Once an Heiress (21 page)

An orb of heat thrummed in her belly. Ethan’s hand slipped between her legs, probing and parting. She whimpered.
No!
She reminded herself. This would not do.

Lily disengaged herself and sat up, pulling the bed sheet to cover her chest. Her tangled, dark hair spilled over her hands onto the snowy white linens. “My lord, I did not wake you to do
that
.”

Ethan flung an arm over his eyes. “Pity.”

“I should like a word,” she continued. “I would appreciate it if you’d attend.”

Ethan’s arm shifted; she saw one shaded eye narrowed on her face. “I’m listening.”

She cleared her throat and licked her lips. This would have been easier if she’d already had her chocolate. Briefly, she wondered if there was even any chocolate in the house. “Concerning the subject of our marriage,” she began, “I think it best if we establish some rules — let each other know up front what we can expect.” She plucked at the sheet, her gaze sliding sideways.

Ethan lowered his arm and laid his hands atop his chest. His face was shuttered, his expression guarded. “What kind of rules?”

A nervous knot twisted in her middle. Why did she suddenly feel as though she was wronging him in some way? That was ridiculous. In truth, she was protecting them both — herself from his inevitable rejection, and him from having to reject her at all. He was an aristocrat. Gentlemen did not want to be bothered with their wives’ emotions.

“You should know,” she blurted, “that I am only interested in a conventional, society marriage. I do not plan to interfere with your life, nor do I wish you to interfere in mine.”

Ethan pushed himself up to a sitting position. The sheet fell around his thighs, granting her full view of his naked torso and groin. She jerked her eyes back to his face.

“A society marriage?” His lips curled around the words as though they tasted bad. “What does that mean, Lily?”

She gestured with a hand. “That —
that
, for instance. You ought not call me by my Christian name, and I ought not use yours. I would prefer to call you Thorburn, if it’s all the same to you.”

Storm clouds seemed to gather around him, sucking all the light out of the room. “And what am I supposed to call you, princess? Shall I call you Thorburn, as well?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “If you’d like,” she said archly. “Lady Thorburn would do.”

“You like the sound of your title, then? How fortunate that I could give you a wedding gift without spending a shilling.” He punched up a pillow before leaning back, arms crossed over his chest.

She flinched, but pressed on. “And I should like to have my own room. That’s what is done.”

Ethan exhaled loudly through his nostrils and pressed a hand to his forehead. His little finger trembled. “And just how do you suppose that’s going to happen? Now’s as good a time as any to inform you I’m still entirely penniless. Your father — ”

“I know what my father did,” she snapped.

Lily swung her legs over the mattress and hurried to retrieve a fresh chemise from her bag. With his icy gaze on her, she felt more naked and exposed than at any time during their passionate night.

She turned her back as she struggled with the garment. Lily missed Moira, but her pauper of a husband couldn’t afford to pay her maid. “I know, too, what you have to do to earn the money. I shall tell my father when I’m happy, and I’m telling
you
what will make me happy.” She selected a morning dress and pulled it over her head. As she smoothed the fabric over her hips, his voice drew her attention.

“So we’re to lead separate lives?” His mouth twisted in a bitter frown.

Lily faltered. “Well, yes, my lord, that’s how it is done. Is this not what you want?”

His brooding demeanor puzzled her — was it possible he wanted something from this marriage besides her dowry?

For a long moment he stared at her, fury roiling through his eyes. Lily remembered the wolf-hungry look, the flashes of temper that left her trembling. Then he drew a steadying breath, his features arranging themselves into perfect aristocratic blandness.

“Of course it’s what I want.” His words were clipped, precise. “Thank you for sparing me from having to broach the subject.”

The minuscule bit of hope she’d harbored sizzled away like a drop of water on a hot skillet. She made to leave.

“Lady Thorburn,” he said in a polite tone that still somehow came out dripping with disdain, “one more thing.”

Lily turned and was startled by the glacial coldness of his stare.

“You shall have your society marriage, but I shall have my heir. You may not deny me your bed. Do you understand?”

She quailed. This was the one aspect of their marriage she wished she could stop dead, the part that would erode her soul until there was nothing left of herself, if last night was any indication. “I … I … ” she stammered.

The sound of a bell broke the tension. “I think someone is here. I shall see who it is.” She fled before he could demand her compliance.

Lily flew down the stairs. The bell rang again, but it came from below, not the front door. She made her way to the servants’ door and, curious, opened it.

“There you are, Miss Lily!” Moira’s face broke into a wide grin. Behind her lady’s maid were five other servants from home, all carrying carpetbags.

Lily marveled at the sight of so many friendly faces. “What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Bachman sent us, Miss Lily,” said a footman. “He said we was to come take care of you.”

It was like every birthday of her life had come all at once. Laughing and clapping in delight, she stepped aside to admit the servants.

“What’s this?”

She glanced over her shoulder to find Ethan standing there in his breeches and shirt, filling the hallway with his imposing presence so none could pass.

“My father’s sent them,” Lily explained.

“Send them back,” he snapped. “I can’t pay them.”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but Mr. Bachman is still paying our wages,” the footman interjected.

Ethan’s jaw worked side to side as he cast a scrutinizing look over the servants, whose cheerful faces had begun to fall under his glowering expression. “Do as you will.” He turned on a heel and strode into the gloomy depths of the basement.

Moira patted her shoulder and made a comment as the Bachman servants filed into the house, but Lily didn’t hear her. Her eyes remained where her husband had disappeared, taking the joy she’d felt in her father’s gift with him.

Ethan checked his watch again. Seven forty-five. He muttered in annoyance as he returned the timepiece to his pocket.

“Now, now,” Lord Hollier said. His gray head bobbed up and down. “You mustn’t be too put out, Thorburn. New brides are flighty creatures and we must grant them allowances. I daresay she’s beside herself learning to manage a household for the first time.”

Ethan quirked a brow and shook his head. “Many descriptors fit my wife, Hollier, but flighty is not one of them. And managing things comes as naturally to her as breathing.” He cast a regretful look at his hostess. “My sincerest apologies, Lady Hollier. I can’t imagine what’s keeping Lady Thorburn.”
Other than her desire to make a complete fool of me,
he thought blackly.

“Perhaps she’s indisposed,” the old lady suggested. “Young women are inclined to take ill this time of year. All the parties and balls do begin to wear on one after a while.”

Ethan hadn’t the heart to remind Lady Hollier that he and his new wife were not widely received. The scandal surrounding their hasty marriage had dropped them from many guest lists, although Ethan knew all would be forgiven by next season. In the fortnight they’d been married, Lily had only been called upon by her intimate friends, Ladies Naomi and Janine Lockwood.

“Shall we go on with supper?” Lord Hollier asked. He patted his midsection. “I hate to not wait upon a lady, but my dyspepsia flares up if I go too long without eating.”

A cold knot of embarrassment twisted Ethan’s stomach. How could she do this to him? How could she be so rude to their hosts — especially when they’d received next to no invitations as it was?

“I’m terribly sorry,” he apologized again. “I know you’ve gone to such trouble on our behalf, but if it’s all the same, I should go home.” He nodded to Lady Hollier. “Maybe Lady Thorburn is unwell. ’Twould be remiss not to look in on her.”

Lord Hollier made a clicking sound. He patted his wife’s knee. “You go along, my dear. I shall have a word with Thorburn and join you in a moment.”

The butler was summoned and the aged retainer escorted Lady Hollier out of the parlor. Ethan couldn’t be sure which of that pair offered more support to the other.

When they’d gone, he blew his cheeks out and turned his gaze back to Lord Hollier.

“Rocky start?” the older man asked.

Ethan exhaled a rueful sigh. “Still trying to find our stride, I suppose.”

“Give it some time,” the old man advised. He laughed, a dry, wheezing sound. “When Lady Hollier and I were newly wed, I once called her by my mistress’s name in bed.”

Ethan winced and made a sympathetic whistle.

“It all works itself out in the end.”

“Does it?” His parents’ marriage had never worked out, except to a miserable failure — which was one kind of end, he mused.
And look at you, already heading down that path.

Lord Hollier leaned forward in his seat. “Speaking of … ” He waved a hand as he spoke in a low voice. “Do you still see Mrs. Myles?”

“I do,” Ethan affirmed, “as often as I can — at least two or three times each week.”

The old man grunted. “You’re a good lad. How is she?”

“Not well, unfortunately. But her new nurse has her on a routine that keeps the worst of her episodes at bay.”

A heavy sigh escaped Lord Hollier’s lips. “That’s too bad. Give her my regards, if you would be so kind.” He slapped his thighs and hauled himself up. “I suppose I must join Lady Hollier now. If I’m not quick enough, she’ll eat all the pudding.”

They parted ways in the entry hall. Lord Hollier smiled genially as they shook hands. “My compliments to your lady,” he said. “You’ll come again, of course — when you’ve got it all sorted out.”

Ethan felt another stab of chagrin.

He stopped at the curb. There was a hackney stand at the corner. “Blast it,” he muttered. He strode on past the tired old carriages available for hire. In his present mood, it would do him good to burn some energy off before he got home. The brass tip of his walking stick tapped an every-other-step tattoo against the walk.

The dark streets held no terrors for Ethan. He almost hoped a footpad did accost him — it would give him a marvelous excuse to beat something to a bloody pulp.

His confounded wife had, in the short span of just a few weeks, humiliated him at almost every level. She didn’t give a thought for how his own reputation had suffered when the Vauxhall Gardens fiasco was made public. True, he was already considered a rake, but now he was seen as a seducer of virgins. She and her father had colluded to embarrass him in regards to his finances — first by withholding her dowry, and then by sending servants to his house to rub in the fact that he couldn’t provide for his wife. And now, she furthered his social degradation by failing to put in an appearance at the Holliers’. There were few people left in the world who held Ethan in good esteem. Lord and Lady Hollier were amongst that dwindling group, and her actions threatened to take even this away from him.

He growled and swung his stick at a manicured boxwood, sending a spray of little green leaves flying into the air.

The hell of it was, of course, that he had to sit back and take it if he stood any chance of her reporting herself happily married. Once he had his hands on that money, though …

He smirked as he considered the possibilities. He could send her to the family heap to keep his father company. They could pass their days being nasty to one another. He could pack her off to Greece to live with his mother, who might find a daughter-in-law a diverting addition to her household. He could remove himself to the Continent, he mused. He’d never had a Tour, but with Bonaparte exiled, travel would soon be safe again.

Ghita would be his mistress soon, he supposed. She might like a trip home to Italy. Together, they could travel the world and leave Lily behind to stew in her proper, society life.

Ethan could live very well on that dowry money until he came into his own inheritance. And eventually, Mr. Bachman would pass on, leaving everything to Lily. But since everything belonging to his wife was legally his …

A great, rich future loomed before him, wherein he could do exactly as he pleased. So why did his ideas make him feel vile and wretched? He scowled all the harder. All he had to do was wait. Until then, he would bide his time, try to make Lily happy, and get her with child, too.

A vision of Lily round with his child danced in his mind. It was an erotic thought. Sadly, they’d not had another night as unrestrained as their wedding night. Lily had shut down sexually, keeping her eyes squeezed shut while he went through the motions of intercourse. The last time, he’d been so put off by her frigidness, his erection wilted before he completed the act. He hadn’t touched her in a week.

She would enjoy a babe, though. Having a child to direct her energies toward would take the sting off their eventual separation — if she even noticed him leaving. A pang of regret shot through Ethan. He wished it wasn’t this way, but Lily made it abundantly clear through word and deed that she was uninterested in anything beyond the most superficial of marriages. As long as it didn’t disintegrate into violence and hatred as his parents’ relationship had done, Ethan could say he’d done better than they. The thought did not cheer him.

He mounted the steps, the swept bricks secure beneath his boots. The Bachman servants may be symbolically emasculating, he mused, but they did make life more pleasant.

A footman opened the door. “Good evening, my lord.”

Not knowing the man who opened one’s door was unsettling. When that dowry materialized, hiring a staff of his own choosing was on his list of priorities. “Is her ladyship at home?”