She looked down at the partially parted neckline. Her fingers shook when she started unfastening the rest. The weight of Lyon’s gaze was on her. The last button ended at the waistline of the dress.
“Now part the dress in the front.”
The dark tips of her nipples showed through the thin chemise when she parted the front of her dress. Her skin tingled and burned, and she wasn’t even being touched. Not yet.
“Now push it down your arms and step out of the dress and petticoats.”
Millicent started doing what he’d asked of her. “I do not think I can go beyond this. I am too embarrassed to reveal—”
“Come here, love.”
The softly whispered endearment made her heart soar. She stepped out of the dress and made her way to him slowly.
“You are so beautiful.” His voice was husky. Lyon leaned forward, his hand molding the thin fabric to her sensitive skin at her waist, his mouth taking hers in another kiss.
Millicent’s fingers delved into Lyon’s hair as his fingers gently caressed the curves of her belly, and she shivered when his thumb crossed her ribs and came to rest at the base of her breast.
“You have the most glorious hair. Take the pins out of it.”
She reached up with both hands, taking each pin out slowly. All the while she felt his gentle fingers caressing the curves of her breasts. Her skin heated to his touch, and his gaze scorched her.
Her hair came down like a heavy blanket around her shoulders. She leaned her head back when Lyon’s fingers combed through the waves.
“I have been daydreaming about this all morning,” he said.
Millicent held her breath when Lyon pushed the chemise off one shoulder, revealing only the top of one breast. The sound of a couple of servants passing outside the door broke through the haze that was enveloping her, and Millicent darted a nervous glance in that direction.
“Maybe we should wait until—”
“There will be no waiting.” Lyon reached up and pulled the chemise off her other shoulder and drew her back onto his lap.
“But Mrs. Page could be looking for me. Or Gibbs might come to check on you. What happens if they come to the door?”
He placed a kiss on her exposed shoulders, tasting her soft flesh. “I’ll tell them I am making love to my wife, and that they can all go to the devil.”
“Now I do feel absolutely wicked,” she whispered. She undid a couple of the buttons on his shirt and slipped her hand inside, caressing the sinewy contours of his chest. “I think everyone already knows what we did last night.”
“And everyone probably knows what we are doing here this afternoon. You might as well stop worrying about what others will think, for there is a great deal that I plan to do to you in the gardens and in the carriage and in every other room of this house.” He traced the edge of her chemise where the tops of her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. “Now let me see you.”
Millicent was too aroused to remember any of her earlier inhibitions. She stood up again and found herself standing between Lyon’s legs. His mouth tasted her parted lips. His tongue thrust deeply into her warmth. As he pulled back, Lyon’s hand cradled Millicent’s face, then moved down one slender shoulder. He gently pushed the chemise down her body, until it pooled at her feet.
“You are stunning.”
Tears once again sprang to her eyes as Millicent basked in the way Lyon’s gaze paid homage to her body. She, too, felt whole and beautiful, and it was because of him.
He touched her deeply, stroking her moist folds until she cried his name out breathlessly, and then he kissed her again.
“Now love me, Millicent,” he whispered against her ear as she continued to float on the waves of her release.
She undid the front of his breeches and straddled him, drawing him deep inside her body.
It was then—at that very moment as they rose together into those ethereal realms—that she knew she loved him in more ways than just this.
CHAPTER 22
When the carriage rolled to a stop by the Fleet Bridge, the stench of the canal rose around them, infusing the air with the foul smell of sewage and other things that Harry did not even want to consider. London was not Jamaica; that was for sure. The clerk looked through the darkness at his employer, sitting across from him, his cane by his knee and a loaded pistol in his hand. Whether they were in London or Port Royal, Harry thought, Mr. Hyde was the same. And Lord save the fool who crossed him.
“Do you understand me?” Hyde was saying, growing angrier by the minute. “You’re to blame for this. If you hadn’t mucked up the auction, we wouldn’t be here now.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll make good tonight. Ye’ll see.”
“That I shall. And if you mess this, you blasted cur, the dogs will find your carcass in this fetid ditch. Do you hear me?”
“Aye, Mr. Hyde.” Harry grew queasy at the thought of the canal and the unnamable things floating on the dead water. “I’ll not fail ye, sir.”
“Remember what I told you. Go up this alley a ways until you see the sign on the sheep’s head. Around the corner from it you’ll find the tavern kept by a man called the Turk. That’s the place you’ll find the men we want.”
“Aye, sir. Half a dozen men.”
“At least a half dozen. You are to pay them a guinea each, with the promise of more if they’ll sign on with us. But they’ll get nothing if they say a word to anyone. Tell them your master requires tight lips, or he’ll see they swing for it. They’re to just wait until we say ‘tis time. We shall come for them within a fortnight, and they must be ready to travel. Do you understand me?”
“Do I tell them they keep the money even if ye didn’t need them at all?”
“You’re a blasted fool, Harry. You think these blackguards would give it back? You’ll be lucky to get out of there without having your throat cut. You tell them they keep what you give them tonight. But there will be a much bigger prize if we need to take them with us to get the slave.”
Harry looked up the dark alley. He was not particularly happy about going alone into the rat’s nest of ramshackle buildings huddled along the edge of the canal.
“Beg pardon for asking, sir, but Mr. Platt seems confident that he can get the woman by lining up witnesses to say she’s a witch. Now, to my thinking, shouldn’t we be waiting to…to pay good money to some low-life scoundrels ‘till we’re sure that the lawyer’s way don’t work out?”
In an instant, the silver head of Hyde’s cane was pressed up against Harry’s chest, pinning him against the carriage seat.
“You listen to me. I am not paying you to think. And I am certainly not leaving the outcome of this to fools like you or Platt or that roaring braggart Cranch. He’s a blasted laborer and he thinks he can conquer the world himself. No, I’ll not trust any one of you. I’ll have plans, and alternate plans and I’ll keep my own counsel until I have my fingers around that witch’s throat.”
Harry nodded meekly. It was true about Ned Cranch. The stonemason might have a way with the skirts, but the man was a bloody blower, to be sure.
“Now get out there,” Hyde barked. “Remember, the sign of the sheep’s head. And look to your back.”
****
“If I might be so bold as to ask,” Will started hesitantly as he scraped the razor over Lyon’s throat. “Have ye told her ladyship about this?”
Lyon studied the lanky valet. “You’re frightened.”
“Ye do look a wee bit different, m’lord, with yer hair cut and yer beard all shaved clean. I’m only thinkin’ Lady Aytoun deserves some warnin’ afore ye scare her to death wi’ yer new face.”
“Scare her to death?” Lyon’s laughter rang through the room. “Damn you, Will, she has been after me to shave from the moment she set eyes on me. If anything, the woman will be pleased.”
Pleased. Absolutely. And not only about his appearance, Lyon thought hopefully. He had a great deal more that he was ready to tell her.
&nbs
p; Testing his latest discovery, Lyon slowly pushed his feet along the floor away from the chair as far as they would reach. He then pulled them back. Long Will, intent on not cutting him, was oblivious to the movement.
The past four or five days had been miraculous. Lyon couldn’t explain it, but somehow his body had made great improvements in the slow journey of healing. Actually, the improvements were quite small, but unlike the dozen times before, these changes appeared to be permanent. The movement of his fingers in his right hand. The ability to flex his knees and bend his ankles. He had not dared to put any weight on them yet, but the prospect was exciting.
At times during these past few days, especially when he and Millicent were making love, it had been almost impossible to hold back this new discovery from his wife. But Lyon had decided to wait until he was certain, and until he could surprise her with the magnitude of it.
There was so much that he owed Millicent. And there was so much more that he intended to repay.
The valet wiped Lyon’s face with the towel and stepped back. Beyond Will, he saw Ohenewaa enter the room. No doors stopped the old woman from going where she wanted to go. Like an apparition, she came and went at any time of the day, and Lyon was accustomed to her ways.
Of course, he owed a great deal of credit for his healing to Ohenewaa, too. She continued to see to him and prepare ointments for Millicent to administer. Unlike the other physicians who had found their way to his bedside since the accident, this one had believed in his recovery and given him hope. She was another one whom Lyon had yet to tell about the progress he was making.
Lyon saw the old woman’s gaze travel down his legs to his feet.
“Is this any improvement?” he asked, touching his smoothly shaven face.
“Some,” she responded. “Have you told her?”
“That’s what I was asking ‘slordship,” the valet chirped in as he gathered up the shaving equipment. “No disrespect, m’lord, but ye look like a different man than the one her ladyship hitched herself to. An’ we dunna want her to boot ye out of Melbury Hall, thinkin’ ye’re somebody else now.”
“Get out, you prattling scarecrow.”
With a broad grin on his face, Will left the room. Ohenewaa did not repeat her earlier question, and Lyon made no pretense of misunderstanding her.
“No, I haven’t told her yet. But I intend to, this afternoon.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand. “I have been waiting, hoping for the moment when I could make some grand gesture like taking a step, or sweeping Millicent off her feet, but I guess that isn’t to be.”
“Those things will come. You have to exercise your patience as well as your muscles.” Ohenewaa put the bottles she was carrying on the table beside the bed. “Your wife takes her pleasure out of the little things in life. Small joys are rewarding, but the monumental ones can be overwhelming. She is much different than what you are accustomed to.”
“Has someone been talking to you about my first marriage?”
Ohenewaa snorted.
“Are you so attuned to Millicent’s moods and feelings?”
Ohenewaa simply stared at him with her slitted eyes, but said nothing more. Then she turned to the table.
Lyon studied the old woman for a long moment in silence. He watched her capable hands moving purposefully among the bottles and jars.
“Are you able to look into people and heal their souls as well as their bodies, Ohenewaa?”
The dark gaze turned and met his.
“I have met many men with vast experience in science and medicine in my life,” he continued. “I have even run across a few spiritual men over the years. But none of them have had your confidence. Or your knowledge of healing.”
“There is no magic involved in what I do, or in what I see. But I have seen too much real suffering. And what I have learned from those experiences is that wounds heal or people die. But I have also learned something else. Sometimes the suffering that plagues the body when there is no physical reason is caused by some memory that holds that person captive.”
“Do you think guilt stopped me from improving before?”
“You say guilt. I did not say it. Guilt, regret, sorrow. If you look deep enough into your heart, you shall have your answer. But all of these--” she waved her hand at the bottles before her-- “have been little more than trifles to distract you. You were on a path to destroy yourself. For your wife, I could not allow that. You are healing now because you have started to push open the door and let the pain that is past seep out. You are allowing the present to move in.”
Lyon didn’t think he would ever totally recover from the blow of his past. But Ohenewaa was right: He had stopped letting it rule his existence. He was no longer consumed by it.
He looked up to see the old woman gliding across the floor to the door with amazing self-possession.
“Do not forget,” she said, stopping at the door. “Little steps.”
*****
“I need to get out to greet them. We’re not ready. They weren’t expected. We need to think of where to put them.”
Overwhelmed by the sight of the visitors’ carriages driving into the courtyard, Millicent glanced out the upstairs window.
“The dinner—”
“Cook shall see to it,” Mrs. Page said hastily. “There will be plenty.”
“Mr. Gibbs, please tell his lordship that the dowager and Sir Richard have arrived. Arrange for him to be brought down to the drawing room at once.”
“Aye, m’lady.”
She turned desperately to the housekeeper. “As far as rooms for everyone to stay in, is there any way we could avoid displacing Ohenewaa?”
“Surely. We’ll move Mr. Gibbs into the steward’s apartment,” Mrs. Page responded. “His bedchamber should suit the gentleman. And if you don’t mind giving up your bedchamber and moving in with your husband, m’lady, then we can quickly fix that up for her ladyship.”
“Yes. Yes. That will work just fine,” Millicent whispered, hurrying away through the house to greet their guests. Although she had invited the dowager to Hertfordshire, she was flustered with the abruptness of the visit. Naturally, she had hoped for a little warning prior to their arrival so that she could plan a perfect stay for the older woman.
It wasn’t so much the need to impress, Millicent told herself, but her desire to raise the dowager’s confidence in her. She wanted Lyon’s mother to be reassured about her initial choice of Millicent as her daughter-in-law.
She paused at the top of the wide, curved stairs and ran a hand down the front of her green velvet dress. Taking a deep breath, she tucked a stray curl behind an ear. Why tonight? Millicent thought. On impulse, she had sought Violet’s expertise to help her dress differently. She’d wanted to look special for dinner with Lyon tonight. As a result, the gown was too revealing and the style of her hair completely impractical. Of course, this would be the night that they would have guests.
Lady Aytoun and her lawyer had already removed their cloaks in the entrance hall by the time Millicent reached the foot of the stairs.
With a pair of maidservants on either side of her and a silver headed staff to support her frail frame, the dowager received Millicent’s greetings with a wave of one hand. “I shall not be making any apologies for the unexpectedness of my visit here.”
“Nor should you, m’lady. We have been expecting…hoping for a visit from you for some time now.” Millicent offered her greeting to Sir Richard in turn. “And how was your journey from London?”
“Horrible and long.”
“We don’t need to serve dinner until you have had some rest. But would you care to have a glass of wine or a cup of tea in the drawing room while your luggage is brought up to your rooms?” she asked pleasantly, trying to ignore the way the dowager’s keen stare was taking in everything—from Millicent’s hair to her gown to the very tips of her slippers. “There should be a nice fire going in there to help you warm up.”
“I should like to see m
y son first.”
“Then we can accomplish two things at once. His lordship is to join us in the drawing room as well.”
Millicent was not oblivious to the look that passed between the dowager and the lawyer, but she said nothing and took her time escorting the older woman past the bowing Gibbs toward the drawing room.
“And how…” Sir Richard asked casually as he surveyed the marble stairwell and painted ceilings high above, “how is Lord Aytoun faring with the lack of visits from any physicians from London?”
“Quite well. In fact, as I have been mentioning in my letters to her ladyship, I believe he has made a vast improvement…in his disposition particularly.”
“Have you engaged some country doctor, then, to see to him?” the man asked.
“No, Sir Richard. There has been no need for that.” Millicent slowed down to allow Lady Aytoun to catch her breath. “But he has not been without medicinal care, either.”
“And how is that?” the dowager asked sharply.
Millicent saw no reason to hide the truth. “If you recall the day of our first meeting, I had come upon an assistant to a deceased physician in London.”
“The old African woman.”
“Yes. As it turned out, m’lady, Ohenewaa’s experience and knowledge in traditional and herbal methods of healing have proved invaluable in treating your son.” Millicent was aware of a second look that passed between her guests. “As you shall see for yourself in a few moments, his lordship is now in full control of his thoughts and actions. He no longer depends on any sedating medications to calm his moods. He is independent and willful, and Ohenewaa believes that it is only matter of time before he overcomes the inability to move his arm and legs.”
Neither of her guests appeared convinced by her speech. Millicent nodded to one of the servants to open the doors of the drawing room. She peered in, hoping that her husband was already there.
Someone was indeed there. But the handsome, clean-shaven, and impeccably dressed gentleman sitting beside the fireplace could not be her husband. The man’s confident gaze took in their visitors before coming to rest on Millicent.
Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) Page 23