Lily (Flower Trilogy) (9 page)

No matter what, she’d always have her family and their support. She’d never realized how lucky she was.

Rand had made his place in the world, but he’d done it alone.

No one should have to be alone.

Her heart aching for him, she glanced toward him as they walked, but found his gaze fixed to where she was absently rubbing the back of her hand. “How did it happen?” he asked.

Embarrassed, she waved the scarred hand dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering. It happened long ago.”

“But how?”

Though he didn’t seem at all repulsed, she stared down at the thin white lines. The proof of her imperfection. “A cat. Not Beatrix. And it wasn’t his fault—I was teasing him. I learned to respect animals after that. All animals.”

“I cannot imagine you disrespecting anything.”

Something in his voice made a nervous laugh bubble out of her. “I try,” she said, “but I’m far from perfect.”

“You’re close enough to perfect for me,” he said, very seriously. He stopped walking then and took her by the shoulders to stop her, too, gently turning her to face him.

“May I kiss you again, Lily?”

Her pulse skittered. His shirt had dried, and it billowed in the soft breeze. She wanted to lay her palms against the front of it and run them up to feel the warm, tanned skin that was revealed in the open placket.

But she couldn’t. And she couldn’t let him kiss her again, either. It didn’t matter that her lips seemed to be tingling with remembered anticipation.

She licked them. “Rose . . .”

A puzzled frown appeared on his brow. “Rose? What has Rose to do with this?”

“She—” They were standing under a tree, and a flutter of wings heralded Lady alighting above them. Lily held Rand’s gaze. “Rose wants you.”

His lips curved in a crooked smile, and one hand drifted from her shoulder. He touched a fingertip to the little dent in her chin. “So you’re being a good sister, is that it? Let me tell you, Lily, Rose may very well want me. But I want
you
.”

He couldn’t, she thought.

Maybe he did. But he just couldn’t.

His finger traced a featherlight pattern on her chin, making her melt, making her crave his kiss even more.

But this wasn’t right. She’d promised. She’d broken her promise twice already, and twice was two times too many.

Lady twittered, and Lily struggled to keep her head.

“You’re so like Rose. You both sing, the languages . . .”

Her words trailed off. Lady flew to a lower branch.

Rand seemed to consider that line of reasoning for a long moment.

When he finally spoke, his tone was laced with quiet conviction. “I don’t want someone like me. I want someone to complete me.”

His voice was so deep, the sentiment so earnest, his eyes on hers so sure. When he leaned closer, when his hand slipped from her chin to curl around the back of her neck, when he lowered his lips to hers, she could only surrender.

Surrender felt entirely too good.

Slowly he backed her against the tree, his mouth working its magic. Her lips opened willingly this time, eagerly, her tongue reaching out in tentative exploration.

His tongue felt soft but made her mouth burn with fire.

She pressed closer, reveling in the feel of his hard, toned body against hers.

Leaves rustled overhead as he moaned, deepening the kiss. An answering sound rose from inside her. His hand tightened on her nape while his other arm went around her, a clear bid for possession. He tasted of Rand, and she sucked in his scent, stronger and more heady following his run.

Her senses reeled, and a ripple of excitement began flowing through her body, building toward a crescendo. It made her dizzy, made her knees weak, made her want more.

She arched her neck as his lips trailed down her throat.

“Lily,” he whispered, her name a damp promise in the sensitive hollow. “I want you.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

“You cannot,” she said, afraid it was the same for her.

She tried to pull away, fought to regain her senses. This was wrong. “We . . . we haven’t known each other long enough for you to know what you want.”

“Four years.”

“No,” she argued, biting her lip. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. This couldn’t be happening. “Not four years. Not even a month. A few weeks four years ago, and nine or ten days now. Most of them spent apart.”

“Well, then,” he said quietly, so guilelessly she knew he believed it, “it must have been love at first sight.”

Love.
The single word made her heart knot and grow heavy in her chest. Feeling his hands against her nape and her back, the humming warmth of his body against hers, she knew, without a doubt, that he really, truly did want her.

And she wanted him.

But Rose wanted him, too.

Blood pounded in her head, filled her ears, rocked her senses. He’d spoken of love, and if he loved her, Lily, then he’d never marry Rose, would he? What was the point of keeping her promise if Rose’s hopes were destined to be dashed either way? For one single moment, she wanted, more than she’d wanted anything in her life, to break a promise to her sister.

Then she gasped, appalled that she’d even had such a disloyal thought. Her word meant everything to her.

“I have to leave,” she said, echoing what he’d said a week earlier. And she turned toward Snowflake and ran, Lady flying after her.

For three solid days, Rand did nothing but eat, sleep, work on the translation, and run. And think. And run and think some more.

At the end of that time, he still wasn’t sure how—or even if—his feelings for Lily had turned from simple lust to something deeper. The mechanics of falling in love seemed cryptic, as elusive as the symbols in the ancient book before him.

But Rand Nesbitt was a man who prided himself on his ability to figure things out.

Leaving Ford’s laboratory on the way down to supper, he asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“No,” Ford said flatly. “It makes no logical sense.”

“Then you didn’t feel . . . with Violet . . .”

“On first sight?” Ford’s mouth twitched as though he was about to laugh. “Absolutely not. I thought her rather plain and more than a little odd. Though I cannot imagine why,” he added thoughtfully.

Rand followed him down the winding staircase to Lakefield’s cozy, burgundy-toned dining room, where Violet was waiting with their children.

She didn’t look plain at all—she was practically glowing, as a matter of fact, as she handed one of the twins to a nursemaid. And as for odd, well, if that word didn’t describe Ford Chase, Rand didn’t know one that did.

When it came right down to it, who wasn’t odd, anyway?

He took a seat and waited while a footman set a plate of chicken and artichoke pie before him, then turned to Violet. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Of course,” she said. “But lust at first sight is much more common.”

A becoming blush touched her cheeks, making Rand suspect she’d experienced lust at first sight. He felt suddenly—absurdly—jealous, wishing her sister would feel the same lust for him. If his own experience was anything to judge by, lust could be a solid foundation on which to build heavier emotions.

Love.
He’d uttered that frightening word, risked baring his soul, offered his heart in his hands . . . and had it rejected.

Lifting his fork, he shifted his gaze to Ford in an attempt to gauge his old friend as an inspiration for female lust. If he looked hard enough, he supposed women might find Ford handsome, but truth be told, all he really saw was the gawky schoolboy the man had been when they’d met.

Who knew what drove women? Lily
had
allowed him to kiss her three times. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

“Why are you asking?” Violet tucked a cloth under Nicky’s chin, then pulled his plate closer and put a spoon in his chubby hand. “Do
you
believe in love at first sight?”

“I’m not sure,” Rand said. He certainly hadn’t until recently. Besides, his first sight of Lily had been so long ago. After all this time, how was a man supposed to remember what he’d felt way back then? Odds were, in the intervening years, he’d just built her up in his mind.

And on that flimsy basis, he’d found himself daydreaming lately about a lifetime of wedded bliss. Clearly he was going soft in the head.

Violet speared a piece of artichoke heart. “Of course, love—sustainable love—is dependent on more than physical appearance.”

“Which is why,” her husband said, “love at first sight is a myth.”

“Not at all.” Her voice took on the tone of a philosopher waxing philosophical. “Love occurs when something in one person recognizes something basic and true in another. To borrow a term from my mother’s perfume making, call it that person’s essence. One would see this essence embodied in everything the other person does—

those thoughts, actions, responses, and choices that go to display her values.”

“One cannot see all of that at first sight,” Ford argued.

“I beg to differ.” Clearly enjoying this sort of debate, Violet waved her fork. “One person’s essence responds innately to another’s—’tis not a conscious response, nor one that knows time. Upon meeting a woman, some part of you will notice how she moves, gestures, talks, smiles—how she carries herself in general. Her essence—not just her surface appearance.” She focused back on Rand. “Take my sister Lily, for example.”

The pie was delicious, swimming in rich gravy, but Rand almost choked. “Lily?” He shot a glance to Ford, whom he’d told about Lily in confidence, but found him industriously cutting an already-small-enough bite of chicken.

“Just as an example.” If Violet’s expression might have revealed ulterior motives, she expertly concealed it while sipping wine. “Lily is beautiful, is she not?”

Rand sipped from his own goblet. Lustrous mahogany hair, deep blue eyes, and that irresistible face and figure . . . “I don’t expect any male would argue with you about that.”

“And perhaps most males would notice that first, but there is so much more to Lily. She makes beautiful music.

She is also quite intelligent. One needn’t be bookish to be intelligent.”

“Did I ever say—”

“Those are all obvious things, but now let’s look at her essence, those values we can see in the way she carries herself and behaves. She is nurturing and compassionate.

People feel good around her, because Lily cares. She really cares, about everyone and everything. She’s benevolent, she seeks harmony, and above all, she endeavors at all times to make the right choices. The sum of these is what makes her Lily.”

“Her essence,” Rand murmured.

“Yes!” Beaming, Violet set down her goblet. “And the sort of man who would recognize a kindred essence in Lily, most especially on first sight, would also recognize that she will someday make a wonderful mother.” With that, her gaze lovingly went to her babies in their cradles.

And Rand was rendered speechless.

He wasn’t sure he could even eat.

He was just getting used to considering love and marriage . . . fatherhood was another matter entirely.

“Lily, are you ready to leave?”

“In a moment, Mum.” With a sigh, Lily stroked Randolph’s soft brown fur one last time. She’d put it off more than a week, but she knew what had to be done. Setting her jaw, she crouched to tenderly place Randolph on the grass.

Without so much as a thank-you, the rat scampered happily into a flower bed.

Lily sighed again and fished Beatrix out from under her skirts. “May I bring her?” she asked as she stood.

“I suppose she’ll contrive to come along either way.”

Chrystabel sifted through the basket over her arm, making sure all her perfumes were in order. “But you must leave her in the carriage. You know cats make Lady Carrington sneeze.”

Half an hour later, Lily stood on the steps of Carrington House with her mother and Rose. As Chrystabel lifted the knocker, a sneeze sounded from inside.

“Beatrix is in the carriage,” Lily said defensively. She glanced back at the vehicle to make sure, and saw a small black nose pressed to the window. Jasper and Lady sat atop the carriage’s roof, looking similarly innocent.

A butler ushered them into the drawing room, where Lady Carrington was waiting with coffee, tea, and cakes.

Judith sat on a sturdy carved chair, dabbing at her nose with a lace-edged handkerchief.

Chrystabel set her basket on a table and raised the cloth covering. “Your usual blend,” she said to Lady Carrington, handing her a bottle of scent. “And for you, Lady Judith, a new blend befitting your new status as a betrothed woman.”

“’Tis more spicy,” Rose said with a lift of one brow.

Judith’s eyes widened. “Oooh, let me smell.”

Lily brought the perfume to her friend, pulling the stopper out as she went. She waved the bottle under her own nose, smiled, then handed it to Judith. “It smells lovely.”

Judith dabbed a bit on one wrist and raised it to her reddened nose. “It does. Even all stuffy, I can tell. Thank you ever so much, Lady Trentingham.”

“You’re very welcome, dear.”

Replacing the stopper, Judith stood. “Would you care to see the fabric for my wedding gown?” she asked the younger women. “And the style? Madame left a fashion doll for me to show you.”

Lily and Rose followed her up the curving oak staircase. “I think the dress is ever so beautiful,” Judith said, then paused for a sneeze. “Lord, I am so excited about my wedding.”

“You should be,” Rose said somewhat wistfully. Meeting her misty gaze, Lily saw dreams of wedded bliss in her sister’s eyes.

In Judith’s feminine mauve room, the wedding dress fashion doll reclined in a place of honor against her pillows. “Is it not lovely?”

“It is,” Lily agreed softly. The doll’s gown was palest blue with a wide neckline and golden ribbons crisscrossing the stomacher. The underskirt was cloth of gold.

Unbidden, an image popped into her head—of herself wearing such a gown and standing beside Rand. The blue fabric brought out the hue in her eyes, which were fastened on Rand as she recited her vows. The golden underskirt shimmered, rustling when she moved . . .