Lily (Flower Trilogy) (17 page)

She nodded. “I want you to make me yours.”

For a moment—one split second in time—everything stopped. The rain, the animals’ chattering, Lily’s pulse.

When it started again, she found herself locked in Rand’s arms. He pressed his lips to her forehead, a caress so cherishing it made Lily’s heart twist painfully in her chest.

At last he pulled back, his fingers returning to her stomacher, less tentative this time. Her own fingers fluttered up to untie his cuffs. Beatrix hiccuped louder. The stiff stomacher made a soft
plop
as Rand dropped it to the pallet.

Beneath where the stomacher had been, Lily was laced tightly into her bodice. As Rand untied the bow, then went to work on the laces, his gaze strayed to watch Lady flit from the bench and land gracefully on the pallet.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Are you sure we cannot put them outside?”

He couldn’t back down now. Suddenly feeling frantic, she tried to free his voluminous shirt from where it was tucked into his breeches. “You cannot tell me they’re really bothering you.” Not waiting for a reply, she pulled harder.

All she wanted, it seemed, was to feel Rand’s skin against her own. He seemed covered with so much fabric. Yards and yards of the frothy white stuff, all standing in her way. With a pained chuckle he pushed her hands away and drew the shirt off over his head. One smooth, lithe motion that revealed all that warm, tempting skin, reminding her of the day in the drawing room when he’d removed his shirt to wash off the soot from the fire.

Only this time, she could touch him.

She did, running her hands up his chest, feeling the taut skin, the outlines of muscles underneath. With a small moan of pleasure, she shifted forward and spread her bodice wide. A soft gasp escaped Rand’s lips as she pressed herself against him, the gossamer material of her chemise the only barrier between their upper bodies.

She released a long, languid sigh. “Heaven,” she murmured.

“Not even close.” Rand lifted the heavy bulk of her double-skirted gown over her head, bringing her chemise along with it . . . and baring her to his hot gaze.

She’d always anticipated feeling shy and embarrassed in this moment, but with Rand she felt gloriously free.

She pressed against him once more. His hard chest felt warm against her nakedness—warm and sensuous as silk.

Her breasts tingled, and the ache inside her spread.

“Heaven,” she whispered again.

“Not yet.” His fingers were frantically unlacing his breeches. He rose quickly to push them down and off, but before she could get a proper look he’d dropped to kneel again before her and reached to pull her close.

His arms went around her, and they met, skin to skin, from their shoulders to their knees. His hands splayed on her bare back, pressing her closer. Down low she could feel a hardness, a hardness that made her blood race, a hardness that told her he wanted her as much as she craved him.

“Heaven,” she breathed. “This is really, truly heaven.”

“Sweet Lily, you have no idea.”

Beatrix’s hiccuping intensified as Rand eased Lily to the pallet and came down beside her. Lady twittered. He swept them with an uneasy glance.

“Rand?” Lily whispered.

Tearing his gaze away from the creatures, he kissed her quickly, wildly, then bent his head to let his lips trail down her throat. A hot stab of lust lanced through her.

And love. It was all mixed up together, in her head, in her heart, in her body so aware she felt if Rand just kissed her once more she’d explode.

But he didn’t kiss her. Instead his mouth skimmed her breasts and then fastened on one rosy peak. Warm. It felt warm and damp, unbelievably exquisite. Her hands threaded into his hair as he licked his way to her other breast and suckled there until she arched toward him.

When he swirled his clever tongue, desire shot to somewhere deep inside. Her fingers fisted in his hair. Suddenly she felt the sensations were more than she could bear.

“Now, Rand.”

He chuckled, sending low vibrations through her.

“Slower is better, love. We’ve a long way to go before—”

“
Now.
”

His head shot up. “Do you not like this?”

“I like it too much.” Her breath was coming short, and her entire body sang with an awareness she’d never imagined.

But besides all that, the anticipation was killing her.

It had been four years since she and her sisters had huddled here in the summerhouse, secretly reading
Aristotle’s Masterpiece.
The
Masterpiece
had said making love would hurt the first time, and for four years, she had worried about that. Now that it was about to happen, she wanted to get it over with.

She wanted to enter her marriage free of this fretful anxiety.

“Please, Rand, join with me now.”

He hesitated.

“Please.”

She held her breath, watching while he shut his eyes and swallowed hard. “Sweetheart—”

“
Please.
”

He kissed her once, softly, then opened his eyes and nodded.

Lily’s heart pounded, excitement blending with fear as he started moving over her. Instinctively she raised her knees. Supporting himself on his elbows, Rand took her face in both hands and kissed her while he eased his way between her legs.

He settled against her, fitting there like they were made to go together. An incredible urgency radiated from where his body was poised to enter hers.

Her blood pumped faster. Beatrix let out a long, loud meow.

Rand broke the kiss and froze, only his eyes moving— darting between the cat and the squirrel and the bird, all scattered across the summerhouse.

“I cannot do this,” he gritted out. His eyes settled back on Lily, holding her captive. “I cannot do this with them watching.”

Passion burned in that gray gaze.

“Oh, I think you can,” she murmured with a soft smile.

Deliberately she raised her hips, welcoming him into her and at the same time bracing for the pain.

’Twas sharp, so sharp she cried out. Still holding her face, Rand whispered senseless endearments, raining little kisses all over her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

But the pain was fading already, rapidly changing to an ache of another kind . . . an ache so exquisite she found herself straining against him in hope of easing it.

He kissed her mouth, and then, still holding her gaze, he moved in her. A gasp of wonder escaped her lips.

“This, sweet Lily, is heaven,” he said.

She couldn’t seem to speak at all.

Then they moved as one in a duet as old as time, a perfect harmony that went far beyond music and words.

Slowly and then faster, the feelings building to a crescendo, higher and higher until Lily erupted in pleasure so intense she was half convinced she really was glimpsing heaven. Up and up, flying higher when she felt Rand go with her.

At long last, she drifted back to earth. Rain still pattered overhead, but more softly now. Across the summerhouse, the animals had quieted. Beatrix had even stopped hiccuping.

Lily opened her eyes to the magic of candles winking in the dimness. Rand was still pressed close, his heart beating in a cadence to match hers. He lifted his head to find three creatures staring at him, and with a groan, he buried his face in the crook of Lily’s neck.

A soft laugh rippled from her. “You managed,” she said. “With the animals watching.”

“Ah, yes.” His words vibrated against her throat, sounding amused. “But I hope they’re not expecting a repeat performance. I’d just as soon not have an audience next time—not that this time wasn’t good.”

“It was heaven. I saw heaven.”

“Did you?” He kissed her nose, her mouth, then leaned up and shot her a smile. “Please don’t tell me you saw cherubs playing harps.”

“No.” She laughed again. She’d never expected to laugh at a time such as this, but it felt right.

Everything with Rand felt right.

“No cherubs,” she whispered. “Only you.”

It took three carriages to get to Oxford. Avalet and two maids rode in the first, along with all the luggage. The second held Chrystabel and Joseph.

“Do you suppose the children will be all right alone?”

she asked.

He laughed. “Three of those ‘children’ are in their twenties. Relax, Chrysanthemum. It seems like years since we’ve had a carriage to ourselves. Come over and sit on my lap.”

Smiling, she did. It
had
been years. But their offspring, with the exception of Rowan, were finally grown. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.” He kissed the top of her head. “And I can hear you without all the chatter.”

She settled against his warm form, using his body to cushion her from the jarring ruts in the road. ’Twas a calmer ride than many, though, the landscape one of gentle green slopes. Cattle roamed, grazing aimlessly. “Ah, this is nice.” Chrystabel snuggled closer. “I wonder how everyone else is doing.”

“You worry too much, Chrysanthemum.”

She sighed. “I’m just wondering what happened yesterday. If anything.”

“If anything? Two young people in a summerhouse . . .”

“One of them was sweet Lily.”

He snorted. “The other was a healthy male. I used to be a healthy male, so I know of what I speak.”

“You still are a healthy male,” she protested, knowing he wanted to hear it and thinking it also true. He was only forty-six, after all. “But regardless, Lily is still worried by Rose’s attitude, not that I can blame her. I must figure out a way to get Lily and Rand off alone together some more.

Much more.”

“Hey.” He tilted her chin up and placed a kiss on her lips—a somewhat bouncing kiss due to the ride, but a nice one nonetheless. “Can I entice you to forget about our children for a while? Here I’ve succeeded in getting
us
off alone together . . . why are we not taking advantage of it?”

Conversation was abandoned in favor of blissful sighs.

The third carriage wasn’t nearly as peaceful. On one of the upholstered benches, Rand sat beside Lily, holding her hand. Across from them, Rose glared at their linked fingers while Rowan chattered, excited about his first trip to Oxford.

“You’ve never been?” Rand asked.

“Never.”

“Neither have I,” Lily added.

“And you, Rose?” Rand asked, trying to bring her into the conversation.

“No,” she said shortly, still glowering.

He squeezed Lily’s hand, knowing her sister’s disapproval was hard on her. Remembering yesterday, he could only be glad it had happened. Lily would have no thoughts of changing her mind now. Perhaps the seduction hadn’t been planned, but he couldn’t be sorry, not when it had bonded her to him as tightly as a book to its cover.

At least he hoped it had, he thought suddenly, relieved when her fingers squeezed back. After all, she could be with child. Although that was one thing he
didn’t
hope for—not yet, anyway.

Of course he knew the potential consequences of what they had done, of what he expected they’d do over and over in the months and years ahead of them. And when children came along, he was certain he would love them as much as he did Lily. But he’d prefer some time alone with her first. He was just getting used to the idea of being a husband; he felt woefully unprepared for fatherhood as yet.

“Do you know,” Lily said, dragging his thoughts back to the conversation, “we’ve never been much of anywhere besides London and the area that surrounds Trentingham. Oh, and Tremayne, but not for years.”

“Tremayne?”

“A castle and lands near Wales. We stayed there during Cromwell’s Protectorate, and again in ’65 when the Great Plague was a threat. Now that Grandpapa has passed on and Father become the earl, Rowan is Viscount Tremayne.”

“Are you?” Rand asked Rowan, smiling when Lily’s brother nodded and puffed out his narrow chest. “Well, then,” he told the boy, “you’re certainly more important than I. I am a mere lord.”

“You’re important,” Lily protested sweetly, and across from them, her sister groaned.

“Have you never been out of Britain, then?” he asked Rose.

“No,” she said as shortly as before.

“None of us have.” The carriage jounced in and out of a rut, and Lily jostled against Rand. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, Spain, France, Italy, Greece . . . I’ll take you to those places, and more.”

Rose smirked. “She’ll not be able to talk to anyone.”

Rand’s concern for Lily’s sister was rapidly turning to annoyance. “I will be happy enough to communicate for her.” Deliberately he dropped Lily’s hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

The look in Rose’s eyes told him she hadn’t missed the declaration of possession—not that he found that surprising. Rose might have her faults, but he’d never considered a weak intellect among them.

They fell silent for a while. Lily watched out the window. She rubbed the scars on her hand, determined not to let her sister’s bad temper spoil this special day. As they’d descended toward Oxford the grazing land had given way to water meadows, and now the road was peppered with charming houses, each with a lovely, well-tended garden.

Rand started humming, that same old tune, somehow both quiet and cheerful at the same time. Lily’s mind drifted, and she touched her fingertips to her lips, imagining them tender and a little bit puffy like they’d been yesterday after all of Rand’s kisses. She’d gone to sleep last night with one hand on her mouth and awakened that way, too, lying abed too long this morning while she relived every exciting moment of their time together in the summerhouse.

Sharing herself with Rand had been an incredibly amazing experience, and it couldn’t have been wrong—

not when they’d pledged one another their hearts. But she’d thought of little else since, and now, sitting next to Rand but unable to kiss him, to really touch him . . . she thought she might very well go mad.

Whenever she remembered what it had felt like to lie next to him, to have him within her, her entire body tingled. And she was remembering, it seemed, constantly.

Now that she no longer had to worry about the pain, she could hardly wait to lie with him again.