Hint of Desire (The Desire Series)

by Lavinia Kent

  He was amazed at his own pleasure at her spreading joy. With caution, he moved his fingers lower, trailing them across satin flesh and musky curls. This time when he circled her, sinking the tip of his finger into her, he did not draw back at her stiffening, but only held still until she again relaxed. He felt her pulse flutter beneath him, as he sank his finger deeper, excited beyond limits by her breathy sighs and pulsing grasp. Her head was thrown back, her chest heaving, her body straining beneath him, as he rose over her, slipping between her thighs to seek his own glory. Her body drew straight once again. He forced himself to hold still as her eyes opened and focused on his. He felt the deep breath as she drew into her lungs, saw her quiver in understanding.

  “Arthur.” She said his name clearly. “Make me yours.”

  The first touch of her warmth against his sex almost undid him. He felt like the most callow youth as he fought for the calm to continue. Her hips thrust beneath him as she sought to take his all.

  Unable to last further, he loosed the reins and surged onward, diving deep into the font of warm, wet desire. With each pump of his buttocks, he felt her give before him, her body writhing with mounting pleasure. Sensations he had never known shot through his body as she clenched and pulsed about him. Fires licked and raced, his whole world a focused pinpoint of bliss. Then she let forth a cry and her whole body drew taut and then released. Her waves of completion wrapped around him, drawing him to his own end.

  With a final roar of victory he surged forward, his seed spurting deep into her warmth. At his cry, he felt her arch again in ecstasy, sending him tumbling over the edge a second time.

  Late in the night Lily squeezed against Arthur, feeling her world right itself. She had never dreamed of such wonders as he had introduced to her. Just thinking of them caused her skin to become hot.

  “Tell me properly of your adventures, now.” His deep voice startled her.

  “You were there too, why do you need me to tell you? Or is that something else you like?” She whispered the words into his chest.

  “I meant your earlier adventures, in the coach.”

  “Oh. Are you sure you want to hear now?” She wiggled her hips against him.

  He caught her tight. “More of that later. Now, talk.”

  It took almost an hour to recount the whole story. She had expected him to be upset, but assured that she remained unscathed, he seemed more brooding than angry. He asked several times about the mysterious note summoning her to join him. While he claimed to have written several letters, which he seemed in no hurry to discuss, he knew nothing of this note. And when she referred to the man called Diver, Arthur stiffened briefly, then drew her even closer, entwining his fingers tightly in her hair.

  “Diver, are you sure that was the name?”

  “Yes, is it important?”

  “It could be just the evidence I’ve been looking for. A man called Diver came looking for you once. I’d almost forgotten.”

  He lay back in bed and gazed in contemplation at the ceiling, but kept her hair tightly twined about his fingers.

  “This note, was it written in my hand?”

  “I thought so. I’ve really only seen your writing once before, in the short message you left before you departed. It was boldly written like that, but I didn’t notice more. And it was signed ‘Westlake.’”

  “‘Westlake,’ not ‘Arthur’?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never signed a letter to you that way. Even those letters I wrote before Christmas, I found myself signing my Christian name. Something I’d never done before.”

  “Oh.” She moved closer, seeking the warmth of his body. She slipped a leg between his, wondering at his words. He had never signed himself “Arthur” to another. She laid a gentle kiss on his lightly furred chest, just over his heart. Then she lifted her head to speak again. “I never received those letters, either. The only notes I’ve read are the one when you left and the one telling me to come.”

  “I realize that.” He fell silent, and she closed her eyes and let herself drift towards a most pleasant dream.

  He interrupted her reverie. “Tell me again how you got away.”

  “I don’t quite understand it myself. They started to fight among themselves. The one called Diver really meant to kill me, but the other, the large one, stopped him. I don’t know why. With me he was almost kind. I know it sounds strange, but I almost trusted him. I’d never have let him take Simon – but he didn’t seem evil, like the others.”

  “So they started to fight and you made your escape?”

  “Yes, I am lucky John Coachman kept his head. I was so filled with panic I don’t think I would have moved if he hadn’t hastened me to enter. Nanny slept through it all and Lady Smythe-Burke was detained in the carriage.”

  Arthur looked suspicious, but said only, “I’ll see about suitable recompense for the coachman. There was no pursuit?”

  “None that we could be sure of. At first I thought I heard a horse following, but it never drew closer, and then faded. Nanny was stirring by this time, so I tried to act brave, so as not to frighten her. I worried that it was one of the smaller two men. I think the large one must be dead. I saw him covered in blood.”

  Arthur kissed her lips softly, comfortingly. He traced them gently with his tongue before settling her back against him.

  “Just sleep now, my little one. I’ll keep you safe even from your dreams tonight. Just rest. We shall talk more tomorrow. Just trust me and all will be well.”

  Lily wanted to protest that she was well indeed, and there was so much that remained unspoken, but even as she thought the words, her eyes closed. Morning would be soon enough.

  Arthur rolled out of bed as the first shot of light invaded the sky. He had not slept, his thoughts a mixture of joy and worry. Lily was finally his. He smiled as he looked at her body curled amongst his bed sheets.

  But even under his protection, she had nearly been harmed by St. Aubin’s men. He had no doubt that was who they were. Regardless of St. Aubin’s lack of guilt in Worthington’s death, he clearly was responsible for all the later happenings. Nothing else made sense. The man must be stopped.

  He paced to the window. If he’d read St. Aubin correctly, he would surely appear at Burberry’s memorial reception that afternoon. How better to catch a rich widow, than by comforting her in her hour of grief?

  He wished he could think of a way to dissuade Lily from attending the service, but knew he could not interfere. Her words indicated how much it would mean to her to honor both her own parents and the great man who had passed. He would not stand in the way of her perceived duty.

  He would simply have to trust Lily to lay her faith in him again, and not to interfere with his plans. He would move in on St. Aubin when the man approached Lady Burberry. After that, it would be over quickly, and he would join his bride. It was difficult to leave his bride slumbering behind, but he planned to spend many future mornings traveling to heaven with her.

  He dressed quickly and was just pulling on his boots. He smiled to himself as he remembered what a chore the task had seemed on that morning he first encountered Lily. She had truly changed his life.

  A sudden tap at the door drew his attention. He hurried to the door and slipped through it, not wanting to wake his sleeping bride. He had not allowed her much sleep the night before.

  “Your grace, you have a caller.” Thompson’s tone made it clear what he thought of anyone who would call before breakfast. “His card.”

  Arthur took the heavy ivory vellum, twisting it between his fingers, before glancing at the name.

  “I’ll receive him in the study.”

  He walked down the stairs and into the room. A moment later Wulf’s large frame slipped through the door. A sling held one arm immobile.

  Arthur thrust out his arms to embrace the man. “Wulf. My friend, I am so pleased you’re here. I looked for you when I arrived in town, but was told you’d departed. What happened to your arm? I
hadn’t heard of any injury.”

  His companion avoided the embrace and stood before him, shifting uneasily. “Before you claim me still as a friend you must hear me out. I fear I’ve done you a grave injustice and a betrayal.”

  “What nonsense! You’ve never done an injustice in your life. A more honorable man I’ve never known.”

  “No, you must listen. I came this early so that you’d have time to call me out and return for breakfast.”

  “As if I’d have a chance of victory against you, sword or pistol!” Arthur attempted to lighten Wulf’s grim tone.

  Wulf, however, evidently felt the need to bare his soul, so Arthur jovially gestured him into a well-stuffed wingchair.

  “If you’re going to try my temper before I’ve eaten, the least you can do is share my coffee. No, I’ve a better idea. Walk with me to White’s and we can share coffee and conversation there. I’ve a betting book I need to check on.”

  Wulf swallowed. “I should refuse, but my tale will be easier if I am free to move as I speak. Call for your coat and let us be off.”

  Lily woke alone. She stretched and rolled over, her hand stroking Arthur’s spot on the bed. She slipped from the bed and, without trying to suppress her grin, wandered to the window. Once she had fed Simon, she would join Arthur for breakfast. She had hoped to find him beside her when she awakened.

  She stopped, nearly stumbling, as she spotted Arthur departing below. For once her gaze did not stop with him. Her heart fluttered as she recognized the silhouette beside him. The dark angel! What was he doing with Arthur? Before she could absorb this apparition, Arthur clasped the man’s hand in a hearty shake. Then, they turned down the street together, matching stride for stride.

  What was happening? It made no sense. What had he not told her? She paced the room, her hands trembling. How could she wait until Arthur returned to confront him?

  After a barely-touched breakfast, Lily went up to the nursery to play with Simon, then listlessly followed the housekeeper around, ostensibly to learn the lay of the house. It was much larger than Blythemoor, and had the heightened grandeur appropriate to town life. After the tour, she had a solitary light repast. The memorial was scheduled for 3:00, with a long procession first to St. Paul’s. Lily dressed with care in a high-necked, black bombazine gown that had appeared in her wardrobe. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Arthur had elves working for him. The maids helped pull the gown over her head and tighten the laces.

  Arthur had not returned since his morning departure. Lily assumed he would arrive to escort her and Lady Smythe-Burke to the memorial. Yet the morning’s strange apparition had left her unmoored. Seeking distraction, she turned her thoughts to the imminent memorial. She wondered how Lord Burberry would have taken all the fuss. He had been mild and simple, had never valued the limelight, and was always ready to listen to a friend. Despite his attainments in war, she had heard him remark that all he wanted was to retire with his books. As she examined a pair of fine jet earbobs, she wondered if that was not really what had made him a hero.

  At least he had been granted a few years to hide in his library. He had been severely wounded in the Battle of Basque Roads and, after duly receiving his promotion to Admiral, had retired. Now, with Bonaparte safely exiled to Elba, society was ready again to celebrate a hero, even if only by giving due honors after a peaceful death.

  Lily touched her lips as she looked in the mirror. She certainly looked a duchess in the stiff black fabric and layered petticoats. She was unaccustomed to such a constraining garment; not even her other gowns had held her so straight or draped so long. The mischievous girl she’d discovered over the past months was well hidden. She wondered if Arthur would catch a glimpse of that sprite lurking in the corners of her eyes.

  Lily inhaled deeply to ease the tension that grew with the thought of appearing for the first time as the Duchess of Westlake. Arthur would be at her side, and with his arm to hang upon, she could face even the dragons of society. He would be there, wouldn’t he?

  Chapter Twenty -One

  She had survived the first hurdle. The somber service had been more elaborate and well attended than Lily had expected. Even the Regent attended. Lily curtailed a gasp of awe when he glided down the aisle, moments before the honor guard. She’d never seen royalty before, and was surprised at his – relative, if large – ordinariness. Somehow she’d expected the Prince to be more than a man, an epitome of nobility. She certainly hadn’t been prepared for an ordinary chap in ornate dress.

  She had more confidence in her ability to appear as a duchess now. If that was what a Prince Royal looked like, she could certainly be a duchess. She turned her face to Arthur’s shoulder to hide the color that rose at the traitorous thought. Even in the privacy of his carriage, she couldn’t believe she was thinking such things about her future king.

  “Why of such strange mien, my dear?” Arthur chided.

  As soon as they were home, she would ask him about his morning’s companion, and he would explain everything. They would laugh together about her foolishness. She would have asked before, but for Lady Smythe-Burke’s presence in the coach. Somehow she could not bring herself to risk further discord in front of such an audience.

  “Nothing really. I am starting to feel a little more comfortable.”

  “Were you uncomfortable? I never realized it. Should I get out another blanket?”

  “Oh, no. I was intimidated by the thought of facing society. They weren’t always kind to my mother, and with our marriage so shortly after Worthington died . . .” She let her voice trail off.

  “What nonsense,” Lady Smythe-Burke spoke up. “Your marriage met my approval. There is nothing more to say.”

  “If anybody says anything, you must tell them, as firmly as you can, that Westlake insisted,” Arthur added. “I’d like to meet the matron ready to have at me, face to face. I’ll challenge her to pistols at dawn.”

  “I’ve heard a proper lady is never out before noon. Do you think you could make it pistols at tea?”

  “I am normally at my club then. I don’t suppose we could pace off at Almack’s during an assembly?”

  Lily forced a chuckle. As the coach pulled up before the large manor house where the reception was to be held, she placed her fears at bay. She concentrated on the image Arthur left, a grand and redoubtable lady taking aim over a bowl of lemonade, while holding a fan in the other hand.

  Before the footman could open the door, Arthur took Lily’s hand between his, and brought it to his lips. His formal expression caught her attention.

  “Lily, I hope to finish things with St. Aubin tonight. You do have faith in me, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “You know I trust you. And love you.”

  She had not meant to say the last, but could not hold back. It was time to risk it all.

  His face froze. One moment he was her Arthur, and the next, the unfathomable duke returned. It was like watching the curtain fall at the end of the opera. Arthur swallowed uncomfortably and pulled at his tight neckcloth. He opened his mouth as if to reply, and then shut it with a snap.

  Lady Smythe-Burke turned to him and glared. Lily was almost sure she whispered a curse under her breath.

  The coach jarred to a stop and the footman lowered the step. Arthur smiled stiffly and offered his arm to help her down. Lily’s earlier social trepidation resurfaced. She could face society willingly with Arthur, but with the duke, the task was daunting. She faltered on the first step. Her fingers shivered on his arm, but then Arthur, catching her eye, turned his hand into a pistol and blew lightly across the muzzle. She choked back a giggle as they proceeded up the stairs.

  “That’s Lady Burberry, the widow.” Arthur motioned to the woman standing near the fire, her back to them, only the hanging lace of her veils visible.

  Inwardly, he was struggling to control an overwhelming emotion. She loved him. Nobody had ever protested love to him, neither mother nor mistress. Truly,
he knew not how to respond. He had not planned for this, not yet.

  Not before his plans reached fruition. He’d spotted St. Aubin lurking among the crowd at the ceremony, and that must be his only concern. Later, he would think about Lily and her avowal of love.

  Arthur concentrated on the task at hand. He placed his hand gently on Lily’s elbow and guided her towards the widow. Although he had only met Lady Rosalind Burberry on one other occasion, it was only proper to pay their respects.

  “I didn’t see her at the service,” Lily said.

  “It’s often customary for the widow not to attend,” Lady Smythe-Burke replied. “I know Lady Nelson didn’t attend her husband’s funeral. Even this reception is rather an oddity, but I understand the Lady Burberry wishes to retire to the country as quickly as possible – hence the opportunity for all to pay their respects at once. Oh, there’s Minerva Clarington. I’ve been meaning to give her some advice. Excuse me a moment.”

  As Arthur approached with Lily, Lady Burberry turned from the fire. A bust of her husband, carved in translucent white marble, rested on the mantle. Even through the veils, grief could be observed etched on her pallid features, and the contrast between her womanly bloom and the aged figure carved in stone was marked.

  “Lady Burberry.”

  “Your grace.”

  “I wish to offer you my condolences, as does my wife. Her father, Lieutenant Simon Wentworth, served with the Admiral.”

  Lady Burberry turned her tear-stained eyes to Lily.

  “I am sorry, I am less familiar than I should be with my husband’s career. We met only after his retirement.”

  Obviously, Lady Burberry was struggling to regain self-control. With the natural kindness that Arthur was starting to take for granted, Lily patted Lady Burberry’s hand and murmured further condolences.