by Lavinia Kent
She had never known the sensations he had created. Every touch of his fingers left trails of sensation and drew a response from her depths She sensed that maybe she could learn to understand his desires . . . and her own.
Then he had touched her . . . there. She hadn’t meant to react with such a start, but the sensation sent jolts through her body. She stiffened – not from fear – but from shock. Though she was far from an innocent maid, that slight touch shook her to her core. How could such intensity of feeling be possible? She should have tried to explain, but she had been so confused by the strength of her response.
Instead he’d left before she could find reason, and now he was truly leaving.
“Hurry, he’s waiting in the parlor.” Gertrude’s words sped on. “The carriage has already been summoned. He thought you’d be down an hour ago.”
Lily lay still for a moment. The thought of Arthur leaving caused an unexpected pain. Confused, Lily let Gertrude dress her and brush her hair. She was only vaguely aware of the yank of brush and laces. What would she do without Arthur?
Lily waved Gertrude's ministrations away. She scurried from the room and sped to meet her husband. Only as she entered the parlor did she slow.
“You’re up.” His cool tone greeted her as she slowly descended the stairs.
“I am sorry to have overslept.”
“No matter.” He turned away and for a moment Lily thought she had imagined a devouring look.
“The maid said you are leaving?”
“Yes.” He still stood facing the door, looking away from her. “I’ve put off my duties for too long. I have estate matters I must handle. Also, having spoken with the magistrate has made it clear that I’ve let matters ferment too long. It is better that I make my desires public quickly before there is any possible threat. His witness is silent, at the moment, and we should keep it that way. There are few who would risk my open displeasure.”
“Oh.” Lily hesitated.
“I’ve arranged matters with my solicitor so that most often he can act upon his own discretion. But there are always certain matters that require my attention. I believe, as well, that we could both use a short hiatus to come to grips with our future. Last night made clear that we would be foolish to rush matters. We can discuss how to proceed upon my return.”
He continued to face the door. The sun glaring through the windows hurt Lily’s eyes.
“I trust you agree?”
Lily said nothing. She was left without words.
“You don’t?”
“Oh no, your grace, Arthur . . . I am sure you know what is best.”
Arthur turned to meet her gaze, and Lily could see his biceps bulge beneath his jacket as if he were fighting for self-control.
“What do you wish, Lily?”
She did not understand the tone of his words, the question behind them.
“If you think we should be apart, then perhaps that is best. I wouldn’t want to go against your wishes.” It was not what she wanted, but he had done so much for her.
“It’s not what I want . . . Certain issues cannot be forced . . . but, I do need an heir.” He turned and paced back towards the door, once again the cool, collected duke. Jeffers seemed to fade into the woodwork as he passed. “It is best that I go. It will give us both needed time.”
His tone softened. “I’ll be back for Christmas. Maybe you can take the time between now and then to decide what you want.”
She turned back, realizing that all she wanted was to be kissed and comforted again, but he strode away through the door and swung up onto Ganesh, who stood beside the carriage. With a last wave, Arthur gave the stallion his lead and raced off, as the carriage clattered along behind.
Bloody hell. He’d made a hash of that. Arthur spurred Ganesh faster, racing ahead of the coach. He’d spent the long hours of the night pacing and wondering what to do with his wife. She started out willing. He’d felt the heightened tension between them. But then he’d see that flash of fear deep in her eyes, felt – oh, yes, definitely felt – the harsh response of her body. She simply was not ready to forget the horrors of her past. And so he’d prepared a speech, been ready to discuss the intimate details of their lives, to plan a strategy to overcome her fears.
He had chosen his words carefully. There would be no misunderstanding. The only thing he would not tell her was how great was his fear for her safety, and how much that affected his decision to travel to London. Instead, one glance at her wide eyes, her hair still slightly mussed from the night, and he’d lost his way. Only with Lily did he dither. He could reduce grown men to fools with a glare, but one glance from his tiny wife and he dithered . . . yes, he became a blasted idiot.
Arthur kicked Ganesh hard, urging the stallion on. He bent forward, seeking to let the wind wash him clean. He ignored the urgings of his body and let the horse fly on, leaving the rumbling carriage far behind.
“What did you do this time?”
Lady Smythe-Burke strode into the dining room and sat, spreading her skirts like a queen. She nodded to the footman as he poured her chocolate. “I carefully arrange my schedule –actually stay in the vicarage a night – to leave you and my stubborn nephew alone, and then I awake to find him gone and yourself paler than a fish’s belly.”
“I really don’t know.” Lily stared at her muffin.
“Do we need to go through this again?”
“No, I mean I don’t disagree that I did something,” Lily said. “I simply don’t know what.”
“Hmmm. Why did he say he was leaving?”
“He said he had duties in London and that after visiting the magistrate he wanted to take care of things personally.”
“I heard about the visit. Didn’t sound at all pleasant. I told you Westlake would protect what was his, didn’t I?” Lady Smythe-Burke sipped the chocolate and stared at the ceiling. “He does have matters to attend to in London. That is true. And he would want to take care to assure that his desire to watch over young Simon was clear. But why so suddenly? What happened last night to make him rush away in the morning?”
Lily looked at Lady Smythe-Burke, her gaze steady. “I’ve already said I don’t know. I tried to follow your advice.”
“Did you? And?”
“I don’t know.” Should she tell Lady Smythe-Burke all? It was private. “Things seemed to be progressing nicely and then he just left.”
“He left?”
“Yes.” Lily let her gaze drop again.
“That goes against everything I know about men, and my nephew in particular. There must be something else you are not telling me.”
For the briefest moment Lily pictured Worthington lying at the bottom of the cliffs, but she put the image away. That was her old life. It had no bearing here.
“I really don’t know. I was starting . . . I was starting to enjoy . . . what he was doing and then . . . well, it was unexpected . . . then he left.”
Lady Smythe-Burke pursed her lips and then a satisfied smile spread across her face. “Ahh yes, it make sense.”
“It does? You say he would only have married me because he wanted to. I don’t understand why he would behave in this manner if that were true. Again, I feel like an obligation, not a wife.”
“My dear Lily, you forget the most important fact. He is a man. A very foolish man. Women are not meant to understand men. He is unreasonable simply because he is a man. From that perspective it all makes sense. It is not something to worry about. Now let’s talk about something else.”
Lily could only gape as Lady Smythe-Burke began to expound on the proper way to ignore servants, and still have them attend to your every need. She longed to continue their earlier conversation, but it was clear the lady had said all she intended to say.
The air was bitter with the bite of winter, but Lily paid no heed as she strode into the garden, seeking escape from her darkening thoughts. Even as the wind whipped about the low neckline of her bodice, she gave only the most fleeting though
t to fetching a shawl. The sting suited her mood.
There had been no word from Arthur since his departure two weeks before. Lily discounted Lady Smythe-Burke’s assurance that Arthur had always been lacking as a correspondent. She had spent the last weeks in tedious lessons, learning all she could about managing his home, hoping to provide him some comfort and satisfaction. Refusing to yield to despair, she called upon her every resource to comport herself as a duchess, even without her duke. She missed Arthur’s presence in the nursery, his light step on the stair, the smell of his cheroot, the way he rustled his paper every morning, the soft beckoning of his kisses.
Lily twisted a leafless branch off a low-lying bush and swished it back and forth at her knees. Her husband confused her.
She had seen Arthur glow with youthful pride at his reconstructed hothouse. She pictured him striding through the garden, ruddy from the cold, planning future cricket games with Simon. She remembered his face flushed with passion, his breath heated, as he moved beside her. Those strange little shivers ran down her spine at his briefest glance, and, yes, when his lips moved over hers, the shivers grew until torrents ran within her.
She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with those tingles and the loss of control they signaled. She swung her branch with increasing fury. Did she dare yield to her emotions? Could she find a way to be the wife he needed, one who would deserve his protection?
The branch snapped as it struck the stone border edging the decorative pond. The golden carp still swam in slow circles through the cool water. She wondered how they felt as the icy surface overspread the pool. As the cold deepened, would the pond freeze through, entrapping them in its deadly solidity? Her heart chilled at the thought.
Finally, as a stronger gust whipped around the house and swept through her gown, she turned back to the only home she knew. Simon would be getting hungry soon, and she felt a need of his comforting love.
Arthur faced his trials head on. He stomped through his London house, heading downstairs for another night haunting those dens of iniquity. He missed Lily and his home with a fervor that surprised him. He’d always loved the time he spent at Blythemoor and had never considered it an onerous chore to tend his estates, but now the memories of the place and the contentment he’d found there with Lily had given the place a new charm. He pictured Lily whirling with Simon in her arms, laughing with Gertrude over some triviality of fashion, inhaling the smoky scent of her tea, losing herself in his kisses, looking up at him with wary eyes that seemed to seek a savior. Every note he sent her only reminded him of the grace she’d brought into his life. But, one glance from those laughing, sultry, blue eyes and his self-containment vanished like a storybook wizard, in a flash of smoke and fire.
But, maybe if he’d stayed he could have brought her with him into that fire. No, he had been right to leave. It was necessary to give her time to adjust to her change in circumstance, to adjust to . . . him.
Arthur’s smile faded. He’d been startled to learn that St. Aubin also had come to London, apparently seeking to inquire his standing in regards to rearing Simon. He was determined to be the formally named guardian. It increased Arthur’s suspicions that St. Aubin was behind all the attacks. Could he have killed his own brother? There had been no evidence that Worthington had more debts than usual, despite the sad repair of his estates, and no sign that he’d had enemies. He’d been thought unpleasant, but not worth the trouble of extreme emotion.
Still, there was no evidence that St. Aubin had acted in any way unusual before his brother’s death, by all accounts he’d been shocked by the news. None of it made sense.
Arthur stopped beneath the portrait of his father that hung at the top of the stair. The old duke stood without emotion, his powdered face and wig obscuring any trace of his humanity.
Two hours later Arthur strode into another club, acting for all the world as if there was no place he would rather be than here, surrounded by the stench of smoke and soured whiskey. He shrugged his shoulders and glanced around, seeking St. Aubin. His prey was still not to be found.
He turned and was just about to move on when he spotted an exceptionally large, broad-shouldered form slumped at a table across the room. There was no fat on the man, but rather the heavy musculature of a fighter. He paused, considered, and then walked over. His hunt could wait awhile.
“My dear Wulf, I heard you’d mustered out after Waterloo, but didn’t know you’d come back to town.”
Wulf raised his head, his bloodshot gaze meeting Arthur’s without formality.
“Yes, I am back.”
“May I join you?”
Wulf looked for a moment as if he’d like to refuse, but then with a shrug gestured to the chair.
Arthur gestured for another glass and then poured himself a liberal splash of Wulf’s whiskey. He waited for his old friend to speak, but when Wulf remained silent Arthur spoke instead.
“This is almost like old times. If only Tris were here, the three of us could paint the town together.”
“I am afraid Tris is too busy for the likes of us. Me, I should say.”
“I’d heard he’d inherited, but thought he’d always have time for you.”
Wulf lifted his own glass and downed it.
“Had you heard my uncle, the earl, died?”
Ah, this was getting to the core of the matter. Wulf had not reacted well when his uncle’s second wife, Clarissa, produced an heir, leaving Wulf without expectations.
“Yes, I am sorry. I know you were in many ways closer to him than to your own father.”
“It is true that in many ways I had more in common with Epping than with my own father, but we had not been close for years. Not since –”
“Clarissa produced a son.” Arthur filled in the words he sensed his friend struggled to say.
“Yes, not since then. This fall, after Boney’s abdication, I returned.”
Arthur longed to ask his friend why he’d left the army, but he sensed the subject was closed.
“I went to see Clarissa, deceitful witch,” Wulf continued. “She had me refused at the door. Didn’t even bother to give the usual excuse that she wasn’t home. I was refused admittance, outright, to the home where I’d spent so much of my childhood. And she sent word that I would be refused admittance on any of the estates, that if I attempted any form of contact, she’d have me removed as a trespasser.”
Arthur reached out to grasp his friend’s arm. “Most unsuitable. I’d have thought she’d show more decency.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Wulf refilled his glass, and sloshed it all down again.
Arthur did not reply, but watched his friend with growing concern. This inebriated hulk bore little resemblance to the man he’d known. Wulf never showed the effects of drink, and they’d downed enough together.
“What help can I provide?”
Wulf looked up and Arthur caught a glimmer of his old self, then Wulf’s mouth twisted. “No, I think Lady Luck is all I need tonight. I am off to the tables. You?”
Despite his friend’s grim tone, Arthur almost chuckled at that. Wulf had always been known for two things, never losing at battle and never winning a hand of cards. You could stack the deck in his favor and he’d still lose.
“I think I’ll leave you alone to dance with that lady. I’ve my own to worry about.” Arthur stood. “However, if during your entertainment you should happen across a gentleman named St. Aubin, I’d appreciate your sending me word.”
“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
“Ah, no. I’d rather surprise him.”
“He’s a friend, then?”
“Better to say the friend of a friend.”
Wulf lifted his cane. In his grip it rather resembled a saber. “Very well, then. Now, I must be off.”
Arthur pursed his lips as his friend departed. He hoped Wulf could come to grips with whatever held him by the short hairs. He should pursue the issue further, but that would have to wait. He had other fish t
o catch and fry.
Chapter Fifteen
Lily stood at the top of the long stairway and looked down the sleek baluster. It was much longer than she remembered. This had seemed a small rebellion, trifling even, but now as she stood here poised – it had grown as large as the balustrade.
“Well, your grace, are you going to do it?” Gertrude asked, the excitement growing in her voice. “Are you?”
Lily ran one hand over the smooth, cool wood. The stress of the last weeks had worn her. The uncertainty of her situation left her sleepless and unable to concentrate. On one occasion, she’d even left Simon alone by an unlocked door, where anybody could have snatched him. She’d been sure Sally was watching him, but later Sally denied all knowledge, saying she’d been in the nursery the entire afternoon. Even Lady Smythe-Burke’s solid presence brought no reliable comfort. If the anxiety didn’t break soon, if Arthur didn’t return or write, she would crumble to pieces.
Her fingers tightened on the baluster. The temptation to escape it all, if only for an instant, grew. She slid her hand up and down the wood.
“I shouldn’t. It goes against everything I’ve been taught.”
“Nobody will know,” Gertrude replied. “You’ve told me so many times how you always wanted to do it as a girl. I really think you should.”
Lily chewed nervously on her lip and glanced around the hall. There was nobody about. She’d sent Jeffers on an errand and Lady Smythe-Burke was again at the vicarage. She looked back at Gertrude’s glowing face. Over the past weeks the two of them had become more confidantes than mistress and maid. She hadn’t brought herself to share the details of her marriage with Gertrude. But Gertrude’s rosy outlook brought some of the few glimmers of light, apart from Simon, into her uncertain life.
It was Gertrude who’d supported this escapade when Lily had confided her childhood longings. At first Lily refused to entertain the thought, but it crept upon her slowly. Propriety had gained her nothing but this purgatory. Her husband had been away for weeks without a word and, for all she knew, could be trying to procure an annulment. And yet.