Julia London 4 Book Bundle (21 page)

“Surely he has said as much!” he insisted.

Lilliana forced a cheerful laugh. “Adrian is rather busy with his work.”

Benedict crossed the room to stand at her canvas. “He hasn’t, has he?”

She shrugged and picked up her brush. How could he? He had never so much as stepped foot in the orangery, and Lord knew he paid no attention to the paintings she had hung in his study. “He’s really not very interested in art,” she said, dipping her brush onto her pallet.

“Yes, he is. He has one of the finest collections in London,” Benedict said abruptly.

The queasiness roiled up into her chest. “Well,” she said lightly, “I paint only for the pleasure of it.”

“Oh, God,” Benedict groaned, “I was afraid of this!” He suddenly came down on one knee beside her, grasping her wrist. “He’s made you unhappy, hasn’t he? Don’t deny it—it’s painfully obvious.”

“Benedict!” she said, and forcing a smile, tried to wrench her wrist free of his grip. “You have no idea what you are saying!”

Benedict held fast. “Oh, but I do. I’ve seen the two of you, and I know what sort of man he is! If he truly held you in the highest regard, he would not … you
know
what I am saying, don’t you?”

She had absolutely no idea what he was saying! “Know what? He is rather occupied with his work, that’s all.”

Benedict frowned down at her hand for a moment. “He is rather distant, even
I
can see it. I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but I feel … oh hell! Lilliana,
think!
Has he been away from you for any length of time? At night? Has he made any trips or received any correspondence he did not want you—”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, her forced smile
fading with her confusion. “Adrian is working very hard to make repairs to Longbridge.”

“Of course,” Benedict said, with such a piteous smile that she wanted to strike it from his face. “It is Longbridge he devotes his attention to during those evenings he cannot even take the time to dine with you.”

Lilliana suddenly understood his implication and it jolted her. She surged upward from the little bench and jerked free of Benedict. “I don’t know what you are attempting to imply, my lord, but it is none of your concern! Everything is quite
fine!
”

Benedict rose slowly. “Do you honestly want me to believe that?” he asked softly.

Mortified, Lilliana yanked at the ties of her smock. “I don’t know what you believe, but I would thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself! They are unwelcome!” she snapped as she discarded the smock. With a heated glare, she moved quickly to retrieve her cloak.

“I only want your happiness, Lilliana, it’s all I have ever wanted!” Benedict insisted earnestly. “Don’t you know I will help you with everything in my power? If he cannot bring himself to care for you, if he must turn his attentions elsewhere—”

“Stop it!” she cried. “How
dare
you insinuate yourself into my marriage? For God’s sake, Benedict, if you are still angry with me for marrying him, then say so! But please do not be cruel!”

Benedict immediately came forward, grabbing her cloak even though she tried to slap his hand away, and held it up so she could slip into it. “I could never be cruel to you. I am so sorry, so
very
sorry for you, don’t you see that? You cannot hide from me, Lilliana, I know you too well. I know you both too well, and I can plainly see what you will not admit. I cannot bear to see how he is hurting you with his indiscretion!”

Lilliana lurched away from him and jerked the door open without looking back, flying across the lawn to the house, frantic to be away from him and his lies. Stumbling up a narrow servants’ staircase, she made her way
to her rooms, bolted the door behind her, and fell onto her bed.

He
knew!
God help her, it was so bloody obvious—Benedict had already surmised that Adrian despised her! The tiny thread of hope she had so stubbornly clung to in the last weeks, the hope that Adrian would grow to accept her, had vanished in the orangery when Benedict suggested there was another.

Her heart constricted painfully, and she gasped for air. There was no
other!
How could there be? He had not left Longbridge!
But he is gone every day, all day.
“Longbridge is
huge!
” she sobbed. And there were many cottages and houses occupied by dozens of tenants, and little villages nearby, and public houses and inns—plenty of opportunity for a man who was a celebrated womanizer.

Oh, Lord, how could she be so angry with Benedict when she had wondered the very same thing about him? Such doubts and fears were not new, but to hear them voiced aloud by another …

She suddenly pounded her fist into the bed. She would not accept it! She would
not
believe it!

She believed it.

Adrian was lost to her.

Honestly, as if he had ever been hers to lose! Lilliana gulped down a sob and hit the bed again and again, fighting to keep the awful truth from burying her.

She did not attend supper that evening, but sent a note to Adrian saying she had a sick headache. No one questioned her, no one came to see after her, except Polly, whom she managed to anger by refusing the soup she brought. Polly clucked her tongue disapprovingly and said sharply, “The Albright girls were just the same, you know. Would get some bee in their bonnet and not eat a bite.”

Lilliana was too miserable to care what the Albright girls did or did not do. Her life looked terribly bleak—was she to be shut away at Longbridge for the rest of her life, longing for him while she endured his disdain? The
attempt to accept her loveless fate was excruciatingly difficult—but not nearly as difficult as the thought that he would come to her tonight, make her love him all over again, then leave her so that the cold emptiness could creep into her soul until she was mad with it.

Well, she would rather be dead than know pleasure at his hand. She was nothing more than a vessel to him, a piece of flesh on which he might get a son. He was indifferent to all else, and by God, so should she be.

Adrian did not realize that he might actually miss the company of the Grange Princess until he was forced to dine with Benedict alone. The dining room seemed unusually large and quiet without her bubbling laughter or eager discussion of which pudding the cook was sure to have made. Benedict seemed to notice it, too, and the first course passed in awkward silence as the two brothers consumed their wine as if they had thirsted in a desert. By the time the third course was served, the wine had eased the tension between them somewhat.

“Honestly, I have never known you to stay in one place for so long,” Benedict said amicably through a mouthful of fish.

Adrian shrugged. “There is a lot of work to be done at Longbridge.”

“But don’t you yearn even a bit for London? The Rogues and all that?”

Another painful reminder of Phillip, which Benedict innocently managed rather frequently. “Not at all,” Adrian lied. “However, I am going in a day or so to see after a few things.” An idea that had come to him just today, actually.

“Then I suppose you’ll be introducing Lilliana around?” Benedict asked, almost hopefully. “High time London saw the sort of woman Albright would take as a wife.”

Adrian glanced at him. Was it his imagination, or did Benedict’s eyes take on a peculiar little glint? “I think
not this time. I should be no more than a day or two. The trip would be too hard on her,” he said carefully.

Benedict nodded as he reached for his wineglass. “Traveling with a woman is a bit like torture, isn’t it? I shouldn’t blame you.”

“Indeed?” Adrian drawled, eyeing his brother curiously.

Benedict chuckled. “I have hardly lived the life of a monk, Adrian. Granted, my exploits are fewer in number and far less entertaining than yours, but I am a man after all.”

How strange, Adrian thought absently, that he really did not know what sort of life Benedict lived. He really didn’t know his brother at all. He had always assumed he was a pasty country squire, dabbling with his garden and dining with Archie at precisely nine o’clock each evening. A mollycoddle, more in need of creature comforts than he would ever imagine a woman needing.

“This is excellent news, by the by, for I, too, am to London. We could travel together,” Benedict said, and turned to look at Adrian.

Fabulous. The only reason Adrian had offered his plans was in the hope that Benedict might at last leave Longbridge. “You’ve a coach here. I intend to travel on horseback—”

“Of course! I shall ride with you and return for my coach.”

“It is a half day’s hard ride from Kealing Park,” Adrian reminded him.

Benedict snorted. “What of it? It is not so far out of the way, really. Come on, then, Adrian. It will be entertaining, just the two of us. Remember when we were packed off to Eton together?”

He remembered all right. But Benedict was not that impish little boy anymore, and had not been for a very long time.

Benedict suddenly laughed. “God, Adrian, do you despise me so much?” he asked, but his eyes definitely belied the light laughter.

“No, Ben, of course not,” Adrian quickly answered. Truly, he didn’t
despise
him—he could not even, in good conscience, hold him partly responsible for Archie’s madness. It was just that he wished Benedict could have been more of a man. That was it, wasn’t it, the true root of his discomfort with him? Benedict’s smile faded, and Adrian quickly agreed. “We may travel together if you like, naturally.” Benedict smiled again, and Adrian ignored the feeling of uneasiness it gave him.

He declined his brother’s offer to play chess, citing his own headache. That was true enough; a dull, bothersome headache had been with him since Benedict had first appeared at Longbridge. But there was more, he grudgingly admitted to himself as he climbed the stairs.

He wanted to see Lilliana. He wanted to run his fingers through that mess of blond curl, to look into those gray-green eyes as he plunged into her warmth.

Fortunately, Lilliana had not gone to sleep. She was sitting at her vanity in the glow of a single candle, looking at some paper when he came into the room. She did not look up, as if she had not heard him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he strolled into the room.

“Fine, thank you,” she muttered, and still she did not look up, did not grace him with that smile she seemed to flash at Benedict at every turn.

He walked to where she sat and put his hands on her shoulder, peering at her reflection in the mirror over the top of her head. “What are you reading?”

“A letter from Caroline.”

He bent to nuzzle her neck. Lilliana squirmed as he flicked his tongue across her earlobe. “We missed you at supper,” he murmured. He got no response to that. Wordlessly, she folded the paper and slipped it under her jewelry box, then folded her hands primly in her lap. Mildly surprised, Adrian lifted his head—she was usually eager for his caress. His hand drifted down from her shoulder to cup her breast, but Lilliana did not move.
Adrian frowned at her reflection; “Madam, do I detect a bit of unwillingness?” he asked bluntly.

“I am your wife. I would never be unwilling.”

And what in the hell was
that
supposed to mean? Adrian abruptly stepped away and shoved a hand through his hair. “Not the most charming thing you have ever said,” he muttered irritably.

She turned to look at him, her eyes oddly vacant. Slowly, she rose from the bench—in the soft candlelight the white silk wrapper she wore gave the illusion of a mist rising on the lake. Her eyes locked on his, never leaving him as she walked to the bed. Mildly confused, Adrian wondered if she was playing some sort of game with him. Hesitantly he followed her, drawing up short when she untied the wrapper and let it fall to the floor. She did not speak, just stood there looking at him with that oddly vacant expression.

Completely naked.

Lord God, but the woman had a sumptuous body. His gaze hungrily roamed the smooth slope of her shoulders, the ripe fullness of her breasts and the dark, rigid peaks, the slender waist flaring into softly rounded hips, the golden triangle of curls between her legs. She had never done this—she stood before him without artifice, allowing him to feast on her feminine curves at his leisure. It wouldn’t be long; his arousal was swift and hard, jutting against his trousers.

A lazy smile spread across his lips. “Is this an invitation, madam? If so, it is one I cannot refuse,” he drawled, and quickly shrugged out of his waistcoat and shirt. He gathered her in his arms, crushing her lithe body into his hard one, pressing his erection against the soft flesh of her belly as he caressed the curve of her spine. He devoured her neck, moving eagerly to her mouth as he eased her onto the bed. His lips moved roughly over hers, tasting them, feeling the softly plump flesh against his teeth. Desire spread uncontrollably, clouding his brain. It wasn’t until he thrust his tongue in her mouth that he realized she was not responding.

He lifted his head. “Hold me, Lillie,” he whispered urgently, then claimed her mouth again, forcing his tongue past her lips. He allowed himself the pleasure of languishing there as his hands roamed her body, skating the peaks and valleys, savoring the incredible softness of a woman’s body that penetrated the most hardened of his senses.

Until he understood he was the only one enjoying this dance.

Hell, he was the only one
participating!
He came up on his elbows, peering down at her with a frown of great exasperation. Lilliana’s eyes narrowed slightly as she returned his gaze.

It was so unlike her. All right, all right, he barely knew what she was like anymore, but that was out
there
, beyond these walls. In
here
, he knew her very well, and this … this was so unlike her that it sent a strange shiver down his spine. Slowly he pushed himself up and sat back on his heels, his eyes angrily demanding an explanation.

Lilliana responded, all right. Her gaze never wavered as she slowly snaked her arms out perpendicular to her body and then spread her legs wide.

Like a whore.