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“Well… I suppose that’s up to you. Although I do know that they’re very, very,
very
expensive.”

“Expensive, are they?” Madame Marceau’s eyes gleamed like guineas.

“Very,
very
,” Lily confirmed with a wicked smile. “I think you should make quite a few of them for Constance.”

“Perhaps something with a long sleeve…” Madame Marceau mused.

“And perhaps with a book dangling from it somewhere.”

They laughed together again until they nearly choked.

Chapter Seventeen

Lily wore sea green silk that night, and Lord Jarvis and numerous other men assured her it suited her magnificently. Splendidly. Beautifully. Superlatives were flung at her all evening; her favorite thus far compared her hair to the color of Roman coins. Imagine—not just coins:
Roman
coins.
That
one was courtesy of Lord Ryce-Martin, their host for the ball this evening. It was difficult not to enjoy being so excessively admired; if not for Gideon and Lady Constance Clary she might even enjoy herself.

While Lily sat on the settee and listened to Lord Jarvis talk about himself, Gideon stood across the room, talking with Constance, his face gently amused and attentive. And men his eyes flicked up, caught hers, held briefly, flicked away again.

Why am I doing this
? Lily asked herself again.
Participating in this charade? Because I made a promise
.

Because I love him.

But did she really? She loved the man he was beneath his masks. The kind man, the gentle man, the whimsical man, the passionate and impatient man, the man who noticed everything. Who cared deeply. Who admired leaves.

The man he was determined to smother so he could marry the daughter of a marquis.

Five nights now he’d repaired to his own lodgings. For five nearly sleepless nights, she’d listened to Aunt Hester snore—it penetrated all of the walls in the town house— and despite herself, Lily’s entire world seemed diminished.

When
did he intend to propose to Constance? She supposed the moment would knell in her heart; perhaps that was all the warning he intended give her. Lily wondered what it might be like to marry Jarvis or one of these other oh-so-attentive men, none of whom she’d given any specific sort of encouragement. She imagined she might even enjoy the engagement until the time came for her to introduce them to her fictional father.

“Miss Lily Masters? A message for you.”

She looked up. One of Lady Ryce-Martin’s footmen stood before her, extending a folded sheet of foolscap.

“Oh! Thank you.”

Miss Masters,
 

Miss Alice is very ill. The doctor has suggested that you come home at once. A hired carriage waits outside.

Yrs.,

Ada Plunkett

Lily stared down at the horrible words, and her limbs slowly turned to ice.

“Miss Masters, is everything quite all right?”

She’d forgotten about Lord Jarvis. Lily attempted a polite smile; but her lips seemed made of ice, too. Somehow she made them move, form words. “Thank you for asking. It seems… my sister is unwell, and I have been called home. If you will excuse me?”

She rose and curtsied—odd how strangely comforting this gesture had become—and moved through the room like the Lily of old, swift and wraithlike, to the carriage waiting outside.

“Gideon, you really should hold another house party at Aster Park. All that lovely land—splendid for riding and picnics and archery. And all those lovely rooms perfect for…” Constance trailed off.

Gideon was immediately alert. Could it be that Constance had just issued her very first
innuendo
? “Perfect for
what
, Constance?” he coaxed silkily.
For private meetings
would have been a splendid response, preferably delivered in sultry tones. But he would have been satisfied with a coquettish sideways glance between her pale lashes. Something.
Anything
.

Constance frowned a little. “Oh, my apologies. I was momentarily distracted by Lydia Burnham’s new gown. That color doesn’t suit her, does it? What I meant to say is that the rooms are perfect for dinner parties and cards and dancing, of course.”

Gideon sighed inwardly. Constance was a genteel lady, after all, and virtually an innocent in many ways, gossamer gowns notwithstanding. She would no doubt require a considerable amount of… sensual education. Then again, perhaps her competitive streak would work in his favor in the bedroom. He imagined how he’d go about it: “Well, Lord Rawlston told me
his
wife is quite skilled at—”

Constance was still speaking, so he returned his attention to her. “You could ask Kilmartin, too, and… Lord Jarvis. And perhaps I could ask a few other friends.”

She’d cushioned Jarvis’s name with a strategic little pause, Gideon noted, half amused.
Perhaps she means to force my hand
. And the more Gideon thought about it, the more practical, the more desirable a house party seemed— for many an engagement had been sealed at a house party. And it suited him to have his hand forced: he was weary,
weary
of his charade.

He barely spoke to Lily beyond pleasantries now; for five nights now, including his embarrassing little…
retreat
, he’d slept in his own lodgings. And already his thoughts were calmer, more rational, more clear of purpose—rather, in fact, the way they were before Lily entered his life. Perhaps this was evidence that Lily
was
merely a passing fever.

But Lily hadn’t once faltered in keeping her promise. As though she, too, hoped to force matters to a conclusion.

Lord Kilmartin strolled up to Gideon and Constance, his face a little ruddy from his vigorous turn about the dance floor.

“Constance was just suggesting I host a house party at Aster Park this weekend, Laurie. What do you think of the idea?”

“Oh, splendid! You will invite Lady Anne Clapham of course. And my dear cousin Lily.”

Constance’s vivacity dropped a notch. “Oh, of course. We must have Miss Masters as well. Dear,
dear
Miss Masters. When, by the way, does your
dear
cousin Lily return to Sussex?”

“Well…” Kilmartin looked up at Gideon meaningfully. “Possibly… never.”

Constance fixed Gideon with a gaze so penetrating he was amazed a smoking hole didn’t appear between his eyes.

“Yes,” Gideon said equably, “I shall of course invite Lady Clapham and Miss Masters to Aster Park, too. Rest assured, Constance, you shall have no competition”—he waited for Constance to begin to smile—“when it comes to archery.”

Constance’s smile congealed mid-curve. Kilmartin coughed, skillfully disguising a laugh.

Gideon felt a twinge of conscience: He wasn’t entirely proud of the means by which he was corralling an aristocratic wife, but it
did
seem to be working. He even half suspected Constance would approve of his methods, because her own attempts to get the things she wanted were not precisely irreproachable. But it was exhausting. It seemed such a long time since he’d been able to just…
be
.

“It’s decided, then, is it?” Kilmartin said brightly, just as Lord Jarvis approached their group and bowed. “We shall all repair to Aster Park the day after tomorrow.”

“Jarvis!” Gideon greeted enthusiastically, just to confuse Constance further. “I’d like to invite you to a house party to commence the day after tomorrow at my uncle’s home, Aster Park. Kilmartin and Lady Clary and Miss Lily Masters will be joining us there, as well as a few other…” Gideon thought of the people Constance was likely to invite, and because he wasn’t sure what to call them, he decided upon “… friends.”

Unbidden, Lily’s words came to him:
Everyone is your friend, and yet everyone is a stranger
. Almost unconsciously, he flicked his eyes toward the settee; she was no longer there.

“Oh, thank you, Cole. That sounds wonderful!” Jarvis beamed at the three of them. “Perhaps Miss Masters’s sister will be recovered by then.”

What an odd thing to say
. Gideon frowned a little. “I beg your pardon?”

“While I was conversing with Miss Masters a few minutes ago, she received a note summoning her home. Something about her sister. She—Miss Masters, that is—seemed quite distressed, in fact. I thought you might have known, Kilmartin, as she’s your cousin. I shall miss—that is, she will be greatly missed,” Jarvis stammered.

“Home, did you say?” Constance’s face was positively radiant. “Miss Masters has been called
home”
? To Sussex? That
is
a shame. And listen, Gideon, the orchestra has just struck up our waltz.“

“Gideon?” she repeated, when he did not reply.

“Constance.” Gideon could hardly hear his own voice over the roaring that had started up in his ears. Some great weight was limiting his breathing, too. “I think… I think your idea of a house party is so splendid that I should repair at once to Aster Park to begin preparations. I would very much like you to see it at its best. You
do
understand? You
will
forgive me if I miss just this waltz? I am certain there will be many others for us.” He offered a smile; it felt like his face was cracking in half, and he distantly hoped it didn’t look as hideous as it felt.

Kilmartin was staring at him as if he’d gone mad.

“Well… it does seem a trifle unusual…” Constance was frowning slightly. “But I do understand, Gideon. If Aster Park were
my
home, I should like it to look its best as well.” The words throbbed with significance.

But Gideon took no notice. “Wonderful,” he said. He bowed, then turned and wove his way toward the exit of Lord and Lady Ryce-Martin’s town house.

As quick as a thief.

Chapter Eighteen

Gideon threw a handful of pound notes at the groggy hack driver and ran for Aster Park’s main house, crashing through the huge double doors. Every lamp in the house was snuffed, all the fires in the main rooms doused. He bolted up the darkened stairs.

“
Lily
!” He ran down the hallways toward their chamber. The door was ajar, the room was cold; Lily and Alice weren’t there.

He scrambled up another flight of stairs, which led to the nursery. A spread of soft light from the open door told him a fire was blazing—he had found them.

Lily was staring into the fire, the dim light illuminating the network of fine wrinkles the hours-long coach ride had irrevocably crushed into her gown.

A small form was humped under a number of quilts on the bed: Alice. His heart gave a thud; he looked closely, and saw the rise and fall of Alice’s breathing. He closed his eyes briefly against a wave of relief. At least she lived.

Lily turned slowly to face him. She seemed a bit dazed, but unsurprised; no doubt she had heard his footsteps in the hall.

Gideon hesitated on the threshold of the room. “How is she?”

“The doctor said… well, it was very serious. But she is…” Lily’s voice shook; she took a breath to steady it. “She is a sturdy little girl. Her fever broke earlier, and already she improves. She’s sleeping more restfully now. The doctor was here, but he has gone home now.”

Gideon’s throat tightened with all he could not put into words. They regarded each other across a thick silence, the air shimmering with unspoken things.

“She is… she is all I have.” A tremulous, almost apologetic smile touched Lily’s lips.

Gideon was beside her in a few steps.

He pulled her into his arms and folded himself around her, holding her tightly. The feel of her, the relief of having her in his arms again, was almost too much to bear. Lily clung to him, trembling.

“That’s not true, Lily, my Lily,” he murmured. “It will be all right. I am here.”

His hands moved over her back in long soothing strokes; he brushed his lips tenderly across her brow, across her temple, across her cheekbone and eyelids, nuzzling her, murmuring her name, murmuring incoherent syllables of comfort. She did not cry, but she shook with the fear of loss, and he held her, willing his warmth into her.

He could not have said how long they stood there. But slowly, little by Utile, her shivering body softened beneath his hands. And Lily, her eyes half closed, began to tilt her face so his lips would fall against the tender place beneath her jaw…

The corner of her mouth…

Her lips.

His lips hovered over hers, a breath away from touching. His hands stilled on her. He cautiously lifted his head; he felt her hands fumbling against him.

Gideon looked down and watched, as if in a dream, her slim fingers slowly work open a button on his shirt.

“
Lily
. Lily, you should not…”

“Hush.” She paused and covered his lips with two fingers. “You are forever telling me what to do.”

He smiled against her fingers. And slowly, while Gideon barely drew breath, she worked open another button, and another, and then the next. And he let her. Until his shirt hung open in two panels and the cool air of the room struck his bare flesh.

Lily gently parted his shirt and the flat of her cool hands landed on his skin; she slid them up, with excruciating leisure, over his muscled ribs. Tributaries of desire ignited everywhere in him, like the myriad fires set by a single strike of lightning.

Her hands paused; she placed a single soft kiss over his heart.

“Please,” she whispered.

And it was as though he’d been waiting to hear this word, in her voice, all his life.

It was no tentative exploration this time. He sank slowly, irrevocably into the hot bliss of her mouth; he cupped her face and tilted her head back so his tongue could plunge deeply, so he could find all the texture and sweetness of her. Lily reached up to wrap her arms loosely around his head, and their tongues tangled, graceless and impatient; his hands shaking, he dragged his fingers over the curves of her cheeks, down the column of her throat, down to trace, lightly, the fine bones at the base of her neck. And oh, her skin was soft, indescribably soft.

Gideon pulled away from her abruptly and took her by the hand, leading her to the little maid’s room that adjoined the main chamber.