Persuasion (21 page)

relief came from the knowledge that tonight, she would be with a man who

meant more to her than he should. Who meant more to her than her heart

could probably withstand.

Shuddering slightly, she took a step away from the fireplace and brushed the

tears from her cheeks. Stalking over towards the dressing-table which stood

near the window and was laden with myriad ointments and pots of

maquillage, she bent low and examined her features in the looking glass,

seeking any implication of her misery and any trace of tears.

When Lily noted that she looked relatively untouched, if a trifle pale, she

dropped down on to the seat before her reflection and gathered some of

Janie's beautifying tools. Smoothing some Pear's White Imperial Powder on

to her cheeks, which was used to cover any blemishes upon her complexion,

she dimmed the pinkened cheeks, which spoke of her rude health, and

enhanced the pale hue of her skin. She then gathered some rouge on her

index finger and blended the color under her eyes.

Having used a light hand with both cosmetic aids, the look she had

administered was entirely natural and she looked as though she had indeed

come down with a nasty head cold.

Pleased, she stood once more and stalked over towards the door. Tonight,

her aunt and uncle had intended to accompany her to the theater once

again. She would have to persuade them to go without her and leave her to

rest in bed.

She hoped the use of cosmetics would enhance the idea that she needed to

rest, rather than prod her aunt into believing she required a physician! Being

prodded at by a doctor was the last thing she needed!

And so, Lily fled to her aunt's sitting room to plead her malady and within

the hour, was helped up the stairs by a tutting Aunt Millie and thereafter

tucked into bed with a slight scolding for overtiring herself.

When Lily was once more alone, she forced herself to relax and to sleep. The

rest of her day might be quiet, but the night was to be busy.

Squeezing her eyes closed at the thought, Lily pressed her face into a pillow

and blotted out the rest of the world, ultimately managing to sleep through

the afternoon and the early parts of the evening, before secretly preparing

herself for the task that lay ahead.

****

the flickering flames of the roaring fire. Fatigue rushed through him and he

longed to sleep, longed to allow himself the luxury of resting, but he

couldn't. To remind himself that sleep was an impossibility Dorian pressed

the bony spikes of his elbows into the muscles of his thighs. The slight

nagging discomfort prodded his eyes into remaining open.

Open was a hyperbole of the truth, thin slivers was a more honest

description.

He sucked in a breath and as those thin slivers threatened to become ever

slimmer, he dug his elbows harder into his knees. There was no way on

God's green earth that he could allow himself to sleep, not after the

nightmares that had been his companion this week past.

To actively welcome them by permitting himself to sleep, would be an act of

insanity.

The images that swam around his head . . . that were in the depths of his

brain and memory banks . . . to deal with them, was not a possibility. He

had blanked them out. Blanked out the horrors of the past and had been so

close to forgetting them until a week ago when suddenly the memories had

returned in the form of scream-inducing nightmares.

He felt almost like a child again and wished deeply that his grandmother still

lived. She was the only person he'd ever known who would not judge him

and would allow him to discuss what was happening to him.

But she wasn't alive. She was dead and so, he had to deal with this alone.

And he wasn't dealing with it successfully, as the bloodshot eyes and grayish

skin could attest to. He looked like hell and felt like it, but at this moment in

time, denying sleep was the only answer he had available to him.

Pushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed as the tips grazed against the

skin of his scalp and eased the ache that had lodged itself there. He

continued to strum his fingers against the thin skin that was so close to his

skull and sighed again as sleepy pleasure rushed through him.

His eyes closed, but sleep did not come, for this sensation was too good and

when another set of hands joined his, he let his own fall away and allowed

himself to sink into the gentle massage.

The strange hands traveled over his skull and then down to his neck, where

the pads gently rubbed before they gripped him at the shoulder and began

to massage a little more vigorously. "Who are you, dear lady?” he asked, his

voice husky, as week old strain rushed away from him.

She stilled but he shook his head. “Don't stop. Please.”

He felt her stiffen and then, a whoosh of breath skirted over his hair and the

hands began their rubbing once again.

“Is my name of import?”

It was his turn to stiffen, but he soon relaxed as her fingers continued their

magic. It was almost a relief to understand what had triggered his

nightmares. Until this woman had arrived, until she had silently transported

herself into his study, he had thought her a part of his dreams and then, his

nightmares.

But she was flesh and blood.

He allowed his head to fall forwards and groaned as she continued to rub

him there, easing away any and all tension from his tired and weary body.

“Perhaps. It is of no import for this moment. Why are you here?”

“To give you pleasure.”

He hummed under his breath, for the lady was certainly doing just that! And

she was definitely a lady. Those gentrified and noble tones belonged to a

woman of his class, not of the lower orders, and young too, by the sounds of

it.

He wondered why she was really here, but was too tired to even

contemplate it. His heady relief at realizing that he wasn't insane, that this

woman had been behind the resurgence of dreams that he wanted to forget,

had pushed him deeper into the well of fatigue that came from having slept

only ten hours in the last seven days.

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” the lady replied hesitantly.

At that, he was jerked from his dazed relaxation and frowned. Dorian's hand

shot upwards and he grabbed her wrist and bodily dragged her around his

armchair to face him. He placed adequate pressure on her wrist as she faced

him until she had to fall to her knees or feel pain from his hold.

He stared down at her. His eyes narrowed at further evidence of her youth

and . . . if he were honest, her face. He knew her. Hell and damnation, her

visage had been the last thing on his mind before he'd ultimately tumbled

into the growing hell that was his slumber!

Lady Lily Mercer.

"You fool,” he hissed between gritted teeth and a clamped jaw.

“Fool, my lord? Why?”

He shook his head. “You gave me your virginity, a commodity best served to

your husband, Lady Mercer.”

“Lily,” she inserted quickly before ducking her head.

“Lily,” he growled with another shake of his head. “Why are you here?”

“You would not believe me, were I to divulge the truth, my lord.”

At her shy and quiet reply, he scowled. “You've ruined yourself.”

“Perhaps.”

"You have stirred a hornets' nest in my mind, Lily. Do you know that? I've

not slept, not rested for fear that I was insane,” he whispered with a

grimace.

“Insane, my lord?” the lady, Lily, returned, concern evident in the pleated

frown on her delicate brow.

He reached forwards and smoothed out the lines on her forehead, then half-

turned away from her to point over at the portrait of Camille that he had

hung there as a reminder. “That is . . . was my wife, Lily.”

“I had gathered.”

If his ears did not deceive him, it was loaded with a wealth of hurt. “What

had you gathered?” he asked curiously.

She shrugged and as she did, he could not help but notice her extraordinary

beauty. It shimmered from her in great waves. She was Aphrodite. She was

a Goddess and she was kneeling at his feet. Her hair was curled about her

shoulders and in his mind's eye, he saw those fiery locks swirling about his

manhood. His cock hardened at the thought.

“You whispered her name as you slept.”

“Ah.”

This time, Lily smiled. It was but a mere twitch of the lips, but he

ascertained bitterness therein.

“Unfortunately, one cannot withhold the object of one's nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

He nodded slowly. Unsure of why he was even telling her all of this, of why

he told her the truth he had hidden these many years past. Especially, when

she hadn't even wanted to mention her name to him! "She is the star of the

hellish world of my subconscious,” he murmured, feeling like a Catholic in

the confessional. Dorian reached forward and gathered some of the red-gold

strands of hair and curled them about his fingers.

“Did you love her greatly?” Lily asked quietly, as she placed a hand on his

knee.

“Aye. I did.” His curt reply had her flinching and pulling back. She winced as

he kept hold of her hair in his hands and moved closer to him to dispel the

hurt. “I still love the memory of what might have been.”

“What might have been?” Her voice trembled and he winced, wondering why

she was even interested.

“Yes, had she not been a whore of the highest orders.”

Lily's eyes widened to an almost comedic level. He could not help it. A low

laugh escaped his throat and a wide grin painted his mouth. For the first

time in a long while, he felt humor and it was so unbelievably refreshing that

he sighed with pleasure as his laughter came to an end.

“A-A whore?”

Raising a brow at her disconcertion, he nodded slowly.

Her mouth formed a perfect O and his cock instantly had ideas as to what he

could fill that pretty hole with.

The thought completely overtook his mind and all memories of Camille were

forgotten, as were the nightmares. His entire being was focused on Lily and

perhaps she realized this, for she had sat up a little straighter and her lips

were moist from the repeated lathings of her tongue.

"If you're here for my pleasure, then please me, Lily. I was far too drunk to

truly remember what happened between us last week, so . . . ,” he grunted,

his tone deep and husky.

She nodded hesitantly, but did not make a move.

He cocked a brow again. "Disrobe before me, Lily. I wish to see what I

thought was only a dream.” She stood but looked at him nervously and held

out a hand for his. “Do you no longer wish to pleasure me, Lily? Does the

fact that I know who you are . . . does it cause you fear?”

She bit her lip and he withheld a groan. That was his lip to bite and nibble,

not hers. “I-I, my lord, I did not expect you to remember me.”

He laughed. “Dorian, Lily, my name is Dorian. Seeing as you know me in the

Biblical sense, I think it wise that you use my Christian name. I will admit to

not being able to understand why you are here . . . unless it is pity for a

hermit widower?”

That had her reacting and with a fierceness that surprised him. “Pity?” she

scoffed and he was amazed at the animation of her features. Incredibly, her

beauty doubled and he felt almost scorched by her radiance. “Why should I

pity you, Dorian? You're a handsome bachelor with a reputation, yes. But

you're one of the richest landowners in the country and have a fine business

head to boot. You've been married, yes and have l-lost your wife

prematurely. For that you have my sympathy, but not my pity.”

“Then why are you here? Why have you ruined yourself? Why have you

given me something that only your husband should have received as a gift?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“You wanted to,” he repeated drily. “I know not if you realize, my lady, but

we live in the nineteenth century and it is hardly a permissive society in

which we inhabit. Young ladies can hardly throw away what their future

spouses prize so dearly.”

“Was it important to you?”

“Camille's virginity?” he asked and abstractedly strummed his fingers

against her hand. He nodded slowly. “At the time, it was. But a virgin in

body did not make her a virgin in spirit. I would have preferred the latter to

the former.”

She frowned in confusion.

“But it is not I, we are discussing, Lily. You do realize if your brother were to

discover . . . what had happened between us, he would most likely accost

me and challenge me to a duel?”

She pursed her lips. “Devlin is not here.”

“Perhaps not. Do you expect a proposal, Lily?” he asked quietly, flicking his

eyes from the fiery locks to her greener-than-grass eyes.

Lily shook her head so fast that it was almost a blur.

“I do not wish to be married to a man who does not love me. I'm far too

proud to lead such a miserable life.”

Unable to help it, Dorian laughed. “I find myself believing you. What a

strange moppet you are, Lady Lily.”

“Mayhap.”

“Mayhap, she says.” He sighed.