Hint of Desire (The Desire Series)

by Lavinia Kent

  Her cool collected duke stood over her. But he was in a towering rage.

  Chapter Seven

  “Of all the stupid, infantile – how . . . what could you possibly – ?” He slammed his fist on the bedpost, which shivered under the force of his blow.

  Then Arthur checked himself as he saw Lily cower in the bed below him, every quiver that rippled over her cutting him like a knife. What had she done? How could she have been so foolish? Why had she let Ganesh out of his stall? Did she have no common sense? A death wish? He wanted to scream, to pound something, to shake her until she realized her own folly.

  She could have been killed.

  She almost had been killed.

  He slammed his fist into the bedpost again, before seeing the blank terror in her eyes. It was the same look she’d given Ganesh seconds before . . . he couldn’t even finish the thought.

  It had been a matter of seconds. If the lad, Ned, hadn’t awakened when he did, hadn’t gone for help immediately, she’d be lying in that stall crushed.

  He clasped his hands together, forcing his breathing to calm. This was not the time to react. Emotion never helped. Stay calm. Stay in command. He closed his eyes and counted backwards from one hundred. As he reached twenty-six, he felt able to open his eyes and look down at her.

  Her large blue eyes met his; they froze and were unable to pull away. The only color in her face was that of the large purple bruise rapidly forming above her left eye. As she met his gaze she started to shake again, uncontrollably, convulsed with silent, tearless sobs.

  Against all propriety, Arthur sank onto the edge of the bed. He heard her gulp of pain and softened his hold.

  “Shhh, the doctor’s on his way and he’ll make everything better. Nanny’s got Simon and she’ll spoil him rotten.”

  Lily sat poised and frozen, only her heaving chest betrayed her emotion. Then she crumpled and he found himself with an armful of quivering woman. She turned her face into his chest as he spoke and her tears moistened his shirt. The tremors began to ebb, and Arthur allowed his hands to stroke her back, the silky strands of her hair wrapping around his fingers as he cradled her slight frame.

  “That’s my girl, just take it easy. I’ll make everything right. I’ll take care of you.”

  “But, I can explain . . . You have to understand . . . .”

  Arthur resisted his desire to hear what she had to say. Undoubtedly, in this fragile state she would tell him everything and not regret it till morning. Her cold fingers wrapped around his, as she sought the words she needed. Deep shudders still shook her.

  But he could not make himself take advantage of Lily’s fright and exhaustion. No matter how fiercely he burned to understand, he would wait till morning and then press her when she was collected.

  “Shh, all will be well. You can tell me tomorrow. There’s nothing that can’t wait ‘til then. Just go to sleep now.”

  He let his words trail off, as her body softened and relaxed against his, her full breast softly pillowing against his chest. His fingers continued to stroke and glide as the last shudder left her. She gave a small sigh and Arthur knew she was asleep, worn out by her terror.

  He slid back slightly, shifting to settle her against the pillows. He would just hold her for a moment before he eased her away and left.

  Arthur shifted uncomfortably. He’d been celibate for too long. Having those luscious curves press against him, having her long, slender legs draped across his, and her hair – even after her adventure he could smell the crisp scent of lavender in her hair.

  Arthur curled his fingers into tight fists. He eased her off him, and edged off the bed. Ignoring the urges of his body, he stood up. He told himself he didn’t hear the soft sigh that passed her lips, didn’t see the way her hands reached for him, before limply falling back against the crisp sheets.

  He had already ignored proprieties far too frequently. He didn’t know what it was about her that made him act so contrary to his nature. Only his standing, and the loyalty and trust of his staff, kept every hint of scandal at bay before Lady Smythe-Burke’s arrival. He did not look forward to hearing that lady’s opinions of this night’s events.

  He strode to the open door and took one last look over his shoulder. Without thought, he walked back into the room and, taking the thick down comforter from the foot of the bed, drew it gently over Lily. Then, not looking back, he strode from the room and went to find the curly haired maid to sit with her. He’d seen them giggling together and thought Lily would need the friendly face if she awoke.

  It was time to find out what was taking Dr. Smithson so long. He’d sent for him a good time past.

  The next day Lily sat and looked around the drawing room. For the second time in less than a month, every inch of Lily’s body ached. At least this time she’d persuaded Arthur and the physician not to leave her idle in the bedroom. Dr. Smithson had wrapped Lily tightly round the ribs, and suggested continued cool compresses for her ankle. He wasn’t pleased when she insisted that she’d become demented if forced to remain in bed but, with a curt nod, said she could be allowed to sit downstairs as long as she was carried there by a footman.

  But her conveyance, as it turned out, wasn’t a footman. Lily felt her cheeks flush as she remembered how right it felt to lie cradled again against that hard chest, tempted by the blended scents of sandalwood and man. She felt her nipples tighten and glanced down at Simon to be sure that he wasn’t stirring yet. He slept quietly by her feet, not budging at all. This time, she couldn’t blame the sensation on her baby.

  Lily had never reacted like this to a man, and it frightened her. Worthington had told her she was frigid. It was the only time she’d trusted him. She’d heard the maids laugh about this footman or that one, and what they’d like to do, but she’d never imagined feeling that way about a man. She’d never felt her body tighten, experienced this fluttering excitement, or wondered what it would be like to do willingly all those horrible things Worthington had forced upon her. Or maybe it wouldn’t be quite so horrible?

  Lily slammed her mind shut. What was she thinking? She should be thinking about how she could possibly get away while her ankle was the size of a melon – at least there had been no further mention of the magistrate. As if sensing his mother’s tension Simon began to whimper, each cry connecting to her heart with iron bonds.

  “Easy, now, my little love. Mama will care for you. I’d never want anything to happen that would take me away from you.”

  Lily rocked the cradle with her good foot and rang the small bell she’d been left to call for help. She needed to hold her child, to feel his soft hair beneath her chin, and smell that soft baby smell, but she couldn’t manage to lift him with her chest so tightly bound. She raised the bell she’d been left to summon a footman.

  “Easy, my Sunshine. Who’s Mama’s little Sunshine? That’s my sweet fellow.”

  “I am not at all pleased with you.” Lady Smythe-Burke strode into his office. Nobody else in the world would have dared address him in such a manner.

  “Indeed.”

  “What were you thinking last night, taking her to her room and staying with her alone as long as you did? One of the maids saw her in your arms, and it’s a wonder it’s not the talk of the house, if not the county. Why would you do such a thing? It’s not as though you were betrothed. You were taught far better. You should have had me awakened to handle the matter.”

  “I handled things as I saw fit.”

  “Humpf.” Lady Smyth-Burke clearly did not agree, her normally stiff posture growing even more rigid.

  “Are you questioning my judgment, Aunt?”

  “Question the mighty Duke of Westlake? Who would ever be so foolish as to stand up to a duke? It would take true bravery or some other strong emotion to be so rash. No, nephew, I merely wish you to consider your actions. It’s not as if you would consider marrying the girl to stake your claim, is it?” She paused and gave him a long look. “I am sure that would be the farth
est thing from you mind. Why would you ever dream of such a thing when you could have any woman you wanted?”

  On that note Lady Smythe-Burke spun, her old-fashioned full skirts twirling about her and sailed out the door.

  Arthur stared at his account books without seeing, as his aunt’s remarks swirled around in his mind. What nonsense. Of course he wasn’t considering such a thing. He turned to concentrate on the numbers before him.

  The pealing of the bell worked like the chime of a clock releasing schoolboys from their class. He rose to his feet and walked to the hallway before he could think.

  Nanny stopped on the stair above. She inspected Arthur from the tips of his polished boots to the graceful folds of his neck cloth. He hadn’t received such a look since he’d left the nursery decades before. She smiled suddenly, nodding her approval and, turning on the stair, ascended, leaving Arthur to tend to Lily. He opened his mouth to call her back, but didn’t. He needed to get her accounting of the night before – what had she been doing in the stables at that hour and why had she let the stallion loose? She’d lived in the country far too long not to be aware of the dangers such an animal presented.

  Careful not to startle Lily, Arthur quietly eased open the morning room door just as she cooed the baby.

  Sunshine.

  His previous thoughts deserted him. He’d heard her call the baby Sunshine. It was the name of a baby doll. He stepped into the dainty room and stared at her, and the scales fell from his eyes.

  “Lilibet?”

  She turned towards him, her face losing the little color it had. He was right. It seemed preposterous to connect the delicate woman before him with the gangly gap-toothed child he’d known. His eyes roamed over her as he tried to make the connection.

  The riot of curls was the same. Even as a child she’d fought to keep her braids neat, the ends always working free to form a halo around her face. The large cornflower eyes still gazed up at him with uncertainty, but now they didn’t look so outsized against her delicate face.

  The rest of her, though! Who ever would have thought that those skinny, knobby legs sticking out of skirts that had always been a little too short would fill out so perfectly? And those breasts that had haunted his sleep these last weeks, where had they come from? Even knowing who she was, it was hard to make the connection between the petite angel before him and the little minx who had hidden under tables and peered from behind the drapes.

  He’d done his best to ignore her as a child, so distracted had he been by her mother, his father, and the interplay between them all. When he had noticed Julia’s child, it had been with indifference and uneasiness. She’d always been there, peeking at him, following him, making him feel like a curiosity.

  Until that last day. He still became tense when he thought of the last day Julia and her daughter had resided with them. Involuntarily, his hand rose and stroked the smooth groove that ran down his cheek. Lily’s gaze locked on his fingers. He observed her deep inhalation and quivering. The memories overwhelmed her, too. For the first time in a decade, he let himself go back.

  Lady Julia Wentworth had been his mother’s school friend. When Arthur first heard she was coming to stay for a few weeks at the end of the summer, it made no impression on him. What did he care if some stuffy, old friend of his mother’s came to stay? If she was a widow and the daughter of a marquess, that meant nothing to a seventeen year old boy. He was far more concerned with the furtive glances of the newest dairy maid, a woman of remarkable attributes, than the latest matron to call upon his old mother.

  Then Lady Julia stepped out of her carriage and his world turned on its axis. He could still see the wide, easy smile as she threw her arms around his mother in a gesture that took the duchess aback. It threw him, too. The simple act of raising her arms thrust her full breasts into prominence beneath her crimson velvet carriage dress, and revealed a waist he could span with his hands. His adolescent fever for all things feminine overwhelmed him.

  And her joy. Julia exuded joy and vigor like no one he’d ever met. She would laugh at anything, and not just a ladylike titter, but a deep full-bodied laugh that set him aquiver.

  He followed her like an eager puppy, glad for any sign of affection. And she showed affection. She couldn’t move without touching someone. A hand upon his wrist or shoulder, a finger running through his hair: it came to her as naturally as breathing. Only later did he realize that she was that way with everyone, so unlike his own mother. She let her feelings show, and she had no scruples about whom they touched.

  Arthur worshipped Lady Julia with all the lust in his young heart. Looking back now, he almost smiled at the rank immaturity of those feelings. He’d never actually wanted to know Lady Julia, he’d only wanted to bask in her presence.

  Then on a crisp day in late summer, he poured all the longing and love of his young heart out to her . . . and she laughed. Not cruelly – he knew that now – but with the delight of an older woman feeling herself still attractive.

  “No, you don’t. You’re very sweet, and if things were different, I might enjoy finding out just how sweet, but you’re Clara’s son. You’ll outgrow me quickly and find someone much more appropriate.”

  Arthur blushed as he recalled how he refused to believe her. “How can you be so cruel? I am a man and I know what I feel. I know you’re older, but I love you. If we could just be together, I would prove it to you.”

  She smiled quietly at him, then and laid her soft palm against his face. “I know you believe that now, but the dreams of youth are best left to the young, and I am no longer young.”

  He saw that glimpse of darkness in her clear eyes as she spoke, but then she turned and it was gone.

  “You are still young,” he retorted, his voice breaking. “You only need someone to appreciate you, to tell you how beautiful you are.”

  “It cannot be. Even if I wanted to, I could never take you away from here, couldn’t do that to your mother, and your father would never approve.”

  “We’ll run away then. I have some funds and my father can’t disinherit me.”

  He reached for her then, and she came to him, not with passion, but with a strange solemn quietness. She laid her lips gently against his, and brushed a bittersweet kiss over his mouth.

  Then she pulled away. “You really are so young, so sweet. Don’t give up too much, too fast. Your time will come, I promise you. Allow yourself, first, to grow into a wonderful man.”

  She ran one hand through his hair then, before pulling away from him. Without another word she turned and left.

  He was silent for a moment, overcome with the bitterness of her rejection. He had offered her everything and she had turned him down. To a boy who never had to ask for anything, it was unfathomable.

  Then Arthur turned and saw his father standing in the doorway. He’d just come in from a ride, and the sweat still dampened his brow. The old duke’s eyes shone an icy blue. Anger curled the duke’s lips and his teeth flashed. Arthur had never seen his father lose command of himself. In that instant, everything changed. The old duke strode into the room, his shiny boots clicking against the waxed floors. For a moment, he stood towering over his son, his jaw tightening and releasing as he fought for words. Then, before Arthur could speak, he saw the crop rise, his father’s arm caught upraised, the momentary expectation of agony. Then it fell, slicing through the air, whistling. He felt the speed with which it broke though his flesh, cutting, scarring.

  Arthur fell to his knees at his father’s feet, both hands grasping at his face, blood pouring through his fingers. His eye swelled rapidly, cutting off sight. Arthur peered through his fingers, watching as his father turned and left the room, the crop swinging against his leg.

  “Arthur? Arthur?” For the first time in almost ten years, Lily uttered his given name, breaking into his memories. Her arms pressed against the chair as she attempted to rise, the lace at her cuffs fluttering with the effort. She paused as if she’d seen something in him that start
led her. Then, sinking back onto the chair, she asked, “Could you hand Simon to me? He’s starting to fuss.”

  As if under the influence of a hypnotic, he complied with her request, his mind still locked on that afternoon long ago. He settled the warm, wiggling child into her arms, careful not to press her ribs.

  “You’re Julia’s daughter.” It was a statement, not a question.

  She lowered her head to the baby. “Yes.” Her reply was hardly more than a breath.

  Lily knew Arthur had remembered her, had remembered everything. His face froze for a moment, and only his eyes darted back and forth. Lily felt the memories with him, and longed to reach out and soothe him. She’d seen the quiver of his lips as he thought of Julia; she’d seen his body stiffen and his fingers clench as he thought of his father.

  Being a ghost who hid under tables and behind curtains had given her a view of the world that might otherwise have been denied her. Lily recalled the exact day she’d first heard her mother laugh, the exact hour that those silk-clad arms had first ruffled her hair and spun her in circles, the very moment those sweet lips had first brushed her brow and whispered words of love. Afraid that if she left her mother for a moment she might retreat again to that quiet still stranger who never played or hugged her daughter, Lily had followed her mother everywhere, hiding when necessary to be sure that nobody could harm the woman who encompassed her world. She’d lived in fear that her beautiful, soft, laughing mother would retreat again into that silent blackness that Lily remembered from her earliest childhood.

  “Yes,” she said again, louder. “I am Lady Julia’s daughter.

  At first, Arthur seemed to start at her words, as if he had been lost in reverie. Then, almost as if reading her thoughts, he said, “Before, when you spoke of your mother, of not being secure in her love, that was Lady Julia you spoke of?”

  Lily drew a deep breath. “Yes, I was speaking of Lady Julia. Does it seem unbelievable, that I could have doubted her love, needed reassurance?”