Hint of Desire (21 page)

Arthur’s chamber.

It bespoke ducal wealth and elegance, while maintaining a simplicity worlds removed from the curlicued chambers she’d spied in her childhood. The room conveyed strength and power, just like its master.

She settled more easily into the pillows, imagining the man's arms around her, just as
his bed and belongings now embraced her, succored her, convinced her that safety might be found. She allowed herself to grow calmer and closed her eyes, drifting . . .

She couldn’t have closed her eyes for more than a moment when Arthur returned, followed by the more solemn doctor.

Arthur walked over to the bed and took her hand between his larger ones. He stared down at her, his lean lips drawn tight, and strain showing in the slight wrinkling around his eyes and the stiff formality of his tone.

“I’ve sent a rider to the Bishop requesting a special license
. We will be married tomorrow, or the next day at the latest.”

Arthur could not miss the shock that discomposed Lily’s features. Her eyes, which had been large and hooded with slumber, suddenly opened wide. Her sleep-softened body jumped to readiness. Her slow, easy breathing grew rapid, and he could catch each inhalation as the soft lace of her gown rose and fell over her breasts. Arthur let his gaze linger on the invitingly shadowed valley for a moment before returning his gaze to her face.

“Tomorrow?”
she finally croaked.

“Yes.”

She paused, shaking her head as if trying to clear her thoughts.

“Why
? We can’t.”

“Because it’s prudent
, and we can. I will do what I must. I will become your husband without delay. Is that a difficulty for you?”

Her e
motions played on her face. At one moment she seemed ready to question him further, at another to argue, but finally, a slow, uneasy acceptance seemed to win hold. She bowed her head and shook it slightly.

“No, if that is your will,
then, of course, I am agreeable.”

I
t seemed almost as if she simply had collapsed under the weight of his will.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then
. One of the maids will take care of your dress. Is there anything else you will require?” Arthur knew he sounded abrupt, but his thoughts sped ahead to the coming day.

“No
. Am I supposed to sleep here?” she whispered, in a barely audible voice.

Arthur emitted a deep sigh of consideration, knowing full well that further sleep would elude him this night
. Yet Lily looked appropriate in his bed, her hair spread across the crisp linen of the pillows. He nodded.

From the moment the footman had pointed out the heavy boot prints below her window and the remains of the broken bottle of spirits tangled with the singed remains of the curtain, his choices had become limited
. Add that to her story of a man in the stables – he had wondered how she could have been so foolish as to open the stallion’s stall –  and somebody wanted Lily and her son out of the way, and Arthur could not protect them fully until he claimed them as his own.

He needed to start searching for
the person or persons who had tried to kill Lily and her son and discover why. Was this latest attack related to Worthington's untimely demise? What part, if any, had St. Aubin played? He was the obvious suspect – who else would benefit from Simon’s death? No, Arthur would not sleep again that night. And he would not rest easy until he could ensure Lily's absolute safety.

Chapter Eleven

The wedding morning arrived too soon. Even accounting for the day it took to fetch the license from the bishop, Lily was not prepared. She’d been hustled and bustled for the last two days and had not allowed herself to consider what was to come.

Now, as she stood in the vestibule of
the village church, time slowed. Lily had too much time for thought. She told herself she had no choice, but the thought of another loveless marriage gave wide berth to a rising panic. Maybe if she’d had a few more weeks to involve herself in the preparations, this unreasoning fear would not have seized her. But now she trembled to think of placing herself and her son in another man’s power. She knew she had to remember Simon’s safety. And to remember that this “other man” was Arthur, who might not always remain the prince of her dreams, but surely would never hurt her.

Still, t
oo many similarities existed between this wedding and her first. Neither had been her own free choice. She shivered as she awaited her cue. The flimsy ice blue silk of the gown they had quickly put together for her only made her feel as frigid as its hue. She peered down the long aisle.

Her prince awaited, but
this was no storybook. She rubbed color into her pale cheeks. She knew there could be no happily-ever-after promise in this story. To be sure, Arthur had been kind and gentle, and he had taken a warm interest in Simon – but he still did not know the full truth.

Lily
caught Lady Smythe-Burke’s gaze. The older woman nodded, not a trace of doubt in her glance. Lily had come to admire the lady over the past weeks and took comfort in that small exchange.

When the cue finally came, she took that first step with grace and c
are, her features schooled to hide her terror. Despite her worries, her silk-slippered feet trod the best path.

Arthur Alexander DeWolf gazed with awe at the vision sailing towards him down the aisle. Where a moment before he’d been aware of the church filled with guests and the vicar ready to recite the vows, now he saw only Lily. The light fabric swirled around her like a fine mist and the ducal diamonds dotted her hair like ice crystals. And her eyes called to him, sending messages of passion and desire.

He could hardly wait for the ceremony and reception to end
, and for the wedding night to begin.

He his plans were once again a success.

Lily stared at her reflection in the mirror
. She was married. Again. Her eyes looked dark and deep above a skin so pale that no amount of pinching would redden it. The calm she had summoned, knowing Simon was safe, had dissolved. She still had a price to pay for that safety.

Standing, she brushed at the silky flounces of the almost transparent French negligee
in which they had dressed her. Her nipples peeked from beneath the thin silk, and even the dark triangle of curls between her legs cast an unmistakable shadow against the fine fabric. A shudder ran through her.

She knew Gertrude and the other maids had meant well with their giggles and comments, but she felt more like a virgin sacrifice than a new bride
. Yet she was no virgin. Therein lay the problem. She knew what would come, and what would be expected of her.

She walked to the small table
, which held a decanter of brandy and a couple of cut crystal glasses. Lily had never enjoyed spirits, and observing Worthington’s state whenever he drank deterred her further, but now she filled a goblet almost to the brim, but did not drink.

Instead she
turned and went to stand by the large bed. She stroked the rich brocade cover and sought to calm herself. He was not Worthington. He would keep both her and Simon safe, for as long as he could. And he would never hurt her on purpose. But how could she let him know that in consummation she found only pain?

She would not let him know
. She would repay him for his kindness in the ways expected of a wife. She would not shirk duty now.

Taking a couple of deep breaths
, Lily turned back the bed and then blew out all but one candle. With Worthington she had become expert at giving just enough response to satisfy her husband. Mostly she lay still and silent. Maybe if she did the same with Arthur, he would end the business as quickly.

Then
, perhaps, they could become friends. That didn’t seem a bad thing. In fact, the notion of befriending her husband seemed like a return to her fairy tale. So what if she had to submit from time to time to his baser requirements? If Arthur would but be her friend, certainly she could muddle along well enough.

Un
less the magistrate learned more – what if he learned that there had been no mysterious attackers? Arthur could not want a murderer for a friend. Or a wife.

Lily
heard the handle turn. Arthur stood in the doorway, wrapped in the same deep velvet robe as before. She had found reassurance in his arms then. Perhaps she could do so again.

She was exquisite. Arthur’s mind emptied of every other thought and competing sensation as he gazed upon this lovely apparition – his wife. He was suffused with heat as he moved closer to the fragile woman standing beside the bedstead. Light shone through her sheer dress, outlining every curve for his delight. Her high, pink-tipped breasts tightened under his gaze, the beaded nipples rising sharply beneath tissue-thin silk. His hands ached to feel them, his lips to taste them. Sweeping lower, his eyes took in the willowy form, the curve of womanly hips, the velvet skin, the soft curve of her belly and the wondrous secrets beneath. He grew tight and hard as he stared at the treats he was about to unwrap.

Silently, h
e trod the thick carpet. He watched a shiver sweep through her and smiled inwardly at the sign of her equal desire. He dismissed a momentary concern that perhaps it was too soon after the birth of her son; the doctor had said sufficient time had passed, and Arthur trusted his opinion. As her shivers increased, Arthur’s excitement rose.

R
eaching out, he trailed his fingers through her long silken locks, enjoying each quiver of her anticipation. He had to force himself to move slowly. He wanted nothing more than to crush her body to his, to push her down into the billowy bed and bury himself within her, but he knew restraint was required.

He brought her burned palm to his lips and kissed it
. Then, running his fingers deeper into her hair, he pulled her forward. She came willingly. He could feel the fullness of her breasts, the pebble hard nipples pressing into his chest. Lowering his mouth to hers he stroked his tongue over her lips, struggling not to push too fast. He felt her tremor before she parted beneath him, inviting him in. He wrapped his hands tightly in her hair, anchoring her still, before delving into that sweet mouth. She tasted of sweets and spice, and the very flavor of femininity. He breathed deeply, inhaling the lavender that clung to her, before giving up all thought as he plundered her delicate lips. She melted against him like beeswax in the sun.

He held her from him for a moment, striving to find control
. He picked up the brandy from the table and swigged it, wishing for the fortitude to proceed with care.

Unable to control himself longer
he turned back to her and slipped the gown from her shoulder and pushed her back on the bed. As she fell beneath him he moved his lips down her throat, tasting her, devouring her, loving her. He could not hold back any longer. He let his passions run free in a wave of such desire as he had never felt before.

There was brandy on his breath.

The taste of brandy overwhelmed
Lily. She fought the panic. She had to stay in control. For a moment she had hoped this night would be different. The fire in Arthur’s glance ignited something within her; the passion of his kiss shattered her preconceptions of what a kiss should be.

But now her memories overwhelmed her
. She remembered the pain, the degradation. How could she forget?

Now
Worthington’s rough fingers dug into her flesh. It was Worthington inside her chamber, and terror immobilized her. The smell and taste of him surrounded her. She froze as she felt her gown shorn away and Worthington’s lips ravaging tissues still sore from nursing. She longed to cry out – to beg him to stop – but she had a duty to fulfill. His fingers slipped between her thighs. Worthington, Worthington. He was a scoundrel, he was leering as he ravished her.

She thought of Simon
. Yes, that was it; she would concentrate her mental forces on her gratitude for Simon’s safety, and for his sake would drive the terrors from her mind.

Lily
forced her body to be still and to give no hint of her discomfort. She could not let Arthur know her terror as his hands invaded her inmost secret places. She turned her face away and tried to remove herself from the situation, to pretend it wasn’t happening. She fought to deny all sensation. If she denied the trickles of pleasure she could also deny the agony that would come soon enough.

###

Arthur lay back beside her
, limply. His physical needs, vanishing, left only emptiness in their wake. Even in those first frenetic, fumbled teenage attempts, he had never felt so lacking in skill or in ability. His body’s drive for release had urged him to the victory of completion, but it had been an empty win.

From
the first moments of the kiss, he felt the beginnings of the passion for which he had hoped and longed, but just at the moment a mutual fire should have burned between them he felt Lily stiffen; he heard her little gasp of pain.