It Could Only Be You (The Imperial Regency Series)

by Olivia Kelly

  Memory of the stricken look in Harry’s eyes pinched at her heart. To have found love, and then it snatched away so cruelly. It was too horrifying to even contemplate. She ached with the need to comfort him. She wanted to lighten the burden that preyed on him, so chase away his demons.

  No. What was she thinking?

  She would not fall in love Harry Connelly. He was leaving. She was staying. It was beyond foolish to fall in love with a man who already had one foot out the door.

  She would not be such a fool.

  ~ 6 ~

  Lily jerked upright in bed. Something had woken her. Thump. There it was again.

  The sound was coming from the other end of the hallway, the set of rooms where Harry was staying. Debating for a moment, Lily sat on the edge of the bed. At the sound of something striking the wall, followed by hoarse shouting, she jumped up and hastily tied on her robe before yanking open the door. As she stepped out into the cold hall, wishing she had taken the time to put on slippers, the door opposite hers opened.

  "Lily? What’s that noise?"

  Father peered at her in the dim light.

  "It's nothing alarming, I am sure." She smiled her reassurance, steadfastly ignoring a series of muffled thuds from three doors down, and guided her father back to his bed.

  "You need to stay in bed, Father. It is much too chilly and there's a terrible draft in the corridor. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s fine." Lily tucked him back under his quilt like a child, but when she turned to go he caught her hand in a surprisingly strong grip.

  "You must be careful, Lily."

  "Oh, hardly that. I’m sure Mr. Connelly just tripped or… something." Lily glanced over her shoulder at the open door. Noise no longer emanated from the room down the hall. The house had gone silent again. Instead of relieving her, it left an anxious pit in her stomach.

  She had not seen Harry since Mrs. Yardley and her daughters had left that morning. He hadn't come down for luncheon, and requested a supper tray for his room. When she came back a few hours later, the dishes were empty and stacked neatly on the tray, in the exact same spot she had left it.

  It was worrying.

  Her father let go of her hand. "I know you are a woman grown, my daughter, but there are things you still don't understand about men. Mr. Connelly is not the romantic figure he seems. No man comes through war unscathed."

  "Yes, of course. I am not completely unaware of his experience."

  "Are you not?" Father studied her with tired, but shrewd, eyes. "Perhaps this worries me more. You did always have a weak spot for lost creatures."

  As if Harry was a stray cat or injured bird. Lily stiffened. "Please don't worry about me, Father."

  "You seem insistent I not, so I won't. But take care, my dear. Take care." Her father lay back on his pillows with a weary sigh, and closed his eyes. Lily waited another moment, but he did not open them again. Frowning, she left the room, silently pulling the door shut behind her.

  At first, her attraction to Harry had been superficial. She was drawn to his body, the devilish look in his green eyes, the urge to touch the crisp, golden curls on his broad chest. But now, when she thought of him, hers feelings were warmer and she was curious. She wanted to know what he thought, where he had been, what he had done. What he felt.

  Was her father correct? Had she been drawn to Harry because of the lost look that would come over him, the pain that clearly still lurked beneath the surface? Lily was afraid it didn't matter why she had started to fall in love with Harry Connelly, because she knew there wasn't any way to stop the tender feelings inside her from growing. Feelings that Harry had never looked for, and probably would be shocked to discover.

  What a mess.

  The hallway was quiet again, and Lily debated going back to bed, but she just couldn’t do it. Curiosity and concern, and something altogether more devilish, prodded her down the hall to Harry’s door. She was seized with the undeniable urge to see him again, and yet, this was dangerous territory she wandered into. Lily dithered for a moment before taking a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh, and knocked softly on the door.

  Nothing. She knocked more firmly.

  "Mr. Connelly? Are you all right?"

  Lily felt foolish. The man most likely had awoken with a nightmare or some such, and was fast asleep again. If she wasn't such a wanton, she would be sleeping as well. She started to turn away to do just that when he spoke in a low voice.

  "Enter."

  Lily opened her mouth, and shut it again. She looked down the hall, at her father’s door, firmly shut, and back at the door in front of her. The brass knob seemed to gleam in the shadows of the corridor, mocking her indecision.

  It was what she wanted, so why was it so hard to follow through?

  She reached out and slowly pushed the door open. The room was dark, lit only by the waning moon. Lily moved carefully, stopping a few feet inside. She strained to make something out in the inky silence and found the long, dark shape of the bed. With a jolt, she recognized a Harry-shaped shadow sitting motionless on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, feet planted on the floor.

  "Harry? Are you well?" Lily moved a few paces forward, almost against her will. Her heart was beating madly in her chest.

  He made no answer, though she could hear him breathing.

  She should not be here, alone in the dark, with a man she desired so very keenly. It was unwise. This was how virtue was lost. No. This was how virtue was thrown away, in the madness of passion.

  And yet, Lily did not want to leave. From the first she had longed to behave badly, just being in Harry's presence. She was so very tempted by him. She wanted to join him on that bed, crawl over him, push her fingers into his hair and beg him to make love to her. She wanted that mad passion.

  Lily drew in a shaky breath and moved to the dresser against the wall. Fumbling for a few moments in the thick silence, she managed to light the single candle that was always left there for guests. She turned back to the bed.

  Harry had not moved; his head was bent, his hands dangling loosely in between his knees. She swallowed a gasp as the golden wavering of the candle revealed that he wore no dressing gown, but was clad only in a loose pair of woven cotton pants. The dim light gilded his tanned skin, turning the faint scars on his arms and back silvery. She drifted closer for a better look, not really even aware of her movement.

  Some of those scars were quite impressive. Or horrifying. She wanted to kiss each and every one.

  Harry raised his head, halting her abruptly. She had thought him relaxed, but his posture had been deceiving. He was coiled tighter then a drum, the tendons in his arms standing out with the effort not to move. His forest colored eyes burned into hers, trapping her, holding her with his heat.

  "Come here, Lily."

  "No. I don’t think so." She did not want him when he was caught in the grip of painful memories, his demons riding his back. If they came together, she wanted him to think of her, and only her.

  "You're no fool. You knew exactly what you were doing when you stepped into this room." Harry regarded her almost lazily from under his shaggy, silken hair, but she now knew better. He was different tonight. More sharply honed, all joviality and teasing drained away, the ruthless warrior in him rising to the fore.

  The ease of their friendship was absent, the air fairly crackling with tension. Lily edged backwards to the door and he shifted, watching her intently. If she was still interested in keeping herself innocent, she knew that she had to leave now.

  She couldn't make herself take that last step, however, the one that would take her back into the corridor. All her self-control seemed to evaporate around Harry. He made her hungry.

  Lily raised her chin, locking her gaze with his and stepped forward again.

  Like a shot, Harry was up and past her, closing the door silently and locking it with a flick of his wrist. He leaned against it, regarding her with hungry, restless eyes. She stood perfectly still as he pushed off t
he door and circled her like a wolf playing with his dinner, his gorgeous muscles tensed to pounce at any attempt to escape. Lily was entranced with the sight of his sleek body moving in the dim light of the lone candle. The urge to touch him was so overwhelming, she had to clench her hands to keep them at her sides.

  Harry had no such reservations. Stopping in front of her, he reached out and trailed a finger across her collarbone, pulling forth a shudder. Drawing in her scent deeply, he stood close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her.

  Lily raised her gaze. His desire for her was reflected there, and she was lost.

  There wasn't even room for a token resistance in the fervor when Harry pulled her to him and ravaged her mouth. She gave as much as she could, trying to match him. Her lips pushed back at his, hands flying up to dive into his hair and tug him closer. He groaned, wedging one knee in between hers as he backed her against the wall, and she hitched up against him instinctively. Lily had never thought herself wanton before meeting Harry Connelly, but she wanted everything from this man.

  Everything he could give her, everything she could take.

  She released her hold on him, and started pulling at her robe ties. Frustrated that they seemed to be knotted, she gave them another fruitless yank, with a half sob, half laugh.

  "Do you have a knife?"

  "What?" Harry shook his head, looking dazed, as if coming out of a fog.

  "A knife, Harry. Cut the ties. They are snarled terribly!"

  Continuing to pick at the confounded material, it took Lily a moment to realize he had gone perfectly still. She looked up to find him looking back at her with an unflattering look of horror dawning on his face.

  ***

  Holy Mother of God.

  Harry shook his head again, backing away from Lily as if she was a red-hot iron, ready to burn him. Come to think of it, that’s just what she is. He blazed with the fire of passion and she had been the spark.

  When he had woken from yet another nightmare, he had been drenched in a cold sweat, shaking from the images that he relived over and over in his dreams. The faces of the elderly, the women and children cut down in cold blood by the Fort Knox militia, just because they were Indians. Because they needed to set an example.

  And Katarina, always Katarina.

  Her sightless eyes accusing him of abandoning her when she had needed him the most, of not protecting her as he had always promised to. The memories left a bitter, ashy taste on his tongue. He usually drowned himself in cheap whiskey after one of these episodes, but then this angel in an almost sheer white nightdress had appeared, and she was a thousand times more potent then liquor. He hadn’t been thinking, still caught up in the despair and darkness that the dreams always brought him. He had only wanted to feel alive again, to warm himself with her.

  But not at her expense. She deserved better than that.

  Harry realized by the puzzled look on her face that he was going to have to be the one to stop, to protect her. She had no idea who he really was, what he had done—or failed to do. If she did, she would walk out that door and never look back.

  "We can’t do this."

  "Why not?" She studied him with those big blue eyes, patiently waiting for his explanation. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and her eyes narrowed a fraction.

  Harry cleared his throat. "Because it’s not right. You should be with your husband for your first time."

  Lily snorted and stepped forward, reaching for him, but he smoothly countered her by stepping around the end of the bed, putting an extra few feet between them. The maneuver stopped her as if she had run into a wall, an injured expression settling on her pretty face. Her lower lip pushed out slightly in irritation. Harry wanted to leap over the bed and bite her right there on her sweet, sulky mouth.

  He clenched his hands together behind his back and held on for dear life.

  "Look around you, Harry. I am twenty-six years old. Twenty-six! And unlikely to find a match at this late date." She folded her arms across her chest, looking exasperated and stung by his sudden withdrawal. "If you are concerned with cheating some man out of his husbandly right to a virginal bride, don’t be."

  "I don’t care about that, but I care about you." He cared enough not to ruin her. Lily might think she wouldn't marry, but she was beautiful and kind and clever. Some man would come along and see that, and Harry would not take that future from her.

  He wished he could give her that future, but all he had left was the past.

  Lily's expression had softened at his words, but Harry stubbornly stayed on his side of the room. If he went to her, he wouldn't be able to let her go again.

  "I can’t stay, Lily. I won’t stay, not in Yorkshire, not even in England."

  At the questions he could see in her eyes, he continued. "In a few days I’ll be gone, and I won’t be back. You deserve more than one night with a stranger. You deserve to marry some day and have a family."

  "I don’t want to marry, and this is exactly why." Lily threw up her hands, her fine brows drawing into a scowl. "I know my own mind.Why is that so hard to believe? I understand you’re leaving, and that’s why this is perfect. I won’t ask more of you, you won’t try to curb my freedom."

  She moved around the bed, holding his gaze, and slid her hands up his chest, pressing her body to his. Harry's heart slammed against his ribs as her warm breath touched his lips. She was so close he could almost feel her mouth on his.

  "See? Perfect." Lily raised up on her toes, closing that last small space between them, to press her mouth against his, but he stopped her by grabbing both her wrists, holding them prisoner in a loose grip.

  Staring into her wide blue eyes, Harry's gaze drifted down to Lily's soft, kissable mouth. As he watched she bit her bottom lip with perfect, little white teeth. Everything about this woman was perfect. The urge to throw her on the bed and say to hell with it almost took him then, but he struggled to remember he still had principles.

  Somewhere.

  "I don't want this." The voice that murmured the lie was ragged, as he fought not to take what she was offering.

  "Yes. I can see that." Lily tugged at her wrists, and distracted by the raw desire he saw in her heavy lidded gaze, Harry let go. With a smile of feminine victory, she pulled him forward and captured his mouth with hers. Their lips came together desperately, both needing what only the other could give them.

  Lily backed up, and with breathless laughter, they tumbled onto the bed together. Harry twisted to the side to avoid landing on her and looked down into her mischievous face. She grew quiet as he smoothed away a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek.

  She was so damn beautiful. He hadn't ever thought he'd want another woman the way he had wanted Katarina, and he was right. The two were incomparable, and yet the connection was there. The way he desired Lily was not for just one night, but for all the nights to come. And his heart ached at the thought of all those nights, and the dawns that followed, that he would never meet with her at his side.

  Perhaps she was right. No one could say what tomorrow would bring, or even the next moment. But in this moment, they were together.

  Maybe it would be enough.

  The air grew heavy with anticipation, the playfulness of their movements faded. Harry leaned down and nuzzled Lily's neck, nipping at her ear. Drawing in a sharp breath, she ran her hands down the muscles of his back, drawing forth a shiver with pleasure. He pulled back just far enough to focus on her face, searching for any doubt.

  "You’re sure you want to do this?" The look Lily gave him was so disbelieving that Harry had to duck his head and swallow the chuckle that welled up inside him. He trailed fingers across her collarbone, loving the feel of the silken skin under his touch. Rising up on his elbows, Harry glanced down at the snarled knot of her belt and lifted an eyebrow.

  "I have no idea how you managed that." Lily laughed at his wry tone, her face alight with desire and humor. Harry grinned and reached for his knife sheath on t
he floor next to the bed. "I think you'll need a new robe, or at least another sash. I have no intention of wasting time trying to pick it apart."

  Suddenly, there was a thundering noise from below and Harry froze, half covering Lily with his body. Someone was hammering on the front door. Faint yelling could be heard, floating up from the front yard. She cocked her head to listen, her small hands absently placed on his bare chest, warming him with her touch.

  "In the name of the Duke of Danby, open the door!"

  A foreboding sense of dread coming over Harry, he rolled off Lily and stood, his stomach twisting. Eyes wide, she sprang from the bed and wrenched the door open, hurrying down the hall. As Lily flew towards the stairs, her father called her name plaintively but she didn’t stop until she reached the entry hall. There, she paused to straighten her clothing, pulling the sides of her robe tight and smoothing her hair with nervous gestures.

  "Wait. Lily, I…" Harry grabbed her arm as she reached for the front door handle. The sense of foreboding had grown into a panic. He couldn't explain it, but he knew if she opened that door, everything would change. "It's the middle of the night. They can come back in the morning."

  With a frown, Lily shook his hand off and unbolted the short bar locking the door. "You can’t keep the duke’s man waiting, Harry. You are an American, you have no idea what these people are like. His Grace is powerful and rich, and he holds my father’s living. I cannot afford to upset him." With that she pulled the door open, smiling as graciously as any society matron welcoming an afternoon visitor to tea.

  Gathered behind the well-dressed middle-aged man who had knocked stood several men in livery, who eyed Lily with appreciation as she dipped into a shallow curtsey. Harry clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes at them. To a man, they dropped their gazes or looked up in the sky, suddenly busy elsewhere. Grim satisfaction filled him, and he transferred his attention to the man studying him with intense regard, ignoring Lily completely.

  "How may I help you, sir?" At her hesitant question, the man deigned to look at her then, his disdainful gaze travelling over her nightclothes and disheveled hair. Then his face pinched, his lips pursing in clear disapproval that she should have the audacity to speak.