Lily (18 page)

Her explanation hadn’t settled anything, she saw; he was still glaring at her with smoldering eyes. She had an idea. It had worked with him once—it might again. “It—it’s because of my young man. He would not like it if I—if we—” Blister it! How could she convince him she had a lover if she couldn’t bring herself to say the simplest words? “If I was unfaithful,” she said finally, feeling like a child. She took a step back when he came toward her, because the fire in his eyes frightened her. But his voice was low and controlled.

“Tell me about your young man, Lily. What’s his name?”

For a terrifying second, she couldn’t think of a single man’s name, not one. “John,” she got out belatedly.

“John. Where does he live?”

“In Lyme.”

“Is he your lover?”

“No—yes.”

“No, yes? Are you engaged?”

“No, we—”

“How long since you’ve seen him?”

“Two months.”

“Do you write to him?”

“Yes!”

“How does he make a living?”

“He’s—” She went blank again. “I don’t have to tell you—Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I don’t believe in him,” he all but snarled as he took her by the shoulders with his big hands. “I think you made him up. What I don’t understand is why.”

“He’s a stonemason! He builds cathedrals and houses and—buildings. He’s an apprentice—I mean a journeyman, he became a journeyman a few—”

Out of patience, he gave her a shake. “Why are you lying?” But then, all at once, he understood, and wondered how he could have been so stupid. He’d thought such naïveté had been safely consigned to his past. Gentling his hold, he smiled thinly. “I’m sorry, I should have made it clear from the beginning. I’m not asking you to give me something for nothing; I assure you I’d make it worth your trouble.”

Mistaking his meaning, she blushed and gave a little half-hysterical laugh. “That—that’s—I don’t have any doubt of it!”

“Well, then?”

She turned her face away and didn’t answer.

“What is it you want? Name an amount. How much, Lily? Or is it a place of your own you want? Just tell me.”

Her eyes widened and she stared at him, dumbfounded. “Money? Are you asking me to take money?”

Either she didn’t want money or she was an extraordinarily gifted actress. “No? What, then?”

She was too appalled to be angry. That would come later. “What do I want?” She couldn’t put a name to the things she wanted because they were all secrets—freedom, vindication, respectability. Friendship, affection. And, yes, money. “Nothing! Nothing you could possibly give me. Let go of me, Mr. Darkwell, you’ve made a mistake.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me go!”

“What game is this? I don’t need coyness, Lily. I’ll pay you well, if that’s what it—”

“Damn you—I’m not playing any game.”

“Like hell you’re not. You’re no shy virgin. What is it you want from me?”

“How do you know what I am? You don’t know anything about me!”

“I know because I listen to your lies. You tell me this ‘stonemason’ is your lover. Is it true or not?”

“Yes, it’s true!”

“Then I won’t be your first.”

He jerked her to him and she started to struggle. “Touch me and I’ll be your last!” That only made him laugh. “Don’t kiss me!” She craned her neck sideways to avoid his mouth. “Don’t!” she cried when he pulled her closer and buried his face in the hair behind her ear. “Damn you, I don’t want this!”

Devon shut his eyes tight. For a long moment he just held her, feeling the rapid hammering of her heart and the tremors that shuddered through her. He’d never touched a woman this way before, in anger, demanding what she didn’t want to give. He felt disgust for himself even as he acknowledged that he was not going to let her go. He told himself that no one understood the kind of woman she was better than he. She was toying with him, raising the stakes as high as she dared before granting him what Clay would call the “last favor.” But there was one way in which she was
not
like Maura, and it would be her downfall: she really was hot-blooded. Lily’s desire for him had never been an act.

That was what he intended to use against her. In cold blood, he would seduce her. The callousness of the plan troubled him not at all. Besides, he’d make it good, so good she wouldn’t even be sorry afterward. Then he would be free of her.

He kept his arms around her, but relaxed his urgent grip. “I’m sorry for what I said,” he murmured against her hair. “Forgive me, Lily, I misjudged you. I would never hurt you.”

“Let me go, Devon, you must.”

“Say you forgive me. I was angry, and those words—they were not well said. If I hurt you, I’m sorry.” She stayed rigid, fists tight against his chest. “But I wanted you so much. I still do. I can’t stop thinking about you, Lily, you’ve taken over my mind.”

Her heart was racing. She ought to hate this painless but unbreakable embrace, but she didn’t. “Don’t say these things to me. Nothing’s changed. It’s impossible.”

“Why is it?” One hand began to stroke the slim length of her back, slowly, shoulder to waist and back again. “I would never hurt you,” he told her again, and this time he almost meant it. “You liked it before, when we kissed. Let me kiss you again, just once. Let me, Lily.” He brushed his lips along the dainty line of her jaw, breathing softly, seducing her with gentleness. “Your skin is so sweet.” He knew the moment she started to tremble. Nuzzling her resolutely closed mouth, he coaxed a tiny opening and slipped his tongue between her lips, caressing the velvety undersides. She sighed, shuddered, and turned her face away.

But he could be endlessly patient. “Do you know you taste like flowers?” he whispered as he ran his tongue lightly across her fluttering lashes. “Kiss me, Lily. I’m dying for you.”

She tried to call back her defiance, but it was skulking away like soldiers in retreat, outnumbered by a vastly better-armed enemy. She wasn’t pushing him away anymore, she was clutching at his shirt with both hands, holding him. “This isn’t fair,” she pointed out, ready to weep. She kept her face averted, but every sense was concentrated on what he was doing with his tongue—and now his hands, softly skimming her sides with restless, pent-up need.

“I know. I can’t help it,” he said as he walked her slowly backwards to the rock they’d leaned against earlier. It was almost true, he though; he could probably stop now, but in another minute it wouldn’t be possible. He touched her soft cheek. With gentle, insistent pressure, he turned her head until she had to look at him. The beginnings of surrender had darkened her eyes, from gray-green to jade. That was just as well, he had time to think, because he was through asking. His mouth came down, hot and hard, and captured hers in a fierce kiss devoid of art or gentleness. She swayed and he caught her, held her fast, pulling her arms around his neck and making her embrace him.

“Your wound,” she got out, the words muffled. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

He raised his head long enough to laugh out loud. Immediately he returned to her lips, savaging them with his tongue and his teeth. In seconds, his groping fingers untied the ribbons of her dimity dress and pulled her bodice apart. She whimpered when she felt the warm air on her skin, and then his warmer hands as he eased her breasts out of the constricting folds of her chemise. He stopped kissing her to look at them. “Oh, Lily, how beautiful,” he murmured, tugging her hands away when she tried to cover herself. “Let me kiss you. Here, yes.” He made her turn until her back was against the rock again, and then he leaned over her until she half lay on it, bent backwards at the waist.

“Devon, oh
God—!”

“Shh, love, it’s all right, it’s all right.” He crooned comfort into the warmth of her throat and the hollow between her breasts while his fingers stroked slow rings around her nipples. She sucked in her breath; he felt her clench and unclench a handful of his shirt at the shoulder. “Lovely,” he murmured, touching his tongue to the tip of one tight peak, and she groaned, high and loud, as if he were torturing her.

She ground her teeth and raked her hands through the cool sleekness of his hair, meaning to pull his head away; but somewhere between the intent and the act her will deserted her, defected to the enemy, and instead her traitorous fingers held him close, coaxing, urging him shamelessly. He chanted passion-words she could barely hear, some coarse and some honey-sweet, while his lips tugged and sucked one breast and his rough palm slid urgently over the other. The roaring in her ears was too loud to be the sea, it must be the sound of her own desire, frantic, pleading for release. He took her mouth again, and she felt herself giving up the last of her control. She was floating up to a high, new, frightening place, a whirling wall-less funnel where there was nothing but sensation. In self-defense, she put her hands on either side of his face, filled with a sudden compulsion to see him and understand what manner of man he was. Words were useless, irrelevant. She searched his eyes, hot with wanting, and traced the harsh lines at the corners of his mouth, as if they could reveal to her something true and vital.

But the last thing Devon wanted was to be understood. Holding her intent gaze, he used his knee to part her legs. He felt the panicked clenching of her thighs, watched her eyes widen with dread and excitement, and muffled the start of her ragged, uncertain protest with a ruthless kiss. Groping now, blind with need, he dragged up her skirts to bare a long, sleek thigh. Soft, oh God, she was soft. Her little gasps, quick and desperate and uncontrollable, made him burn for her. A sound, an impossible, unthinkable sound, tried to penetrate the wall of pure feeling that surrounded him like armor, like a second skin, but he would not let it in. Lily’s soft, wet mouth tasted like sugar water. He buried his fingers in the springy web of hair at the top of her thighs and shut out the sound by making her moan.

But the sound came again, and this time Lily stiffened and tore her mouth away. Her frightened eyes searched his, begging him to tell her she hadn’t heard what she knew she had—the sound of feet on the stone steps above them. The next thing she heard was Devon gritting out the foulest swear words she had ever heard.

In one swift, jarring motion, he pulled her upright and stepped back. “Don’t,” he warned hoarsely when she made an instinctive move to turn around, bare-breasted.

“My lord?”

She recognized Trayer Howe’s voice, and a mad thought crossed her mind that the burning outrage in Devon’s eyes might set Trayer on fire where he stood.

But Devon’s eyes were nothing compared to the raw, barely controlled fury in his voice. “
What do you want?
”

“You, uh, you have visitors, my lord. Your mother and Lady Alice Fairfax. They’re waiting for you in the house.”

It seemed to Lily the sound of the sea increased then to a violent roar. She saw Devon’s face darken and tense, the jaw muscles flex and relax in a dangerous, uneven rhythm. “I’ll come,” he said, but she wondered how Trayer could hear him over the deafening thunder of the tide. His eyes traveled upward slowly, and she knew Trayer was hurrying away; but she could hear nothing now except the sound of water.

When Devon reached for her, she stepped nimbly away, turning her head so he couldn’t see her face. He let her go, let her walk down to the tide line, and gave her enough time to fasten her dress. Then he went to her.

“Lily.” He put his hand on her shoulder. She flinched as if he’d stuck her with a pin, and he dropped his arm. To see her, he would have to walk into the surf in his shoes. That was what she was counting on, he knew.

He did it. She was so surprised, she backed up; that gave him a piece of dry land to stand on. He said her name again.

“Don’t make me talk. Please, I can’t talk to you.”

“You know we haven’t finished. Come to me tonight. Meet me here.”

“Please go away. Please.”

He’d never heard this note in her voice, this desperate sound of defeat. “Nothing’s changed,” he insisted. “Meet me later, after—”

“I will not meet you. Ever. Devon, for God’s sake—!”

She was close to tears. He could make it a test, force her, keep at her until she agreed to what he wanted. He was good at that. She was blinking her eyes and swallowing repeatedly, but she wouldn’t look away. And suddenly he couldn’t stand the thought of making her cry. But he had to tell her, “It’s not over, Lily. We’re not through.”

“You’re mistaken.”

He watched her for another minute. A gull screamed overhead; far out to sea, the sun cast horizontal bars of light and shadow on the glittery waves. Then, because it was the kindest thing, he left her alone.

Finally she could cry.

“W
E CAN ONLY STAY
two nights—we’re due in Penzance early on Friday for the Lynches’ house party. After that we’re with the Trelawneys at Mount’s Bay for the whole month of July. I don’t know why you’re looking so surprised, Devon; I wrote you all of this in my last letter.”

“I remember perfectly, Mother, and I’m not in the least surprised.” He kissed Lady Elizabeth’s cool pink cheek, smiling fondly into skeptical eyes the same blue-green as his, then turned to his other guest. “Alice, how good to see you. And how brave of you to agree to such a long sojourn in the country with my mother. But I always knew you had courage.”

“Hah,” was his mother’s answer to that.

“Hello, Devon,” Lady Alice Fairfax greeted him, shaking hands warmly. “How are you? It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. Thank you for your last letter. I had not gotten around to answering it yet because things have been rather hectic this summer—”

“Never mind, I never write to you expecting a reply. I do it to keep in touch.”

“I’ll do better in the future, I promise.”

The ladies resumed their seats in the drawing room, then described a hot but uneventful journey from White Oaks, Lady Elizabeth’s estate near Witheridge in Devonshire. They said no, they wouldn’t take tea, because they’d just stopped for it in Lostwithiel not more than an hour ago and didn’t want to spoil their dinner. “Although that’s a useless precaution if Mrs. Belt is still your cook,” Elizabeth noted acerbically. “She spoils it quite adequately by herself.”