“I am curious,” he said, placing the candle on her bedside table, “as to the unfortunate love affair of Miss Gravehart and Mr. Mortimer. Are these people you know, or are they part of that whimsical mind of yours?”
She placed her candle next to his and limped toward him, using the cane he had brought her. “I believe, sir, that is none of your business.”
His head tilted to see her better. “Defensive, are we?”
Her chest heaved in her thin nightgown, her curvaceous figure made more transparent by the flickering candles behind her. Henry’s body tightened to taste her, touch her again.
“May I please have my book back, Mr. Dalton?” she asked, shuffling closer so that he could smell the sweet warmth of her skin.
“No.”
“No? But…but it’s not yours to keep.”
“This is certainly true; however, I haven’t finished reading it.”
Her free hand fell to her waist, her fingers curling inside her palm. Henry recognized her frustration. Whether she loved Waverley, whether she was about to become engaged to a man she cared nothing about, those facts didn’t change the truth that he and Lily had a history together. She’d loved him first; of this, he was certain.
“Would it matter if I said that I never intended anyone to read them? They were for my eyes and my eyes only.”
“What? Sort of like a diary?”
“Yes…no! Not like a diary.”
“I see,” he said, lifting his hand to caress the strands of her long, thick hair. “So, if you are Miss Gravehart, I am mad with curiosity to know the man you have disguised as Mr. Mortimer. Since I’m sure you wrote this prior to meeting Waverley, I’m wondering if poor Mortimer is someone else I know.”
The revelation didn’t surprise him. She was one and twenty with plenty of house parties to meet a gentleman who fancied more than two dances with her. For whatever reason, the thought of this man caused him more grief than her and his best friend.
In his silence, she sighed. “I am tired, sir. I wish only to hold those papers over a candle and toss them into the fire and go to bed.”
His gaze shifted to her bed and then back to her. “Burning the compilation will not make your characters any less alive. They are now, forever, burned, you might say, into my memory.”
Her fisted hand lifted, a finger pointed at his chest. “If you wish to flatter me—”
He inched forward, smashing her finger against his waistcoat and forcing her head to tip back. “I don’t flatter, Miss Scott. I do, however, wish to know why you chose to make this Mortimer fellow immortal. Perhaps Waverley is not the man you love, but a mere distraction for someone whose rejection you have been unable to accept.” He paused to let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Still, you have put a trance over my foolish friend even a blind man could see.”
“I thought you didn’t flatter, Mr. Dalton.”
“I’m merely saying I see, along with everyone else here, the way Waverley stares at you.”
She dipped her head. “Now you are trying to embarrass me.”
He crooked a finger under her chin, coaxing her mouth closer to his again. “That’s not my intention at all. I’m merely stating that when you’re around, Waverley, along with the other men at Hadley, are practically breaking their bloody necks to watch you brush a wayward wisp of hair from your green eyes.”
She flinched, her cheeks reddening in the muted light of her room. “Now you're being ridiculous.”
Henry realized she had no idea of the power of her presence. She had a way about her, without possessing the voluptuousness of Miss Appleton, who lured the opposite sex. Of course, he’d known Lily long before she’d grown into her curves. He’d known her when she gazed upon the world with such innocence and looked upon him with infatuation and misguided hope.
“Do you deny that it is your purpose to draw their attention toward you, Miss Scott?”
“I deny it, entirely, sir. Despite what you think, I came to Hadley Manor to visit your sister. Jane, although older and too much of a romantic, always treats me well. You, on the other hand, are a boorish gentleman with opinions without facts.”
He listened while Lily ranted breathlessly. Still, he was unable to keep his gaze from dropping to her lips as they puckered with indignation. He hadn’t intended to kiss her on this night. He’d paid the physical price from the kiss he’d elicited from her earlier in the day. Besides, she’d proved herself too much of a flirt to be taken seriously. As well, there was the matter of his friend.
If Henry didn’t think it might cause such a mess, he would call Waverley out, two pistols between them. Instead, he cut Lily’s diatribe short with a pointed question: “Is it fiction, Miss Scott, that Mr. Waverley intends to ask for your hand?”
Chapter Eleven
Lily felt the blood rush from her face. “What?” She shook her head, wondering how any of this had happened. Of course, Lily thought, Jane must have suspected something since she’d postponed slipping the letter under Mr. Waverley’s door.
“Miss Appleton informed me later this afternoon of the gentleman’s intention of sending correspondence to your father. I don’t know if he was bragging or just merely drunk. It could have been both.”
Lily pulled away from Henry, her nerves rattled. She hobbled toward her bed and sank down on the firm mattress. “Per…perhaps, I should not have kissed him,” she said absently.
“Yes, your letter would have been much more subtle, I believe.”
Lily drew back from his sarcastic tone. “Must you remind me on every occasion how, unlike your friend, your heart is unaffected by any gesture of fondness, whether it be a kiss or unguarded words of endearment?”
He stared at her, his gray eyes large and unblinking. Overwhelmed by the turn of events, she bent her head toward the floor. Now Jane would hate her, and she’d have to explain to her father why Mr. Waverley felt compelled to marry her after only two days in each other’s company. She leaned over to wrap her arms around the bedpost, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against the cold beveled wood.
“I shall prove you wrong, madam.”
Lily flipped her eyelids open to find Henry shrugging out of his waistcoat.
“What…what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer, continuing to discard his cravat, and pull his white undershirt from his buckskin trousers. Lily had never seen him look so virile and dangerous, the intensity in his eyes giving her pulse a treacherous jolt.
He drew up close her and halted. Too stunned to move or speak, she could only shake her head in astonishment.
“Do you wish me to go, Lily? If you do, say it now.”
Words of protest stuck in her throat. She needed Henry to leave before they were caught, before society cast her out and her parents decided to never speak to her again. “We must not,” she whispered trying to push him away. Her effort remained as weak as her heart.
The impropriety of her choice weighed heavy on her mind, until Henry reached down and grabbed her right wrist, sliding her palm under his shirt. Her hand pressed firm against the warmth of his smooth chest.
“Let me know, at any time, if I remain…unaffected,” he said crushing his mouth to hers. He claimed her, once again, his kiss urgent and possessive. She lifted to meet him, to take what he offered, to give what he wanted.
“Lily,” he breathed, coaxing her lips further apart. His tongue dove into the recess of her mouth and his free hand lifted to bring her closer. She started to float, the pulsating heat of his kiss lifting her with dizzying pleasure. Together, their hearts beat, uncaged and with such ferocity she struggled to catch her breath.
Empowered by his reaction to her, she imitated the delicious caress of his tongue. He groaned against her mouth, sending spirals of desire all the way to her midsection.
“Let me touch you,” he begged. His words sounded husky and winded.
She nodded; her inexperience about what he meant giving him permission to grasp both sides of her arms
and guide her further back on the bed. Like a panther, slow and cautious, he stretched out beside her.
Still half-dressed, he reached down to lift the hem of her nightgown. Cool air whipped across calf and upper thigh.
“Henry.” She felt swept away by him, unsure which direction she needed to go to save her heart.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, gliding his palm across her bare hip and maneuvering her onto her back. She trembled from the anticipation of his touch and gasped when his hand slid to press her legs further apart.
When his fingers parted her, she cried out, his mouth quick to cover hers in a kiss that was both primal and drugging. Delirious, her hips lifted and sank in rhythm to his light and caressing strokes. To deny him now would be like stopping her heart from beating.
Too lost to turn back, she chased the building pleasure at her core. What he was doing, the gentle sweeps across her most sensitive flesh, was driving her to a place of unsurpassed rapture. She thought the pleasure could not grow any stronger when he lowered his mouth and began teasing the nipple of her unbound breasts under the thin material of her nightgown. The heat from his kiss and the unrushed brush of his fingers pushed her higher to a blissful release. She was still floating in pulsing waves when his lips slid to her neck.
“You’re mine, Lily, forever and always,” he whispered in her left ear. Lily’s eyelids flew open.
With her heart thundering, and his ramming hard against her palm, she wondered whether she’d imagined the words.
“From this moment forward, let there never be any doubt about what you do to me,” he said, reaching down to withdraw her hand from where it lay against his chest. The separation stole the air from her lungs.
As if yanked from a dream, she sat up and thrust her nightgown over her shaky legs. Where she’d twisted her ankle, she felt the pulsing in every nerve.
“What…just happened?”
He blinked at her, his face devoid of either a smile or a frown. “You are a maid, and will remain so for your husband, whoever he may be.”
A humiliating sob tore from her throat. She realized their future was set a long ago, without either one of them having a say one way or the other. Angrier than she’d ever seen him, he grabbed up his clothes, bowed, and left the room, neglecting to take the candle, or even dress properly.
Too stunned to move, Lily sat staring at the door.
But you are my husband. Shaken, she tried to recover her heart and soul from the place Henry had left them. After an hour of feeling sorry for herself, she forced herself up and wobbled straight to her writing desk.
Chapter Twelve
Henry lay awake for several hours; staring into the darkened shadows and feeling his world crush him on all sides. He wanted to return to London, to find a place to think about what he’d done and what he intended to do regarding Miss Lily Scott. For so long, he’d battled with the love he’d felt for her, had resigned himself to doing what his father wanted, had decided never to trust another woman again.
One thing he knew for sure, however; he’d never let Waverley marry her. Hell, Henry would much rather see his friend married to Jane than imagine the man ogling, touching, kissing, Lily the rest of his life. Henry had claimed her, although not fully. Even now, his heart ached to feel her hand against his chest, to smell her sweet scent lingering on his skin.
“God,” he growled in agony, remembering her face as he brought her to pleasure. Then, he thought of how she’d gone to him so quickly. How did a woman who claimed to love another allow him to touch her in such a way? Was she a flirt or much worse? He closed his eyes, unable to comprehend such a thing. She was his.
Refusing to spend another moment at Hadley Manor, he picked up and quit the place before dawn. For the next two weeks, Henry kept his mind occupied, meeting with several acquaintances to learn whether there were any investments he might regard as highly profitable. He wanted to start working on buying the land he’d put off securing until now. Unfortunately, the more lucrative the investment, the more he stood to lose.
At his rented house in London, he labored by candlelight over Hadley’s ledgers, discovering that its income compared with its total expenses did not leave a man with much choice other than to marry a wealthy woman. He only hoped the man he’d met regarding some risky investments might give him some good news. The prospect of him receiving six rather than four percent looked very well indeed. Still, he rubbed at his temples, unable to see himself tied to Miss Appleton or anyone like her if he yielded less than two percent. He loved only one woman.
His thoughts constant and draining, a knock sounded upon his door. When he glanced at the ticking mantel clock, he was shocked at the time. It was well past midnight. The knock grew louder and less patient.
“Wait,” he called, lifting, and bringing the candle with him. He opened the door with a jerk, astonished to see Waverley on the other side.
“I’ve been charged, by your sister, to bring you this,” the man said, stretching out his long arm to hand Henry a letter, folded and a little worn. Right away, Henry recognized the parchment paper and the careful creases. He also remembered the kiss that had rendered the letter from his pocket almost three weeks ago.
“How did you—,”
Waverley smiled, a tiny dimple on one side of his face making him even more attractive than Henry wanted to admit.
Henry thought about landing a stiff fist against his friend’s cheek when Waverley thrust another letter in his direction. “I’ve also been asked to give this to you. Miss Scott left it behind with the first. You will notice it's written with the same cast of characters, namely you. I will be waiting in the carriage.”
With a wink, Waverley bowed and backed away, stepping into the coach that had carried him all the way to Henry’s front door. Determined to understand before giving himself hope over what his friend had said, Henry sat down at the writing table and unfolded the newer letter, dated two weeks ago.
Dear Jane,
It is with great sadness that I must leave Hadley Manor, at once. You see, I’ve been made aware of Mr. Waverley’s intention to ask for my hand. I have no idea how this has happened. I should never have penned the letter you asked me to write him. Dearest Jane, you must know, he was not the man for whom those words were written.
I must confess, in my entire life, I’ve loved but one man. In the garden, on the hottest day of August, you married us. Since then, I’ve been unable to think or to dream of anyone else. I’ve been cursed by his words, by his vow, and will remain so, forever and always.
Henry exhaled, the words he’d just read, tilting his world. How had he been so blind, so unable to see the truth of her affection for him? He continued to read.
Please extend my apologies to Mr. Waverley. I believe I must rush home to intercept any letter he has written to my father. I should be married soon, to Mr. Gibbons. It’s what’s expected, and I have told myself it will not be too dreadful, as long as I can visit Hadley Manor and you.
Regards,
Lily
Henry stared at the fine words for a few moments before folding the letters and stuffing them both in his pocket. His body tight, his heart pounding, he rushed outside to join Waverley in the carriage.
“Should I ask how all this came about?”
Waverley shook his head. “I believe your sister would like to be the one to tell you.”
Henry didn’t argue and rode back to Hadley Manor, not a word spoken between him and his friend regarding Jane, or Lily.
Almost an hour later, after they had roused the servants, Henry marched straight to Jane’s bedchamber, leaving Waverley in the parlor. Henry’s nerves stretched taut to the point of snapping, he banged on her door, stepping back when it swung open.
“Hello Henry.” Of course, she was expecting him.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the letter he had seized at Miss Scott’s feet, the letter that had elicited a kiss, a touch, and weeks of physical agony. “I want you to explain t
his.” His voice cracked as he waved the parchment in Jane’s face.
“What in the devil is going on here?” Henry twisted around to find his father standing a few feet away. Beside him stood Henry’s mother, a woman he had not seen in several years. He had to wonder if this ‘reunion’ was fate or another one of Jane’s incorrigible schemes. Nevertheless, Henry thought his mother so altered that he almost didn’t recognize her under her mopcap. Where he once remembered her bright eyes shining with youth, they now blinked with an underlying sadness he cared not to consider.
“My business does not concern you,” he said to both of them. His father, tall and well-built, eased out of his wife’s hold.
“Very well, then. Do your business and meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
His father ambled away, leaving Henry’s mother standing in the middle of the darkened corridor, her gray eyes glistening with tears. She stepped forward, and Henry rotated away. He hated seeing her, hated remembering what he’d walked in on between her and another man.
“Henry.” Her voice lifted to him, soft and trembling.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“For God’s sake, listen to me!” Her stern and desperate plea rotated him back around.
Chapter Thirteen
Henry’s mother closed her tired eyes for a brief moment and folded her hands together as if in prayer.
“Before I married your father, there was someone else,” she said, the words rushing forward and tumbling over themselves.
He nodded. “Yes, if you have not forgotten, after you were married, as well.”
Mine, Forever and Always: Historical Romance Novella Page 6