It Happened One Autumn (32 page)

“Every friendship has its scars. And I believe that if St. Vincent had understood the strength of my feelings for the woman, he would not have pursued her. In this case, however, I could not allow the past to repeat itself. You’re too…important…tome.”

Jealousy had darted through Lillian at the thought of Marcus having feelings for another woman…and then her heart stopped with a jolt as she wondered what level of significance she should place on the word “important.” Marcus had the Englishman’s innate dislike of wearing his emotions on his sleeve. But she realized that he was trying very hard to open his closely guarded heart to her, and that perhaps a little encouragement on her part might yield some surprising results.

“Since St. Vincent obviously has the advantage in looks and charm,” Marcus continued evenly, “I reasoned that I could only weigh the balance with sheer determination. Which is why I met with him this morning to tell him—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Lillian protested, unable to help herself.

Marcus looked at her then, his gaze quizzical. “Pardon?”

“He doesn’t have the advantage over you,” Lillian informed him, her face reddening as she discovered that it was hardly any easier for her to reveal what was in her heart than it was for him. “You are very charming when it suits you. And as for your looks…” Her blush deepened until she felt heat pouring off her. “I find you very attractive,” she blurted out. “I …I always have. I would never have slept with you last night unless I wanted you, no matter how much brandy I had drunk.”

A sudden smile touched his mouth. Reaching out to her gaping bodice, he pulled it together gently, and stroked the backs of his knuckles against the rosy surface of her throat. “Then I may assume that your objections to marrying me are predicated more on the idea of being forced, rather than deriving from any personal prejudice?”

Absorbed in the pleasure of his caress, Lillian gave him a bemused glance. “Hmm?”

A soft laugh escaped him. “What I’m asking is, would you consider becoming my wife if I promised that you wouldn’t be forced into it?”

She nodded cautiously. “I …I might consider it. But if you’re going to behave like some medieval lord and try to browbeat me into doing what you want—”

“No, I won’t try to browbeat you,” Marcus said gravely, though she saw a flicker of amusement in his
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eyes. “It’s obvious that such tactics wouldn’t work. I’ve met my match, it seems.”

Mollified by the statement, Lillian felt herself relax a little. She didn’t even protest when he reached out to pull her into his lap, her long legs dangling over his. A warm hand slid beneath her gown to her hip in a clasp that was more comforting than sensual, and he stared at her shrewdly. “Marriage is a partnership,”

he said. “And since I’ve never entered a business partnership without first negotiating terms, we’ll do the same in this situation. Just you and I, in private. No doubt there will be a few points of contention—but you will find that I am well versed in the art of compromise.”

“My father will insist on having the final say about the dowry.”

“I wasn’t speaking of financial matters. What I want from you is something your father can’t negotiate.”

“You intend for us to discuss things like …our expectations of each other? And where we are to live?”

“Precisely.”

“And if I said that I did not want to reside in the country…that I prefer London to Hampshire …you would agree to live at Marsden Terrace?”

He regarded her speculatively as he replied. “I would make some concessions to that effect. Though I would have to return here frequently to manage the estate. I gather you’re not fond of Stony Cross Park?”

“Oh no. That is…I like it very much. My question was hypothetical.”

“Even so, you are accustomed to the pleasures of town life.”

“I would want to live here,” Lillian insisted, thinking of the beauty of Hampshire, the rivers and forests, the meadows where she could envision playing with her children. The village with its eccentric characters and shopkeepers, and the local festivals that enlivened the leisurely pace of country life. And the estate manor itself, grand and yet intimate, with all its nooks and corners to nestle in during rainy days …or amorous nights. She couldn’t help blushing as she reflected that the owner of Stony Cross Park was by far its most compelling attraction. Life with this vital man, no matter where they resided, would never be dull.

“Of course,” she continued pointedly, “I would be far more disposed to take up residence in Hampshire were I ever allowed to ride again.”

The statement met with a barely suppressed laugh. “I’ll have a groomsman saddle Starlight for you this very morning.”

“Oh,thank you, ” she said sardonically. “Two days before the house party ends, you’re giving me permission to ride. Why now? Because I slept with you last night?”

A lazy grin curved his mouth, and his hand moved stealthily over her hip. “You should have slept with me weeks ago. I would have given you full run of the estate.”

Lillian bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling back at him. “I see. In this marriage I will be obliged to barter my sexual favors whenever I want something from you.”

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“Not at all. Although…” A teasing light appeared in his eyes. “Your favors do seem to put me in an agreeable disposition.”

Marcus was flirting with her, relaxed and bantering in a way that she had never seen him before. Lillian would wager that few people would recognize the dignified Earl of Westcliff in the man who was lounging on the carpet with her. And as he shifted her more comfortably in his arms, and drew his hand along her calf, ending with a gentle squeeze of her narrow ankle, Lillian was aware of a delight that went far beyond physical sensation. Her passion for him seemed to dwell within her very bones.

“Would we get on well together, do you think?” she asked dubiously, daring to play with the knot of his necktie, loosening the gray watered-silk fabric with her fingertips. “We’re opposites in nearly every regard.”

Inclining his head, Marcus nuzzled the tender inside of her wrist, his lips brushing the blue-tinted veins that lay like fine lacework beneath the skin. “I am coming to believe that taking a wife who is exactly like myself would be the worst conceivable decision I could make.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Lillian mused, letting her fingertips curl into the gleaming close-cut hair at the side of his head. “You need a wife who won’t let you have your way all the time. One who…” She paused with a little shiver as his tongue touched a delicate spot near her inner elbow. “Who,” she continued, struggling to gather her thoughts, “would be willing to take you down a notch when you become too pompous…”

“I am never pompous,” Marcus said, drawing the edge of her gown away from the vulnerable curve of her throat.

Her breath hitched as he began to kiss the wing of her collarbone. “What would you call it when you carry on as if you always know best, and anyone who disagrees with you is an idiot?”

“Most of the time, the people who disagree with me do happen to be idiots. I can’t help that.”

A breathless laugh escaped her, and she let her head rest back on his arm as his mouth traveled to the side of her neck. “When shall we negotiate?” she asked, surprised by the throatiness of her own voice.

“Tonight. You’ll come to my room.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “This wouldn’t be a ruse to lure me into a situation in which you would take unscrupulous advantage of me?”

Drawing back to look at her, Marcus answered gravely. “Of course not. I intend to have a meaningful discussion that will put to rest any doubts you may have about marrying me.”

“Oh.”

“And then I’m going to take unscrupulous advantage of you.”

Lillian’s smile was compressed between their lips as he kissed her. She realized that it was the first time she had ever heard Marcus make a rakish remark. He was usually too straitlaced to exhibit the kind of irreverence that came so naturally to her. Perhaps this was a small sign of her influence on him.

“But for now…” Marcus said, “I have a logistical problem to solve.”

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“What problem?” she asked, shifting a little as she became aware of the aroused tension of his body beneath her.

He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her lips, lightly massaging, shaping her mouth. As if he couldn’t help himself, he stole one last kiss. The deep, yearning strokes of his mouth caused her lips to tingle, sensation spilling and sliding all through her, and she was left breathless and weak in his arms. “The problem is how to take you back upstairs,” Marcus whispered, “before anyone else sees you in your nightgown.”

It was unclear whether Daisy had been the one to “spill the beans,” as they said in New York, or whether the news had come from Annabelle, who had perhaps been informed by her husband of the scene in the study. All Lillian could be certain of, as she joined the other wallflowers for a mid-morning nuncheon in the breakfast room, was thatthey knew. She could see it in their faces—in Evie’s abashed smile, and Daisy’s conspiratorial air, and Annabelle’s studied casualness. Lillian blushed and avoided their collective gaze as she sat at the table. She had always maintained a cynical facade, using it as a defense against embarrassment, fear, loneliness…but at the moment she felt unusually vulnerable.

Annabelle was the first to break the silence. “What a dull morning it’s been so far.” She lifted her hand to her mouth with a gracefully manufactured yawn. “I do hope someone can manage to enliven the conversation. Any gossip to share, by chance?” Her teasing gaze arrowed to Lillian’s discomfited expression. A footman approached to fill Lillian’s teacup, and Annabelle waited until he had left the table before continuing. “You’ve made rather a late appearance this morning, dear. Didn’t you sleep well?”

Lillian slitted her eyes as she stared at her gleefully mocking friend, while she heard Evie choke on a mouthful of tea. “As a matter of fact, no.”

Annabelle grinned, looking entirely too cheerful. “Why don’t you tell us your news, Lillian, and then I’ll share mine? Though I doubt that mine will be half as interesting.”

“You seem to know everything already,” Lillian muttered, trying to drown her embarrassment with a large draft of tea. Succeeding only in burning her tongue, she set her cup down and forced herself to meet Annabelle’s gaze, which had softened in amused sympathy.

“Are you all right, dear?” Annabelle asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Lillian admitted. “I don’t feel at all like myself. I’m excited and glad, but also somewhat…”

“Afraid?” Annabelle murmured.

The Lillian of a month ago would have died by slow torture rather than admit to one moment of fear…but she found herself nodding. “I don’t like being vulnerable to a man who is not generally known for his sensitivity or soft heartedness. It’s fairly obvious that we’re not well-suited in temperament.”

“But you are attracted to him physically?” Annabelle asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

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“Why is that a misfortune?”

“Because it would be so much easier to marry a man with whom one shared a detached friendship, rather than…than…”

All three young women leaned toward her intently. “R-rather than what?” Evie asked, wide-eyed.

“Rather than flaming, clawing, lurid, positively indecent passion.”

“Oh my,” Evie said faintly, drawing back in her chair, while Annabelle grinned and Daisy stared at her with enraptured curiosity.

“This from a man whose kisses were ‘merely tolerable’?” Annabelle asked.

A grin tugged at Lillian’s lips as she looked down into the steaming depths of her tea. “Who would have guessed that such a starched and buttoned-up sort could be so different in the bedroom?”

“With you, I imagine he can’t help himself,” Annabelle remarked.

Lillian looked up from her cup. “Why do you say that?” she asked warily, fearing for a moment that Annabelle was making a reference to the effects of her perfume.

“The moment you enter the room, the earl becomes far more animated. It is obvious that he is fascinated by you. One can hardly have a conversation with him, as he is constantly straining to hear what you are saying, and watching your every movement.”

“Does he?” Pleased by the information, Lillian strove to appear nonchalant. “Why have you never mentioned it before?”

“I didn’t want to meddle, since there seemed a possibility that you preferred Lord St. Vincent’s attentions.”

Lillian winced and leaned her forehead on her hand. She told them about the mortifying scene between herself and Marcus and St. Vincent that morning, while they reacted with sympathy and shared discomfort.

“The only thing that prevents a feeling of compassion for Lord St. Vincent,” Annabelle said, “is the certain knowledge that he has broken many hearts and caused many tears in the past—and therefore it is only just that he should know how it feels to be rejected.”

“Nevertheless, I feel as if I misled him,” Lillian said guiltily. “And he was so nice about it. Not one word of reproach. I couldn’t help but like him for it.”

“Be c-careful,” Evie suggested softly. “From what we’ve heard of Lord St. Vincent, it doesn’t seem in character that he should concede so easily. If he approaches you again, promise that you will not agree to go somewhere alone with him.”

Lillian stared at her concerned friend with a smile. “Evie, you sound positively cynical. Very well, I promise. But there is no need to worry. I don’t believe that Lord St. Vincent is foolish enough to make an enemy of someone as powerful as the earl.” Desiring a change of subject, she turned her attention to Annabelle. “Now that I’ve shared my news, it’s time for yours. What is it?”

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