Darling Beast (Maiden Lane) (20 page)

“
Sneaking
sounds so very…
bad
.” Montgomery sniffed as they descended the stairs.

Apollo looked at him.

“Very well!” The duke threw up his hands. “Don’t lose your temper, I don’t know if I could withstand your hamlike fists. I’ve discovered that Mrs. Jellett has a rather handsome, rather
young
footman she brings everywhere, that Mr. William Greaves has a valet who spent most of his youth in Newgate, that Mr. and Mrs. Warner, despite their newly wedded bliss, keep separate bedrooms—although I’d suspected that already”—the smile he gave was rather nasty—“and that Lady Herrick has a birthmark in the shape of a butterfly on her left buttock. Oh, and that said birthmark turns an interesting shade of lavender when slapped.”

Apollo stopped in the hallway outside the breakfast room and simply stared at his companion.

“What?” Montgomery looked irritated. “I defy any man to not take the opportunity when presented to slap a lovely arse.”

Apollo sighed and continued walking. “Anything else?”

The duke frowned for a moment before supplying, “Miss Royle dislikes me exceedingly.”

Apollo arched an eyebrow. “I’d think any number of young ladies dislike you.”

“Yes, they do,” the duke replied carelessly. “That’s not the interesting part. The interesting part is that I seem to care one way or the other. It’s rather fascinating, truth be told.”

Apollo rolled his eyes at the man’s vanity. “You’ve collected a quantity of knowledge, Your Grace, and none of it is in any way helpful to my case.”

“Ah, but one never knows,” the duke replied. “Knowledge has a strange way of becoming applicable at the
oddest moments. It’s why I take care to gather any and all information, no matter how trivial it may seem at first. But never fear: we’ve only been at the house party for less than a day and I anticipate more discoveries today.”

Apollo’s eyes narrowed. “Why today?”

“Didn’t you know?” Montgomery had that look of amusement that Apollo was beginning to loathe. “Additional guests arrived late last night.”

And he threw open the door to the breakfast room, revealing Edwin Stump, his mouth full of toast.

But it wasn’t Edwin that Apollo stared at. There were two other people in the room—a rather plain but gentle-faced lady and, beside her, a big man with an olive complexion, a scowl twisting his features. He had one green eye and one blue.

Beside him Montgomery went very still before whispering, in a tone of delight, like a little boy offered a huge bag of sweets, “Oh, how utterly wonderful!”

L
ILY WATCHED FROM
a chair later that morning as Stanford struck a pose and declaimed, “ ‘An’ if ever I see my daughter in such a position again, mark me well, gentlemen, I shall’… er…”

He sneaked a glance at Lily, who didn’t have to refer to the pages in her hand. After all, she’d written
A Wastrel Reform’d
. “ ‘Disembowel the deceiver,’ ” she said, supplying the rest of the line.

“ ‘
Dis
embowel the deceiver.’ ‘Dis
em
bowel the deceiver,’ ” Stanford muttered to himself before nodding and resuming his pose. “ ‘I shall disembowel the deceiver so that ne’er again may he so deceive again.’ ”

Lily winced. It wasn’t exactly her best line, but then
she’d written the second half of the play in only one week. Her first play had taken a year to write.

Of course, she’d burned it after that.

“Darlings!”

She turned at the voice and stared, hardly believing her eyes. Edwin stood in the doorway, arms thrown wide, in a new sky-blue satin suit, apparently expecting his usual welcome.

Well, and she supposed he had cause to. Moll and the other actresses rushed to him, Moll cooing over him. Stanford and John approached more slowly, but they were equally admiring in their own way.

Ridiculous to pout. No one but her and her brother knew that
she
was the real playwright.

“Robin, sweetheart,” Edwin called, strutting toward her.

Lily repressed the urge to roll her eyes at him. He was always careful to call her by her stage name in the company of others, even when all the other actors knew quite well what her real name was.

She submitted to a buss on her cheek and then smiled sweetly at him. “Might I have a moment of your time, brother dear?”

“Naturally.” He glanced about to let the other actors know what a doting older brother he was.

“Alone.”

The first inkling that something might not be right seemed to seep into his eyes. “Erm… certainly.”

She rose, set down the pages, and led him into the small antechamber, closing the door quite firmly behind them.

“What—?” he began, but she cut him off quite satisfyingly with a slap across his face.

“Lily!” His eyes were wide and hurt, his hand to the side of his face.

She set her hands on her hips. “Don’t you ‘Lily’ me, Edwin Stump!”

“I don’t understand,” he tried.

So she slapped him again. “You set the soldiers on Apollo. They might’ve taken him to Bedlam—or hanged him. All because you were miffed that he’d thrown you out of the theater.”

“I wasn’t
miffed
,” he said, drawing himself up and straightening his white wig, which had become rather askew. “I was worried about your safety.”

“
My
safety?” She knew her mouth was agape, but she just couldn’t help it. Edwin could be such a prize ass sometimes—and what was worse, he seemed to be under the delusion that she was a simpleton. “Are you insane?”

“No, but he is.” Edwin backed up a step. “A deranged killer! Everyone has heard.”

“He is not a deranged killer,” she said very, very softly as she crowded Edwin into a corner of the room. “And you know it quite well. You’re being spiteful—and you’re hurting me.”

He’d already opened his mouth for a retort, but his eyebrows drew together at that. “What? Hurting you?”

“Yes, hurting me, Edwin,” she said patiently. “I like Lord Kilbourne, and I find your cruelty toward him—and me—quite unforgivable. He’s here, at this house party.”

“I noticed him just now in the breakfast room,” Edwin said sulkily. “He’s taken the ridiculous name Mr. Smith.”

“He’s here to look for the real murderer. I don’t want you to even think about turning him in again, do you hear?”

“I…” He gulped. “But Lily…”

“Not even
accidentally
, Edwin.”

He dipped his chin, looking a bit shocked. “Yes, very well.”

“Good.” She turned to go because anything else she said at this point would not be conducive to a good future relationship with her brother, but Edwin caught her arm.

“Lily…” He cleared his throat nervously. “I think I ought to warn you.”

She looked at him and saw his forehead was shining with sweat. A feeling of sick dread settled low in her belly. Had he already told someone about Apollo? “What is it?”

He swallowed. “Richard Perry, Baron Ross is here.”

Apollo strode into the drawing room where the actors had decided to put on their play. They were gathered there, Moll Bennet at one end with her arms raised as she spoke her lines. She glanced at him as he entered, winked, and jerked her head in the direction of a small door to the side of the room.

He nodded as he changed his course for the door. He and Moll had become friends the night before when he’d talked her into abandoning the room she shared with Lily.

He could hear voices as he drew near. Lily saying, “… Indio…” and Edwin hissing in reply.

Apollo pulled the door open sharply and Edwin Stump
nearly fell into his arms. He pushed the man back inside, stepped in, and shut the door behind him.

Lily was in the corner, looking rather pale, but he kept his gaze on Edwin. “Say one word about me or my past and you’ll—”

Edwin held up his hands defensively. “No need, my sister has already made all the threats.”

“Has she?” Apollo stepped closer because he didn’t like how Lily looked. What had her weasel of a brother said to her? “I’m sure she was most thorough, but I still wish to make myself clear. Whatever she might’ve threatened you with, know this: I don’t like you. Hurt her or me and you’ll regret it to the end of your days.”

Edwin’s Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat. “Quite. Yes… erm… that’s very clear, I think.” He darted a glance at Lily and for the first time Apollo saw a trace of regret in the man’s face. “But you must know I’d never do anything to hurt my sister.”

“Do I?”

Edwin glanced down. “Perhaps… there’s something you should know.”

Apollo narrowed his eyes, not trusting the other man a whit.

“Lily told me that you’re looking for the man who might’ve murdered your friends. That is, I suppose, if you didn’t do it yourself.”

“I didn’t,” Apollo bit out.

Edwin blinked rapidly, backing into the wall. “Yes, of course, we all know that, don’t we, Lily?”

She sighed, speaking for the first time. “He
didn’t
, Edwin.”

His brows knit as if her calm assurance confused him.
“All right, all right. It’s just that I saw you come into the breakfast room with the Duke of Montgomery.”

“So?” Apollo said. “His Grace is helping me.”

Edwin shrugged, looking shifty. “But is he, though?”

“What do you mean?” Lily frowned. “Do speak plainly, Edwin, please.”

“I’m trying to!” Oddly he looked wounded by his sister’s words. “The duke likes to collect information—things other people would rather keep hidden.”

“You’re saying he’s a blackmailer,” Apollo said.

Edwin grimaced. “Nothing that unrefined. More of a manipulator, perhaps. But it doesn’t do to let one’s secrets fall into his hands.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Apollo replied drily.

“I think you haven’t realized you’re already in his hands,” Edwin shot back. “He knows you’re an escaped murderer—” He held up his hands as Lily sputtered a protest. “Yes, all right, an
accused
escaped murderer. What reason does he have to help you when he has such a hold over you?”

“I have no money,” Apollo replied. “He had nothing to gain from me.”

“Don’t think that you have only monetary things to lose,” Edwin said. “Some things of value have no price.”

Apollo felt a bead of sweat run down his spine. Without taking his eyes from the other man, he instinctively held out his hand to Lily.

Lily clasped his fingers and stared at her brother, her face shuttered.

“I’m trying to warn you,” Edwin huffed and actually turned to Apollo for help.

Apollo raised one eyebrow at him.

“Very well.” Edwin drew himself up with martyred pride. “If you’re
quite
done with me?”

Apollo waved at the door, but made no move to step aside, making Edwin brush nervously against him as he went for it.

Edwin turned with his hand on the doorknob. “Lily, I…”

She waited, but when he said no more, she simply sighed. “Just go, Edwin.”

He nodded and opened the door.

The moment it was shut again, with only the two of them inside the little room, Apollo turned to Lily and looked at her with concern. “Who,” he asked softly, “is Lord Ross?”

T
HE THING WAS,
Lily had never had to make this choice before. Indio had always—
naturally
—come first. Before Edwin, even before Maude, it was Indio she looked after, Indio she cared for. Because he was a child—
her
child—and therefore the most vulnerable.

But was that true anymore?

She tilted her head back, staring at Apollo. He wore the same suit as yesterday, but at some point this morning, he’d taken time to club his hair back.

Frankly, she preferred it the way it’d been last night—wild and about his shoulders.

He meant something to her. She couldn’t hide from that fact. She’d slept with Apollo—the first man she’d taken as a lover since before she’d become Indio’s mother. Even now, as he challenged her with soft words and sympathetic eyes, she was aware of his body. Of the breadth of his shoulders, the scent of his skin, so close in the
little room. It wasn’t fair. She’d been so careful, so very wary, and he’d broken through her barriers without even trying—or so it seemed.

She folded her arms in front of her breasts, trying to keep some space between them. If she didn’t take care, he’d surround and overtake her, make her forget what mattered most and what was at stake.

Indio.

Indio was vulnerable. She must protect him.

And like that the decision was made.

She looked at him. “Richard Perry, Lord Ross is a wealthy gentleman—an aristocrat like you.”

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to refute the comparison, but he couldn’t, really, could he?

Apollo was an aristocrat. Richard was an aristocrat. These two things were facts, simple and true.

She drew strength from that. “He’s married with children, I believe. Two sons? I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in years.” And for that she was very glad.

He took a step closer and despite her folded arms, she could no longer keep herself entirely apart from him. His body heat invaded her skin—her very bones. He said, “He has one green eye and one blue one. Like Indio.”

She took a careful breath. “Yes. He’s Indio’s father.”

His eyebrows drew together—not in condemnation but in puzzlement. “Lily, I—”

“Ross doesn’t know,” she said bluntly.

He looked at her in question.

“I never told him.” She stared at him, trying to convey this one truth. “It’s
important
, very important, that he not know about Indio.”

“But…”

She couldn’t hold herself together anymore. The danger was too close. She grabbed his arm with both hands. “Apollo, please,
please
promise me you’ll not mention Indio, or… or
any
suggestion that I have a child, to Richard.”

He nodded slowly. “Of course.” He frowned down at her hands and slowly took them in his own. “Did he hurt you? Because if he hurt you, I—”

“No.” She almost laughed—though not in amusement. “You have no need to play my protector. In fact, I wouldn’t be happy if you said anything at all to Richard about me.”

“He was your lover.”

She tried to pull her hands away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Is that what all this is about? Jealousy? God, I can’t believe—”

He did an odd thing then, something that startled her into silence: he laughed, a bitter, tormented sound.

“Jealousy,” he grated, pulling her close, pulling her into his arms, though she struggled to get away. “I would that it were something as easy, as simple, as mere jealousy.” He bent and murmured against her mouth, his lips caressing her with each word. “This is far more awful than jealousy.”

And then he was devouring her mouth, his breath hot and tasting of the coffee he must’ve drunk when he’d broken his fast. She wished, suddenly, that she might’ve been there when he had. That she could’ve watched those strong, unlovely lips sip at a cup, that she could’ve seen his throat move as he swallowed toast or eggs or gammon or whatever he’d consumed at that meal. She wanted to be there with him whenever he ate, whenever he rose, whenever he went to bed. She wanted to watch as he let himself
go, as he succumbed to slumber and dreams. She wanted to see him shave. To find out if he raised his chin and stroked upward with the razor as she’d once seen Edwin do when she was very little.

She wanted… oh, dear God! She wanted everything. She wanted
him
.

And in that moment she forgot resolve and carefully plotted plans and all else. Her vision, her mouth, her very being were filled, simply and completely, with Apollo Greaves.

She opened her lips, desperate for him as if she hadn’t seen him for years, when he’d risen from her bed only hours before. She bit at him, whimpering.

He caressed her face, murmuring, “Shhh.”

There were others nearby, she knew that somewhere in a part of her brain that still worked, but it really didn’t matter to her. She clutched at his shoulders, his hair, wanting him naked with her. Wanting him to be Caliban, not Apollo.

He lifted her suddenly, setting her on a table nearby, which wobbled under her weight.

He cursed softly and tossed her skirts up, thrusting his hand underneath. He gave her no warning, no gentle persuasion. His fingers were at her mound, blunt and unhesitating. He traced through her folds, spreading and exploring, as if he had every right. Claiming her sex as he’d claimed her mouth.

She groaned and he broke away to admonish, “Hush!” against her cheek.

Then his thumb found her clitoris and he was pressing against her, moving in small, devastating circles.

She bit into his shoulder.

He bent and licked her throat.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I can’t—”

And then he took away his hand and she
growled
at him.

He laughed, low and sensuously, and flipped open his falls. He shoved between her thighs, making the table shake, spreading her thighs even wider to give himself room.

“Stop,” she hissed. “The table will break.”

He simply looked at her, grinned, and
thrust
.

She grabbed his upper arms as he entered her, rough, sudden, searingly hot—and so good she had to bite his shoulder again.

“Someday,” he panted as he thrust again, his cock stretching her, filling her, “I’m going to take you in a place where you don’t have to be quiet. Where I can hear all your moans and little squeaks. Where I can make you scream.”

And he seated himself fully, his pelvis pressed to hers, her skirts in a wadded mess between them.

He started to withdraw slowly and she pounded on his back with both fists. “Move!”

He braced one hand on her hip and one on the wall and thrust in again, making the table knock against the wall.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. He was hitting her just there, and it was marvelous, but at the same time the table’s knocking would bring someone soon. She groaned. She didn’t want to end this but there was
no lock on the door
.

“Put your legs around me,” he huffed in her ear, humid and hot.

“They’ll hear us.”

“Lily,” he groaned, “please do it, love.”

The endearment jolted through her, going straight to where he still shoved into her.

She wrapped her legs around him, as high as she could, and as she did, he grasped her bottom in both his hands and lifted her. She clung to him, impaled on his penis, the position so obscene she should’ve fainted from just the thought.

Instead she nearly came.

He leaned his shoulders back against the wall and moved his big hands to her waist. She watched as his eyes shuttered, his face going slack with sensuous want as he lifted and lowered her on his cock, using her as a tool to pleasure himself.

Each pull upward was a draw against her most sensitive flesh. Each jolt down a powerful slam of pleasure.

He was driving her insane, driving her with need, and she wasn’t sure she could keep from screaming.

He must’ve known her peril, for his eyes opened, his pupils large and black, and he looked at her. “Kiss me.”

He couldn’t do it himself, she realized. He was using all his strength to keep them both upright against the wall.

She leaned forward, feeling like a doll in his strong arms, and placed her closed lips against his, a chaste, gentle kiss, even as his flesh plundered hers below. She was swollen and wet, so heated with want that she wasn’t sure it could ever end. Maybe she didn’t want it to end. Maybe she wanted him to fill her forever, to just keep ramming her with that long, thick, perfect cock until she became insensible. He could thrust into her all night long and when she woke he’d still be screwing her, his body hard and everlasting, hers wet and wanting.