Gentlemen Prefer Mischief (16 page)

And then it came to him, the reason she hadn’t cared if he finished the book. He slumped back in his chair and tugged his shirt loose to gap wide, pressing his lips in vexation with Lily bleeding Teagarden.

Tonight she’d already gone far, far further with him than those fantasy kisses from the journal. The tentative touching and kissing she’d imagined in its pages had been the most detailed—and doubtless the most embarrassing—part of the book for her. She could imagine a kiss back then; she might even have seen one. But her sixteen-year-old self had no real idea of what the sex act would be like.

And now that she’d had a taste of the actual experience of passion—and he was fairly certain that kiss in her bedchamber had been her first sensual contact with a man, never mind what they’d done that night—she’d known how dull the rest of her journal would be to him. She was probably lying in her bed right now, laughing at him.

He sucked his teeth, then burst out laughing. What a minx she was, no matter that she meant to be serious and worthy.

Closing the colorful cover of the journal, he put it in his desk drawer. Despite his frustrated lust, he had a charitable feeling toward it. As a girl Lily had thought so much of him that simply being with him was enough—they hadn’t, in her mind, needed to even do anything besides hold each other. It was funny, but it was also sweet and innocent. There was no mistaking the deep trust she’d imagined between the lovers.

He’d never trusted anyone like that, or wanted to. He wasn’t even certain he knew how to do so. But he knew suddenly that he wanted to try.

What would it take for her to trust him now, as a living, breathing man?

He undressed and moved toward the bed, passing the window on his way, which was when he saw the tiny glow of a light in the woods. He quickly reached for his boots, but before he’d pulled the second one on, the light had disappeared.

Damn it all.

Lily arose early the next morning, well before the rest of the sleeping guests with the exception of Rob, whom she encountered in the breakfast room. She supposed being country people, the Teagardens were more used to farmers’ hours than those who lived in town.

He whistled cheerfully under his breath as he loaded his plate with kippers and steak in substantial quantities. She helped herself to toast and a boiled egg and sat down at the table.

“Well, Lily,” he said, tucking in, “I think you must have enjoyed yourself last night. I don’t think I saw you alone once.”

“That was perhaps due mostly to your efforts, dear brother.”

“Nonsense, those gentlemen wouldn’t have been eager to dance with you were you not so lovely and charming.”

“Be that as it may,” she said, tapping her egg with the edge of her spoon, “I did have a pleasant evening.” She repressed a surge of hysterical laughter at the absurdity of referring to what had happened the night before with such a mild term as
pleasant
. She’d practically rutted with Hal.

Don’t be dramatic
, she told herself sternly.
It
was
a
little
education
you
were
in
need
of
. Whatever it was,
pleasant
was a poor description for it.

Scorching, yes. It had also been enchanting, though she never would have thought such an innocent word could be used for something so earthy, so… animalistic?… as what she and Hal had done. He’d made her think about things she was better off not thinking about, like bodies.

She was glad he’d said those hard words to her. Knowing he couldn’t respect the person she was made it easier to push thoughts of him aside. She must focus on significant things, like the school, and Dr. Fforde’s fever hospital.

Rob slid a glance at her. “Matthew Fforde told me before he left that seeing you was the best part of his evening.”

A warm blush of embarrassment mingled with shame spread up the back of her neck as she wondered what the doctor would think of her if he knew what she’d been doing outside with Hal. Doubtless he would not then have been expressing an interest in her.

Still, she liked Dr. Fforde and liked very much his talk of the important work he was going to do in the north. He seemed like a very good man. Perhaps the very sort of man who might induce her to consider marriage.

For something had shifted inside her last night, and she was thinking now that perhaps she really ought to consider marriage. For one thing, she felt suddenly afraid that she couldn’t trust herself where passion was concerned. She’d allowed, no, encouraged Hal to do all that he’d done last night—what might she do on another occasion with another handsome, seductive man?

A little voice whispered that Hal was different from other men as far as she was concerned, that she wouldn’t be susceptible to other men, that he was singular, special. She didn’t want to hear it.

“I enjoyed spending time with Dr. Fforde.”

Rob grinned. “Good, because I think we’ll be seeing even more of him.”

And that, thought Lily as she dipped the corner of her toast in her egg, sounded like a very good and reasonable thing.

***

Hal was awake earlier than he wanted to be considering his late night, but he’d been thinking about that ancestral ring and all the places it might be, and he felt compelled to find it. He’d already been looking for it in the unused rooms of the house (supposing that in the rooms which were cleaned regularly, it would already have been found), and now he’d come to the attic.

Methodically, he opened all the trunks of clothes and rifled through them, squeezing the fabrics in case the ring had been forgotten in a pocket. He opened every drawer and inspected every shelf and sifted through boxes of papers, among which he found a series of letters between his parents, in only one of which was he or John or Eloise mentioned:

Hal carries along unremarkably as usual. John and Eloise continue in the care of Nanny.

Unremarkably
, goddammit.

The rest of the letter had to do with the brilliance of Everard’s ideas related to economies the estate could make.

Lily would probably have wanted to say something compassionate on the subject of inadequate parental love, and he could only be thankful she wasn’t there.

Except he wasn’t thankful; he was sorry they’d quarreled, and he wished he knew how to talk to her without ending up in a dispute. It was only that she frustrated him so much, with the way she kept herself distant from him when they so clearly lit each other up.

The ring was not to be found in the attic, which was not really surprising. Though he was strangely disappointed. In fact, the only things of interest he found were an ancient quintain for practicing jousting and several equally ancient battered lances.

He left the attic and went to the stables, and took Emperor out for a punishingly fast ride. By the time he got back people were stirring from their chambers, and he rounded up several of the gentlemen to try out the jousting equipment.

***

Lily, Eloise, and Delia sat companionably embroidering in a second-floor sitting room early that afternoon. However, Delia and Eloise were so engaged in their review of all the gowns that had been worn to the ball, Lily noticed with a private smile, that they weren’t getting much done.

A distant thumping sound came in through the open window, followed by shouts, and Delia hopped up and looked out.

“Gad, what on earth are they doing?” she said.

“Who?” Eloise said, going to look as well. “Why, I think they’re jousting! Well, practicing, it looks like, with that mannequin.”

“How medieval!” Delia said. “Is this a family custom?”

Eloise laughed. “No, it must be something Hal dreamed up. I think that old thing was in the attic, at least it was years ago. It must be full of dust and bugs.”

“Ugh,” Delia said.

“Yes, look!” Eloise laughed. “Now they’ve broken it.”

Lily finally could not resist looking herself, and she squeezed in at the window. Several gentlemen and a pair of horses stood about on the greensward near a pole that had the remains of a quintain sticking to it.

“Look,” Eloise said, “Donwell’s putting on a chain mail or some such, and Hal too. How funny they look, walking—it must weigh a ton.”

“Oh,” Delia said as Donwell and Hal awkwardly approached the horses from which they’d demolished the quintain. “Are they really going to joust?” she said as, with some effort, the men mounted. “I wonder if this is a good idea.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Lily said, reluctant admiration at what appeared to be sheer, antic folly making her lips quiver. “That’s why they’re doing it.” Another of Hal’s diversions. She hoped they didn’t maim themselves, but they were grown men. She supposed he’d already forgotten all that had happened between them the night before. It had been just one more entertainment.

“They really are going to do it,” Eloise said in a horrified voice.

Lily turned away, unable to watch.

“Oh heavens!” Eloise said. “Oh dear!”

Heavy, ringing thumps.

“Ah,” Delia said. “Well, that’s it then.” The sounds of masculine guffaws came through the window.

“Is anyone hurt?” Lily asked, trying to keep the depth of her concern out of her voice.

“I don’t think so,” Delia said. “The lances crumbled when they made contact with the armor.” The men were shouting now with laughter; apparently they’d never been so diverted.

Lily let out a huge sigh of relief as she walked away from the window, silently cursing Hal for making her care so much. “Well, that’s two fools saved from themselves.”

“Oh, Lily, it’s not wrong to be silly sometimes,” Delia said.

“No,” she said with a sad wistfulness, “I suppose it isn’t.” And for the first time, she wished just a little bit that she were able to be silly.

***

Lily was standing by a small stone table in the garden late that afternoon, going through a pile of books on Greek history someone had abandoned there and pondering bringing them inside so they wouldn’t be ruined by the elements. At the far end of the garden, Freddy and Louie were running about under the watchful eye of their nanny. No one else was about, most of the adults having retired to their rooms for a rest before dinner. She was glad, because she didn’t at all wish to speak with anyone. And yet she’d not felt restful in her room, where there was nothing to distract her from memories of the night before.

She didn’t, unfortunately, feel any less restless in the garden. As she absentmindedly paged through a discussion of the Peloponnesian War, a shadow fell across the book.

“Lily,” Hal said.

She looked up, determined to be unaffected by him even if something inside her was turning over like a lock with a key in its chambers. He was wearing a vivid green coat and tan breeches with gleaming top boots, all his attire cut to fit his beautiful form splendidly. His golden hair was windblown, though this only made him look charmingly careless. She would not entertain thoughts about how it had felt to have his hair brushing against her collarbone and his lips on her skin.

They’d said everything last night—as much as could be expressed—and she knew deeply how foolish it was to entertain any idea that they could really mean something to each other.

“Back from the wars?” she said in her best uncaring tone.

“It was only a skirmish.”

She made no reply, and the silence stretched out between them.

“Lily,” he said in a surprisingly urgent tone, “forgive me. I said too much last night. I said more than I meant.”

“Oh? Which part was that?” she examined a drawing of ancient weapons. “When you were telling me you liked me? Or when you said I was in danger of becoming a witchy spinster who’d scare children?”

“That part, obviously.”

She didn’t believe him. In truth, his words still stung. She didn’t want to be a hard, sharp woman; she wanted to be kind and caring. But the truth was, she wasn’t good at being warm and relaxed and open, and this was a fault.

He said her name, drawing her attention, and she looked at him. His blue-green eyes were dark and missing their customary sparkle. He raked a hand through his hair; he almost looked anguished. Which was ridiculous, since he’d clearly been full of merriment while jousting.

“I
do
like you,” he continued. “Very much.”

She left his words hanging there because she didn’t know what to do with them. She didn’t trust them.

“Am I forgiven then?”

“Of course. We spoke harshly to each other. It’s best forgotten.”

His hand started toward where hers was on the table, but he checked himself. Several moments passed, which she was determined not to fill.

“Perhaps you’ll be interested to know,” he said equably, “that I saw a light in the woods last night when I returned to my room. It went out immediately, or I would have given chase. Though doubtless the presence of the Woods Fiend is not news to you.”

“Of course it’s news to me,” she said, which was true, as she didn’t know Nate’s plans. Remorse pricked her as she realized that since she’d arrived at Mayfield she’d practically forgotten about his need to find his buried treasure as soon as possible. Apparently—as had been well demonstrated—the presence of Hal chased all sensible thought from her head. But now she knew that Nate had disregarded her advice to stay away from the Mayfield woods for the moment.

“Come,” Hal said, “do you deny feeding him information about my efforts to stalk him?”

Though she’d done nothing to encourage Nate’s efforts last night, Hal was in general correct. She conjured up a vacuous look that she hoped would discourage further questions.

“Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps you’d rather communicate in writing. You seem to be more free in the written word.”

“I’m delighted you enjoy my writing. You’ve certainly had enough time with my journal.”

“Ha. Yes, I have. Though, you know,” he said in an oddly regretful tone, “I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate its charms when I was younger.”

“I rather doubt the book holds so many charms for you now.”

“There you would be wrong.” He smiled finally, and she thought that it ought to be illegal, him smiling and making those slashes form in the taut planes of his cheeks.

She knew a spurt of compassion for herself right then; with his charm and his mischief and his male beauty, he was like a shiny thing amid the everydayness of life—who, in fact, would not find him dazzling?

“Don’t you ever look bad?” she asked. “Pasty skin, a spot, a sign of softness in the middle?” She sighed. “Really, my only consolation is that you are getting old.”

“Old?” He laughed. “I’m not even thirty.” He leaned his hip against the edge of the table, the master at ease among his fine possessions. In the distance beyond his shoulder lay the half-built folly. “I’m going to interpret these little thoughts of yours as compliments, an affirmation that I can still hold a candle to the younger man who inspired you.”

“You do realize, don’t you, that I was merely young and dazzled by male beauty?” True and not true, but she didn’t owe it to him to confess that her feelings had been deeper than she was admitting—or that they had a new hold on her. Last night had shown her, if she needed reminding, how easy and blithe he could be about intimacy. And how much she could not.

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes dropping down as his fingers toyed with one of the books, a slim, brown volume whose exquisite cover had been softened into floppiness by years and use. “And maybe you wrote things down without realizing you were setting them down. Not about me, but about yourself and your own essential qualities.”

She lifted her eyes toward the sky, where streaky clouds hung overhead like bars. A chilly breeze teased the edge of her sage-green walking dress and carried a reminder that the roses of summer would not last much longer.

“If you found anything interesting in that journal, it was merely that you liked reading sensual things.” She shrugged. “I was young and dreamy.”