London
July 1803
For every one of her nineteen years, Miss Lily Avonwood had always been a model young lady. But just like a porcelain teacup, even the best-bred English lady has a breaking point, and tonight Lily had just discovered hers.
"What you are offering me, Uncle Herbert, is no real choice at all." She was too upset to sit, preferring instead to stand before her uncle in the center of his library. "I would rather die a spinster than marry any of the gentlemen you have paraded before me."
"Don't be stubborn, Lily." Her uncle drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. "Spinsterhood is not possible, no matter how you pretend to prefer it. You require a husband to look after you."
Lily forced herself to unclench her fists, striving to sound reasonable. "I'm not a child, Uncle. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."
"Yourself, perhaps, but not your estate." Her uncle's white brows bristled together, an ominous sign. "Any of the gentlemen I have introduced to you here in London would give you the guidance your inheritance requires."
"That doesn't mean I must marry one of them!"
"Don't test me, Lily. Your poor late father was my brother, my partner and my dearest friend, and I intend to respect his wishes regarding your future."
"But Father married Mama for love!" Lily cried forlornly. "Why can't I do the same?"
"I will not quarrel, niece." The tall clock chimed the hour, and Uncle Herbert rose. "Since you have proven yourself incapable of choosing a suitable husband, I have done so for you. Mr. Simon will be joining us shortly for dinner. Please compose an agreeable acceptance to his proposal before he arrives."
"You have chosen Mr. Simon?" Mr. Simon was a well-respected bank director in the City, but he was also nearly double Lily's age and not quite her height, with wispy graying hair and a propensity for sucking horehound drops to hide — unsuccessfully — the foul breath that came from his decaying teeth. "Mr. Simon? Oh, no, no!"
She turned and fled, the heels of her slippers clicking over the marble floor, so fast she nearly collided with the butler.
"Excuse me, miss." He bowed gravely. "Mr. Simon is waiting for you in the front room, as Mr. Avonwood requested."
"No!" Lily's dismay mushroomed into alarm. "No, no, no!"
She felt trapped, cornered and dangerously close to being paired for life to a man who would love her fortune and nothing else. Surely her father would have wanted more for her than Mr. Simon and his horehound drops!
But she could not let it happen, and with a determined little gulp, she dodged around the butler, unlocked the brass bolt on the front door and rushed down the steps of the house and into the quiet street. She grabbed her gauzy muslin skirts in one hand to keep from tripping and began to run. Her hair came unpinned, flopping down her back, and she swallowed great, heady gulps of the warm evening air.
She heard the butler call her name, following her, and she tried to make her tired legs run faster. In desperation, she saw a darkened carriage parked at the curb ahead of her. She could hide inside, just until the butler passed, and before the occupants returned.
Swiftly she unfastened the latch and clambered inside, sinking into the soft leather cushions. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief.
"So tell me, my dear." The man's voice was rich and deep, gently teasing. "Was it a wolf chasing you through Mayfair, or a tiger with gnashing teeth?"
Lily's eyes flew open. How had she overlooked the gentleman sitting in the shadows across from her?
"Forgive me, sir," she stammered, her cheeks hot as she fumbled for the door. "I'll — I'll not trouble you further."
"Don't go," he said softly. "Please. You needed a sanctuary, and now you have it."
He leaned forward into a beam of moonlight, and she gasped. He was young, not much older than herself, with bright blue eyes and dark waving hair and a grin so full of wry charm that women must fall at his feet. At least she felt that way.
"Thank you." Belatedly she noticed the aristocratic arms painted inside the carriage's door. "I am sorry, my lord —"
"You've done nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. Not yet." His grin winked with amusement. "And no titles between us. You must call me Rob, and I shall call you — well, whatever you wish."
"My name is Lily." She smiled tentatively. She'd never behaved so freely with a gentleman, but then, she'd never met one who'd made her want to, either. "But my lord —"
"Hush now. None of that." He reached out and ran his fingertip lightly across her lips to silence her. "I told you, the Duke of Strachen has no place in this magical moonlight, especially not with a spun-silver fairy-queen named Lily."
She pressed her lips tightly together, wishing he'd touch them again. Since when had her pale hair become spun silver, especially to a duke? But maybe that was the magic that came with the moonlight, and maybe it was the moonlight that was making her feel so…so wanton.
Rob knew it, too. She could tell by the lazy way he was watching her. "Now tell me the name of this tiger or wolf, fair Lily, so I might slay the wicked beast."
She sighed, wishing her future could be so easily salvaged. "He is not a beast. He is a dull, dry, old banker with breath that smells like the river at low tide, and my uncle — my guardian — has ordered me to marry him."
"Wickedness incarnate," he declared. "Refuse the fellow."
"Then my uncle will only produce another in his place." She shook her head. "Uncle Herbert has brought me to London to find a husband, and he won't stop until he's found me one."
Rob frowned, considering. "Why haven't I seen you at any of the usual husband-hunting haunts?"
"Because a usual husband will not do." It was an odd relief to confess this aloud, especially to a duke who would himself be too grand to be impressed by her inheritance. "When my poor father died last summer, I became the owner of three textile factories and two shipping concerns, and a shareholder in goodness knows how much else."
He whistled low with appreciation. "You should be the prize catch of the Season."
"Which is why my uncle will only entertain the driest City suitors, and love counts for nothing. He refuses to let some titled wastrel burn through poor Father's labors. Not meaning you, of course."
"Oh, not at all." He trailed his thumb along her bare arm, lingering over the inside of her elbow, as his voice dropped seductively lower. "So tell me, sweet Lily. Which is it you truly desire? Love? Or a husband?"
"Both." She shivered at his touch, but didn't pull away. "I wish to love my husband."
"Now, now, don't be greedy." He chuckled and leaned closer, so close she felt the heat of his words upon her cheek. "You see, I can grant you only one wish tonight. You must choose, fairy-queen. A husband or love."
To anyone who'd listen, Robert Dell swore he was a changed man. He claimed he'd finally learned all the lessons in life he'd needed to learn, that he'd forever given up women and gambling and living by his charm and wits, and that his feet now were firmly planted on the path of honesty, sobriety and respectable, gainful prosperity. Miraculously he'd been granted this one last chance, and he wasn't going to toss it away.
But that was before this breathless young lady had hurled herself into his carriage, her blue eyes wide and her round face full of indignant distress. Within five minutes, she'd confessed to him everything that was wrong with her life. In five minutes more, he was offering solutions to her woes that a gentleman in his position had absolutely no business offering to any lady.
Yet how in blazes was he supposed to reform when the temptation came wrapped up in so pretty a package, a great heiress with a halo of pale silver curls and a bosom made for a man's worshipful caress?
"One wish, one choice," he said, so close that in the moonlight he could see the dusting of golden freckles over the bridge of her nose. "You must decide, my fairy-queen. A husband or love."
Lily sighed softly, but did not push him away. "And I say I cannot make such a choice, because it's no choice at all. I am greedy. I want to marry a man I love, and love the man I marry."
"But not the gentleman your dear uncle has selected for you." Perhaps the girl was some sort of test sent by his noble brother-in-law, but at once Rob dismissed the idea. Not even the Duke of Strachen, with all his money and resources, could find a doxy with this girl's genuine, intelligent innocence. "Mr. Simon, wasn't it?"
"No. No." She didn't pause, not even for a second. "Even if we were to wed, I do not believe Mr. Simon possesses the ability to love, and be loved. Not everyone does, you know."
"Of course not." Idly he touched one of those spun-silver curls, watching how the hair corkscrewed around his finger. "So you would be the little girl who would have her cake, yet eat it, too?"
She cocked one brow, more impish than quizzical, as she slowly pulled her hair free of his finger. "I would, I think, prefer something more lasting than cake."
"But cake," he said, his voice an amused whisper, "can be shared."
"So can marriage, and so can love." Her smile showed she'd thought she'd won, and Rob decided he'd let her think she had. "Which brings us back to your same riddle, doesn't it?"
"A riddle which you still haven't answered." He knocked on the roof, signaling the driver to go on, and the carriage lurched slowly to life with a jingle of the horses' harnesses.
And so, unfortunately, did her conscience.
"What are you doing?" Abruptly she sat upright, peering through the window. "You must stop immediately and put me out. I cannot go with you."
"Then tell me where you wish to go, and I shall take you there." He took her hand in his, keeping his touch light, just enough to keep her from escaping. "I'll be infinitely obliging, and you have my word that nothing will happen against your will."
She swept her hair back behind her ear, clearly considering whether to trust him or not. "Your word of honor as a gentleman?"
He nodded, and he meant it. No matter what else he'd done, he'd never broken his word, one of the tenuous ways he could claim to be a gentleman. "Your uncle's house then?"
She smiled with sudden defiance. "Uncle Herbert would have my head if he knew I'd been alone in a carriage with a strange gentleman."
"There's no need for him to know." If he had any sense, he'd take her back to her uncle now, and never look back. His fortune-hunting days were done. Besides, there were too many entanglements here, especially when he was set to sail to America in less than a fortnight. But when, really, had he ever displayed a lick of sense where women were concerned?
"I've no intention of informing him." She sank back against the leather cushions beside him. "You complain that I haven't answered your question. Perhaps you should be trying a bit harder to persuade me."
He grinned rakishly, knowing exactly how to persuade ladies. He slipped his arm behind her head and leaned closer. "I told you, Lily-my-Lily, that I can be most obliging, particularly if there's cake to be shared."
"Oh, yes, the cake." She laughed, a delicious, warm chuckle. "Oblige me then. Tell me something of yourself. Something I should know to help me decide, something to make you less of a stranger, and more someone I could love."
He frowned, taken aback by such a request. Here he thought he'd been granted permission to kiss her, and instead she was conducting some wretched interview.
He folded his arms over his chest. "I am twenty-five years old. My hair is black, my eyes are blue, and I stand just under six feet without my boots. Is that enough?"
"Enough for love? I think not." Disappointment flooded her face in the moonlight. She reached for the latch on the door and, as quickly as she'd tumbled into his carriage, she now disappeared from it, hopping down as the driver stopped at a cross-street.
By the time Rob had clambered from the carriage after her, she was already a few paces ahead, her stride long and purposeful.
"Lily, come back!" He caught her by the arm, and she turned, her eyes flashing and her chin high. "You can't go leaping from carriages like that. It isn't wise."
"Nor, it would seem, is leaping into them. Good night, my lord." Briskly she left him standing alone on the pavement, empty-handed and foolish.
And damnation, for whatever reason — pride or desire or loneliness or something else he couldn't name — he didn't want her to go, not like this.
"Wait, Lily," he called. "Please."
To his surprise, that made her stop, and she turned back on her heel, neat as a dancer. "Love or a husband is a pretty choice, but I won't make either with a man who'll tell me nothing of himself. As dreadful as Mr. Simon may be, at least I know he likes asparagus and horehound drops, that his boyhood dog was named Skippy and that raw eggs give him hives. But you, my lord, you are nothing but a handsome, secretive cipher."
"I am not," he said automatically. "Test me. Ask me anything, and I promise I shall answer."
"Anything?" Intrigued, she stepped closer, the fine white muslin of her gown drifting gently about her legs. "Anything at all?"
He nodded, even as an uneasy dread churned inside him. How the devil had this happened? His past was rotten, with secrets he'd rather not share with her. Until these past few weeks, when he'd sworn to reform, his entire life had been built upon deceptions and charming dissembling.
Playfully she linked her fingers with his. Her smile was impish, daring, almost a grin, and with an odd jolt he realized again how much he wanted her to stay — not for her money, but for herself.
"Very well, my lord," she began. "My Rob. I will choose love with you tonight instead of marriage to Mr. Simon for eternity."
He smiled with relief, and raised her hand to his lips. "Ah, sweetheart, you will not regret it."
"But perhaps you shall." She grinned at him over their linked hands. "You said you'd volunteer anything to help with my choice, and anything it shall be. Tell me the one thing about yourself, past or present, that you'd least like me to find out on my own."
No gentleman would like having to answer such a question about himself. Lily knew better, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized the dangers of them, too. If Rob said something amusing and unsubstantial to please her, why, then, he was proving he couldn't be trusted to be honest.
But if instead he did tell her the truth, then she could learn something far worse about him, something she'd really rather not know. Even sheltered young ladies raised far from London had heard whispers of the wickedness and sin that titled gentlemen explored for entertainment. What if her handsome, charming Rob told her of that? What would that do to her night of love?
Uneasily she searched his face, looking for clues. He'd fallen silent, his expression almost pensive. "You're quiet, Rob. Have you so very many secrets to consider?"
She sensed the effort it took for him to brighten his expression, and she wasn't sure why.
"Oh, I've vastly more secrets than I can count." He smiled. "But while I run my tallies, why don't we go someplace more agreeable?"
She tipped her head. "More agreeable than this?"
"More comfortable, then." He drew her closer. "You wished for love along with secrets. Surely you'd prefer both somewhere other than this pavement."
She looked down at their clasped hands. "Your home is nearby?"
"It's where I stay when I'm in town," he said, gently drawing little circles along the inside of her wrist with his thumb. He was very good at that, these small, unexpected caresses that gave her chills of pleasure. "Not far from here, on Grosvenor Square, and a far better place it is for sharing secrets. Would you join me?"
She swallowed hard, considering what exactly she'd be accepting. She'd already behaved with shocking freedom by riding in Rob's carriage with him, but this next step — going to his house — could have far more serious consequences.
And yet wasn't that what she wanted? A night of love to cherish forever, no matter what other turns her life might take? The memory of Mr. Simon's smug dyspeptic face and clammy hands rose up before her, in unenviable contrast to the warm invitation in Rob's gaze.
"You're unsure," he said softly. "I understand that. God knows I'm unsure, too."
"You?" she asked incredulously. How could a great lord like him be unsure of anything? "But you —"
"This is different, Lily." He shrugged, almost sheepish, then eased his hand up her arm and along her shoulder, tangling his fingers in the curls at the nape of her neck. "I felt it from the instant you tumbled into my carriage. You are different. I can't explain it any better than that."
"You don't have to." No gentleman had ever said such romantic words to her in the moonlight. "Not even for — for the cake."
"The cake," he murmured, lowering his face closer to hers. "How could I forget that?"
He kissed her then, and though she'd expected it, he still managed to surprise her. His lips were soft but firm, wooing her, coaxing her own lips to part. She wasn't prepared for the demanding heat of his tongue, or how she instinctively answered, her mouth widening hungrily as he deepened the kiss. Her heart raced and her head felt as light as the moon in the sky, and when he finally broke away, she was breathless with wanting more.
"Your house, Rob," she whispered. She dared to reach up and touch her fingertips to his lips, marveling at the new sensations of that first kiss. "And now, if you please."
He smiled, his mouth shifting beneath her fingers before he kissed them. "I do please, because you please me, Lily-my-Lily. And I promise to return that pleasure for you a hundred times over before the night is done."
He kissed her again in the carriage, kissing her just enough to muss her gown and dishevel her hair and make her simmer and purr and wish the ride were longer.
Especially when she stepped from the carriage and gazed up at the house before her. She'd been raised in most comfortable circumstances, but her father had not believed in display, and her parents' home would have seemed humble indeed beside this: half a block on Grosvenor Square, four elegant stories of pale stone with row upon row of tall windows. Kissing was all well and good, she thought uneasily, but here was the tangible difference between their stations in life — her new money versus his ancient title.
"Second thoughts, Lily?" Rob led her past the bowing footman and into the front hall, under the diamond-bright lights of the chandelier overhead. "If you've changed your mind, I'll take you back, even though it will nigh kill me to do it."
"No second thoughts." She smiled, forcing herself to relax. She'd wanted one night of love, not a husband. The differences between their backgrounds shouldn't matter. "I'll not leave before I've had my share of the cake."
He laughed fondly. "Clever lass. Come, this way. There's always a fire in the grate in here, and I don't want you to be cold."
Lily followed him into the drawing room. She'd never be cold in his company. Watching him bend over to jab the poker at the coals, seeing how his coat pulled across his broad shoulders and how the taut fabric of his close-fitting trousers showed, oh, far more than she'd any right to notice, she felt so warm she was nearly feverish, her palms damp and her breaths rushed.
"Here, my Lily, come warm your toes." He bowed gallantly, and she perched on the edge of the silk-covered settee before the fire. With a sigh, he dropped down beside her, stretching his own long legs comfortably before him, with his arm around her shoulders. He smiled down at her, the flames in the grate reflected in his eyes as he traced his thumb along her jaw, neatly turning her lips up toward his. "Ah, sweetheart, you cannot know how glad I am that you made this choice."
"My choice," she repeated in a husky whisper, not thinking at all as his mouth found hers. He pulled her close against his chest as they kissed, sprawling her body over his in a most delicious fashion. She was so enthralled with the play of his muscles beneath her, his thighs and his chest and his arms, that she scarcely noticed how he'd begun unfastening the long row of little buttons down the back of her gown, and how his fingers were now caressing the bare, heated skin of her back.
Her choice…and with a little gasp she broke free from his kiss and pushed herself up from his chest, not far, not far, but enough to slow down their passion.
"You haven't kept your word, Rob," she said, her voice a throaty whisper and her tangled hair falling around her face. "You haven't told me your secret."
He groaned. "Cannot it wait until later?"
She shook her head, smoothing her hair behind her ear as she feathered a kiss over his lips. "Tell me."
"Because I promised, my Lily, I will tell you the truth." He sighed again, threading his fingers through her hair, his regret so palpable that Lily nearly relented. "And because you are different, I'm praying that afterward you'll keep your word, and not leave."
"I will," she whispered, "and I won't."
He smiled wryly, his hand stroking back and forth along her back. "My name is Robert Dell. I'm not a duke or a lord or even remotely a gentleman. My brother-in-law is the Duke of Claremont, but I — I'm no more than the illegitimate son of a third-rate Irish actor."
Stunned, Lily went very still. She had worried over the difference in their stations, but not quite like this. "You are?"
"I am." He waited, unsure of her response. "Have I changed your choice?"
"No," she whispered fiercely and she meant it. "No. For this night, it doesn't matter who we are. All that matters is love."
"Love." He pulled her down, their faces nearly touching. "Then tell me where you wish your cake, lass. Here? Or upstairs to bed?"
"Here?" Lily echoed his question, and by the glow of the fire Rob could see her blush. "In this drawing room? I know you will judge me most foolish, but I always thought that — that —"
"That such matters only took place behind the locked door of a bedchamber at midnight, with the candle dowsed and the curtains pulled tight?" He smiled, charmed by her innocence. "I'll never judge you foolish, pet, but I assure you that when two lovers are so inclined, any place and space will suffice, and any posture that strikes their fancy."
"Oh." Her blush deepened as her imagination considered the possibilities. "Oh."
"Oh, indeed." He chuckled, tracing his fingers over the curve of her shoulder, easing the small muslin sleeve farther down her arm. He loved touching her skin, as velvety and inviting as a summer peach. "But I think we'll be traditional, and begin with the bed."
She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him lightly. "And here I'd thought we'd begun already."
"We began the moment you opened my carriage door."
"And I've no intention of stopping now." She slid away from him and stood, giving her head a nervous little shake as she tugged her gown back over her shoulders without bothering to rebutton it. "Shall we go ahead then?"
He rose and reached for her hand. He couldn't let himself forget how inexperienced she was, yet he still was sorry this moment before the fire was done.
"We've all night, Lily," he said gently. "I promise the journey will be as pleasurable as the destination."
She took a deep breath and nodded, and when he came to slip his arm around her waist, she rested her head against his shoulder. "Then show me, Rob, because I don't know for myself. Please. Show me."
With his arm still around her waist, he guided her up the curving staircase, their figures casting long shadows across the walls. She fit neatly against him, graceful as a sylph, and he marveled again at how a woman as rare as this one had tumbled into his life.
She paused at the top of the staircase, holding together the back of her gown as she peeked over the railing, back down to the hall below.
"You needn't worry about the servants seeing too much, lass," he said, reading her anxieties. "They're very discreet."
"Was I so very obvious?" Her laugh had a nervous little ripple to it. "But of course you are right. His Grace's staff would be discreet."
"Absolutely." To prove it, he turned her into the crook of his arm, gently bending her backward as he kissed first her mouth, then her chin and, finally, the lovely curve of her throat.
Her breath was coming in fast little gulps by the time he let her up. Her eyes were dark and luminous with growing desire. She'd lost the last of her hairpins, and her silvery-blond curls clung damply to her forehead before falling loose over her shoulders, the very picture of a wanton. She was learning fast, his Lily, and her eager excitement was contagious. His own blood was hot from waiting, his body hard and ready, and he thought of taking her now, here, at the top of the stairs, to prove to her exactly how blind servants could be.
And what in blazes would that accomplish? He swore softly, appalled he'd even imagine such an act where Lily was concerned. She'd trusted him when she'd chosen to come to this house, trusted him with the priceless gift of her innocence. In return he'd promised a night of lovemaking she could remember the rest of her life, and for once, for her, he meant to keep his word.
Unaware of his thoughts, she shyly reached up and ran her fingers along his cheek.
"Where is your bedchamber, Rob?" she whispered, clearly pleased with her own daring. "Isn't that part of the journey, too?"
"It's a stop on the post road, yes." He smiled, and linked his hand into hers to lead her down the long, candlelit hall. Slow, slower: he must take his own advice. "Especially for weary travelers who wish their cake."
"Cake," she repeated with satisfaction. Her fingers curled intimately into his, her palm moist with excitement. "I'm glad of that, you know, because I find I'm vastly hungry."
He held the door open for her, and she glided ahead, then stopped and gasped with delight. He couldn't blame her, for the large corner bedchamber was as grand as any in a palace, with Italian paintings on the walls and crimson silk-velvet upholstery on the furniture. The room's centerpiece was a bed large enough to be a small chamber itself, hung with curtains of the same silk-velvet and piled high with feather-stuffed pillows. The coverlet had been turned back for the night by the same discreet servants who'd made sure there was a fire in this grate, too, and who had also plumped the pillows and smoothed the sheets.
Lily gazed about with unabashed awe. "I have never been in a room such as this, Rob. Your humble post-stop is rich enough for a pasha."
"Recall that it's my brother-in-law's house." He'd spent most of his life happily pretending to be what he wasn't, but now that he'd confessed the truth to Lily, it had become oddly important to him that she accept him as Rob Dell, no more nor less. "I'm only here on account of my sister Jen."
She turned just enough to smile at him over her shoulder. "When first we came here, I was afraid you'd think me too far below your station."
"You, Lily?" His surprise was genuine as he came to stand behind her. "How could you ever be below me?"
She shrugged away his question. "My grandfather was a weaver who fashioned a new, faster loom driven by the river, and made his fortune from it. He worked with his hands, which is to say he was no gentleman at all. It's not that I'm shamed by that — I've always been proud of him, and who I am — but any true gentleman would look at me and see that common, homely taint of my grandfather's loom."
"You'll never be common to me, Lily." This time it wasn't idle gallantry; with her, he meant every word. With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her so she faced the large, gilt-framed looking-glass that hung over the fireplace. "Look at yourself, sweetheart. You're more rare than any gem, more beautiful than any rose."
She smiled wistfully at her reflection. "Only in your eyes, Rob."
"And isn't that what matters tonight?" He hooked his thumbs inside the sleeves of her gown and eased them slowly from her shoulders, following the glide of white muslin with a sensuous glide of his hands across her skin.
She leaned her head back against his chest. Her gaze was locked with their image in the looking-glass. He looked, too. How could he not? Her pale hair and skin seemed to glow against the black of his evening clothes, the contrast as starkly seductive as her unfastened gown. With infinite care, he slipped the sleeves lower down her arms, until the gauzy fabric caught on the top of her chemise. He shifted his hands forward and freed her breasts, cradling and teasing the soft flesh in his palms until she moaned and arched against him. The sound was breathy and warm with longing, and he could feel the shudder of unfamiliar sensation thrum through her body at his touch.
"Look at yourself, Lily-my-Lily," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. "Look, and tell me you're not beautiful."
"Because of you, Rob," she whispered, and twisted around to face him. She looped her arms around his shoulders, drawing his mouth down to hers. "It's all because of you."
Driven by their urgency, Rob gathered her up in his arms and swept her across the room to the center of the oversize bed. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her tangled hair fanned around her face, her mouth red from his kisses, her breasts ripe from his caresses: no wonder he'd never wanted a woman more. She reached up to welcome him, and he lowered himself over her, feeling the feather bed give gently beneath them. He leaned down to kiss her, but to his surprise she held her hand up to stop him.
"Wait, Rob, please, please," she begged in a rush. "There's one thing I must say first…."
Rob raised himself up over Lily, his face still so close she could see little else. His breathing was harsh, his jaw taut from holding back.
"I swore I would stop if you asked me, Lily, and with you I will be a man of my word," he said raggedly. "But so help me, if this is no more than a whim, then —"
"No whim," she whispered fiercely, "nor have I changed my mind! But when I came here with you, Rob, all I had hoped and dreamed for was — was this."
"This." Despite his word, he was still teasing the hem of her gown higher, the fabric gliding along her thighs. "So why in blazes must we stop, sweetheart?"
"Because no one else has ever treated me the way you have, Rob." She ran her hands restlessly down the muscular length of his back, as unable as he to stop completely. "No one else has given me so much."
He made an impatient little grunt, then leaned forward to brush his lips across her forehead and down her cheek to her chin. "I would give you far more if you'd but let me."
"I will, Rob." She shivered at the prospect, and closed her eyes so she could concentrate on what she was saying. A mistake. With sight denied, her other senses intensified, and she became achingly aware of his musky-male scent, the taste of his skin, the weight of his body upon hers. "But when — when I made my choice for love, and what I meant then was — was only cake, and now — now — oh, Rob, I do believe I'm falling in love with you, too."
He sighed softly, and kissed her forehead, there above her brows. "My dear, darling Lily. You didn't have to say that, sweetheart."
She opened her eyes, desperate to make him understand. "But it is true, Rob.
I swear it!"
"And I say it can't be." His smile seemed oddly melancholy, as if he didn't quite believe his own words. "You scarce know me at all, lass, not nearly enough to love me."
"Then tell me more so I do know." Her voice was husky with longing, and she circled her arms around the back of his neck, drawing him down. "Teach me, Rob. Show me what you like best."
He did with a kiss full of passion, yet when he finally broke away the last shadow of his doubt still hovered between them. "You wouldn't stay a moment if you did know more of me, Lily, not if —"
"Hush," she ordered, too on edge for more talking. With her gown a tangle around her waist, she shifted beneath him, just so she could feel that intriguing male hardness pressing intimately against her, and with great daring she reached down to the waistband of his trousers and slid her fingers inside. "I know enough. Now show me the rest, darling Rob. Let me know exactly how you like…your…ahh!…cake."
He answered her not with words, but with another kiss, so dark and possessive she felt as if her very bones would melt from the pleasure of it. How could he kiss her like this and say there was nothing between them? How could he and claim there was no place for love?
His hand traveled from her bare hip to her thigh, gently easing her legs farther apart to touch her in a place she hadn't realized existed. She gasped and shuddered with surprise as his touch grew more insistent, stroking her, teasing her in the most extraordinary way. She'd never felt anything like this before, and instinctively she arched against him, seeking more of the delicious tension he was building within her.
But abruptly he left, and the pleasure went with him. "No!" she wailed with disappointment and frustration. "Oh, please, Rob, no!"
"I've not gone far, sweetheart." He was standing beside the bed, breathing hard as he jerked his arms from the sleeves of his shirt and then tore at the buttons on the fall of his trousers. "And I'm not about to let you finish this particular journey without me."
Ordinarily she would have laughed, but now all she could do was gaze at him there in the candlelight. He was a gorgeous man, a glorious man, and the sight of him — all of him — was enough to make her blood race with fascination and fresh anticipation. Swiftly she pulled away her own rumpled gown and chemise before he rejoined her, the bed's rope springs creaking beneath his weight.
"Now, lass, about that cake," he whispered, leaning into her as together they sank back into the feather-stuffed pillows. "You still have an interest in such a treat?"
"Yes, Rob, if you please," she said, her voice a husky purr as she linked her arms around his shoulders. "I mean to have every last morsel."
"Pray, what morsel?" He settled himself upon her, kissing the tip of her nose as he gathered her into his arms. "When we are done, sweetheart, there won't be a single crumb left between us."
She closed her eyes and kissed him, eager to follow wherever he led. It was different this way, with nothing but feverishly hot skin between them, and the more she moved, the warmer she felt herself grow. He caressed her again, readying her, then with a sudden thrust, he was there.
She didn't scream or weep, the way she'd read that virgins were supposed to do, because it didn't hurt. But she did feel not quite…comfortable, and having him there had made all that splendid rising joy come to an unexpected halt.
"I'm sorry, Lily." His voice was strained as he paused for her sake. "But it will be better soon, I promise."
She nodded, not trusting her voice. She shifted her position, and felt the first tremor of pleasure return. She rocked her hips, experimenting. He groaned, and she gasped, and she moved again, and so did he. This was better, just as he'd promised, much better, and when he eased her legs higher around his waist, it was better still. With this rhythm together, the joy built all over again, coiling harder, faster, more intensely inside her, and when she thought she'd never be able to survive, she felt herself explode in a rush that was unlike anything else she'd ever experienced.
"Lily-my-Lily," whispered Rob afterward, smoothing the damp curls away from her forehead. "What a rare flower you are! So many women have slipped through my life, and not one so perfect for me as you. How can I ever let you go?"
She was still catching her breath, oddly caught between laughing and crying.
"You don't have to. Not until morning."
"To hell with morning." Gently he rolled onto his back, taking her with him with his arm around her waist and pulled the coverlet over them both. "Would you sail with me to America next week?"
"America?" Now she did laugh, a laugh with a broken little sob tacked to the end of it. "A wild place full of forests and savages?"
"It's my hope and salvation, pet, and I've heard these days it's quite civilized." His expression was uncharacteristically solemn. "My brother-in-law has made me his agent for his holdings in the Virginian territories. I will have more responsibility than I've ever been granted and the chance to build a respectable life of my own. My last chance, Lily, and far more than a rogue like me deserves."
She propped herself up on his chest. "You're not a rogue, Rob Dell."
"But I am, lass." His smile was bittersweet, as if he already expected her to refuse. "You've risked a great deal to come this far with me, Lily. Will you hazard the rest and come share my future and my love…and as much cake as you could ever want?"
"Oh, Rob." Her heart was racing, her head spinning, at all he was offering to her. "You said we did not know one another well enough to love."
"You were right, and I — I was wrong. Clearly fate itself plucked you from that bank director's grasp and dropped you into my carriage to be my match, and who am I to quarrel with fate? I love you, Lily Avonwood. I love you."
"I love you, too, Rob," she whispered, her smile crooked with emotion. She thought of what she would leave behind: a loveless marriage to Mr. Simon or another like him, Society that wouldn't admit her and an uncle who couldn't wait to be done with her. Then she imagined the endless adventure that life with Rob would be. She would sail across the world with a man she scarcely knew, but already loved. A risk, yes, but perhaps this was her last chance, too, her last chance for happiness and love.
And, of course, for cake.
He traced her smile with his fingertip. "Tell me, Lily-my-love, tell me — ah, now who would come thumping at the door at this hour?"
Lily twisted around to stare at the door, as if she could see through it to whoever stood on the other side. "Let them knock, Rob. We've no need to answer."
"It's likely only the footman with the supper I'd ordered earlier." Gently he pulled her back down, so her face was just over his. "But we'll make him wait for his insolence, won't we?"
The knock came again, more insistent, almost a pounding. Lily laughed softly, a conspirator's chuckle. "Then we must pretend we're not at home and let the rascal cool his heels."
Rob laughed, too, but even as he kissed her, his thoughts were returning to his earlier question. He had never asked a woman to join her lot to his. Before this night he'd always been content to leave with a fond farewell and an eye for the next lady that would appear in his life.
But Lily — Lily was different. That instant connection he'd felt with her when she'd hopped into his carriage had only intensified in a way that would have terrified him if it hadn't felt so damned right. They'd spent less than a night together, yet already he knew he loved her. He loved her. He'd meant it when he'd said fate had brought them together, because he couldn't imagine any other explanation.
So why the devil hadn't Lily accepted? What if fate were laughing at him and his rakish past by making the one woman he wanted not want him in return?
"Ah, my sweet Lily." He drew her closer, his arm curled around her waist.
"I'd hide away with you forever, love, if only you'd —"
"I know you're in there, Dell! If you don't open this door directly and release the lady, I'll open it for you!"
Lily's eyes widened with indignation. "Oh, my, that is insolent!"
"No, Lily, that is my dear brother-in-law, His Grace, the Duke of Strachen."
Rob swore to himself, rolling her swiftly to one side. None of this made any sense. Brant was a gentleman of the world and always understanding where
Rob's affairs were concerned. At least he had been until now. "Though why in blazes Brant is being so ill-mannered as to interfere in our —"
"By all that is holy, niece, if you are in there playing the harlot with this — this scoundrel, then I demand that you come out at once. At once!"
Lily yelped with horrified dismay, yanking the sheets up to her chin. "Uncle Herbert! Oh, Rob, however could he have found us here?"
"I do not know." Had anything else in Rob's life gone this hideously fast from so good to bad and then to far, far worse? He scrambled from the bed and grabbed his trousers from the floor, hopping on one foot as he frantically pulled them on. "Unless your uncle has loosed a pack of bloodhounds through Mayfair —"
But a key was turning in the lock and the door already swinging open, and in the doorway stood a stone-faced Brant in evening dress and a furious, red-faced gentleman that must be Uncle Herbert.
"For God's sake, Rob, stop dancing around like a jackanapes and make yourself decent," ordered the duke as he turned to the other man. "Forgive me for asking, Mr. Avonwood, but is this lady your missing niece?"
"I am sorry to say that it is, Your Grace." Uncle Herbert shook his head, his mouth as pinched as if he'd bitten a lemon. "What your poor parents would say to this, Lily!"
"What they would say, Uncle Herbert, is that you are meddling in my most private affairs!" Fuming, Lily hauled the sheet free as she slid from the bed and somehow managed to fling and twist the sheet around herself and into a makeshift gown. "Hunting me down to humiliate me like this!"
"If you did not wish to be found, Lily, then you shouldn't have climbed into a carriage with ducal arms upon the door." Uncle Herbert's scowl deepened.
"You have not only ruined yourself, but you have greatly inconvenienced His Grace, Mr. Simon and me, and you have caused us enormous worry because you have chosen to allow this rogue to — to debauch you!"
"He is not a rogue," snapped Lily. "And I can assure you that the debauching was entirely mutual."
But Rob had heard enough. He slipped his arm around Lily's sheet-clad waist, ready to protect her even if she didn't seem to be in particular need of protecting. No wonder they were such a perfect match for one another! "Here now, Lily, I won't let you say such things about yourself. Lay the blame on me where it belongs."
"For once my brother-in-law is speaking the truth, Miss Avonwood." The duke's expression was grave. "I fear Rob has, ah, abused your innocence, and —"
"He did nothing of the sort, Your Grace." She tossed her tangled hair impatiently over her bare shoulder and placed her hand over Rob's. "I love Rob, Your Grace, and I know he loves me."
"Love!" Her uncle gasped, sputtering with outrage. "This is lust, niece, nothing more! What could you learn of love in a single night?"
Rob raised Lily's hand to kiss her fingers. "This lady has taught me more of love in a single night than I have learned in the rest of my life combined. Isn't that so, sweetheart?"
"Yes." Lily's gaze might be soft with love, but there was also an edge of rebellion that only made her more endearing. "And I have learned the same."
The duke cleared his throat. "Then you both shall have the chance to prove it. There is only one way for you to salvage this lady's reputation, Rob. You must wed her as soon as it can be arranged."
"But that cannot be!" cried Lily's uncle. "Mr. Simon has already asked for her hand!"
The duke raised one cynical brow. "He may have asked for her hand, but clearly my brother-in-law has claimed the rest of her person. Rob, ask her to be your wife."
Rob gulped. His wife. He hadn't thought of Lily like that. His love, his partner, his conspirator, his adventurous companion on his journey to America — all those, yes. But before now his life had always been too precarious to share with a wife, too unsettled for the burden that any single woman was sure to become.
But wasn't Lily different? Lily Dell, his wife. It sounded as good to his heart as it did to his ear. His Lily, perhaps his last chance at happiness, his one chance at love.
Slowly he knelt before her, her fingers twisting into his as she realized what was happening.
"Lily-my-Lily," he began softly, keeping his voice low for her alone to hear.
"We've gone about this backward, haven't we?"
She shook her head, her voice quavering with emotion. "No, Rob, not at all. We've done it exactly right."
"Then marry me, lass. Honor me. Marry me, and let me love you forever."
Behind them, her uncle sputtered. "If you go against my wishes, niece, and accept this wastrel, then you shall forfeit your inheritance!"
How in blazes had Rob forgotten her fortune? He had always sworn that if he ever did marry, it would be for the bride's rich dowry. Yet now love had so turned his head that all he cared for was Lily herself.
But would he in turn be enough for her? Would she be willing to turn her back on her inheritance for the uncertainty of the life he could offer?
"I'd wed you if you came to me only in your shift, lass, without a shilling to your name." He was so afraid she'd refuse that his chest felt tight and his heart was pounding. "Please, Lily. Say yes."
"Oh, Rob," she whispered, her eyes bright with tears she barely held back.
"What else could I say to you? Yes, yes, yes!"
He laughed with joy and relief and he swept her into his arms and kissed her. And when her makeshift gown began to slip away and he barely saved her decency before the duke and her uncle, he laughed again at this unexpected, unpredictable and utterly perfect twist his life was taking.
"You didn't truly believe I'd refuse, did you?" she asked breathlessly as he kissed her again. "That I would prefer odious Mr. Simon to you and America?"
"You always surprise me, lass." He kissed her until she, too, laughed with joy. "I expect you always will."
"Then you should know my uncle is wrong about my losing the inheritance. That was only when I was younger, and now I am quite, quite of age. You must take my mills and the rest with me."
He was startled by how little it mattered. "I suppose I can learn to love a rich wife as well as a poor one."
"Of course you can." She pushed away from his chest, her expression suddenly solemn, or at least as solemn as she could manage while dressed only in a rumpled sheet. "But there is one more thing, Rob."
He frowned, leery. "Only one?"
"Yes." She nodded gravely, but couldn't keep the twinkle from her eyes.
"The minute we are married, I shall expect from you the most extravagant wedding…cake ever given to a bride."
"Ah, Lily-my-love," he said, laughing again as he drew her back into his arms. "I'll never make an easier promise to keep."
The End