Her Secret Fantasy (42 page)

“No, because I love you, you little silly-head. And because you need me. And I need you. I really need you.” He moved closer, giving her a meaningful kiss and tempted to roll her onto her back for a third round.

But she stopped him. “Derek, please be serious.”

He paused, meeting her troubled gaze.

“I know how much the army means to you,” she said. “We’ve talked about it many times. Your decision to give it up and marry me seemed really sudden that night at the lake, and I just want to make sure you’ve thought it through and won’t regret it.”

“Regret it? Are you mad? No, darling. I’ve done my time for King and country,” he said softly. “My decision might’ve seemed sudden that night, but the truth is, it’s been…bubbling along under the surface for quite a while now, though I didn’t want to admit it.” He shook his head. “Gabriel and I have been talking about this for some time and I see now he was right. I’m ready for a new sort of life. As an old married man,” he added, tickling her waist.

She jerked away and then pinched him in retaliation.

Derek laughed. “As Gabriel once pointed out, soldiering is all I’ve known, all I’ve tried. Who knows? I might be good at other things.”

“Oh, you’d be good at anything you put your hand to,” she said with certainty. “For my part, I’d be very happy to think of you doing something safer. If anything ever happened to you, I don’t think I could survive it.”

“Well, you don’t have to be afraid,” he whispered, and capturing her chin on his fingertips, he gave her a soft kiss.

“You won’t change your mind?” she murmured, opening her eyes again with a dreamy look. “You’re here to stay? Because if I let myself count on you and you leave…”

“Oh, Lily. You’re breaking my heart with your uncertainty. Of course I’m here to stay. You have my word.” He leaned back against the headboard and gathered her into his arms, holding her again. “And if my word’s not enough to put your mind at ease, then know that I have reasons of my own for this change of plans.”

“You do?”

He sighed, nodding. “I know now that going back to the army would not be good for me.” He was not too keen to discuss it, but as his future wife, she deserved to know more about his private demons. “Do you remember the day you came to see me at the stable?”

“After you rescued Mary Nonesuch? Yes. You asked me to shoot you,” she added wryly.

“So I did. And you asked me how I live with all the things I’ve done. Do you remember what I told you?”

“Yes. You said you just don’t think about it.”

“Exactly. But you see, that’s not always a practical solution. It’s not always possible. Sometimes—” He hesitated. “Sometimes I think it’s got me by the throat.”

She went very still, listening to him. He stroked her hair as he held her. Its softness soothed him.

“I realized something when I was stuck inside that metal cage. Two things, actually. First, the reason that I was so hell-bent on getting back to the war was because you can’t think about anything but the job at hand in the thick of the fight. There’s no time for pondering anything else. That kind of introspection can get a man killed. So you stay numb. You fix all your focus on the victory, and do what you have to do. Then you get somewhere quiet and it all starts leaching out, coming back again.”

He fell silent for a long moment.

“I thought if I could get back to that hell as quickly as possible, immerse myself in it as usual, that my…difficulties would be all the sooner ended. But in reality, I know perfectly well I would only be making the problem worse. Masking it with outward activity and all the while heaping up even more gruesome memories that I’d have to deal with eventually. Maybe Gabriel was right—he usually is. Maybe I came out a little worse off than I knew and should quit while I’m ahead.” He glanced at her. “That’s what you were trying to tell me all along.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess I finally got your point. Sooner or later, I’d have to come to terms with this. Now that you’ve come into my life, I’d much rather go through it all with you by my side.”

“I’m here for you,” she whispered.

“I know. It helps more than you realize.” He kissed her brow.

“Anything at all that I can do for you, you let me know,” she ordered him tenderly.

“Just be you, be my darling Lily. And don’t stop loving me.”

“Sweetheart.” She moved nearer, wrapped her arms around him, and held him like she’d never let him go.

Derek closed his eyes, wonder-struck all over again to think of how he had gone so quickly from his own private hell to this heaven.

“What was the second thing you realized when you were trapped inside that cage?” she murmured, holding him. “You said there were two.”

“Yes.” He gazed into her eyes for a long moment. “With that fire closing in, before you showed up, I realized I could not stand to die without ever having had the chance to know real love.”

“But you know it now, don’t you?” she whispered, caressing his cheek. “We both do.”

He nodded, and kissed her, and then he laid her down to make love to her again.

Two days after their “very special time” together, Derek met his future mother-in-law. And was promptly stunned by the immediate change that came over Lily with her mother’s arrival in Town.

The Balfour ladies had come to London.

His bride’s initial hope of having their wedding in her little village church had been nixed by Lady Clarissa’s horror at the thought of Knight family dukes and marquesses laying eyes on the decrepit Balfour Manor.

Derek’s sister, Georgiana—who was of course behind Lily’s first delightful foray into Indian culture—hosted a dinner party to help the Balfours and the Knights become acquainted.

It did not take long for Derek to see that Lady Clarissa Balfour was a force to be reckoned with.

Dear Lord, he had been through battles that were easier than that dinner party. Lady Clarissa seemed quite at home in Griff’s opulent mansion, but when it came to Derek himself, he sensed she was less than impressed.

Aunt Daisy was a sweet but anxious, fluttering old thing who took one look at little Matthew and fell completely in love with him. Meanwhile, Cousin Pamela fascinated Derek. He made Griff list for her all the museums, art galleries, and intellectual societies of London that the budding writer must visit while she was in Town. She just kept staring at the two of them like she couldn’t believe anyone would actually want to talk to a plain spinster like her, let alone take an interest in her stories.

While Derek befriended the other two, Lily did her best to manage “Mother.” Within a few hours of observing mother and daughter together, his protective instincts were already on high alert.

By the time the evening drew to a close, Lily and he were both drained and strangely exhausted by the visit. They took a stroll in Hyde Park together to unwind, telling the others they had to sort out a few more wedding details.

They walked in silence for half a mile, too spent to summon up a word. Fortunately, being together had a way of restoring them.

“So…,” Derek said in a cautious but amiable tone when he had finally rallied the strength to speak again, “your, er, your mother’s going to live with us?”

Lily bit her lip and looked askance at him. “Well, she lives at Balfour Manor, and we’re going to live at Balfour Manor, so…?” She shrugged.

“Right.” He stroked his mouth, then thrust his hands into his pockets as his gaze slid to the ground.

“Is that going to be a problem?” she asked anxiously.

Derek did not want to cause trouble by criticizing her mother. After all, maybe he had not given the woman enough of a chance yet. “No, no. Not on my part. Can we put her in the wing that has the bats?”

“Derek.” Lily sent him a stern look belied by the sparkle in her eyes.

“Sorry,” he drawled. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“Well, I do.” Lily took his arm, tucking her hands in the crook of his elbow as they ambled on through the deepening twilight. “Darling, I know Mother can come across as rather—aloof at first. She just needs a little time to get used to you, that’s all.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from her,” she teased.

He arched a brow. “You’re the one I’m worried about. I can see you walking on eggshells around her. I can’t be that tactful.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Grrr.”

“Won’t you try, for me? At least a little? Come, darling. She’s my mother.”

“All right,” he muttered, sending her a doting half-smile. “She brought you into the world, and for that, I am in her debt. So I will be an attentive and obliging son-in-law. For as long as I can stand it,” he added wryly.

What he did not say aloud was that he had not forgotten what Lily had told him about her mother blaming her for the debacle with Lord Owen Masters. Hard-hearted woman, he was not inclined to sympathize with her.

Protecting Lily was his new purpose in life.

The next day, while Lily and her mother, aunt, and chaperone frittered about with the last wedding bits, and while Pamela went off exploring London’s cultural attractions by herself, Derek lounged around the Althorpe drinking tea and reading the family authoress’s latest handwritten manuscript. A fortnight ago, before the Balfour ladies had left home, Lily had written to her cousin, told her of Derek’s interest, and asked her to bring her best Gothic tale for him to read.

He finished it in three hours with a grin from ear to ear. Having met the writer, having seen the gleam of longing in her eyes when he told her how she ought to have it published, having watched her shake her head sadly, reminding him that this was not permitted, he knew what he must do.

Perhaps he could have a new career as a literary agent, he thought, tickled with his inspiration as he swept up the manuscript into a neat leather folio and, a short while later, marched grandly into the hallowed offices of John Murray, Publisher.

He refused to go away until Mr. Murray himself came out and met him. Though it took all his charm and a passing mention of every lofty family connection he possessed, he finally coaxed the renowned publisher into reading Pamela’s book.

It was much too entertaining to be hidden away in a drawer.

As far as Lily was concerned, the real moment of their marriage in the truest sense had been the night she gave herself to Derek. The Sunday wedding was more for the families’ sake. She aimed for the casual elegance of a morning affair, and being an essentially practical woman, she was used to working hard to achieve elegance even on a slender budget. Reining in Mother’s slightly more pretentious tastes was more of a challenge.

On some points, she could do naught but give in. It was a matter of choosing one’s battles. With that in mind, she had negotiated with her mother, agreeing to hold the ceremony at the ultra-fashionable St. George’s Hanover Square in exchange for Lady Clarissa’s permission to invite their estranged kin to her wedding, the new Viscount Balfour and his wife.

It had been Derek’s idea, thoughtful man. As Lily told her mother, it was the right thing to do.

With the glamorous Knight family heavily involved, the wedding would be covered by the Society pages, and to leave Lord and Lady Balfour out would have been an unforgivable snub. Though the title ought to have gone to Papa, the new Lord and Lady Balfour had never done anything to Lily, or to her mother, for that matter. The bad blood in the family was even older than that. Nobody even remembered anymore what all the fuss was about.

The new Lord Balfour had seemed agreeable enough in their brief meeting, she insisted; he had given a perfectly nice eulogy at Grandfather’s funeral. Her mother finally relented and Lily sent off the invitation. A few days later her kinfolk sent back a positive response.

Before long, the momentous day arrived. Lily went to her wedding surprisingly serene. Let the Society columnists critique her as they may, she was at peace with her choices: pink roses and baby’s breath, a string quintet playing Bach, a simple gown of pale blue silk with a snowy-white veil and gloves. She also wore the sapphire earrings that had been Derek’s engagement present to her.

He had said they would need new traditions to start their new life together, and maybe someday their great-great-granddaughter could wear the jewels to a masked ball and—Lily had finished his sentence—kiss a handsome stranger in a garden folly.

Cousin Pamela, her bridesmaid, looked stunning in dark blue satin. London life agreed with her.

Derek and Gabriel, his groomsman, both wore their indigo cavalry uniforms. The brothers stood up at the front of the church watching Pamela and then Lily walk in.

Since her father was gone, she had borrowed theirs.

Looking very stately indeed in his swallow-tailed morning coat, Lord Arthur escorted her down the aisle and handed her over to his son. He glanced from Derek to Lily, a bit misty-eyed. Then he withdrew and sat down by Mrs. Clearwell, who was already bawling outright.

The ceremony reached its climax in the quiet solemnity of the heartfelt vows they exchanged, standing hand in hand. As Derek placed the plain golden wedding band on her finger, tears rose in Lily’s eyes, and when he reverently lifted the veil away from her face so he could kiss her, she remembered the night at the garden folly and how she had refused to let him raise her mask and see her for who she truly was. Now he knew.

He knew her to her very soul. And he loved her.

Lily knew that she would love him always.

She barely heard the reverend’s words as he pronounced them man and wife. As he leaned down to claim her lips, Derek also looked a little dazed from the intensity of his feelings.

She floated more than walked back outside, and it was here that her guests discovered the one whimsical touch she had been unable to resist. Three cages full of white doves were released when the wedding party came out.

They went fluttering up into the sky, like all their bright new hopes taking flight. Lily had chosen doves, the symbol of peace, now that her warrior had found a home.

From there, it was on to the lavish breakfast reception at Knight House. True, she did not know Derek’s cousins very well, but when a duke and duchess offered to host one’s wedding reception at their glorious Town palace, it was not the sort of favor any sensible person declined. It was more than just a kind gesture, after all; it was a signal to Society that trumpeted the newlyweds’ inclusion in their exalted London clan.