Love According To Lily (14 page)

Annabelle gazed uncomfortably at her brother. She considered his words, and could not deny the hint of shame that sneaked through her. “Perhaps it is a little bit of both.”

“You have never gotten over what he did to you, have you?”

It was not a question. Her brother was stating a fact.

“No, I have not.” She had to work hard to fight the tears pooling in her eyes, but it was not easy, for what Whitby said was true. She had not gotten over the indignity of having been so foolish as to let herself be seduced by a man who did not care for her, a man who tricked her and used her like a pawn to hurt her brother, a man with nothing but hatred and vengefulness in his heart.

Regret. It was a potent thing.

“It’s not too late, Whitby,” she suddenly heard herself saying. “You said yourself that you wish you had married before now and had not put it off. Who knows? You could have another year. Or twenty years. Perhaps the doctor is wrong. And it’s never too late for new beginnings.”

He looked out the window and she knew he was thinking about everything she had said. She resigned herself to the fact that it was all she could ask of him.

Chapter 16

That night, Whitby woke to find Lily at his side again, sitting quietly in the chair, but with her head resting in her arms on the side of the bed. She appeared to be asleep.

He lifted a hand and held it for a few seconds over her shiny black hair, wanting to touch her. He fought the urge, however, for he did not want to give her false hopes.

But were they so very false? he wondered.

The unnerving truth was, he had not been able to stop thinking about her all day. He had missed her, and regretted hurting her, and had yearned to tell her so. He had thought of everything they had said to each other the night before, and how satisfying it had been to lie with her on the bed when he was kissing her and holding her close. Yet not close enough.

That day, he had also ventured into the past and recalled the many conversations they’d had through the years, and the games they’d played.

He remembered tying her cape under her chin once when she was a girl, and how he had smiled at her and she had smiled back. Those smiles had always been knowing smiles, full of mischief—as if she had known with the full certainty of her soul that he knew what she was thinking and feeling.

When they were younger, he had always felt like he’d understood her and known the person she was deep inside, and he’d always known that she was aware of that knowledge. There had been an intangible connection between them, and this week, when she had looked at him that way again—with those mischievous, communicative eyes—he had felt reunited with her, and it had seemed like not a moment had passed since those days when they were close in the strange way they were—when he was a young man and she, just a girl.

He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to touch her for as long as he could, until he couldn’t do it anymore.

Finally, he let his hand come down upon the back of her head, where her hair was pulled into a loose bun. He stroked the silky smooth texture of it, and at last she woke.

She lifted her head and blinked up at him sleepily. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he replied. “I feel completely fine.”

Except for the sore throat, which continued to plague him and make swallowing a nuisance. But at least the fever was gone.

She sat back and cleared her throat nervously.

After what had happened between them the night before, he was not surprised she was nervous. In fact, he was surprised she was here at all.

Yet, he was glad.

Which was another surprise.

“I didn’t expect you to come tonight,” he said, apologizing in a roundabout way for what had occurred.

“I couldn’t stop myself,” she said. “I needed to know how you were.”

He rolled onto his side to face her. “I’m better. Are
you
all right?”

She smiled and shrugged. “A little embarrassed, unfortunately. ”

“Don’t be.”

“How can I help it? I was very foolish.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“You’re kind to try to make me feel better,” she said. “But I’m afraid I’m doomed to be mortified for the rest of my life.”

He chuckled. “You are always punishing yourself, Lily.”

“Yes, I suppose I am. I always feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

Because her mother always told her she was, he thought to himself. But of course he did not say it.

“Give yourself a reprieve. Last night was my fault, too. You weren’t alone on the bed.”

She lowered her gaze. “It isn’t just that. It’s what I said, what I proposed. I must have been out of my mind.”

“Why?”

“I offered to give you an heir! It was like something out of a bad play.”

He laughed again. “I was touched. I still am.”

“Are you?” she replied with a somewhat playful smile.

He felt that familiar connection again, felt the heat of their exchange, and knew they were discreetly flirting—like they had done earlier in the week.

“Yes,” he replied. “I thought about you all day. I couldn’t get to sleep tonight.”

She stared bewildered at him, her brows pulling together. “What were you thinking about?”

He decided it was time to be open and honest with her. What was the point in playing games now, after all? There would likely be no second chances to tell the truth. “I was remembering things that happened between us years ago—conversations, secrets we shared—and I wanted to make sense of them.”

“Did you succeed?” she asked, looking quite decidedly astonished.

“No, I still feel
displaced
, for lack of a better word. And rather shaken. What you said to me last night and what you proposed came as a shock. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about me. Or maybe I did, and you simply forced me to acknowledge it, to look at what we are to each other, and what we were. I had to take some time to accept the fact that you’re a woman now.”

She reached for his hand. “Yes, I am.”

They stared at each other for a long agonizing moment. It was agonizing because he wanted to do more than just hold her hand. He was thinking about her proposition, which was not something he wanted to consider, yet here he was, doing just that—imagining pulling her up onto the bed with him again and kissing her like he’d never kissed her before. He wanted to hold her tightly, close to his body.

Now that he was looking at his life with a beginning, middle and quite possibly an end, she seemed to fit in snugly like a puzzle piece.

Or perhaps more like a set of bookends. She had been there in the beginning, bonded to him, and now if this was the end, she was here beside him again.

He experienced a bewildering desire to return to a time in his life that had been real. His youth. For when he was young, things were simple and honest. He had not been jaded—or at least he was less so than now—and he presently felt a need for a circle to be closed. Lily was the one woman in his life who had always been there, even if the dynamic had changed from nonsexual to sexual. If he were to bond with anyone in this life before he left it, Lily was surely the one, for the natural bond was already there. It was just not yet fully explored.

He was staggered. He could not have imagined considering this two weeks ago. Not even two hours ago.

She reached a hand up to brush the hair off his forehead.

“You’re very caring,” he whispered.

This was strange. It was not his normal behavior with women in his bedroom. He was usually much smoother than this, much more calculating and less sensitive.

But he was not himself these days, he knew. Or perhaps he was more himself; he just hadn’t known who that self was.

Strange, how death had a way of turning a table upside down in an instant. It swept away all the dust that covered treasures, blew the fog from one’s view, knocked away facades. He was now craving honesty and understanding about who he was and what his purpose was. And what he was meant to leave behind.

“I came also,” Lily said, “to make sure you knew I wasn’t angry with you. I understand that what I suggested was ridiculous, and you were right to refuse me.”

He continued to gaze at her in the dim flickering candlelight, heard the clock ticking, the fire snapping and crackling in the grate. Her lips were moist and full, her skin like ivory cream, her hair darker than midnight. She was striking. She was extraordinarily beautiful.

“And yet,” he softly said, “I was questioning that refusal all day.”

Lily sat back in her chair, astonished by what Whitby had just said. He had questioned his refusal?

The fact that he had been thinking of her at all was shocking on its own, but he had actually been considering her offer?

“You look surprised,” he said, sitting up and inching back against the headboard. His nightshirt was open at the neck, which gave Lily a clear view of his broad shoulder as the garment slid off it. He didn’t straighten it. He sat comfortably at his ease, while she had to struggle not to stare at the enticing golden skin across his collarbone.

She supposed he was used to this sort of thing— being alone with women in his bedchamber, while he was only partially dressed.

“I confess, I
am
surprised,” she said. “You were very firm last night.”

His lips turned up with a rakish grin, and he tilted his head slightly. Lily’s body tingled with sexual awareness.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said with an equally rakish grin.

“No? Well, it was a fact—I was firm—just as I am now.” He raised a knee under the sheet and draped his wrist across it.

Speechless, her lips parting in disbelief, Lily shifted in her chair.

“Mind you,” he said, his tone becoming serious again, “I’m still not quite ready to leap into a marriage, Lily, and start producing babies, but I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t tempted. I want you to know that you were persuasive, and your idea was not without some merit. Annabelle certainly thought so. She’s in your camp, it appears.”

“You talked to her about it?” Lily asked.

“Yes. Which leads me to my next question. Have you told anyone else about it? James? Sophia? Your mother?”

“Heavens no,” Lily replied. “They would all think I’d gone mad. Especially Mother. She’d lock me up. No offense.”

“None taken. I didn’t think you’d told anyone, but I just thought I’d ask, in case
everyone
was in your camp and thinking me ungentlemanly for refusing you.”

They sat in silence for a quivering, intense moment while their eyes never veered from each other’s. Lily’s heart began to race erratically with a desperate need to touch the beautiful man before her, so relaxed and potently sexual on the bed. She’d never felt such a scorching heat in her blood before—such a need for physical fulfillment and satisfaction.

Not that she really understood what went on between men and women in the bedroom. She only knew what she’d done here with Whitby the night before, and from what she had gathered, there was much more that could follow. So much more. Last night, it had ended too soon.

“I’m wanting you again,” she said openly, shocking even herself with her candor. “I’m wanting to get on top of you.”

She saw a flash of something in his eyes—was it surprise? Or was it the comfortable predatory instinct of a man who knew exactly what to expect from a woman in the bedroom, and how best to handle her?