“Not really.” He inhaled. “It’s a very good plan. I worry about Elanna, though. I’ll need to visit with her before the wedding.”
“Do go. She’ll want to see you.”
“Hmmm,” he said with knitted brow and lifted the edge of the curtain again. With a shake of his head, he let it drop. “I hope to God she can be happy.”
Lily had to change the subject to one less foreboding. “One person who was happy today was Remy.”
“And another was Marianne,” he added with a sly smile.
“They spent so much time together even Ada remarked on it—and Ada is notoriously unobservant. Did you know that when we were in Paris, Marianne went to see an exhibit of Remy’s works?”
“Is that so? I wonder if he knows that.”
“Would that be important?”
“That he thought Marianne interested in him?” Julian crossed his arms and bent over with chuckles. “Essential, I’d say, to his well-being.”
“He likes her,” Lily said with a grin.
“He does.” Julian smiled at her. “Almost as much as I like you.”
His declaration was not all a bride could hope for but it helped to salve the wound of being forced to marry him. “Do you?”
“Very much.”
She tipped her head, wistful and hopeful.
“You have to know that.”
Her hand went to her throat where she wore his engagement gift. The four-foot long rope of flawless pearls had to be priceless. As she’d taken them from their red velvet box last week, her father had gasped with approval. Marianne had stared, her mouth open. “I’m delighted with these. Thank you.”
“I was pleased you wore them with your gown. And now, too. They’re not and never have been my mother’s.”
That had her beaming at him. She slid her fingertips over the perfect satin of one gem.
“They belonged to my Great-Aunt Priscilla, her own engagement gift from her fiancé who died at Waterloo. She was a bluestocking with a stinging wit and I loved her with a small boy’s fascination for saucy women. Before she died, she gave them to me. ‘A gift for someone you care for.’” He patted the seat beside him. “Come sit with me and we can talk more of it.”
She cast him a sideways glance. “I hate to ride backward. You come sit with me. Here.” She patted her own cushions.
“It’s dangerous you realize.”
Her eyes went wide. “In your carriage? What can you do?”
He threw back his head to laugh. “Anything.”
“You’re serious?”
“Quite.” He searched her expression.
“But…but you wouldn’t. Would you?”
“No.”
Her jaw fell. “Oh.”
With a wry look, he rose from his seat and positioned himself next to her. Close but not too close, he took one of her hands and put it on his knee. “Let’s be friends, shall we, and talk as we used to?”
She licked her lips, her eyes on their entwined hands. “I want to.”
“So then. Anything is possible in a carriage. Anything between a man and a woman is possible standing up or in a chair. On the floor.”
“Oh, you are making fun of me now.”
“Never.”
“And the reason we don’t do it in a carriage? Or…um…in this carriage?”
“Too damn uncomfortable.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I see.”
“Now. Tell me something else.”
“As long as we’re not talking about that.”
“We won’t.”
“What would you like to discuss?” she asked with some trepidation.
“Were you drinking alcohol before the ceremony?”
She clamped a hand over her mouth.
He took it away and he was grinning at her. “You were, weren’t you?”
“I had a few glasses of brandy.”
“Good for you. I had a few myself. Scotch.”
She made a face. “I like gin.”
He hooted. “Wonderful.”
“Now, you think I have no taste.”
“Why? Because you like gin?” He lifted her chin with a finger. “That’s ridiculous.”
“A coal miner’s drink?”
He rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “It doesn’t matter, Lily. You like what you like. Like who you like.”
She liked him this way. Kind and affectionate. “You’re not ashamed of me. That I’m American and my father is—”
He slanted a finger across her lips. “I’m proud to call you Lady Chelton.”
“I worried,” she admitted with trepidation in her mellow voice.
“You mustn’t.”
For him to admit that was equal to a confession for him. And a change of mind and heart. It had been a revelation to him only in the past few weeks. Like the dawning of a new sun over his all-too-barren landscape, he’d risen each morning welcoming more and more the day he’d marry this young woman. And his pride was not so much assaulted by the prospect of calling her his wife, as it had been when listening to his father stipulate the terms that Seton demanded of Hanniford for its promulgation.
Julian had stood before his father in the house on Green Park and gaped at the duke’s audacity.
‘I told Hanniford I want ninety thousand pounds for the majority stock in the company.’ His father had practically preened.
‘What?’ Julian had been astonished.
His father had grinned. ‘Over and above any marriage settlement.’
Julian had scoffed. ‘You’re quite out of your mind.’
‘He’s got the funds. And then some.’
‘It’s no reason to rob him.’
‘He needs a husband for his wayward chick,’ his father had said, rocking back on his heels, his hands over the swell of his belly.
‘I’ll marry her without him buying control in the company,’ Julian had threatened.
His father had flushed an unnatural red. Even the whites of his eyes had been bloodshot. ‘Do that and your mother and I will not attend.’
‘I’ll take Lily to Scotland.’
‘Marry her over an anvil? Ha! Hanniford would set the dogs on you. Never forget he wants her accepted. Shame her with a hasty marriage and tongues will cut her dead.’
‘That would change with time.’
‘But Hanniford is not the patient kind, my boy. Ninety thousand. It’s mine and Hanniford has not objected. I have him by the short ones. So you negotiate whatever you want from him to live off.’
Disgusted with his father’s demands of the American tycoon, Julian had wanted a quick and bloodless marriage settlement with Killian. Taking no part in the discussions, he ordered his lawyer to negotiate with Lily’s father. Last week, Julian’s lawyer had sent him the final marriage contract. He’d opened the envelope with a heavy heart. He’d never indicated to the lawyer any desired sum. Her dowry, he’d said, whatever it was, would be satisfactory with him.
But when he’d read the first page, he had to sit down to cope with the shock. He re-read it twice. Lily Hanniford would come to him with sixty thousand dollars in settlement. That was fifty more thousand than he’d had his hands on at any one time in years. The astonishing sum would be paid in full to his London bank on the day of the wedding. It was to be invested in transportation stocks, spinning off enough income for them both to live on handsomely. One quarter of that was to be Lily’s pin money to do with as she wished. Her father had made only one stipulation on use of the money. None was ever to be used to service debt on the estate of Broadmore. In other words, Julian’s father and mother would never see benefit from Black Hanniford’s wealth.
All of which was just fine with Julian.
He had never intended to marry for money. Abhorred the very idea. That he had torn himself apart, liking her, wanting her, desiring her in spite of his endeavor to remain free of financial obligation, was all for naught. But he’d learned a valuable lesson.
He’d thought the barrage of American millionaires and
their darling daughters an assault on British pride. Instead, he’d discovered his pride was very much intact. So was his integrity. He was doing the right thing by Lily to marry her, after nigh unto debauching her in his stables. But he was also doing right by himself, because he cared for her. More than he’d ever intended to care for a woman.
He squeezed her hand. “I’m proud to call you my wife. Who you are has less to do with where you were born or to whom and more to do with what you say and what you do.”
“I want you to be proud of me.”
“And you of me,” he said with solemnity at this new endeavor to please her.
“I am. I have no reason not to.”
He caressed her soft cheek. “I am not as accomplished as your father.”
“I would bet you have as many sterling qualities. Perhaps more,” she said with a sparkle in her blue eyes.
“I cannot count them.”
“Should I?”
He gave a laugh, shook his head and settled her more securely in his arms. “A vain effort.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve sold the traveling coach to save money.”
“A trifle.”
“Not so. You sold four horses, too. I bet they were fine stock, and you let them go for less than their value.”
He blew out a gust of air. “I did.”
“You love your sister and question if she can be happy with her intended.”
“That’s familial responsibility,” he explained.
“And love.” She smiled at him. “And then there’s the matter of me.”
“Ah, yes.” He liked this topic and cradled her closer. She was a fine woman to take home to fill his house and his life. And his bed. Most especially tonight, she’d fill his bed. And his loins quickened at the expectation that she’d prove to be more than a fascination in his life. “My American with the beguiling blue eyes.”
She seemed to shiver at his compliment. But her eyes were warm with need. “And a distaste for riding side-saddle.”
“A penchant, too,” he teased, “for riding at night.”
“Creating a scandal,” she said and the joy drained from her face, “so that you have to marry her.”
He cupped her jaw. “I wanted to marry you. Was about to ask when all of them intruded upon us. I hate that they spoiled that for us. For you.”
“You would have asked?” She seemed in awe.
“It’s what I wanted then. What I wanted for the past three weeks. What I want now— I hope I can make you happy.”
“Happy? I hope so, too. But I’m aware this is your duty, that you had to do this to save me—”
He thumbed her lower lip, temptation rising in him to taste her. “This is more than duty.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
He hated that he could cause her so much anguish. Her pride was at stake. But so was their future.
“Tell me,” he whispered as he urged her even closer, “if this tastes like duty.”
He put his lips to hers and she melted against him, giving as much as she got.
Breathless, he broke away. “Is it?”
“What?” She stared at him, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.
“Duty?”
She focused on his mouth but ran one hand up into his hair and held on. “Kiss me again and I’ll know.”
With pleasure. He chuckled. Her mouth this time was open and he darted inside, his tongue savoring the silken cavern. She met him with fervor. A violent need to possess his wife exploded in him. He’d waited so long, months, half a year, to claim what he knew he could not live without. She was all naïvete to him, all sensuous ingenue, a blithe spirit and he, rogue that he was, burned to put his hands all over her and capture all those essences he’d long forgotten in himself. She was soft and wholesome, yet yielding and oh so tantalizing.
She pulled away with a gasp of delight. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever done.”
Dear lord. What madness do I have license for now? Go slowly, man. Slowly. On a groan, he secured himself into the corner of the coach and brought her with him over his lap. With deft fingers, he plucked hair pins here and there from her coiffure and undid the top button of her blouse. Her hair fell around her shoulders and he captured a handful to bring it to his nose and inhale her fragrance. He brushed his full palm over her cheek and led her to rest her mouth on his as he whispered, “I should do this as a man who’s come to call on his intended. You missed that necessary step in courtship.”
“Are there a lot of steps?” She sounded spellbound and a little dismayed.
Darling minx. “A few.”
“Then do it.” She snapped her eyes shut and puckered her lips.
She was a rare woman. Lovely. Tempting. And funny. “My dear wife, you look like a governess sucking on a peppermint stick.”
She opened one eye. “Are you putting off kissing me? If this is the way it’s going to b—”
He slammed his lips on hers, muffling her cries and kissing her in a thousand small pecks to catch his breath. She’d undo him. All his resolve to be a gentleman, take her prudently and ensure she enjoyed her deflowering as much as he.
“I like that,” she said between his sips of her mouth.
“And this?” he asked before he took possession of her lower lip and nipped her.
“Yesss,” she breathed and wiggled so that he longed to be naked with her.
His hands found the other buttons of her cambric blouse and worked at them. Her breasts had tormented him for too long. He remembered their firmness, their fullness, her large rosy nipples and he could taste them now again if he wanted.
And he wanted.
She batted his hands away and worked at her own buttons. She had no more than three undone when he slid his hand inside along her satin skin. Her corset was a rigid, cutting thing. “I’m going to forbid you to wear stays for the next forty years.”
She let out a laugh. “I’ll be a scandal.”
“No, you won’t,” he promised as he took her lips over and over again. “No one will know. They’ll never see you. You’re not leaving our bed for at least that long.”
He left a trail of kisses down her long, graceful throat. She arched up against him, her hands clutching his lapels. “Could you find me that fascinating for that long?”
He snorted. Cupped one round breast and stroked her nipple. “At least.”
She sent her tongue along her lower lip and writhed as he stroked her to a hard point. “Yes, um. Yes. I think you’re right.”
“God, why do we bind women up in these contraptions? he muttered as he turned her around. “Let’s loosen your stays.”
She lifted her hair, her breathing hard. “Oh, let’s.”
He pulled her blouse up, found her stays and the bows, tugged at them and had her free of the monster with his hands sliding around her, inside the cups to treasure her glorious breasts. He let his eyes fall closed, the wealth of her in his hands making his cock stand like a warrior ready to take her.
But she turned in his arms. She stroked his cheeks and kissed him as if she were enthralled by him. “I’ve wanted this. More of you than I had that night in the stables.”
Adrift in her spell, he opened his eyes to see her as he would wish her to be evermore. Wistful and passionate, besotted with him, her blue eyes spoke of a future of bliss. Could he give it?
He looked down, her breasts free of the garments, the cotton and stays arrayed around her in her lap. He caught up one fabulous orb and put his mouth to her gossamer flesh. He sucked at her nipple, warm, firm and ready.
She groaned, curving up, giving him all she was.
He covered her nipple with one palm and lifted the other to receive the benediction of his lips and tongue and teeth.
She whimpered, hanging on to him with straining hands, her hair, waist length, hanging over her half naked body, as she reveled in his touch. If this is what she lived for, he’d take her every chance he got and never let her out of his sight. The p
rospect consumed him like an inferno.
He rucked up her skirts. Led her to straddle him. He couldn’t take her. Wouldn’t. That would be crude, ugly, but oh, he needed to give her something more to fill the urge she begged him for.
“Come here, just here,” he urged her, his voice a rasp of violent desire. He knew it might be too much to ask the gods for her to have worn no drawers and if she wore the horrid version with a flap in the back, he’d be stymied for certain in his quest to satisfy her. He slid his hands along her knees and she trembled, her gaze hot and fearful. “Shh. I won’t hurt you. But let me see what you’ve got here that we might dispense with.”
As his fingers caressed her thighs, she stilled. He pressed further and oh, yes, yes. She’d acquired—or someone with intelligence had persuaded her to buy the lingerie that had a long slit between the legs. He could touch her, tend her, massage her and pleasure her.
He slid a finger along her hot, wet passage. Her folds were heavy with desire and silky with need of him. He stroked along her seam easily, lightly. She moaned, her head falling forward to his shoulder. By her sighs, he understood he could claim this essential part of her as his own. “Darling Lily,” he gruffed as he caressed her back and forth over her plump lips, “you are so wonderfully made.”
She moved her hips, offering up her essence into the fullness of his palm.
“Sweet woman.” He swallowed, trying in desperation to quell his heartbeat and summon an expertise he feared had abandoned him. “Let me show you how it can be.”
With one finger, he stroked higher into her core. Flowing with fragrant juices, her body opened for him. He stopped breathing.
“And then there is this,” he whispered and kissed her cheek as he found her delicate nub, pinched it and made her buck. But she stilled and then sank over his fingers, surrendering to more. He kissed her ear, her throat. “Darling Lily, this is what awaits us both.”
And in seconds, she undulated, digging her nail into his shoulders, her body in an arc of sexual triumph while she throbbed around his fingers. This woman, his woman, was that rare beauty who could love and give and feel and never regret a moment’s loss of power.
As she calmed, she sank to him and nestled into the crook of his shoulder. He smoothed her skirts and helped her curl her legs over his lap. He held her, sated but ravenous for her. If he could tame his madness to unbutton his trousers, if he could persuade his cock to wait a few hours for his own fulfillment, he might make it home without becoming a lecherous fool.
Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1) Page 16