Dreams of Desire (22 page)

Ultimately, he stomped after her, and Barbara was agog. Would he chase her into the castle? Would he proceed straight to her room, unconcerned about the indiscretion? Would he dare?

She remembered the odd night when she’d caught Miss Lambert locked in a downstairs parlor with him. It was obvious she’d been debauched, but Barbara had assumed John seduced her as a lark, as a one-time venture into lust that wouldn’t have been repeated.

Had Barbara been wrong? Had she misjudged the episode? Was there more to the relationship than she’d recognized?

Barbara knew passion when she saw it, knew love when she saw it. Why would a couple quarrel as John and Miss Lambert had unless a deep and abiding affection was present?

“Miss Lambert,” she mused. “Who would have guessed?”

She grinned and hurried to locate Phillip.

LILY walked across the park, struggling to look inconspicuous. The second vial of Spinster’s Cure was clutched in her hand.

Despite the fact that she didn’t believe the potion contained any magical power, she was going to drink it anyway. There were hundreds of guests roaming the castle grounds, and among the large crowd, she’d noted many bachelors. One in particular had caught her eye.

Captain Bramwell was visiting, which Lily considered an omen. Had fate brought him to Lily so she could try again?

Mr. Dudley insisted it was futile to ingest another dose, that she had altered her destiny and couldn’t repair the damage, but she had to do something.

She’d recklessly surrendered her virginity to Lord Penworth, but she hadn’t understood that the act was so intimate. It had left her in a maudlin state, her emotions scraped raw as if she’d been flayed alive.

Her feelings for him had manifested in a dangerous way. She loved him, but she absolutely
couldn’t
. Nor could she expect any reciprocal affection. She had to buck up, had to get a grip on herself and figure out how to proceed.

Without question, she had to escape him, but where was she to go? And how was she to accomplish it?

She was in a foreign country, with very little money, and no friends except for Mr. Dudley. She could attempt to quit her job, but the earl wouldn’t let her. Her other option was to sneak away, but she truly thought that he would chase after her and drag her back. He was fixated to the point of obsession, yet he was engaged to Violet Howard. He would never break his betrothal, and Lily had to accept the reality of her situation.

Penworth might fancy her, but it was in the abstract manner of all aristocrats who dallied with their servants. Lily had spent the night with him, but she couldn’t continue with the precarious, fruitless liaison. There was no benefit to be gleaned. Only detriment.

She had to divert Penworth’s attention—and fast! Marriage would be a foil to his interest, with a husband serving the role of vital buffer to keep him at bay.

Through the woods, she heard a horse approaching, and as it neared, she could see Bramwell in the saddle. She had a clear view of him, as clear as she’d had that evening on his ship when Penworth had wrecked her opportunity.

She stared and stared, imprinting his image into her head, then she tipped the vial to her lips and swallowed.

As the liquid flooded down her throat, she smirked, thinking she’d proved Mr. Dudley wrong. Fate could be mistakenly shifted in one direction, then shifted back in the other. But as she pondered the notion, she was suddenly wrenched away.

“There you are,” Penworth said. “I’ve been searching everywhere.”

“Ah!” she shrieked, her gaze ripped from Bramwell to settle on Penworth. Again!

She peered up into his handsome face, and strange as it sounded, time seemed to grind to a halt. The forest, the sky, the breeze, the birds in the trees all disappeared. There was John Middleton and no one—and nothing—else.

Providence unfurled a vision that only she could see: the children they would have, the places they would reside, the minor tragedies and major triumphs that would buffet their existence.

The stirring portrait depicted the future she’d always wanted, and it was hovering within her grasp. She could reach out and seize it—if she dared. Violet Howard didn’t matter. Lily’s humble antecedents didn’t matter. John’s station in the world didn’t matter. It was ordained that they be united for all eternity.

Then Bramwell crashed through the foliage on his horse, shattering her dreamy reverie as cleanly as if he’d shot a gun through it.

“What is it, Penworth?” he asked, riding up. “A woman called out. She seemed to be in distress.”

“It’s Miss Lambert overreacting again,” Penworth explained.

From his high perch, Bramwell glared down his snooty nose, gaping at the vial in Lily’s hand.

“Still drinking, Miss Lambert?” he chastised.

“No, I’m not, Captain Bramwell, though if I
was
, I hardly suppose it would be any of your business.”

“She’s awfully flighty,” Bramwell said to Penworth, “even for a female.”

“She grows on you,” Penworth claimed.

“It’s the middle of the day. I know you’re loyal to your employees, but perhaps you should reconsider. If such a drunkard worked for me, I wouldn’t let her within a hundred yards of my fiancée.”

He trotted off, as Lily grumbled, “Pompous ass.”

Penworth chuckled. “My goodness, Miss Lambert! Such language.”

He was still gripping her arm, and she jerked away and started toward the castle, but after taking a mere two steps, he grabbed her and yanked her back to him.

“We have a moment alone,” he pointed out. “Don’t run off.”

“I’d rather be by myself.”

“Why?”

“You’ve spoiled everything,” she complained. “Just like before!”

“What have I spoiled?” he demanded. “What are you doing out here?”

The trials of the past few weeks pressed in on her, her frantic emotions simmering below the surface.

What if she was pregnant? What then?

She would be a pariah. Decent people would shun her. She’d never find another job. She’d be tossed out on the streets; she’d starve.

Had it been worth it—to throw it all away just for him?

The overwhelming answer was
no
.

He’d copulated with her, then gone on his merry way. He hadn’t forsworn Lady Violet, hadn’t cancelled his wedding. He was blithely walking down the road to matrimony, and the fact that he hadn’t cried off from his betrothal was the most striking evidence of how foolish Lily had been.

“If you must know,” she snapped, “I was drinking a love potion.”

“A . . . love potion?” He laughed and laughed, deeming it the silliest comment ever, and as his mirth waned, he asked, “Why would you need a love potion?”

“To make someone fall in love with me. Why would you suppose?”

He frowned, then grinned. “You were hoping it would be Aiden Bramwell? Oh, that is too rich for words.”

Another bout of hysterical laughter seemed likely, and she cut him off, unable to abide his hilarity. “Why couldn’t he love me?”

“He never would.”

It was a cruel remark, but he didn’t notice. He wouldn’t. She was a servant. An employee. An underling. Any insult was of no consequence.

“How about you?” she fumed. “Could you ever love me?”

“What?”

“You heard me: Could you ever love me?”

“No.” At her sharp intake of breath, he hastily added, “It’s nothing to do with you personally.”

“Of course not.”

“I could never love anyone. It’s not in my nature.”

He took the vial from her, and he held it up toward the sunlight, seeing that it was empty. “Is this the same nonsense you had on Bramwell’s ship?” he inquired. “You told me it was a cure for seasickness.”

“I lied.”

“You expect me to believe it’s a . . . a . . . magic potion?”

“I don’t care what you believe.” She retrieved the vial and stuck it in her pocket.

“Where did you get it?”

“From Mr. Dudley.”

“My new neighbor?”

“Yes. He uses the fake name Philippe Dubois. He’s a charlatan who travels around the countryside, convincing women that he can change their lives, but he can’t.”

Her tone was so solemn, her expression so gloomy, that he was taken aback. “What is wrong with you?” he queried.

“I’m fine.”

“If it’s about yesterday, and your accompanying Violet during her—”

“This isn’t about Lady Violet!” she stridently insisted.

“What is it, then?”

“You and I had marital relations, but it was meaningless to you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Will you marry me now? Is that your plan? For if it is, I must have missed your proposal.”

“Marry . . . you?” He shook his head. “I never could, Lily. I thought you understood.”

“I
understand
all right.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat, being absurdly close to tears. “What will happen to me?”

“Why would anything
happen
? We’ll continue on just as we have been.”

“Where does it leave me? Will you merely flirt and flatter, then occasionally sneak into my room when you can get away from your guests? Is that all there will ever be for me?”

“Well . . . yes. There could never be more.”

“What about Lady Violet?”

“What about her?”

“You’re engaged to her.”

“She’s irrelevant to you and me. The two of you occupy totally separate places in my life.”

“Do we?”

Yet when it was over, Lady Violet would be his wife and countess, but what would Lily be?

“What’s to become of me?”

“Why even ask the question? You’ll keep working for me.”

“But I’m not assisting the twins anymore, so I don’t have any chores.”

“You’ll help Violet.”

“Have you even the smallest clue of how inappropriate it is for me to tend her now that you and I have . . . had ...”

She couldn’t utter the word
intercourse
. It was beyond her, and he, too, seemed unsettled by her need to speak of what they’d done. He scowled with dismay, so at least he was capable of some amount of chagrin.

“I told you”—he appeared exasperated—“that Violet is irrelevant to us.”

“How can you say that? You’re going to marry her!”

“Yes, I am.”

“What if she finds out about us?”

“She won’t,” he declared with a pompous certainty.

“You’ve betrayed her.”

“Betrayed! You’re being ridiculous. My wedding is almost a year away.”

“And you’re demanding that I be her companion till that date. I can’t do it. I can’t watch you court her. I assumed I could, but I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because it hurts me!” She clutched a fist over her heart, which was breaking. “It wounds me to see you with her, to know that I can never be good enough for you. I could never be your fiancée, but she can be simply because of who her father is.”

“Why would you want me as a husband? You talk as if you have ...
feelings
for me.”

He pronounced
feelings
as if it were an epithet, as if she had too many of them while he had none worth mentioning. His condescension only underscored what an idiot she’d been.

Their sexual congress had changed her in ways she couldn’t explain. She felt overwrought and exposed and bound to him in an abiding fashion, but he was the same as ever: haughty, aloof, detached, and ready to wed Violet Howard with nary a ripple in his conscience.

“I want to return to England,” she said.

“No.”

“It’s insane to make me stay here.”

“Then call me mad—for you will not go.”

She was growing angry, but he was, too. She didn’t imagine anyone ever argued with him. He gave orders, and they were instantly obeyed. Obviously, he expected her to be just as subservient, but she couldn’t passively heed his edict.

She felt used and sullied, the
other
woman in a seedy affair. There was no putting a better spin on it, and she refused to persist with shaming herself.

How had she landed in such a wretched predicament? She had no idea, but she had to extricate herself as swiftly as she could.

“Fine then,” she seethed, “if you won’t let me go, I quit!”

“I don’t accept your resignation.”

“You don’t own me, and you can’t force me to remain.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

His rage bubbled over, and he grabbed her and shook her. “You will not quit! I will not allow it!”

“It’s not up to you!”

“Isn’t it? If that’s what you suppose, then you don’t comprehend the power I can wield.”

She pushed him away, not wanting him to touch her, for when he did, her reasoning became muddled. She was dangerously, stupidly attracted to him, and she desperately yearned for things to be different. But they never would be.