The Ravenscar Dynasty (7 page)

‘Whatever you wish, sir,' Swinton replied, his face unreadable.

Edward inclined his head politely and returned to the front hall. Within seconds he was outside on the pavement hailing a hansom cab that was rumbling down Charles Street. He climbed in as the driver was saying, ‘Evenin', Guv, where can I be taking you?'

Edward gave an address in Belsize Park, told the driver he was required to wait, then sat back against the carriage seat. The cab began to move forward and Edward asked himself why he was going to see Lily Overton, tonight of all nights? He had only just learned of his father's death, his brother's death, and that of close relatives. Four of the family gone, and here he was going to see a woman, a woman he knew would give him a certain kind of solace. But it was not her sexual solace he sought or required tonight. It was solace of another kind he craved. He needed to be comforted and soothed; hopefully she would be able to help him out, ease his heartache. One thing he knew for certain was that she would be alone; Lily was not a prostitute. She was yet another widow he knew, older than Alice at Ravenscar, and also well provided for, having been married to a solicitor who had been successful.

He had acquired a liking for older women ever since he had been seduced at the age of thirteen by the wife of the choirmaster at a Scarborough church: a woman who had instructed him in the pleasurable art of sex in a cave on the beach at Ravenscar, just below the ruined stronghold built by his ancestor, Guy de Ravenel. She had been twenty-five and a beautiful blonde with silver-grey eyes. Lily Overton was thirty-two and just
as beautiful as Tabitha had been, another blonde-haired temptress who had truly captivated him and held him in her sexual thrall. He closed his eyes and thought of both women; they intermingled in his mind and he suddenly felt the thrill of unexpected sexual arousal.

A short time later, the hansom cab jolting to a sudden stop made Edward sit up with a start; glancing out of the window he saw that they had arrived at the small house where Lily Overton lived.

Opening the door, he jumped out, and looking up at the driver, he said, ‘Wait a moment, please.'

‘I understands, Guv,' the cabbie said.

The house was in darkness, but Edward noticed the glimmer of a candle flame in an upstairs window. Lifting the brass knocker, he banged hard on the door.

Lily did not appear. Once more he lifted the knocker, but before he used it again her voice said, from behind the door, ‘Who's there?' She sounded alarmed and he knew he must reassure her at once, using a code they had devised together.

‘Lily? It's me, Ned. Your brother-in-law. I've come to see my brother. Is he at home?'

‘Come to the window,' she replied in a low voice, ‘so that I can see you, be certain it
is
my brother-in-law outside at this hour.'

Stepping over to the window, Edward waited for her to peep through the lace curtains. Once she had done so, he moved back to the front door and waited; within a second Lily was unlocking it. Before he stepped into the house, he called over his shoulder to the driver of the hansom cab, ‘Please wait for me. I won't be too long.'

‘Righto, Guv'nor,' came the reply, followed by a quiet chuckle.

Once he was inside the house, Lily locked the front door and then turned to Edward, looking up at him, her light green eyes questioning, her expression puzzled.

In the past he had always sent notes to her by messenger, asking if he could visit her, and she had responded by return using the same messenger, either declining or acquiescing to his request to see her. It was usually the latter. His arrival tonight was unannounced, and unexpected, and she was quite obviously surprised, he realized that. He said quickly, ‘Excuse me, Lily, for coming to see you without prior warning, and at this very late hour. I hope I have not inconvenienced you.'

‘No, not at all. Perhaps I misunderstood the letter you posted from Yorkshire…I was expecting you on Friday…before you went back to Oxford the next day.'

‘I did plan that. But I returned to London earlier than I expected—this evening, in fact, and I had such a need to see you, to be in your company, if only for a short while, I just had to come here.'

He had spoken softly, in a low tone, and there was a seriousness about him tonight which was unusual. She suddenly wondered what was wrong, for surely something was amiss. Lily Overton was not a stupid woman by anybody's standards, and she detected a strange and unfamiliar sadness in Edward; it seemed to her that sorrow shadowed his brilliant blue eyes, dulling
them, and his demeanour was quiet, reflective almost, which was unlike him.

Since their first meeting last year she had found him irresistible, and readily succumbed to his charms whenever he wanted to be with her, whatever the circumstances. Even though he was so young, far too young for her, she cared about him deeply and he was the only man who had ever satisfied her sexually.

Reaching out, instinctively understanding he needed comforting for some reason, she put a hand on his arm and said gently, ‘Hang up your coat and scarf and let us go to the sitting room upstairs where we can talk for a while. I was reading there when you arrived on my doorstep, and there's a lovely fire. It's cosy.'

Edward nodded, put his coat in the closet and followed her up the staircase into her private haven. He liked this small but charming room with its dark-rose coloured walls, rose-damask covered sofa and chairs and moss-green carpet. Rose-coloured velvet draperies covered the window, banished the foggy winter's night from sight, and the room was warm and inviting as he remembered.

‘May I turn down the gas lights?' Edward asked. ‘It's rather bright in here.'

‘Of course,' Lily answered, added, ‘And could you please throw another log on the fire while I pour you a glass of brandy.'

He smiled at her, added logs to the grate and, reaching up, he lowered the gas lights on either side of the mirror above the mantelpiece; instantly the sitting room was shadowy and more restful, intimate.

Walking over to the sofa Edward sat down. He leaned
back against the needlepoint pillows hoping he could relax here with Lily; his nerves were taut and he had developed a raging headache. But she was always calm, warm and affectionate with him, and she had never failed to have a soothing effect on him.

Within the space of a few minutes she was handing him the balloon of brandy, and seating herself next to him on the sofa.

Looking at him intently, studying him through narrowed green eyes, Lily said finally, ‘I
know
there's something wrong. You are troubled, I can tell that.' When he was silent, she asked, ‘Would you care to talk to me about it, Edward?'

For a moment he did not answer, and then he said in a subdued voice, ‘There has been a terrible tragedy in my family. We are all devastated, Lily, grief stricken—' He broke off, shook his head, as if he still disbelieved the veracity of what he was about to say. And then slowly, still speaking in that same low monotone, he told her about his father and brother, uncle and cousin, and their sudden and unexpected deaths in the fire at Carrara.

Lily was so aghast she was stunned into total silence. She found it hard to take it in, to comprehend what he was telling her…to lose four close family members in one stroke was something quite unimaginable. She sat staring at him through tearful eyes, and it took her a moment or two to recover her composure, to find the right words. But at last she said, ‘Oh, Ned, Ned darling, I'm so very sorry. It is heartbreaking for you and your family, I understand that…a great tragedy, catastrophic. Words are such cold comfort at a time like this, words are just…
hopeless
.' She blinked back her
tears, and went on in a quavering voice, ‘What can I do? How can I help you? Is there anything I can do to comfort you?'

Ned sighed, shook his head. ‘Not really…just being here with you is enough. You have always been so kind and loving—' His voice trailed off, and he took a swallow of the brandy, put the glass back on the side table. When he turned his face to hers, he looked at her carefully. ‘Thank you for being…well, for being here. So understanding, so compassionate.'

Lily took his hand in hers, brought it to her lips and pressed it against her mouth, moved closer to him. Placing his hand in her lap, she stroked it. After a few minutes of mutual silence, she murmured, ‘Do you want to be with me? To stay here tonight?'

‘I really can't,' he answered swiftly, frowning. ‘I am meeting my cousin very early tomorrow morning, so I must leave here soon. I haven't slept at all since we received the news.'

‘I understand…' She paused, hesitated, then remarked quietly, leaning into him, ‘You are so tense, overwrought really, Ned. At least let me give you a massage before you go, you know how much my massages help you to relax, to feel better.'

Now it was his turn to hesitate before speaking. After a moment of thought, he said, ‘I'll stay for an hour, Lily, if that's all right with you.'

‘Whatever you want, my darling.'

At thirty-two Lily Overton was a wise woman, and over the years she had acquired a degree of sophistication and worldliness. She had been married and widowed twice. Her first husband had been a surgeon and her second a solicitor who was head of his own law firm, and both men had left her their considerable wealth. She was a widow well placed.

During her marriage to Oscar Overton, the solicitor, she had met all manner of people from all walks of life, and she had benefitted enormously from this. It was because of her wisdom, insight and bright intelligence that she had rapidly come to understand Edward Deravenel, from the first moment they had met.

Their initial encounter had been a year ago, and she found herself thinking about that evening now, reliving it, as she waited for him to return to the upstairs sitting room after going down to talk to the hansom cab driver.

Last January she had been invited to a small dinner party at the Kensington home of her dear friend Vicky Forth, the newly-married sister of Will Hasling. Will had arrived with his best friend Edward Deravenel, and
it had been patently obvious to Lily that Edward was instantly drawn to her the moment he set eyes on her. He had gravitated to her at once, making a beeline across the long stretch of drawing room, and had remained glued to her side until they had gone in for dinner, not saying much but focused on her to the exclusion of all else.

Much to her surprise, she had been filled with genuine disappointment when she had found herself seated between Will and a middle-aged banker with a walrus moustache and a slight lisp in his speech; a moment later, she had smiled with delight as Edward was shown to the chair opposite her.

His brilliant blue eyes had barely left her face throughout dinner; they had greedily devoured her as he had left his food untouched. His interest in his female dinner partners on either side had been vague, brief, only just meeting the usual standards of courtesy. His concentration had again been focused entirely on her, and she had understood
exactly
what he wanted from her. It was reflected in the expression in those mesmerizing eyes which left little to the imagination.

After dinner the women had retired to the drawing room whilst the men had remained alone to enjoy their port and cigars. She had been restless, impatient, and on a knife's edge until
he
had appeared in the doorway of the drawing room half an hour later. Relief had flooded through her as he walked towards her, holding her with his eyes, not caring what anyone thought. Neither had she, much to her amazement. Lily had been somewhat surprised that she had remained taut inside, excited and anxious to have him closer to her.

Once he had come to a stop, he had said, ‘I need to speak to you alone, Mrs Overton.'

She had simply nodded and he had put his hand under her arm and carefully ushered her to a distant corner near a potted palm.

‘I must see you again, and as soon as possible,' he had muttered in a low voice once they were by themselves, his eyes on hers. ‘And I do believe
you
would like that, too.' As he had spoken he had inched closer and increased the pressure of his hand on her arm, and there was such naked desire written across his face she had found her mouth suddenly turning dry.

For a moment she had not been able to speak, had simply gazed up at him, totally entranced, under his spell.

‘
Please
,' he begged.

Bright colour had flooded her face and she had felt extremely hot, flushed.

‘Tomorrow,' he murmured hoarsely. ‘Better still, tonight.
Later tonight
. Oh, please say yes.'

Finally finding her voice, she had whispered, ‘Tomorrow. In the afternoon. At four.'

‘Shall I come to your home? Or do you want to—'

‘My home,' she had cut in, dreading the thought of a meeting at a hotel. A public rendezvous would be improper, disastrous, and she had quickly told him where she lived.

The following day, Lily had wondered about herself and her behaviour, asking herself why she had become so quickly entranced by this young man, one who was obviously so much younger than she. And she had known the answer immediately.
Instant attraction
.
Overwhelming sexual desire
. On both their parts. And so she had told her housekeeper to leave early that day, had seen her off at two o'clock; fifteen minutes later she had sent the maid home as well.

Alone, she had bathed and perfumed herself, brushed and dressed her golden hair in a loose, girlish style, put on pretty white undergarments and selected a pale-green chiffon-and-lace afternoon tea gown. The style was simple, loose and floating, tied around the waist with a broad, pale-green ribbon belt. Even though it was a cold day she had wanted something young and pretty to wear which also gave him easy access to her. She had already known instinctively what to expect when he arrived; she knew he would make a move on her very swiftly, attempt to seduce within the first half hour. His lust for her had been only too obvious and too urgent the night before.

She had been ready for an hour before he was due, and had paced the floor, prowled around the house, checking on everything, and as she did this she discovered she was hardly able to contain herself. She was trembling, excited inside, acting like a young girl without experience. These feelings had truly taken her by surprise, since she
was
experienced.

Edward had arrived at five minutes to four, for afternoon tea. She had served him herself, and his gaze had never left her. Lily had been fully aware that the absence of staff and her flushed face signalled to him that her aim and intentions were indeed the same as his. But then he had already known that before he had come here today.

He had taken a sip of tea, and so had she; he had talked to her for a short while about Oxford, his close
friendship with Will, and how much he liked Vicky Forth,
her
friend.

Lily had listened attentively, loving the timbre of his voice, as she had the night before, a voice which was deeply masculine, mellifluous and cultivated.

And then, unexpectedly, Edward had stopped abruptly, risen and walked over to her chair. Bending over her, he had said in the softest of voices, ‘Won't you come and sit with me on the sofa? You seem so far away.'

Before she could even answer he had taken her hand, brought her to her feet and led her to the sofa positioned near the fireplace.

‘You're trembling, Mrs Overton,' he had said, sounding surprised, as he had pressed her down onto the sofa, seated himself next to her. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Perfectly,' had been all she could manage to say.

‘I'm afraid I'm not,' he had murmured and immediately drew closer. ‘I've been extremely agitated since last night. You see, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.' When she did not respond he asked, ‘Dare I hope that you've given a little thought to me?'

She nodded.

He leaned into her then, put his arm around her shoulders and brought his mouth to her cheek. She had not flinched, had remained quite still as he had kissed her cheek again and found her mouth with his. She had kissed him back. Why pretend, she had thought, why pretend to be overly virtuous when he knows how much I want him. Within the space of a few seconds his hand had been on her breast; he had pulled her closer to him, holding her tightly in his arms and with one dexterous hand he
had unbuttoned the front of the gown and slipped his hand inside, lightly touching her nipple. When she had not shown any resistance to these advances, he had grown infinitely bolder, had slid his hand down her leg, lifted the loose flowing skirt of her dress, slipping his fingers along her inner thigh and between her legs. It was at this moment that she had stopped him, exclaiming softly, ‘Please, we must stop. This is most unseemly.'

He had pulled away from her gently, staring into her face, an amused look on his, and he had laughed. ‘Oh, Mrs Overton,
really
.' He had laughed again, and so had she, and then he had shaken his head and asked, ‘Could we perhaps go upstairs, Mrs Overton? I do believe it has become quite pressing for us to find a bed.'

‘Only if you stop calling me Mrs Overton and call me Lily instead, Edward,' she had answered with a light laugh.

‘And you must call
me
Ned.'

Together they had climbed the stairs and she had not been at all self-conscious; she had led him into her bedroom, then had suddenly turned her head and given him a most cryptic look.

His response had been to immediately take her in his arms, press her close to his body, his hand sliding down onto her buttocks. She had felt so small, feminine and defenceless because he was so tall, broad and masculine, the most masculine man she had ever met.

When he had pressed her even closer, moulding her to him, she had felt his erection against her body, and she had begun to tremble.

As if he understood her instant trepidation he had not made another move, had simply stood perfectly still,
looking down at her, his expression suddenly loving. Very slowly, he had begun to remove her clothes, untying the ribbon belt around her waist, letting it drop to the floor, unfastening the rest of the buttons on the front of her dress. Slipping it over her shoulders, it had fallen to the floor, a pool of pale green lace at her feet. A moment after he had started to loosen her undergarments, he stopped and led her over to the bed. Without a word, he had taken off everything else until she was completely naked.

It was only then that he had spoken, saying in an awed voice, ‘Oh, Lily, Lily, you are very, very beautiful.'

She had remained silent, simply staring up at him through eyes filled with longing for him, desire written all over her face.

Everything had gone very swiftly after that. He had risen, shed his own clothes quickly, stretched out next to her on the bed. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he had leaned over her, kissed her deeply, passionately, his tongue sliding into her mouth for a moment of true intimacy. All of his movements were slow, gentle, tender, and soon one hand roamed over her, stroking and caressing every part of her until she cried out in pleasure.

Soon after this he had taken her hand and placed it on his groin, and she had been startled by the size of him. But when he entered her he had done so with immense gentleness, and she had found herself opening up to him, thrilled by his virility, knowledge and experience. Their coupling had been rapturous, ecstatic, as they had both known it would be from their first moment of meeting.

Edward had stayed with her for the rest of the day
and into the early evening. She had made supper for him, and he had stayed on and on, in the end not taking his leave of her until the early hours of the morning. He had been insatiable and so had she, and she had realized that night that he was the best lover she had known.

And so had begun the most extraordinary relationship Lily had had with any man, one that over the months had given her unusual happiness.

Ned saw her whenever he came up to London, and occasionally, giving in to his pleading, she visited him in Oxford. With the passing of time she had grown to love him, whilst understanding that the gap in their ages was far too enormous to bridge. Nonetheless, she resolved to remain his mistress for as long as he wanted and needed her.

There was very little she did not know about him, and she understood him completely. He was a highly-sexed, sensual and extremely romantic man; she found him mature for his age and extremely intelligent; he had a brilliant, analytical mind that would sometimes stun her. These attributes aside, his looks were heart-stopping, and yet there was no personal vanity in him about his appearance, and he was kind, compassionate. Perhaps the most unique thing about Ned was his charisma. He possessed a special kind of natural charm that was so captivating it ensnared everyone. This characteristic, plus his amiability and friendliness, immediately put people at ease. All gravitated to him, wanted to be part of his circle.

Yet Lily was very much aware that behind that charming, polished façade there was a wholly different kind of man, one of dogged determination, who
harboured great ambition, was full of resourcefulness and had a will of iron that was formidable. Very quickly in their relationship she had come to accept that he could also be absolutely ruthless when he deemed it necessary.

Few people recognized any of these characteristics, because they took him at face value, and also because he did not permit them to know him intimately. Inevitably they underestimated him, much to her amusement and frequent irritation. They tended to characterize him as lazy, indolent and a pretty boy, and therefore dismissed him as a man of no consequence. How wrong they were.

Lily rose from the chair when she heard the front door bang, and her ponderings about Ned and their first meeting were pushed to one side. He was on the staircase, coming back to her, and her look was questioning as he entered the small sitting room. ‘Was the cabbie willing to wait?'

‘For as long as I wish,' he answered, giving her a faint smile. Striding over to the fireplace he seated himself on the sofa and stretched out his long legs.

‘Do you want me to give you a shoulder massage?' she began, and instantly stopped as she saw him shaking his head.

‘I just wish to sit here with you, Lily, for a while, and relax, if I can. I'm so filled with grief I feel that anything I did which gave me an ounce of pleasure tonight would be completely wrong.'

Looking across at him, Lily merely inclined her head. A silence fell between them, but it was a compatible silence, and for a while the only sounds were the ticking
of the grandfather clock in the corner and the crackling of the logs on the fire.

Eventually, Lily ventured, ‘I felt the same way as you do now when my first husband died…that I shouldn't enjoy anything, that it was somehow disrespectful. But that's not the case, you know. And having a woman love you, and loving a woman in return, is actually a wonderful affirmation of life.' When he made no response, Lily pushed herself to her feet and went to sit next to him on the sofa.