Lyn Stone

by The Viscount

  Mr. Frick wore a tolerant expression, but Lily could see he believed not a word. “I am loath to arrest you, Lord Duquesne, but I see no alternative. There are no other suspects in this murder. You were at the scene. I’ll wager you stay armed. And you can’t deny you’re certainly capable of committing the deed.”

  “Why would you think so?” Guy asked carefully.

  “Your feats are legend even among the rustics, that’s why. You’re feared above any by the riffraff of London as well as our enemies of state. It’s rumored you balk at nothing.”

  Guy did not deny it. “It would be good of you to remember which side of the law I’ve been working, Frick.”

  “That’s precisely why you aren’t bound and on your way to a cell already. You say you believe the culprit to be Mr. Bradshaw, but he has the most ironclad alibi possible. Until an hour ago, he was with me. All day.”

  Lily interceded. “Sir, if you would keep an open mind and consider, Dr. Ephriam could well be involved in this.”

  Frick frowned. “Ephriam? He’s an old fellow, hardly with strength enough to overpower a woman of Andolou’s size.”

  Lily persisted, trying to keep from wringing her hands in frustration. “Any ruffian could have stabbed Andolou. Her death might not be related to this at all. What if it was some man disappointed when one of her love philters failed to bring the desired results?”

  Frick looked thoughtful, brushing his fat mustache with the tips of his fingers.

  “Give us time to sort this out,” Guy said. “You know where you can find me.”

  “In London?” Frick said with a mirthless chuckle. “Not if you don’t wish to be found.”

  “I give you my word I will be available to you and I will share any information we uncover about this crime or the other.”

  “Other?” Frick asked, his frown deepening. “What other?”

  “The kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of Lady Lillian,” Guy announced. “I will bring charges when I find proof of who took her to Bedlam that night. I should file suit against Clive Bradshaw for hauling her off to Plympton’s from the vicar’s.”

  “I would think twice about that,” Frick advised. “He had good cause to take her away, so I hear, and there are plenty of witnesses to verify her state at the time.”

  He raked Lily with a narrow-eyed gaze, as if assessing whether she truly was mad and hiding it well. She met his look with one she hoped appeared challenging and, above all, sane.

  Frick looked away first, then suddenly rose from his chair, dusting the crown of his stovepipe hat as he made his way to the door. A heavyset, self-aggrandizing bully, Lily thought.

  There, he turned to them. “Three days seems sufficient for you to discover something in the way of proof. In the meantime, I won’t be idle. I believe you might have killed that woman, Lord Duquesne. If I find one jot of evidence that you were involved, you will be arrested and brought to justice by your peers.” He plopped his hat on his head and grumbled, “For all the good that would do. Half of London’s in your pocket, so I hear.” He stalked across the foyer to the front door and saw himself out.

  Guy’s eyes met hers. “Three days.”

  “That isn’t much time,” she said.

  “It will have to do.” For the first time Lily saw real doubt in his eyes. Doubt that he could accomplish what needed doing. Doubt that he had let no one else see but her.

  She went to him, hoping to share the confidence he continually inspired in her and restore his own. He opened his arms, welcoming her as if she were cherished. Lily rested her face against his chest, her fingers toying with the lapel of his riding coat. “Together, we will think of something,” she promised.

  “Of course we will,” he replied softly. His embrace tightened around her, his large palms caressing her back and her waist. Was he thinking, if not for her, he would not be at risk?

  Lily snuggled closer and slid her arms around him. Guy’s reassuring words held neither desperation nor cynicism, but she did detect serious concern. He sincerely needed her now as much as she needed him. It was as if no other comfort would do for either of them. In view of all the troubles they faced, it was a wonder that seemed so terribly important to her, but it did.

  She sighed as he embraced her, reveling in his nearness. “A part of me wishes to run away,” she murmured. “Simply make a dash for the coast with you and Beau and begin a new life in a place where no one knows us.” Tantalizing as the thought of escape was, she knew very well that Guy could never take the coward’s way out. Neither could she, really. “That says little for my courage.”

  He made a lazy sound of contentment, almost a chuckle. “Don’t think I haven’t considered that, too. But you know we have to see this through.”

  “I know,” she whispered, pressing her fingers into his back, the length of her body against his, trying to hint at what she dared not ask for. “But not tonight.”

  He stood very still and after a moment of silence, he lifted her into his arms and gazed into her eyes with a heat she could never have imagined. “Tonight we escape in our own way.”

  She smiled. “Spirit us away to a place with no cares,” she said, linking her hands behind his neck. “Will you?”

  He grinned the devilish grin she expected. “Indeed.”

  The stairs creaked under their combined weight as he carried her up to a bedroom she had not seen before. At the opposite end of the corridor from the earl’s chamber, this was another of like size. The furnishings were as much in need of refurbishing, but it possessed a homier quality than the master suite.

  He placed her on the edge of the high tester bed and kissed her gently on the lips. “I never apologized properly for the night we made love.”

  “Apologize? Whyever should you have? It was…quite nice.” Lily’s face heated with a blush.

  “Nice could be improved upon,” he growled as his fingers traced the hooks and eyes that fastened her gown at the back. “And so could brief. Did you like brief?”

  Lily hardly knew what to say to that. “Brief is relative,” she ventured, her voice faltering a bit as he carefully tugged her gown from her shoulders and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. “For instance, I feel a need to rush…now,” she admitted.

  His lazy chuckle vibrated against her skin as he exposed her breasts. Instead of kissing them as she expected—no, wanted him to do—he stood away, his hands playing with the loosened straps of her chemise. “What a picture you are.” He breathed the words and slid his palms down her arms and up again to cup her gently. For what seemed an eternity, he brushed his thumbs over her hardened nipples, creating a flood of warmth in the nether regions of her body.

  She watched as he began to fiddle almost idly with the laces of her corset, to pull them free, slowly and surely, while she bit back the urge to hurry his efforts with her own.

  Oddly enough, instead of feeling embarrassed, Lily experienced a rush of power. The way he looked at her, with that hot and hungry gaze, made her feel lush and provocative and somehow in control. She had not moved, but did so then, raising her hand to his foulard. Anticipation begged her to hurry, but she took her time, as he was doing.

  His smile was one of pleasure. And also a wordless challenge. Who would be first to give in to eagerness? Not her, she decided. One glance down assured her that his need was at least as fierce, perhaps more urgent than her own. And he couldn’t see hers. She grinned, plying her advantage, slipping the studs from his shirt one by one.

  “A quick study, I see,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  “Lassitude is my friend,” she crooned. “Take your time, my lord.”

  “Provoking baggage,” he accused, his laugh a near groan. “You want me to fall upon you like a starving wolf.”

  “Do I?” she drawled, sighing as he slipped her corset off and tossed it aside. “Will you?”

  He answered by shrugging off his coat and shirt together and dropping them to the floor as his lips met hers, a mere caress
of moist warmth. She wanted devouring, longed for it, almost pleaded.

  Again he moved away, lifting her to stand on her feet, then peeling away her gown and chemise, leaving her in only her pantalettes, stockings and shoes. He certainly looked wolfish with that grin, with his member straining against the tight nankeens. She risked a pointed look, abandoning every residue of modesty.

  He waited, apparently to see what she would do. The game was on.

  This was Devil Duquesne, a born rakehell. There was probably little he had not seen or done during his wild years in London. Why should she play the faint-hearted maiden with him?

  Lily realized now that, since her return from London, she had reverted to that same young woman who had married Jonathan Bradshaw. She was behaving exactly like that new baroness who had feared that as a mere vicar’s daughter she was without the proper deportment to become a baron’s wife.

  True, now she was wed to a viscount, but what a viscount he was! Definitely not a man confined by Society’s rigid code of gentlemanly behavior. Lily could be herself with him. How freeing.

  She felt emboldened, more uninhibited than ever before in her life. With a lift of her chin, she eyed him from beneath her lashes and slipped the button at the waist of her pantalettes. The garment slid over her hips and landed around her ankles. Coyly, she stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

  His breath had caught in his throat. She watched him swallow hard and shake his head once. “Point to you.”

  “Giving up?” she asked.

  “Not yet.” He undid his trousers and peeled them down his narrow hips. They caught at the top of his boots.

  Lily lifted a brow. “A problem? Shall I assist?” She slowly knelt and reached for one boot, fully aware of his view of her, naked and kneeling at his feet.

  With another laughing groan, he stepped back until he bumped into the chair and sat down. In a trice, he had off his boots, stockings and the trapped trousers.

  How enticing he looked then, broad chest and muscled arms and legs exposed. He knew it, too, the wanton rascal. The white silk smalls he wore only accentuated the breadth of him elsewhere and barely contained what they concealed.

  Lily sat on the carpet and enjoyed the view. There was much to be said for the joys of anticipation. Now it was her turn to wait him out.

  “Come here,” he invited, beckoning with a curl of one finger and a devastating expression of desire.

  She smiled and shook her head. If she approached him now, she would betray the full extent of her need in a heartbeat. And as for heartbeats, hers had accelerated to what must be a dangerous level. Her breath came fast, but she struggled to control it.

  She stood, slowly uncurling from her kneeling position and straightening to full height.

  Lily drew a middle finger slowly up the center of her body, trailing between her breasts, up the side of her neck and over her right ear, then lazily raked her hand through her hair. His eyes followed the path of her hand, then met her daring gaze with one of sizzling heat.

  He left the chair and came to her—unhurriedly, though she could see that was an effort for him—stopping just out of arm’s reach. With a daring grin, he released the button on his smalls and raked them down his hips. “Your move.”

  The sight of his blatant arousal fascinated her, so much so, she forgot to speak. Never had she seen such a thing in that state. Never before would she have thought to want to see one.

  “Well?” he prompted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, obviously impatient though still trying not to show it.

  Lily cleared her throat and, for the moment, totally neglected her ploy to entice him to hurry. “You…you are doing precious little to make your case for a leisurely coupling,” she remarked.

  He laughed out loud and came swiftly to her, taking her in his arms. She felt the hardness of him pulse against her belly. “Ah, Lily,” he said, embracing her fiercely, “you win, game, set and match, you minx.”

  She yelped softly with surprise as he lifted her to the edge of the mattress. Her legs parted and he pressed between them, entering her without so much as a word.

  His eyes met hers as he began to move, his palms pressing her closer in time with each thrust.

  Tension built within her, a sensuous swell of intense pleasure that threatened to burst at any second.

  “Lie back,” he whispered, his palms supporting her as he lowered her upper body to the bed. His hands slid around her ribs and cupped her breasts, those magic thumbs abrading her unmercifully.

  Lily gave herself up to feeling, closing her eyes with a moan of encouragement. She wished it could last forever. She wished to end it now, to reach the ultimate explosion. Her inner war did nothing to diminish the indescribable sensations that grew ever more keen.

  “This,” he murmured next to her ear, “is taking my time. Do you like it?”

  Surely her sounds of encouragement and the reaction of her body gave him answer enough. She wanted to tantalize him as he did her, but he was the one who knew where and how to touch, to stroke, to circle just so, and drive her wild with urgency. For a glorious and astonishing length of time, he held the promise of that keenest of pleasures just out of reach.

  Feelings she never knew existed swept through her, waves of them, heady and, unbelievably, even more arousing. Overpowering. Each breath drew in the erotic scent of their loving. Each caress awakened a new, an undiscovered path to bliss. And every hot, wet kiss lifted her to a higher plane of rapture. But not the very height. Not yet.

  His rhythm changed, exciting her anticipation, then quieted to a slow and deliberate torment she both welcomed and fought. The strong beat of his heart thundered, his sweat-slick skin sliding sensually over hers. Moving, ever moving. Faster now. Lily grasped his hips, insisting, demanding. “Damn you, Guy!”

  “Now,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion. And then he touched her where they joined. Lily lost herself in him, crying out with joy, gratitude and, yes, not a little fear.

  She opened her eyes and saw his face as he plunged one last time, claiming his own measure of ecstasy. Claiming her forever as surely as if he had burned a brand on her flesh. His features pulled tight. His huge hands gripped her just below her waist, almost encompassing her completely. His eyes met hers in the throes of his release. A final ripple of sweetness shook her when his warmth flooded her body.

  “At last,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

  How had she been wed for so long and never experienced this bliss? Why had she been denied? Surely, Jonathan had reached the pinnacle each time.

  Anger suffused her, then melted away. Maybe he had not known how, or even that she wished it. Perhaps she had denied herself unknowingly in her attempt to be the lady she thought her husband needed her to be.

  Guy lifted her legs onto the bed and gently rolled her over to make room for himself. When he lay beside her, pulled her back against his body and encircled her with his arms, Lily forgave everyone everything. Replete and secure, she only wished to fall asleep and wake later within his embrace. She never wanted to be without him again.

  “I shall win next time,” he murmured against her ear.

  “I thought you did win,” she answered, her voice slurred with fatigue. “You took your time, after all.”

  “Oh no, love,” he argued halfheartedly, a smile in his voice. “Less than a quarter of an hour shames me.”

  Lily giggled, giving the hand clutching her breast a little pinch. “Redeem yourself tomorrow night, then.”

  “Must I wait so long?” he growled. “Think of my pride, woman.”

  He pressed that pride against her backside and uttered a heartfelt groan.

  Lily sighed, enjoying the feel of him, hot and damp and eager. “Well, since you put it that way…”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The old clock on his mantel softly chimed eight. Guy knew he must drag his weary body from the bed, but he delayed anyway. His delicious little wife lay dead to the
world, snuggled in his arms as if born to be there. He could hardly make himself release her after such a night.

  If he was not in love with her, he was as near as no matter. His desire for her outstripped anything he had ever felt for a woman. His admiration for her knew no bounds. Every aspect of her did and would continue to fascinate him, he knew. Her happiness was more important to him than his own would ever be. Did all that constitute love? What else could he call it but that?

  He, who had sworn he’d never let himself fall prey to that lovely trap, had stumbled directly into it. His friends had succumbed, of course. All but Jelf, who like himself lacked the resources to support a wife properly. Guy’s reason to avoid love and marriage, beyond the financial, had been the stain of family madness that must not be passed on to any children he might father, or endured by a woman who might love him. That reason would prove invalid if what they suspected was true.

  At the moment he felt blessedly content, happy to be caught, decidedly charmed and determined to make a good husband. “Yes, I do love you,” he whispered, and brushed her forehead with his lips.

  She stirred, smiling in her sleep, inadvertently brushing against him in a way that made him ache to have her again. If he did not get up right now, he might well make hash of any tender feelings she might have of him after last night’s loving. She must be exhausted.

  Gently he extricated himself from the arm she had slipped around his neck and left her there, naked as a nymph and twice as enticing. He pulled the covers up to her neck and began to collect his clothes.

  He had just pulled on his trousers when a soft knock rent the silence. Guy tiptoed to the door barefoot and opened it a crack. “Yes, what is it?”

  “A visitor’s come,” Mrs. Sparks whispered. “All the way from Scotland, so he says. Sounds like it, too.” She tried to peek around Guy’s shoulder into the room.