cross-legged at their feet, their two-year-old son Nicky traced a finger over the patterns in the colorful glazed tile floor, obliviously happy.

  Rose gritted her teeth.

  Her friend Judith Carrington poked her from behind. “I cannot believe Lily’s wedding is happening before mine,” she whispered in a tone laced with dismay. “I was betrothed first!”

  Rose couldn’t believe Lily and Judith would both be married before she even received a proposal.

  “…so long as ye both shall live?” the priest concluded expectantly.

  In the hush that followed, even knowing it wasn’t kind of her, Rose half wished Lily would fail to reply.

  But Lily didn’t, of course. “I will,” she pledged, her voice as sweet as she was, ringing clear and true.

  A few more words, a family heirloom ring slid onto her finger, and Lily was clearly and truly wed now, the new Countess of Newcliffe.

  And Rose was clearly and truly miserable.

  When Rand lowered his lips to meet Lily’s, Rose turned away. Behind her, Judith was grinning up at her own betrothed—although only a little way up, since his stature was less than impressive. Lord Grenville was five-and-thirty to Judith’s twenty, and his pale brown hair was thinning on top, but Rose imagined that the way Judith looked at him made him feel like a king. And he looked down on her in a way that surely made pretty, plump Judith feel like a queen.