by Amy Sandas
“You dropped this.” His tone was intimate and private.
She drew a slow breath. Delicate tingles raced over her skin. Though he did not wear gloves, she did, yet she could feel his warmth when he handed the stopper back to her. She cradled it in her palm.
“Thank you,” she replied in a whisper.
He stood so close. The intensity of his nature emanated from him and infused her blood. She swayed gently toward him.
He stiffened and glanced aside to the row of perfume bottles on the shelves.
“Have you found a scent you like?” His words were conversational, but the underlying tone spoke of so many other things.
Light-headed from his unexpected appearance, Lily discovered the act of finding a proper response took more effort than expected.
“No,” she finally murmured, “I am afraid I have not found one I feel would suit me.” There was an intrinsic sense of urgency in the moment. Lily did not wish to waste time with idle small talk. She gathered her courage to ask pointedly, “Why are you here?”
He looked back to her, his gaze intense.
“I was driving past and saw you turn down the alley.”
“My great-aunt is in the back of the store.”
“I know.”
“She may finish her business at any moment.”
“I know,” he said, continuing to stare at her.
His expression was so hard, so closed off, but still Lily saw something that seized her breath. It was there in the infinite depth of his dark-blue eyes. It was in the unforgiving line of his mouth, the tension of his jaw, the weight of his brow. Though he did not touch her, she felt him. Everywhere, she felt him.
And despite the coldness of his manner, it was heat she felt.
Unable to take the silence any longer, she whispered, “My lord?”
There was a swift and sudden flash of light in his eyes. “Tomorrow,” he said deeply. “I will come for you at midnight.”
“I—”
The sound of Angelique’s voice filtered toward her from the back of the store. Lily turned her head. At the same time, he backed away. Within a second, Lily was left standing alone before the sample display, her hands shaking and her stomach aquiver.
“Come along, ma petite. If we hurry, we may have time to stop for sweets before heading home.”
Lily watched her great-aunt sweep toward her, holding a small brown-wrapped parcel.
Angelique tilted her head and gave her an odd look. “Darling? Are you feeling ill?”
Lily resisted the urge to glance around for a glimpse of the earl. She carefully replaced the stopper she still held in its bottle. “No. I am fine. Just a bit light-headed from all the perfume, perhaps.”
“Come along, then,” the lady replied, linking her arm through Lily’s. “We will get you into the fresh air. À tout à l’heure,” she called out with a little finger wave toward the back of the store.
“My heart stops until your return, my lady,” the shopkeeper declared from the hazy depths of the back room.
“What a foolish old man,” Angelique cooed with a girlish smile as she guided them back out onto the narrow street.
Lily finally risked a glance over her shoulder. Though she thought she saw a shadow pass behind the window, she couldn’t be sure.
* * *
The next evening, Lily was in her bedroom, preparing to ready herself for the dinner party they were attending that evening. She had just finished her bath and sat at her dressing table in her robe as she ran a brush through the still-damp length of her hair. Her aunt’s personal maid dressed their hair for formal events, and Lily knew she had some time before it was her turn.
She stared critically at her reflection in the mirror above her dressing table, studying her features in a way she had never done before. Lifting her chin, she looked first this way then that, trying to identify what it was Lord Harte saw in her as desirable.
She was so dreadfully ordinary.
Medium brown hair parted in the middle. Muted gray eyes that did not snap with determination and intelligence like Emma’s or glitter with mystery and excitement like Portia’s. A straight nose with a base she always thought was a bit too wide. A common enough chin, cheekbones that were nicely defined, and rather straight brown eyebrows beneath a high forehead.
Lily made a face at herself before glancing over at the gown laid out on her bed.
It was an elegant pink batiste, so pale it appeared white in certain lighting. It was one of the new gowns purchased with Emma’s winnings from the club. The gown was simple and beautiful, but very clearly denoted Lily as a debutante, one of the many young ladies scouring London drawing rooms for a husband.
Lily scowled, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. Her gaze traveled critically over the delicate flounces layering the hem and the flowered embroidery that decorated the bodice.
The dress was all wrong for a midnight tryst. She wished she had something more daring. More alluring. Something in red perhaps, or a vivid blue.
Her contemplation was interrupted by a quiet knock at her door.
She startled, not having expected to have her hair done for at least another half hour. She would need to dress quickly. She rose to her feet and called for the maid to enter.
It was not her aunt’s maid but a girl from downstairs who peeked her head in the door. “Excuse me, miss, are you alone?”
“Yes, please come in,” Lily replied, curious at the unexpected interruption.
The young maid came forward quickly after securing the door behind her. She brought a small wrapped parcel around from behind her back.
“The courier insisted specifically that I deliver this to you when you were alone.”
Lily eyed the package, feeling a delicate twist in her belly. She took the parcel from the maid with a muttered “thank you.” She barely made notice of the girl departing until the door clicked shut, leaving Lily alone once again.
Taking the small package with her, she went to sit on the edge of her bed. She turned the box over in her hands several times, looking for a means of identifying where it had come from. There was none, which managed to solidify her suspicion of who had sent it.
With a flutter of excitement, she carefully unwrapped the brown paper to reveal a simple wooden box. Aside from a gentle scroll pattern carved into the top, it was unadorned. Lily set the box on her lap and released the latch to open the hinged lid. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, lay an exquisite perfume bottle designed from rose-colored glass caged in a silver overlay that twined about the glass like living vines. In the very center of the oval shaped bottle, the silver was formed into the image of a lily in full bloom.
It was likely the most precious and expensive gift Lily had ever been given. She ran her fingertips over the delicate silver work before lifting the bottle from its velvet bed to allow the candlelight to shine through the rose-colored glass.
She noticed then a folded slip of paper still in the box. Setting the perfume bottle in the valley of her lap, she lifted the paper and broke the tiny wax seal.
In his precise, slanted script, Lord Harte had written:
I was unforgivably remiss in not having a gift for you the other night. I chose the elements for this blend myself. It made me think of you.
Lily brushed her thumb over the ink before setting the note back into the box. Then she lifted the bottle and removed the glass stopper. The scent wafting from the bottle was light, but heady. She noticed first the rich notes of clove and honey before her senses were claimed by the smooth, velvety scent of jasmine. Lily closed her eyes, allowing the aromatic infusion to settle into her awareness. There was another element hidden deep within the perfume. A layer of earthiness that warmed her blood. Sandalwood.
Lily was enthralled. It was a complex and lovely scent. Floral and exotic, light and dark. Impossib
ly sensual.
And it made him think of her.
Something deep and fundamental spread through her core, and she understood why young ladies were warned so often not to accept gifts from gentlemen. It was a personal and intimate thing to acknowledge how he had wanted her to have something he chose himself.
She would have to keep the gift a secret from her sisters. Just one more secret among many Lily knew she would be harboring before her relationship with the earl ran its course.
There was a twinge of guilt at the thought. But only a twinge.
Even without the scandalous circumstances of their arrangement, her feelings for Lord Harte were far too personal to consider sharing. Even with Portia, who had been privy to more of Lily’s private thoughts and wishes than anyone.
Lily lifted the bottle again to her nose and drew a long breath. As she imagined what it would feel like to have him place the scent on her skin with the gentle brush of his fingers, the muscles of her thighs tightened, and heat gathered between her legs.
Glancing at the clock, she realized she had only a short time to dress before her great-aunt’s maid arrived. She had already planted the seeds for escaping from the dinner early by mentioning a burgeoning headache earlier in the day. It should be an easy thing to request the use of Angelique’s carriage to bring her home ahead of the others. When they arrived home, they would assume Lily was sleeping.
If all went well, she would be with the earl again in just a few hours. And she intended to be wearing his scent.
Seventeen
“Damn.”
The earl’s curse was muttered so quietly under his breath, Lily almost did not hear it.
He was looking out the carriage window as they slowly made their way through a spot of unexpected traffic to the narrow drive that ran alongside the building that housed Pendragon’s Pleasure House.
He turned to look at her, and she could tell by the fierce lines of displeasure on his face that something was wrong. Curious, she shifted on her seat, leaning toward the window in an attempt to see what had irritated him. She managed just a glimpse of the brothel, but it was enough to note that every window in the place appeared to be lit up.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Pendragon is throwing one of her parties tonight. If I had known…”
He did not need to finish. She understood that he would not have chosen to bring her to the brothel on a night when it was clearly very active.
“I will take you home.”
“No.” His eyebrows arched at her swift denial. “Please, there is no need to change our plans.”
The carriage had made it up the drive and stopped near the rear of the brothel.
“There will be guests everywhere. Wandering the hallways, seeking diversions. Pendragon’s parties get very wild.”
Her curiosity spiked. “How wild? Are there orgies?”
He inhaled a swift breath at her words, then coughed a little.
Lily couldn’t be sure if he was choking on shock or amusement. Either way, she felt her cheeks heat.
The groom opened the carriage door, but the earl did not move to get out. He sat staring at her in the dark of the vehicle.
“What do you know of orgies?”
Lily’s blush spread. An innocent should not even know the word, let alone find herself curious how such a thing might manifest. And she was curious. Exceptionally so.
She considered how much she wanted to reveal about her unusual cache of knowledge. He would likely be shocked to discover that she knew certain things, by description if not by actual experience.
“I…ah, understand it is a sort of party,” she replied.
“There is a bit more to it than that.”
She was completely incapable of keeping the breathlessness from her voice when she asked, “Like what?”
He remained silent, staring at her intently by the dim light flowing into the carriage from the open door.
Lily stared back. The growing tension between them was not an unpleasant feeling.
Finally, he asked, “Do you wish to attend Pendragon’s party?”
Excitement flared at the possibility. But before she replied, she tried to determine if there was any hint of shock or censure in his tone. All she heard was a thread of dark sensuality that resonated acutely with the tingling expectation flowing through her.
When she did not answer right away, he added, “I would like you to feel that you can be honest with me, Lily. I would never pass judgment on anything that might bring you pleasure, just as I would honor your wishes in regard to whatever you find abhorrent.”
Lily was warmed by his words in a way that had nothing to do with physical desire. For the first time in her life, she felt free to be fully truthful about what she wanted.
“I am rather curious,” she admitted. “It is not likely I will have many opportunities to experience such an event. Perhaps we could make a brief pass through the party. Just to observe,” she clarified.
This time, there was a definite note of humor in his tone as he replied, “You wish to observe an orgy?”
“Is it an orgy?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“Likely not yet. It is still early.”
His answer eased her shock to some degree, but it also stabbed her awareness with an uncomfortable realization.
“You have attended such parties in the past?”
“Only once,” he replied, his voice very low. Very dark. “To observe.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.
More silence as he continued to stare at her.
“Wait here,” he said just before he slipped out of the carriage and disappeared through the side door of the brothel.
She waited with strained patience, listening to the sounds of revelry filtering from the brownstone into the night.
Why had he gone in without her?
Had she succeeded in shocking him after all? Would he insist upon returning her to Angelique’s?
Disappointment swept through her at the thought.
She was still trying to come up with a sound argument for them to stay when he returned. One moment he was simply there again, standing in the doorway of the carriage.
Lily’s breath hesitated at the forbiddingly handsome image he presented. It amazed her that he could look so stern and hard when he possessed such trembling gentleness in the drift of his fingers.
“Put this on,” he said as he handed something to her.
She looked at the object in her hands and was surprised to see a heavily bejeweled half mask.
She looked up in surprise. “We are going in?”
“To observe. And only for a brief pass through before heading upstairs. You are to remain at my side the entire time. You cannot say a word to anyone or risk being identified. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
Tingling anticipation ran through her limbs as she secured the mask to her face. It covered her features from just above her mouth to mid-forehead. She would be completely anonymous.
The thought was thrilling.
The earl held out his hand to help her from the carriage. Then he carefully drew the deep hood of her cloak forward, further shielding her from view.
“I must be mad,” he muttered before taking her hand in one of his and carefully setting it in the crook of his arm.
She felt the muscles of his arm twitch and tense under her fingers. Then he took a long, even breath before leading her into the building. Clearly, he was unnerved by the prospect of escorting her. That he chose to do it anyway inspired a wealth of gratitude.
The pleasure house was filled with the sounds of revelry. Instead of going up the back stairway, they continued down the hall on the main floor. After passing through a narrow door, the hall widened, then turned a few corners before opening
to a sort of general receiving area.
Lily gaped at the scene before her.
Gentlemen of all ages—and a few elegantly gowned ladies—stood about in their most resplendent evening wear, chatting with one another as though they were in the finest drawing room. If not for the obvious gender imbalance of those in attendance, they looked for all the world like guests at any party of the beau monde. But it was not the sight of the guests that caused Lily’s eyes to widen behind her mask. It was the fact that all around, women walked about completely nude. Some of the naked women carried trays of champagne flutes, others offered pipes or cigars to the guests, and still others appeared to have no true purpose other than to smile and be seen.
She was so stunned by the unexpected sight that Lily barely noticed the earl leading her around the perimeter of the room. A few guests glanced their way, but most didn’t appear particularly curious about their swift passing. She had guessed there would be an obvious salacious element to the party—they were in a brothel, after all—but she just hadn’t expected it to be so blatant.
Or so casually displayed.
It surprised her.
And intrigued her.
How interesting that people could be so comfortable with a woman’s completely bared flesh that they barely seemed to notice it so prevalently displayed in their midst.
As she and the earl neared the other end of the room, she was given cause to swiftly reevaluate that assessment as a tall gentleman with distinguished streaks of gray in his brown hair accepted a glass of champagne from one of the women while simultaneously reaching out to fondle her bared breast.
The woman laughed—a coy sort of throaty sound—before she turned around and offered the groping gentleman her rounded buttocks, which he promptly spanked.
Lily gasped. Her fingers curled into the earl’s forearm.
She thought he may have made a sound as well, but she was too quickly distracted. The tall gentleman’s friend, a more portly fellow with significant balding, stepped toward the woman and slid his hand into her artfully coiffed hair as he leaned toward her to whisper something in her ear.