Hint of Desire (9 page)

Read Hint of Desire Online

Authors: Lavinia Kent

BOOK: Hint of Desire
9.59Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Then
, as if catching sight of her for the first time, he stalked towards the bed. “It’s a miracle that you escaped. I don’t know what they wanted, but clearly you weren’t part of it.” He seemed to hesitate before reaching out to brush one of the many stray curls away from her face.

She lifted her hand to his and wrapped her small white fingers around his much thicker ones
. She held his hand there against her face, breathing in the musk of his soap.

She closed her eyes a
nd remembered her childhood fantasies of this man, how safe they had made her feel. She opened her eyes and lifted them to meet his. Was there still a trace of the young prince she had known?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

Dusk settled
over the house as Arthur returned from his meanderings. He had spent the remainder of the afternoon walking through fields and poking in irrigation ditches. He had responsibilities beyond one small woman and her child. If he failed in some way, he knew, his estate managers would take up the slack, but he had never failed in his duties and he’d be damned if he’d let a lady – regardless of who she was – distract him from them now.

Arthur
stalked through the formal garden to the ornamental pond at the back edge. In the waning dusk, it was possible to pick out the shimmering orange of the exotic fish with which he had stocked the pond in the spring. It had been an impulsive act, but he could not regret it. Watching the bright golden fish glide slowly through the shallows brought him a tranquility that had no edge of boredom. He dipped his walking stick into the water, watching as the ripples brought wide gaping mouths to the surface. It really was amazing how the small fish had grown over the summer. If they survived the harshness of winter, he could only wonder how they’d grow the following summer.

Arthur turned back and looked at the house outlined with
the merest glint of the red that still shone fiery behind it. He had left a message inviting Lily – he should think of her more formally, but his mind refused – to join him for dinner, and it would be rude to be late. Mathers would already have his evening attire laid out, each piece pristine and perfect. Sherry would be served in the parlor, followed by the usual succession of courses. Then he would retire for brandy and a final cigar in the garden, and another day would be over, the same as so many others before it.

But it wouldn’t be the same, not if L
ily consented to join him. Since she had arrived to disrupt his household, nothing had been quite the same. He took a deep breath and played with the thought; nothing had been the same since she arrived. His steps quickened on the paving stones as he moved towards the door.

 

“My aunt has agreed to join us, as chaperone, until such time as some arrangement can be made for you. Are you sure you have no family to take you in? What of your husband’s? Surely you wish to return to your home?” Lily watched as Arthur leaned back in his chair and surveyed her from under hooded eyes.

Dinner was finished and the last of the sweet lay forgotten on the table before them
. Lily’s fork clanged against the thin china of her plate. She quickly lowered her hands to her lap.

“No, there is no one
. And I do not yet feel up to travel, even of a short distance.”

Arthur
had asked before and always she answered with the same simple words. He might know there must be family on her husband’s side – Worthington’s brother had surely been mentioned by somebody. He reclined further and she could feel his cool gaze sweep over her.

“Lady Smythe-Burke, my aunt, should arrive within
a few days. We are fortunate that she was visiting not far from here. She will know how to deal with . . . the situation.” The words hung in the air until Lily felt her hands begin to tremble.

She raised her glance from her lap and looked at him with trepidation
.

“I am not sure I understand, your g
race. What do you propose?”

“I have not decided, but I do know the present situation cannot continue
. This is not the place for you.”

She dropped her gaze again
. She knew what he said was correct, but it sent chills down her spine. She knew she needed to leave, but she depended on his generosity until she could find a place to go – anyplace but Marclyffe and the memories it held. Still, as he had sent for his aunt, a chaperone – evidently he was not about to push her out the door.

As if seeking to relieve her discomfort
, he changed the subject. “Have you been well enough to stroll in the garden? It would help improve your strength. The weather has been lovely and the late roses quite magnificent.”

“I am afraid I haven’t yet
. I seem to be so easily tired.”

“You really must
. The gardens are remarkable for the season.”

“I am sure you are correct
. I have been so busy with Simon.”

Silence held for a moment, and she rushed to fill the awkward gap
. “I used to be always out in the gardens at first light. I actually liked to hide under bushes and pretend I was a fairy caught by the morning light.”

He shot her the strangest look at that
, his voice softer. “You must have been a most adorable sprite. I wish I could have seen you.”

Oh, but he had
. She rambled on, trying to disguise the confusion his words and glance ignited. “I actually still sometimes pretend, although I’ve grown much too big to hide under bushes. Do you have any small trees?”

He didn’t answer
. Did he think her mad? Grown women were not supposed to dream of being fairies, no matter the lives they sought to escape.

His expression remained cool, but she thought the slight tightening of his lips seemed troubled
. She placed her utensils on her plate and rose.

“I am feeling a slight fatigue
. As I mentioned I tire easily. Please excuse me.”

She
felt the burn of his glance follow her as she fled the room. It seemed an eternity before she made it to her door.

Once inside she paced recklessly until just as she was about to retire
, a maid arrived with a bunch of roses and set them by her bed.

 

The next morning, Lily hummed softly as she settled into the bright buttercup chair in the drawing room. The remade dress of the past duchess didn’t fit her perfectly, but after days spent wrapped in nothing but a nightdress and dressing gown, her new attire felt lovely. And it was lovely, too, to sit in the soft sunlight shining though the window and escape into the dream of being a real lady, of forgetting the past days.

Of course
, any proper lady in Lily’s circumstances would be wearing the most unremitting of blacks. But that had not been an option.

When Gertrude brought the dress and
the light slippers out before dinner she was full of apologies.

“I’
m sorry, my lady, but I couldn’t find any black. I asked the housekeeper about it, and she muttered that she was sure there weren’t any.”

“I am not sure I understand.”

”I know the past duchess must have mourned a year for the old duke, but all I could find were her half-mourning grays and lavenders.”

“They must have been given away before now.
” It really didn’t seem such a great mystery to Lily.

“I thought so at first, but it was odd, everything else is up there in the attics,
packed carefully. It was only the blacks missing. I asked Nanny about it. She remembers everything.”

This was clearly leading someplace
. Lily nodded at Gertrude to continue.

“Well,
my lady, apparently on the anniversary of the old duke’s death, the duchess had every last piece of black she owned thrown in a brush heap and burned. She even threw her jet jewelry pieces in there herself. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”

Lily certainly had not
. “Why did she do it?”

“I asked Nanny that too, but she sniffed and bustled away
. Still, it’s shocking, isn’t it? In any case I think this made up very nicely. It’s lucky you’re smaller than the duchess was; it never does work well the other way.” Gertrude shook out the simple mauve dress, demonstrating the careful stitching.

Lily
could not regret being unable to wear black for Worthington; even the light purple seemed a mockery. Putting aside the unpleasant thought, she thought of her mother sitting in the same spot, so many years before, her warm voice filling the corners of the room as she laughed with the duchess or cuddled Lily tight in her lap.

Lifting the
teacup, Lily blew gently across the surface before letting the first taste pass her lips. As the pungent flavor filled her mouth, Lily could not help smiling. She had grown used to the most watered down teas, insipid brews suitable only for a sickroom. Worthington believed that spending money for tea was wasteful. He wanted ale for breakfast. Now a sense of well-being filled Lily. There was nothing like a good cup of tea.

Her
childhood fantasy, this home where she’d watched her mother filled with light and laughter, and had silently worshipped the prince of her dreams, began to come to life again. Perhaps it wasn’t a fantasy after all, but only a brightened memory. Arthur might not be the boy she remembered, but as the roses demonstrated, neither was he the ogre she had feared.

S
he settled her tea again on the table, and turned her face up to the sun. Nanny had taken Simon up to the nursery for a warm bath, and Lily felt more relaxed than she could remember. She had only to live in the moment, and let the past sleep.

“Hello
, Sister, it’s good to see you so . . . well.”

The
dulcet tones cut through Lily’s peace. She turned her face slowly towards the doorway.

A
tall, elegant man stood there, the picture of a polished gentleman. His lips smiled. He stood stock still, poised.

Lily looked at him with some trepidation. “Do I know you? You call me sister? I have no brother.”

“A term of endearment only.
I am Lord Dudley St. Aubin, your husband’s brother. Surely, you remember meeting me at your wedding? I certainly remember you.” He smiled again. “I am sorry we have not had the chance to become more closely acquainted. My brother and I were not always on the best of terms.

He
prowled towards her. No, that was her imagination. It was only his faint similarity to his brother that had her so nervous.

“I am sorry, but I do not remember,” Lily answered
. “My wedding is a bit of a blur.”

“My dearest sister
. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? You know I always cared about you as a sister. Nobody could be dearer to me than my recently departed brother’s wife.”

Lily h
eld firm to her chair to keep from shrinking into it. To someone else, the words might have sounded friendly, but despite the smile and soft tone, Lily would not trust any relative of Worthington. She was glad she had let Nanny take Simon up.

“What do you want?”

“My own wants are immaterial. It is you I am concerned for. I know my duty. Even if my brother and I were not on the best of terms before his demise, Geoffrey would be most upset if I did not bring you home and care for you . . . properly. And, I understand from the servants that you’ve recently been delivered of a son, my brother’s heir. It is only fitting that I bring you both home, where you belong and must long to be.” As he spoke, St. Aubin leaned over and took Lily’s hand. She fought the urge to recoil into the chair. She must not blame him for his brother’s sins.

Besides, she did not want to raise his susp
icions. It was currently accepted that Worthington had been attacked. She could do nothing to raise questions.

“I
would rather stay here. Marclyffe holds no pleasant memories for me.” Lily forced an emotional waiver into he voice despite a sudden urge scream the words at him. The thought of returning to Marclyffe was unbearable.

St. Aubin
leaned forward until Lily could smell the kippers he’d breakfasted on fighting against his sweet cologne and the bitter tang of ale. “Of course, you do. You’re just confused by your recent . . . misfortune.”

Lily gulped
at the sugar syrup in his tone. It felt like swallowing river pebbles. She fought desperately to find a reply. Each word he spoke dragged her back to that world she had been trying so hard to forget.

St. Aubin
’s gaze dropped at her silence. She felt his eyes move over her like the probing of fingers. “Don’t fret, my dear. I understand how distressing Geoffrey’s death must be for you. I know how good a husband he was. I am more than ready to treat you as you deserve. I hope the thought brings great comfort to you in your hour of need.”

His hand squeezed hers tight
. He could not mean to crush her fingers so. She closed her eyes and swallowed. She must get control of herself. He was not Worthington. It was only her own fears making her feel a threat where there was none. She really must try to be courteous.

Other books

The Rancher's First Love by Brenda Minton
Southern Charm by Stuart Jaffe
Duet for Three by Joan Barfoot
Howzat! by Brett Lee
Plan by Lyle, Linda;
Better Not Love Me by Kolbet, Dan
Patchwork Dreams by Laura Hilton
Rowan Hood Returns by Nancy Springer