Hint of Desire (The Desire Series)

by Lavinia Kent

  With a sudden burst of decision, Lily lifted her skirts and swung one leg over the railing. It was time to let go and be free. She gave Gertrude a half smile and pushed off, gathering speed quickly as she moved down the balustrade. She’d never dreamed just how fast it would be. She felt like the young boys on sleds she’d watched flying down hills in her childhood. Her mind released all worries in the sheer delight of the moment. The smooth silk of her skirts met little resistance as she sailed down the perfectly polished wood. Her gay laugh filled the stairwell.

  She tried to grab hold as she felt herself losing control, but it was too late. With one last cry she bounced against the newel post and went flying over the end.

  After a long day spent riding hard to make it back before the holidays, Arthur longed for a steaming bath, a good cigar, a smooth glass of brandy, and a smile from a certain blue-eyed someone. As he threw his reins to the stable lad and headed into the house he started to dream. He could almost feel the warm water soaking the travel aches out of his body. Maybe Lily would even consent to sit with him, and he could let her gentle presence ease the aches of his soul.

  Arthur’s weeks in London had produced the desired results. St. Aubin would find little support if he attempted to assert his guardianship of Simon. Moreover, Arthur had gathered more information about St. Aubin and his often questionable activities and lean pockets. As an added measure of caution he had even purchased a pile of St. Aubin’s gambling debts. He would give Lily, as an unexpected Christmas present, not only the diamond bracelet sitting heavy in his pocket, but her son’s safety, as well.

  An unusual level of anxiety gripped him as he reached the door. He was not altogether sure of his welcome, and the edge of his emotion ate at him. He could not bring himself to his usual state of measured calm.

  Odd. The servants didn’t seem to be waiting to greet him. There was no porter here as there was at the ducal seat, but he’d left Jeffers to attend to such matters. Arthur couldn’t remember being stranded outside his own door before, without having it swing open soundlessly at his approach. He raised his hand to pound on the heavy oak before, with a twinge of impatience, he pushed the door open. It swung open with great force. He turned to call for Jeffers.

  But before the first syllable left his lips, his eyes caught the streak of blue sailing down the baluster, and terror shot through him. Without stopping to think, he moved to the foot of rail, his eyes filled with the memory of a young cousin, bruised and bloody, who had once been spread unconscious across the hard marble at the foot of the great stair.

  He made it just as the blue flash lifted off the bottom of the baluster and came hurtling towards him. The weight hit him almost square in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards onto the marble floor.

  “You foolish child! What on earth are you thinking, and where is Jeffers to be allowing such a thing?? The sooner I find him the sooner I’ll–”

  The soft lushness of lavender-scented curls were his first hint. The second was the sweet sound of a feminine gasp.

  “I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve distracted him. I had to make sure the way was clear and, well, I . . .”

  Arthur stared with amazement at the glowing face of his wife, her up-tilted chin and wide blue eyes dancing as she lay across his chest where they lay sprawled together.

  “I needed to try it, just once. I needed to show I could live a dream. It’s silly, I know. I’m so glad you're back.”

  For the briefest moment, joy rose within him at her warmth. She looked genuinely pleased to see him, far from the mournful Madonna who had huddled in his bed that last night.

  Yet the terrifying picture of his broken young cousin – his leg bent up, the bone showing through, the great bleeding gash across his temple – returned with chastening clarity and brutality. Arthur himself had goaded that cousin on, unaware of the costs of such youthful folly. His cousin had paid a heavy price. Richard had spent almost a full year as an invalid, and hobbled with a stick to this day. The elder Dr. Smithson had acted as if the boy were lucky to be alive.

  His anxiety at seeing her met with fierce worry, untested emotion. His tone grew frozen.

  “You foolish chit. Do you have any idea what might have happened? How dangerous this is? What right do you think you have to do something so stupid and thoughtless?”

  Lily looked up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain.

  “I am sorry. I remember seeing your cousin do it. I remember you laughing with him.”

  “And did you ever think to inquire what happened to him?”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you mean. Nothing happened to him.”

  “Maybe not that time, but if you’d asked . . .”

  She tried once to defend herself.

  “I heard you used to . . . to do it as a boy.” Her small voice quavered with each word.

  “You could have been killed. You could have been killed. How could you do such a thing? You’re a duchess, not a school girl.”

  “Killed? But –”

  “If you had ever bothered to inquire, you would have been told that my dear cousin Richard whom you so fondly recall slid reckless one time too many and walks with a limp to this day. He’s lucky to have recovered at all. I expect better of you in the future. You have responsibilities now, and should not resort to such foolish pranks. I hope I am understood.”

  She bowed her head, the tendons of her neck stretched tighter than stings of a violin.

  “Yes, your grace.”

  Then, without another word, in a flurry of silk, Lily gathered her skirts and rose. She didn’t look back at Arthur, but turned and went racing up the stairs, nearly as quickly as she had come flying down. She averted her face to hide the rivulets of tears that marked her pallid cheeks, and the rigor mortis that had frozen her lively features.

  Arthur was immediately gripped with remorse. He’d chastised her like a child. He was trying to teach her to be a woman and he had treated her like a babe – even if it had been a child’s prank. He clamped his eyes shut against the vision of her lifeless face, sought the memory of the first tentative smile that had greeted him. He could not find it; all he saw were the streams of tears he’d instigated.

  With an unspoken curse, he called for Jeffers, who this time appeared instantly.

  “Jeffers.” Arthur pitched his voice to utter flatness. “Are you aware the duchess just slid down the baluster?”

  Jeffers’ eyes widened as he drew up, startled. “Why, no, your grace.”

  “And why not? I do not remember my own youthful transgressions ever passing without your notice.”

  Despite the lack of intonation the barb hit true. Jeffers blanched, in obvious distress.

  “I was fetching a bottle of brandy for the duchess. She insisted the brandy in the decanter was off. She wanted a new bottle from the cellars.”

  “And does the duchess drink? Does she drink in the mid-afternoon? I’ve never seen her more than sip at the table wine.”

  Jeffers dropped his head, his shoulders sagging. “No, your grace, I’ve hardly known her to touch spirits at all.”

  “And this did not make you the least suspicious?”

  “It is not my place to question her grace’s desires, your grace.”

  Arthur frowned. It wouldn’t do to chide the butler for obeying his mistress.

  “In future I suggest that you weigh the duchess’s wishes against my own desires. My greatest concern is for her health and safety. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  Jeffers sounded so forlorn in his agreement that Arthur almost patted his back in solace. First she had him raising his voice in unrestrained ire, now he was ready to comfort his own servants. What would be next?

  “You may go.”

  Jeffers left, his shoulders still slumped, with the faintest air of disapproval, but Arthur knew it could not be so. His butler would never dare give him such a look.

  Arthur squared his shoulders in stiff formali
ty. He strode down the hall to his study.

  “I’d say that wasn’t called for, but I reckon you know that.” Lady Smythe-Burke was already ensconced in the room.

  “It’s good to see you too Aunt.”

  “Enough of that. The poor girl has missed you for weeks and the first thing you do is chide her like a puppy.”

  “She missed me?” Arthur pictured her welcoming smile.

  “I wouldn’t say so otherwise. She’s wandered around for weeks looking forlorn. Not at all a newly married maid. You could at least have written. Don’t know why you didn’t bother to explain to her why you were leaving.”

  Arthur stared for a moment. “But, I did and I sent –”

  “What matters is not what you did, but what she thinks you did. Men just don’t know anything. Especially dukes. Your father certainly didn’t. Didn’t realize you were so much like him. Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, I hope you know what you’re going to say to your duchess. I know you were thinking of Richard, but all the same. You are not a man who will do well being out of favor. Oh, no. I’ll enjoy watching this.” She walked over to Arthur and patted him on the cheek, then he turned and walked to the door with a final smile. “I am back to the vicarage. I’ll see you at services.”

  He was hateful. Lily didn’t know why she’d ever imagined that a second man hid behind the mask of the haughty duke. Worthington, with his heavy fists, had never hurt her as deeply as Arthur had with a few well-chosen words. Damn her traitorous heart for being so unabashedly happy when she’d first seen him.

  She didn’t hear the door open, but suddenly a pair of small, plump hands stroked her, as her mother once had.

  “It was all me, your grace. I made you do it. I’ll tell his grace that, make him understand. I’ll probably be dismissed because of it. Then how will I feed my poor mum? Oh, I’m so sorry I made you do it. I knew better. It wasn’t my place to plant such ideas in your head. I just can’t control what I say. I’m always speaking out of turn. It’s a wonder you haven’t let me go before this.”

  Lily felt the beginnings of a cold calm descend as she tried to ease the girl’s mind. “No, Gertrude, you don’t need to worry. I won’t let you be dismissed. How would I survive without you? My hair would look like a bird’s nest. I’ll tell his grace that I need you.” Lily wondered if her wishes even mattered to the hard man in the hallway. “Besides nobody but the two of us knows how I came to think of heading down the baluster. It wouldn’t serve any good to speak of it.”

  “No, you can’t do that for me. It’s all my fault.”

  “I made the choice. The consequences must be my own. Go now.”

  Lily sighed as Gertrude left. She’d have to call the girl back soon and tell her she’d supper in her room and avoid further unpleasantness. She would face the duke soon enough, when he sent for her to discuss their future. Lily turned her face to the wall and let the hours pass.

  When the knock sounded on the door, she jumped.

  “Sorry to disturb you, your grace, but you had indicated you wished to go to midnight mass in the village.”

  She had forgotten. It was Christmas Eve.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lily changed her dress and headed downstairs for what would surely be a bleak Christmas Eve. Her hours alone had firmed her resolve. No matter which man stood below, she would not cower.

  Step by step she marched down the long stairs, her heavy velvet gown swirling around her. She would not let Arthur or any man frighten her again. She would show him just what a duchess she could be, tantalize him with the woman that she was. Remembering Lady Smythe-Burke’s many admonitions, head high and spine ramrod straight, she proceeded towards her meeting with the man she’d once fancied she might learn to love. But, now, she knew, his humanity was only an illusion. He had spoken the truth. He was a duke, not a man.

  Arthur stood at the bottom of the stair, almost exactly where Lily had ploughed into him during her instant of freedom. He wore an elegant black coat and a starched white linen shirt. He had never looked so beautiful or so forbidding, a lone wolf surveying his territory.

  She reached the bottom stair and he held out an arm to her with the utmost courtesy. “My lady.”

  She curled her fingers around the heavy weave of his coat and tried to contain her trembling. Not by the slightest tremor or glance did he portray how they had parted only hours before.

  “Your grace.”

  “Shall we be off? I’ve had the carriage brought round. Your cloak shall be brought.”

  Before he could even finish the sentence Gertrude sped up the hall with Lily’s deep crimson pelisse in her hands. She didn’t say a word as she helped Lily into it, and stepped back.

  Arthur placed Lily’s hand on his arm again and led her through the door to the waiting carriage. She didn’t say a word as he handed her up into the finely appointed compartment. She settled herself into the plush cushioning without further ado. Keeping her head up and her gaze straight ahead, she pretended not to notice as Arthur’s weight shifted in the seat beside her.

  She concentrated on the coming service, hoping that some essence of charity and glad tidings would reach her soul.

  Arthur watched Lily’s still silhouette. What had become of the woman-child he had left weeks before? The regal and graceful woman who had just descended the stairs could not possibly be Lily. This creature gave no hint of emotion as she sat stiff and proud, her skin glowing in the moonlight. There was no trace of the laughing girl who’d landed in his arms or the crying waif who’d run back up the stairs.

  Part of him longed to lean forward, to kiss the rigidity out of her, to warm her with his ardor. He wanted Lily desperately. Even now, when she concealed every hint of spirit from him, he longed to envelop her, to revel in her youthful glow. But such thoughts on the way to church surely would carry him to the devil. He turned towards the window and, drawing the curtain back further, gazed out at the bleak landscape. The first snow had not yet fallen, and the land spread out before him glacial and gray in the pale moonlight.

  Arthur glanced back towards Lily, only to confirm that she hadn’t shifted an iota since the brief journey began. She stared at the faint pattern of the brocade as if it held the secret of life itself.

  Slowly, he eased one of his hands across the wide seat, until it rested on Lily’s delicate hands. He moved it over hers, sharing warmth in the bitter night air. Lily made no obvious move in reply, but Arthur thought he could sense a slight softening of her spine in response. When the carriage drew to a halt before the quaint village church, he lifted her hand quickly to his lips before helping her out of the carriage.

  He led Lily forth among his tenants with pride, noticing with some surprise how many she greeted by name. She might have recognized more of them than he did.

  As if reading his thoughts, Lily smiled at the next woman to greet them.

  “Mrs. Smith, I am so happy to see you. I’d heard that both you and your youngest were taken with fever. I’d planned to visit soon and bring some willow tea.”

  “I am quite recovered, your grace, although my little Molly still has the sniffles. It’s so kind of you to think of us.”

  “Oh, I hate to think of any child sick.”

  “And how is your own dear young one?”

  “Growing faster than a weed. I don’t know how Nanny keeps him dressed. And his smiles. I don’t think there is anything like a baby’s smile.”

  The two women grinned in an acknowledged bond, and then Mrs. Smith moved on, giving Arthur a polite nod.

  “Oh, Mr. Jackson, I was so sorry to hear about your mother’s fall. She is doing well?”

  “Yes, nothing more than a couple of bruises. It’s always such a worry at her age.”

  “And your wife, how is she managing without your mother’s help?”

  Arthur did not hear the reply as Lily tucked her hand about Mr. Jackson’s arm as he turned back towards his wife. He was left alone, to gape, as Lily moved from tenant to storekee
per, greeting each with accustomed ease.

  He wasn’t sure who she was anymore. Every time he became accustomed to one persona, Lily adopted another. It was maddening.

  A sudden giggle from behind drew his attention and he turned as a snowball came flying, hitting him squarely in the chest. He stared down at the village boy, who stood staring aghast. Arthur licked the flakes dotting his lips and then laughter as he had not known in a decade bubbled out of him.

  The boy smiled in return and scooping up another snowball lobbed it into the dumbstruck crowd of children. Arthur stood and watched the growing fracas.

  “We’d best go in. The vicar won’t start the service knowing you’re outside.” Lily came to stand beside him. She reached out and brushed snow from his greatcoat. “We don’t want a puddle in the pew.”

  Her eyes sparkled up at him as they had earlier. He focused on her lips, cherry with cold. His breath became still as her eyes darkened. He heard her breath catch as if in reply. He bent and brushed her cheek with the most chaste of kisses. Heat surged through his veins.

  Then her eyes dropped and, taking his arm, she led him into the church.

  Lily slammed the brush down as she waited for Gertrude to come finish her hair. She would never understand that man, never know who really dwelt behind the ducal mask. As soon as she had placed herself and Simon in his care, he disappeared and sent no word; when she fought with herself to stay hopeful he came back – and berated her; and now . . . now he was acting like there hadn’t been the slightest disturbance between them.

  He had escorted her to church last night and treated her with gallantry. He hadn’t shown a spark of temper when some high-spirited child hit him dead in the center of his chest with an errant snowball; rather he’d laughed at the fray. When she’d called him away from his antics, he’d laughed down at her and kissed her gently. It had been the barest of touches, but it had conveyed something so deep and powerful that her belly ached just to think about it.