Lily (Flower Trilogy) (38 page)

She topped off her arguments with a sweet smile that the marquess apparently found bemusing, given he seemed to be frozen in place with his fork halfway to his mouth.

But Rand was not similarly charmed. “Lily,” he repeated and paused for a moment, clearly expecting her to interrupt. When she didn’t, he sighed. “I truly want to sell my house so you will have the money for your animal home. ’Tis the least I can do after you so generously offered to save my family.”

Rose clapped. Mum smiled.

The marquess came to life. “Animal home?”

“Lily’s childhood dream,” Mum explained. “She is rather fond of animals—”

“This is not news to me,” the man said with an unaccustomed grin.

“And she had planned, upon coming into her inheritance, to build a home where strays could be sheltered and, if necessary, nursed to health.”

“With a staff,” Lily added. “But truly, my lord, I do not mind investing in Hawkridge instead. ’Twill be my children’s legacy, after all. And I especially do not want Rand to sell his Oxford house. As proud as you are of building Hawkridge, he feels the same of his home. And—”

“Enough.” The marquess waved his fork. “You will talk my ear off, child. Randal shall keep his house, and if his responsibilities at Oxford can be fulfilled in twenty-four weeks a year, they may have him for that time. But I get him the rest,” he warned.

“Of course.”

His jaw set, Rand shook his head. “No. I said—”

“She shall have her animal home,” the marquess interrupted, “at Hawkridge. If nothing else, it will ensure you two stay there on a regular basis. Now, if everyone’s concerns have been addressed to their satisfaction, I need to go home. Margery’s wedding day approaches, and although it clearly will not be the extravaganza Lady Trentingham has in mind for yours, there are details to attend to.”

Half an hour later, Rand found himself dragged out of the house, drafted into helping his father, since as Lily’s mother pointed out, it wasn’t term time at Oxford.

No sooner was he riding away than Chrystabel started a guest list.

“Well, darling,” Joseph said that night, “that was very cleanly done, although I suspect the poor lad might die of longing if there were such a disease. And I don’t expect our daughter was very happy, either.”

“Nonsense,” Chrystabel said as she climbed into bed.

“They can survive two weeks.”

“I feel for the boy. It makes no sense. Before, you were only too happy to push them together—”

“There was good reason then. Lily was all too concerned about Rose, and—”

“Now they’ve already been together—”

“I will not make the mistake again of allowing our children to risk conception before they’re safely married.”

“The date has been set, so this makes no sense, my pretty Chrysanthemum. But not to worry, I love you anyway.” He kissed her soundly; then his lips trailed lower, tasting the skin revealed by her night rail’s low neckline.

“I shudder to think of that boy alone in his bed tonight,”

he added, his breath warm on her breast where he’d pushed the fabric down farther. “And I thank God I’m not in that same place.”

As his mouth closed over her, Chrystabel thanked God, too . . . and not only because her daughter’s happiness was finally secured.

“Soon,” Rand whispered, “it will be
our
turn.”MMM

Lily watched the starry-eyed bride and groom exit Hawkridge’s grand red-and-gold private chapel as though they were walking on air. Tears had welled in her eyes more than once during the romantic ceremony. “I cannot wait,” she whispered back.

The past two days without Rand had felt so empty.

Holding his hand, she walked sedately from the chapel, following the other guests to the Great Hall. Once there, she rushed to hug her new sister-in-law. “The wedding was beautiful! You both look so happy.”

“We are,” Margery and Bennett said together, sharing a joyful smile.

Rand hugged Margery, too, while Lily watched, not at all jealous this time. “Your gown is gorgeous,” she told her.

“Thank you.” Margery’s fingers skimmed the pearls and embroidery that covered her pale green satin overskirt. “’Tis my best.”

Standing nearby, the marquess narrowed his eyes.

“What happened to the gown you ordered in Windsor?”

“Oh.” Color flooded her cheeks. “Well. I—I . . . ’Twas not quite ready, after all. You didn’t give the seamstress much time, Uncle William.”

“Hmmph,” he said and walked away.

Rand waited until the man was out of earshot and then grinned at his foster sister. “You never ordered a wedding gown, did you? I suspected you were with Bennett that night.”

“’Tis the vows that count,” she said evasively. “Not the clothes.”

Her groom laughed and gave her a kiss as other guests pressed close to offer felicitations. Rand turned to Lily, a silvery glint in his eyes. “Come. I have something to show you.” He led her from the Great Hall, grabbing a pewter goblet off a sideboard and handing it to her as they went.

She sipped, then smiled when she tasted what was in it.

“Your father poured the champagne my parents brought.”

“He likes your parents.” His shrug encompassed all the bafflement she knew he felt at his father’s recent behavior. Beatrix appeared and padded at their heels as Rand entered the corridor that led to his room. But instead of turning left, he walked straight ahead into Alban’s bedchamber.

Only it wasn’t Alban’s bedchamber anymore. It wasn’t a bedchamber at all.

She stared. “What happened?”

“You’ll be living here in less than two weeks. I told my father we needed more room. He didn’t argue, so I sent a message to Kit. The next day, a crew of men showed up to begin the remodel. They’ll resume tomorrow, after the wedding.”

The dark paneling had been stripped and was half re-finished in a warm, honey tone that lightened the whole chamber. The door to the secret space stood open, and she could see it had been emptied. The rest of the room was empty, too.

“Even the bed is gone,” she said.

“This will be our sitting room.” The drapes had been removed, and soft summer rain blew against the naked windows. Taking her hand, Rand drew her into Alban’s old sitting room, now dominated by a huge four-poster bed draped in yellow silk. “I had it brought from another chamber. Just until you choose a new one. Something without a history. I thought we could go to London, and—”

“Thank you,” she whispered past a sudden lump in her throat. She knew Rand didn’t care whether he slept in the same room that Alban had, or even in the same bed. He’d done this for
her
. “Where are Alban’s things?”

“I had them sent to a foundling home. Every last item.

I asked Father, and he didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either. I think he wants to forget that Alban ever existed.

He even had the portrait removed from the Long Gallery.”

In an effort to steady herself, she took a sip of champagne. “Did he send that to the foundling home, too?”

“No.” Again, that baffled shrug. “He burned it.”

“Maybe he’ll have one painted of you to replace it.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to assume that.” He gave a strangled laugh. “But I’m not dreading living here half the year quite as much as I thought I would.”

Beatrix followed them back through the sitting room and into Alban’s dressing room, and it was empty, too.

The clothes presses were gone, the walls stripped and waiting to be finished. “Kit is arranging for someone to build cabinets.” Rand took the goblet from Lily’s hand.

“Newfangled ones with drawers.”

She turned to him. “It all sounds wonderful. I love you.”

“And I love you.” A smile lit his eyes as he sipped, regarding her over the rim. Without swallowing, he bent and put his mouth to hers, giving her a sweet, cold, sparkly kiss as he shared the bubbly beverage.

She swallowed and laughed. “Eleven more days and we’ll be together for good.”

“Too long.” He took another sip and gave her another effervescent kiss, the champagne still fizzing in her mouth when he pulled back to skim his knuckles along her cheek. “You’re not going to make me wait that long, are you?”

She remembered, vaguely, that she’d decided they really should wait. But the kiss had made her lightheaded, and her skin tingled wherever he touched, so she couldn’t remember why.

When Beatrix began hiccuping, Lily leaned to pick her up, cradling the cat in her arms. Protection from Rand and her own weakening resolve. She mustered a teasing smile. “Did you bring me in here to show me the renovations or to get me into that big yellow bed?”

“Both,” he answered with a grin. He took another sip and leaned over Beatrix, meeting Lily’s lips once again.

The bubbles tickled her throat as Rand tickled her senses.

The idea of making love now was absurd, but she sighed longingly as she licked the remnants of champagne off her lips. Delicious. Rand’s kisses were delicious.

“Not here, during the wedding.”

“Here. Now.” He didn’t look at all concerned with propriety. “The wedding is over.”

“But not the wedding supper. There are guests in the house,” she reminded him, the protest faint to her own ears.

“We’re in here. The guests are out there. Eleven more days, Lily . . . and all the days before now . . .” His voice was husky and low, filled with the pent-up frustration of desire unfulfilled.

It made heat shimmer through her. What he was proposing was surely wicked, here at a wedding.

Wickedly tempting.

And a weakness in Lily’s knees told her she was all too close to surrendering.

It had been so long. So many days of yearning need . . .

so many nights living with that low-burning heat . . .

lying chastely with him here at Hawkridge and then alone in her bed at Trentingham . . .

She swayed toward him involuntarily, and he laughed and swung her up into his arms.

“Rand!” she squealed, barely holding on to the cat.

“We cannot!”

“Oh, I think we can,” he said, striding into the unfinished bedchamber.

Beatrix leapt to the floor as Rand kicked the door shut and set Lily on her feet. “See?” He threw the bolt. “There are no guests in here.”

She laughed again. He was impossible. And irresistible. His mouth covered hers, and despite her misgivings, her arms wound around his neck. Now-familiar feelings started coursing through her, building a heat centered low in her middle. She pressed herself close, wishing desperately that she and Rand weren’t wearing so many clothes.

A small sound of satisfaction rose from his throat. “I knew I could wear you down.”

“A kiss,” she said with mock indignation. “I’ve only assented to a kiss.”

Beatrix hiccuped louder, rubbing against Lily’s skirts.

“A kiss, hmm?” Rand started easing her toward the bed, working the tabs on her stomacher as he went, and she couldn’t find it in herself to protest. Her legs felt shaky, and when the backs of her knees hit the high, silk-draped mattress, she reclined onto it with a sigh, using her arms locked behind Rand to bring him down with her.

Beatrix suddenly began meowing emphatically.

“Ignore her,” they whispered together.

Meow . . .

Lily melted into Rand’s embrace. His kisses tasted of champagne and desire, and excitement built inside her, coupled with wonder that he would be hers. Not only today, but forever.

Seeing Margery wed Bennett had really driven that home. Her own wedding was next.

Meow, meow . . .

The mere thought made her giddy, made her senses spin with delight. She pressed her lips tighter to Rand’s, tilting her head until they fit perfectly.

Meow, meow, meeeooow . . .

A knock came at the door. “Lily? Rand? Are you in there?”

“Goodness! ’Tis Mum!” Lily bolted upright on the bed, her heart pounding not with arousal now, but with something more akin to panic. She rushed to refasten her stomacher.

Still fully clothed, Rand calmly rose to his feet.

“She was trying to warn us!” Lily whispered.

“Your mother?”

“Beatrix!”

More knocking. “Lily? Are you in there?”

Amusement lit Rand’s eyes. “I’ll get the door.”

“Not yet!” Her fingers fumbled on the stomacher’s tabs.

“Are you in there, dear?”

Rand stepped to the door, and Lily scrambled to join him, doing her best to look composed. He pulled back the bolt, at the same time reaching to tweak her stomacher straight. As the door swung open, revealing her parents, she plastered on a smile.

Chrystabel’s gaze flicked to Lily’s chest before settling on her face. “There you are!” she said brightly.

Too brightly.

“I was just showing Lily the rooms we’ll be using when we live here,” Rand said unconvincingly.

“We’d love to see them, too,” her mother said and walked straight into the bedchamber.

As her parents passed, Lily looked down, mortified to find one of her stomacher tabs unattached. She whirled away, fastening it surreptitiously, her heart seizing when she noticed the rumpled counterpane on the bed.

“This entire home is magnificent.” Chrystabel crossed to a wall and ran a hand down the newly stripped paneling. “The grain is lovely.”

“I thought to paint it white for Lily,” Rand said while Lily inched over to the bed to smooth the yellow silk.

“But Kit suggested a pale stain might look nicer on this wood.”

Chrystabel nodded her approval. “What kind is it?”

Her husband pulled out his pocket watch and flipped open the lid. “Half past three.”

“Cedar,” Rand said, clearly suppressing a laugh. Lily wondered which he found amusing, her father’s misunderstanding or her own red-faced embarrassment.

Probably both.

Joseph snapped the pocket watch shut, nodding vaguely at Rand. “I expect you’ll be staying here the next week or so to supervise finishing this?”

Rand raised his voice. “The house in Oxford needs my attention, too, Lord Trentingham. Perhaps I can bring Lily along—”

“I think not,” Chrystabel interrupted. “Lily will be at home, busy with the wedding plans.”