One Whisper Away (31 page)

“How often have you done so?” While she’d been struck with jealousy when she’d seen Mrs. Blackwood shamelessly throwing herself at him, she was more curious about his past than she was possessive of it now that they were engaged. It was also difficult to be petulant in the aftermath of such heated pleasure, especially when he was smiling, the sun shining on his raven hair, and there was patent amusement in the depths of his dark eyes.

“This is the first time.”

She didn’t quite believe that declaration and it showed.

“Making love,” he clarified softly, the clasp of his hands sure and strong. “No, I was hardly without experience when I met you, but still, the term
virgin
can be applied to not just a woman’s physical innocence. I make
love
to you. It’s different. It is certainly new to me.”

Not quite the declaration she wanted, but close.

The breeze ruffled the river and brushed her face. While a part of her couldn’t believe she’d been so brazen as to embrace an afternoon dalliance, another part knew that this—
this
—was why she’d fallen in love with Jonathan in the first place. A predictable life was all well and good, but maybe she was more well suited for a less traditional marriage.

To the wickedly attractive man of her dreams.

Though they needed to at least pretend to be circumspect. “We should go back.” She artlessly kissed his jaw, relaxed and happy in the moment, her arms twined around his neck, their bodies buoyed by the water.

“We should,” he agreed, his lips warm against her temple. “Addie will be looking for me.”

“And I’m sure Adonis misses you,” she teased. “Addie told me he sat on your lap a good deal of the journey here.”

“That creature is a menace.” He drew his brows into a frown, but didn’t quite succeed in concealing a rueful laugh. “But overzealous mongrels aside, my sisters might also notice our prolonged absence. Not to mention your grandmother.”

“I can’t find the strength to get out of the water.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“Is this love?”

Should she have said it? Probably not. But after all, they were engaged, they were lovers, and the idyllic afternoon was like a scene from a romantic novel. The sun, the water, the pleasure . . .

“I was hoping you’d define it for me.” Jonathan still held her, and his face had taken on a serious cast, his mouth curving as he waded through the river. “I know it’s unique in my experience.”

Which was much more vast than hers. “As in mine.”

“It had better be.” His voice was gruff with displeasure, his jaw instantly displaying a militant tightness. “You’re mine.”

“So you’ve said.” It wasn’t like she was arguing the point, but at least his possessiveness indicated deeper feeling.

He climbed up the bank easily, carrying her as if she were nothing. He did have enough of a sense of humor to laugh then. “That sounded entirely too autocratic. Let me put it this way: I’m not interested in killing anyone this weekend.”

“Much less barbaric.” She managed to keep a straight face only with effort. “Think of how that would irritate my grandmother. Blood on the ducal rugs and all.”

“Not precisely what I meant, but yes, I imagine it would.” He set her on her feet on the grass, his lean body streaming water, and reached for his shirt. “Use this to dry off. I’ll wear my coat over it and no one will know.”

They would know. Not because of his wet shirt, but because she couldn’t believe either of them could help that meaningful glance, the inhaled breath at the merest touch of their hands . . .

And she was naked with the Earl of Augustine, who was soon to be her husband, as the beginning of the sunset sent glimmers of crimson across the horizon. She took the fine linen garment from his hand and bent to draw it up her calf, playful and yet serious. “You are very gallant, my lord.”

“I don’t know if that term applies.” Nude and unself-conscious, his chest glistening, he waited for her to return the garment, tugging on his breeches, his gaze fastened on her swaying breasts “Proper gentlemen don’t lure their fiancées out for an afternoon tryst.”

“For any tryst at all,” she corrected.

“Your hair is undisturbed.” His dark coloring stark in the fading sunlight, he didn’t look in the least repentant, but instead grinned. “I would like some credit for that feat.”

Cecily’s spontaneous mirth helped a bit with her discomfort over being naked in broad daylight, even if it was beginning to ebb. She picked up her discarded chemise. “I’ll try to remember it.”

“Could you ever forget this afternoon?” His voice was low, all levity gone.

She answered quietly and in perfect truth. “Never.”

“A
n earldom is a cachet, after all.”

Lillian looked at her cousin. “Is it?”

James, also sitting on the terrace in the blush of the setting sun, did his best to be nonchalant, but she really wasn’t fooled. “That is hardly new information.”

“No.”

“But it isn’t like that between them.”

“You mean she isn’t marrying him for his fortune or his title.”

They’d been friends since childhood and knew each other well. James was her father’s younger brother’s son; they’d been raised in the same house, shared a common heritage, and though he was a few years older, they had always been close. He shook his head. “A love match if there ever was one. I would not have thought Jonathan susceptible, but then again, she’s quite a lovely girl, not to mention her bloodlines are as blue as the sky above.”

“Whereas his . . .”

“. . . are somewhat mixed, but Lady Cecily does not seem to care, and apparently neither does her father, for he agreed to the match.”

“He must love his daughter enough to realize she has made up her mind. If Jonathan is what she wants, he is what she must have.” Lillian looked the other way, to where the trees held a deepening color as evening approached, remembering her own father, who had loved her without reservation. Loved her enough to understand about Arthur. To not a force a marriage to save his pride and her reputation at the cost of her happiness. She’d cried in his arms after her supposed elopement, and then he’d given her the choice about her future.

Long shadows fell across the grass and insects had begun to chirp. She said very quietly, “I did not expect to like him.”

James didn’t misunderstand the subject of that observation. “Jon is a unique individual, as we all are, I suppose, but I understand. I had a barely veiled prejudice against him as well, I admit, until we came to know each other years ago. I still do not understand his spirituality, but then again, he doesn’t require me to understand it either. If he never becomes a convert of the Church of England, so be it. One of the traits I admire is his ability to separate his self-worth from the opinions or habits of others. He is what he
is
.”

She thought about the polished stone he’d given her, even now tucked into a pocket in her day gown. Though she didn’t normally succumb to superstition, in this case she’d decided it could hardly hurt to carry it around.

Her problems with her brother had nothing to do with religion or politics, or anything else besides how their father had
loved
his mother. An English earl had defied convention and married a woman who was half-French and half-Indian, and maybe Lillian needed to admit she’d been a bit poisoned by her mother’s scathing opinion on the matter. “When he arrived I was prepared to deal with a barbarian.”

James laughed, his good-natured face holding amusement. “Oh, don’t mistake me—your brother can be decidedly lacking in manners if he deems it appropriate to the situation. I remember once . . .”

When he trailed off, Lillian looked at him in open inquiry.

“Never mind,” her cousin equivocated, lounging in his chair, his expression chastened. “That story isn’t for your ears, but regardless, I am glad if the two of you are finding common ground. He is truly concerned for your future, Lily.”

“I know he is.” She could say that with a dry finality, for why otherwise would she find herself under the wing of the formidable Dowager Duchess of Eddington? “So far this afternoon I have been introduced to a number of eligible gentlemen, all of whom are either titled or rich, but none of them holding both virtues, which tells me the duchess is trying to angle for the most amiable suitor for a young lady with a questionable reputation. Will he want my dowry, or just a wife from an aristocratic family, even if her shine is slightly tarnished?”

“Jon is trying to help you.”

“I know.”

She almost—
almost
—found it humorous.

“You
aren’t
tarnished, for God’s sake,” James muttered and reached for his glass of wine, his long legs crossed casually. “Anyone who thinks so is a fool. Whatever happened with Sebring is long past, and quite frankly, men aren’t nearly as snobbish over scandal as women are.”

She disagreed—or at least she partially disagreed. One of the reasons she’d declined a reentry into society was not just that women snubbed her but also that men now looked at her in a different way. Maybe James was correct and the perception was different, but it was still snobbery. The assumption that she was now no longer an innocent made her a target in a game she did not know how to play, no matter what everyone thought.

“You are being diplomatic, but I thank you.” She actually was more relaxed than she had imagined she would be in this setting, with the pomp of a formal dinner ahead of her—and all those attentive but speculative gentlemen.

“There’s no need to thank me. I was telling the perfect truth.”

“Not everyone, man or woman, is as kind as you are, James.” So true. After her father had died, he’d stepped in until Jonathan could arrive, and it had taken months for her brother to receive the news and make arrangements to come to England. Had she not had her cousin . . .

Well, it had been bad enough to suffer through the pain and loss. It would have been much worse without James. They were as close as a brother and sister.

“Lillian, don’t undervalue yourself or others will also.” His voice was very quiet. “I wish life wasn’t like this, but sometimes we are forced to deal with the smallminded constrictions of those around us.”

No one understood that better than she did, but maybe he was correct. “If there is one lesson I’ve learned, please trust that I
know
that one.”

“If anyone dares to insult you, they will answer to me or Jon.”

“Thank you.”

“Then you’ll have an open mind during this event? I know most of the gentlemen here. If there is one that captures your attention, I will tell you everything I know of him.”

“I will try.” She sent her cousin a curious glance. He was undeniably handsome, and while not titled—and since Jonathan was getting married, nor was he likely to remain an heir apparent—he was still a Bourne and while their family name was perhaps not without a blemish or two, it was still well respected. “What of you?”

“What of me in what context?” He looked puzzled.

“Are you looking for a wife?”

She might have suggested he jump off of one of the ramparts of the Tower of London, he looked so horrified. “No. No. Of course not. No.”

“One ‘no’ would do,” she responded mildly, still teasing him. “I just wondered if as you scour the legions of your acquaintances for me, I should start doing the same for you. There are undoubtedly a lot of lovely ladies waiting out there for the perfect man. The duchess has invited some of them here, in fact.”

“I’m hardly scouring.”

“Aren’t you?”

James was James, after all, and he ended up just giving her an amused smile. “No. If you’d like I’ll take an eternal vow to not scour, but I can’t answer for anyone else. The dowager duchess is quite formidable.”

Yes, she was.

Lillian wasn’t sure if she could hold up again under the caustic regard of the beau monde, especially given the unpleasantness of her previous experience. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she confessed, her voice small but the trepidation real, the negligent cross of her ankles beneath her elegant new gown a contrast to her tension. “James, how am I supposed to float back into the most fashionable circles as if nothing ever happened?”

He smiled in an irritating way only a male could achieve. “Apparently with the help of the extremely influential Dowager Duchess of Eddington.”

Lily smiled sweetly back, seeking retribution. “I would not count on walking away from this weekend unscathed yourself. There are a good number of young women present, so we will suffer together.”

He groaned in open masculine dismay, which gave her some measure of satisfaction.

Dinner had been sumptuous, and in the aftermath the group had broken into various groups—charades on the terrace, an impromptu concert in the music room by a young lady who played a series of Scottish tunes with a surprisingly adept touch on the pianoforte; the requisite port for the gentlemen and sherry for the ladies . . .