by Lavinia Kent
“His grace is still in the library. Would you like me to notify him that you’ve come down?”
Lily turned to face Jeffers. She concealed her disappointment that Arthur had not been present to witness her perfect descent.
“No, I shall greet him myself.”
Jeffers’ eyes widened slightly, but he made no comment.
Lily glided toward Arthur’s study door. She curled her fingers into her palm before knocking lightly. At his gruff reply, she entered.
The familiar scent of Arthur’s cheroots wafted towards her. Lily had never found the smell of smoke appealing, but something about the way the heavy scent combined with the musk of his cologne caused her belly to flutter.
At Lily’s entry, Arthur glanced up. One elegant eyebrow rose and his gaze swept over her. She fought the fidgets as his glance moved over the rosy fabric draping her hips and up to her bodice, outlined in cream lace and dotted with pearls. She folded her hands in her skirts, trying to avoid pulling at the neckline as his gaze stuck there. It must be too low. She had come to trust Gertrude’s taste in matters of fashion, but now uneasy tingles raced wherever his eyes caressed her.
She drew a deep breath and tried to relax. When Arthur reclined and stretched his legs out before him, the fine worsted fabric spread tight over muscular thighs, and the breath rushed out of her. She had never known that a man could be beautiful, but he was the most glorious sight she could imagine. His afternoon of riding had left his cheeks flushed, and she longed to brush his tousled curls.
Enraptured by the gentle look of satisfaction that glistened in his eyes, she approached. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked his reddened cheek. He turned his head towards her, rubbing his face against her like a dog seeking a good scratch. But when she ran her fingers through his curls, she realized she had chosen the wrong animal. He practically purred.
A light blush moved up Lily’s cheeks as she realized she stood between Arthur’s muscled legs. She swallowed, uneasy with his nearness, and tried to step back. Catching her glance, he spread his thighs slightly, giving her wider berth.
“Did you have a good day, my wife?” His voice was gruff, but warm.
“Yes, I spent it with Simon in the conservatory. It was like being outside on a summer’s day. The scent from the potted oranges was heavenly. I can’t believe it’s almost December. The gardener even whispered there might be strawberries hiding under the straw. He must have magic in his fingers to work such wonders.” Must her speech sound so inane when she wanted so desperately to impress and entice him? If only she weren’t so nervous at the prospect.
“You’ll have to show me. I haven’t visited the hothouse in months. I am sure my gardener will be delighted to have his work appreciated again.”
“I’d enjoy that. I’ve never experienced its like. I don’t remember it from my childhood.”
“I have to confess I had the rooms expanded. Much as you so aptly observed, I relished the thought of bringing the summer indoors. I find the gray can make me moody by February. I am always searching for entertainments.”
Lily caught the hint of boyish pride in his tone, along with something deeper, more stirring. She shifted, finding it hard to maintain her mask of calm. She didn’t know how to respond to the heat growing within her. She’d never experienced its like before and she pressed her legs tight to hold back her growing nerves.
“It is a real treat for Simon to look at the flowers.” Was she babbling? How could she keep track of her words as Arthur continued to watch her every breath? “He loves to stare up at them.”
Arthur leaned towards her, he had more to say, but the clock chimed the hour.
“Cook will be cross if we don’t proceed to the dining room. Perhaps later we can continue to discuss how to entertain ourselves as the weather worsens.” Lily glanced up as he took her arm, and a shiver escaped her. She had not mistaken the rich innuendo in his tone. But was it fear she felt or something else?
Ignoring her concerns, she wrapped her fingers around the supple fabric of his coat and let him lead her to supper.
Arthur breathed deeply, sending small ripples across the ruby surface of his after-dinner port. He needed this small time apart. Being in Lily’s presence, knowing there would be no crowning satisfaction, had strained him far more than he’d expected. One mischievous glance out of the corner of her sapphire eyes, and he was prey to the most lascivious thoughts. And when she ran her fingers through his hair, he longed to draw her close and bury his face between her ivory breasts, to feel them hard and peaked beneath his touch.
He took a deep gulp of the heavy wine and let it slowly burn down his throat. She didn’t always act like the deeply wounded woman he knew her to be. It was only when he drew that trifle bit too close that her eyes would shadow.
He slammed the nearly empty glass on the table and rose, his chair screeching over the polished floor. A footman popped his head in the doorway with an expectant look. Without so much as a nod, he left the formal room, seeking his solitude out of doors.
Jeffers stood in the hall and proffered the greatcoat. Arthur nodded him off. He needed the chill of the brisk winter air. He paused only to light his cheroot at the door side lamp before striding off into the cold. He tramped around the outside of the house, his mood growing blacker by turns. How could one little bit of a woman – more girl than woman – have him in this state? He tugged at his tight pants, seeking greater comfort.
This would not do. He was a duke, and could not recall the last time anyone had denied him anything. He stamped his feet against the icy veranda slates. Even the cold seeping through his boots could not suppress his heat.
Then he turned the corner, and saw her. She’d had Simon brought down from the nursery. Through the frosted windowpanes she was like an icon in the golden candlelight. The rich colors of her gown, expertly painted, only drew more fixed attention to the perfection of her features as she laughed gaily at the baby dangling in her arms. Even through the thick glass, he could hear the joy in her laughter. She brought Simon forward and rubbed noses with him before lifting him high in her thin arms. She stood and whirled in a circle, dancing about with her infant son as she had never danced with Arthur.
Arthur felt every inch of the insurmountable distance that separated him from this golden scene. He might burn with fire, but a thousand inner candles lit her up. The delight she shared with her son left him alone and apart. He clamped his teeth around the cheroot, unexpectedly bitter. He could join her if he so desired, but entering the room would not make him part of their magic circle.
Heading up to his room, he bypassed the parlor and Lily. He let Mathers help remove the tight coat and boots and then sent him away. Attired only in pants and shirtsleeves, he poured a brandy and prepared to brood. He sipped slowly at the brew and decided that he had underappreciated the pleasure of a good brood. Distinct pleasure could be found in darkly considering one’s life and what could be done with it – if only it didn’t involve an empty bed.
Chapter Thirteen
Lily pounded the needle into her embroidery. Arthur had not joined her after dinner last night and she’d spent a good hour and a half waiting. She could not take Lady Smythe-Burke’s advice if the blasted man didn’t appear. He hadn’t been around for breakfast or luncheon either. Now it was time for tea and she’d yet to see him.
As if summoned by her thoughts there was a light knock and the door opened – tea had arrived. The large silver pot seemed almost too much for one and Lily hoped that at least Lady Smythe-Burke would join her.
After five minutes, she decided that the tea would get cold if she waited any longer. Lady Smythe-Burke must be taking tea in her chamber. Lily lifted the cover off the danties and smiled. Berries. The gardener had not been exaggerating when he talked of the wonders he could work. Strawberries and something else small and red and shiny – gooseberries perhaps. Lily slathered sweet butter on the toast and then heaped berries on top. One joy of eating alone was that nob
ody would notice an unladylike serving.
She heard the handle of the door turn behind her, and controlled her urge to stuff a large bite into her mouth. Lady Smythe-Burke had worked hard to turn her into a duchess and so a small nibble would do. She lifted the plate and raised the toast towards her mouth.
Crash. Plate and toast went flying.
“What do you think you’re doing? Who gave those to you?”
Lily could only stare in amazement as Lady Smythe-Burke yelled. She really had only been going to take the tiny taste.
Lady Smythe-Burke took a deep breath and restrained herself. “Forgive me, my dear. Those are Gruelder Rose berries. They are poisonous in the extreme if eaten raw.”
Lily continued to stare, although her eyes darted to the sticky red mess now staining the hearth. Guelder Rose. She’d never even heard of such a thing.
Poisonous.
She shivered as the word sank in. Surely, it was a mistake, but she’d been moments away from . . . bile rose in her throat.
Seeing Lily’s distress Lady Smythe-Burke strode over and knelt beside her. “Now, dear. No harm done. I am sure one of the kitchen maids simply made a mistake – but what a horrid mishap. Where in the world did the berries come from this late in the year? I can’t imagine why they were in the pantry to begin with.”
“I almost – “ Lily found herself at a loss for words. Every time she began to feel safe something else happened.
Lady Smythe-Burke rose. “I’ll send someone to clean up this mess and I suggest you head upstairs and compose yourself. I’ll have fresh tea and toast with sweet preserves sent up. No harm in that. I always did like cooked fruits better, so much easier on the stomach. Don’t know why the serve them raw at all. Must be easier on the staff, but still cooked and jammed is best.”
Her hands quivering, Lily nodded and without another word took Lady Smythe-Burke’s advice. She’d had enough of adventure.
“I can’t imagine where they came from.” Lady Smythe-Burke. “I’ve spoken to cook and she assures me that it was only strawberries she sent out and that she’s never even had Guelder Rose Berries in the kitchen – thinks they’re for peasants.”
“It does seem that mishap seems to follow my wife.” Arthur tapped a finger against his desk.
“You don’t think – “ Lady Smythe-Burke sounded appalled.
“Oh, definitely not. Whatever is happening is not at Lily’s instigation.”
“Then, what is – “
“I must admit to not being sure. All I am sure of is that I do no want my wife distressed further. She has been through enough. I have sent inquires to London, but perhaps I should consider attending to the matter myself – an agent can be put off, I cannot.”
Lady Smythe-Burke settled into a chair. “It does make sense. I am sure you will do what is best.”
If only he knew what that was.
Inside her sitting room, Lily sat shaking. She drew a shallow breath into her paralyzed lungs. It had been an accident. Surely, it had been an accident. If only she had not mentioned the incident to Nanny and discovered how poisonous those berries were.
Who would wish her harm? It was a preposterous question.
A tap on the door drew her attention. Gertrude entered. “His grace suggested you might like a tray in your room. He thought that this afternoon’s events may have tired you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll go down.”
“Oh, dear.” Even as Gertrude spoke a footman entered with the tray. “It never occurred that your wants would differ from his grace’s. We can take it back if you like, but . . .”
“But, what?”
“Well, Lady Smythe-Burke went to dinner with the vicar. And his grace has ridden out again. I am not sure where, but if you’d like to come down . . .”
“No, I’d be pleased to eat here. His grace was correct. I am fatigued.”
Lily finished her meal in silence and spoke only briefly as the footmen took the tray away. Even when Gertrude came to prepare her for bed, her words were few.
Why did Arthur not come to inquire into the events of the afternoon? He must have questions. She lay in her bed letting this thought roll through her mind.
It seemed hours later when she heard the tread of feet in the hallway and knew that Arthur had returned. She slipped from her solitary bed, grabbed her robe and walked to the adjoining door. Without a plan in mind, she tapped once and walked through.
Arthur stood gazing out into the darkness when the tap caught his attention. In his hand he held the brandy snifter he’d not yet filled. He’d spent the past hours in discussion with Sir Drake, his mind focused on his duchess and the troubles that seemed to follow her. All the magistrate had discovered was that there was still no sign of strangers in the area and that his witness had become suddenly mute. Still, the time was soon coming when he would need to know all Lily’s secrets.
The door creaked open slowly, betraying the unease of the hand behind it. Lily entered almost stealthily. She was wrapped from toe to chin in a heavy wool robe, far different from the seductive concoction of their wedding night. She moved on tiptoes, dwarfed by the heavy furniture.
“I am very sorry to disturb you, Arthur. I heard you come in. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Yes.” Arthur tried to keep his tone even – a difficult feat as his mind filled with images of her velvet limbs spread across his sheets.
“I was wondering, could I . . . would you mind . . . if I slept in here, with you?”
Had she been too bold? Lily hadn’t known what words she’d say until they sprang from her lips. She stood and waited his response, dreading rejection. The cold of the hardwood floor seeped upward. She hopped onto the thick Persian, hoping Arthur would ignore her bare toes.
Arthur gaped at her, his fingers curling around his empty glass. He lifted it absently to his lips before realizing it was empty; then, startled, he replaced it on the bedside table.
“Why?”
Lily felt a shiver race down her spine and had to fight an urge to retreat to the sanctuary of her own bedchamber. She held her ground, curling her toes into the carpet and ignoring her drumming heart.
“I . . . slept so well two nights ago. I haven’t slept like that in years. And I am your wife, am I not?”
Arthur’s eyes flashed, and he turned away, his lips drawn tight. He didn’t meet her eyes as he answered.
“Of course. The bed is certainly sufficient for both of us. It wouldn’t be any bother, as long as you don’t mind if I read a little before blowing out the light.”
He wanted to read?
She should be grateful, but a knot of tension grew deep in her belly. She scurried across the room and climbed into the high bed, her robe still wrapped tightly about her. Once ensconced among the pillows, she lay perfectly stiff and still. Oh, God in heaven, if only he would say something, she still wasn’t sure why she was here. Hearing no answer to her prayers, she curled on her side, facing away from him, knowing that sleep would elude her.
Arthur read until he heard the rhythm of her breathing grow soft and even. It had taken very long for her to ease into sleep – he must have read the same passage a hundred times while waiting. What was he to do? Was she really too innocent to know the temptation she had placed in his way?
As if his thoughts drew her to him, Lily rolled over in her sleep, her small hand stretching to rest on Arthur’s upper thigh. He stirred at her touch. Her fingers began to softly stoke the light hairs dotting his leg, moving in ever more enchanting patterns. He wanted so badly to pull her into his arms, to press himself to her and seek release in her warm depths, but he was determined to give her the time to adjust to him before moving the relationship to a more intimate place.
Instead, he edged carefully towards the opposite perimeter of the bed. His bed, which had always seemed so spacious, shrank by the second. The farther Arthur drifted towards the side, the closer Lily crept, until her entire body pressed firmly against his, burned against his. God help
him. Every time Lily exhaled, her warm, moist breath moved across his body, awakening centers of pleasure he hadn’t even known existed.
“Mmmm, that’s lovely, so lovely to be warm,” Lily mumbled in her sleep, as her lips moved over the thin fabric draping Arthur’s chest.
Arthur’s body grew tense, full with desire. When Lily inched across the bed yet again, Arthur slipped from beneath the sheets. Cursing none too quietly, he settled in the large wingchair before the fire. He crossed his legs tightly, struggling against his desire to return to the bedstead and claim his bride. Any thought of a gradual wooing seemed absurd when he couldn’t bear Lily’s slightest touch without also craving her warmth, her taste, her very being. He had never known anything bordering on the fervor she awoke in him now.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .” Arthur let the numbers run through his head before starting again at a hundred. When that failed to dull his arousal, he filled his glass to the rim and prepared to empty the decanter.
Lily shifted restlessly in the great bed as the first strands of dawn raced across the sky. In her restlessness, she sought the warmth, the comfort that had surrounded her the night before. Finding nothing but cold sheets, she cautiously opened her eyes to the dim light.
She was alone again. Disconsolate, she drew up in the bed, bending her knees and drawing them forward to hug. She wasn’t sure what she missed, but there was something.
Then she saw him, sprawled in the corner chair, his head thrown back and mouth gaping. One empty bottle of brandy lay at his feet and a half-full one rested lightly in a flaccid hand.
She’d driven him to drink. She shivered as the faint scent of brandy wafted over. She closed her eyes afraid of the images of drunken men that tickled at the edges of her mind giving rise to renewed nightmares. A lone tear began to trace its familiar path down her cheek. She curled back on her side and huddled at the edge of the bed.