Love According To Lily (4 page)

“Good evening, ladies.” Whitby bowed slightly. “I must say you both look stunning tonight.”

He turned his attention to Lily and stared at her briefly. For a panic-filled instant, she was certain she was going to fail miserably at this, because she had no idea where her voice was or how to use it. But then thank God, words suddenly, somehow, spilled out of her mouth.

And they weren’t ridiculous.

“Thank you, Whitby. How was the shooting today?”

He didn’t respond right away, but rather took a second or two to study her face. He did indeed look surprised. It was as if he were looking at her for the first time. Was it the dress?

He looked at her eyes, then her nose and lips, then down at her ruby necklace. Then he quickly returned to his usual self and the moment passed. He had evidently glanced at her, thought she looked different, and that was that.

He made his reply to both Sophia and Lily. “Quite dismal, actually. No one seemed able to hit anything. Shouldn’t be too difficult to do better tomorrow. We certainly couldn’t do any worse.”

Lily should have said something in response. She wanted to, but butterflies had invaded her stomach again and they had found a direct path to her brain.

Sophia quickly took up the reins of the conversation. “Was it the weather?”

“It was windy,” he said, “and I suppose it was just one of those days when everyone had a run of bad luck.”

He went on to describe how many pheasants and woodcock were bagged and by whom, then he and Sophia continued to carry the conversation, while Lily was all but a casual observer.

Suddenly, she found her hopefulness and excitement beginning to fade. Perhaps she had been fooling herself, latching on to Sophia’s optimism, when in reality, Lily was simply not the right woman for Whitby. She didn’t know how to talk to him.

Another guest joined them. It was Lord Richard. “Good evening, ladies. Whitby.”

Whitby nodded at him.

“Lady Lily,” Richard said, turning toward her. “Your mother tells me you are reading
The Pilgrim’s Progress
. It is one of my favorite works. I read it for the first time when I was just a lad.”

All eyes turned to Lily. She glanced up at Whitby, who was watching her over the rim of his champagne glass as he took a sip, waiting for her reply.

She smiled at Lord Richard and managed to put on a confident air. “How interesting,” she said. “I haven’t finished it yet, but it is indeed a fascinating story.”

They discussed the lengthy religious allegory in some depth, but as soon as there was a break in their conversation, Whitby bowed slightly and said, “If you will excuse me…”

With that he turned and left their group, crossing to join Lady Stanton on the other side of the room. Lady Stanton saw him coming and met him halfway, smiling and raising a bare shoulder as she greeted him.

Lily tried to keep her attention focused on Lord Richard, who was still talking about Bunyan’s Slough of Despond and the Burning Mount. Richard then began describing something in the second part of the book, which Lily hadn’t read yet.

In truth, she was finding it difficult to listen to him, because she was too busy trying to fight off the heavy ache of her disappointment. Again she had bored Lord Whitby. Again he had found another woman far more intriguing than she. Perhaps it was time to give up her childish dreams and start acting sensibly. Whitby was obviously beyond her reach. She’d always known that.

But she also knew that her hopes would not be easy to shed, for they had lived for too long in her heart.

“Please don’t give up yet,” Sophia said after dinner, when the men were still in the dining room.

“He’s not interested in me, Sophia. There is no point trying to pretend otherwise.”

“But you can’t give up because of one small failure on your first attempt. No one ever accomplished anything by giving up. You must try again.”

“I don’t think so. My chances for happiness are better with Lord Richard.”

Sophia lowered her voice. “But are you attracted to him?”

“I could grow to be.”

Sophia’s expression softened. “I suppose I can’t force you, can I?”

Lily smiled and shook her head. “I think it would be best if I got over Whitby once and for all. I can’t keep dreaming about the impossible, not when it stops me from really living.”

Sophia leaned forward and kissed Lily on the cheek. “If that’s what you want, I will support you. I only want you to be happy.” She stood. “I’m going upstairs to check on the boys and make sure they’re sleeping, but I’ll be back shortly. You’ll be all right?”

Lily nodded and watched Sophia leave.

A few minutes later, the doors opened and the gentlemen walked into the room. James and Whitby came in first. Lily watched Whitby for a moment, feeling sad, for she was about to give up on something that had been a part of her whole being forever. She had known Whitby since she was barely able to walk. He had always been there in her life, extraordinary in her eyes.

He looked her way, and his gleaming gaze gripped her with its usual mesmerizing force. Lily’s body grew warm with the familiar desire that had simmered within her for too long, unfulfilled. Lately it had begun to burn, and its tenacity in the face of her opposition frustrated her beyond any imagining.

He smiled at her—a slow, lazy smile that shone mostly in his eyes—and excused himself from James. He began to make his way across the room toward Lily.

She shifted uneasily on the sofa and sat up a little straighter. She cleared her throat and looked around, wondering suddenly if Whitby was in fact on his way to talk to someone else. Lady Stanton perhaps? No, Lady Stanton was on the other side of the room.

All at once, Whitby was standing before her—tall and sumptuous, muscled and magnetic…

Her pulse quickened, and she had to fight hard to remember what she had just vowed about wanting the impossible.

Chapter 4

When Lily was a little girl, she had adored Whitby’s playfulness. Now, as a woman, she adored something else entirely—the spellbinding seduction in those mature blue eyes, the size and strength of his hands, and the divine perfection of his mouth and nose and cheeks.

She saw his body now, when she hadn’t as a girl. She wanted to lay her hand on his chest or taste the flavor of his lips. He was the most beautiful man she had ever known, and even now, certain that he could never fulfill the painfully mystifying lust she felt for him, she could not bring herself to look away. He was a dazzling, captivating undertow of desire, and he would always pull her under.

Damn him for stoking her lustful fires when she had just resolved, yet again, to forget him.

Lily swallowed hard, and struggled to contain her fascination with him, so she would at least be able to speak.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space on the sofa beside her.

“Of course,” she replied, sliding over a little.

He sat down and leaned back, resting his arm along the back of the sofa and crossing one long leg over the other toward her. She tried to breathe normally, but it was a challenge when she was so intensely aware of his hand only inches from her ear.

He sat for a few seconds, staring at her with a rakish smirk. What in God’s name was he smiling about?

Finally he spoke. “Tell me you’re not actually enjoying
The Pilgrim’s Progress
. If you are, I’ll stand up right here and do a jig.”

Lily gazed at him, feeling dumbstruck. “Well…”

He inclined his head at her, almost as if he were threatening to scold her if she didn’t tell him the truth.

Lily smiled. Her stomach whirled with an exhilarating thrill. “I haven’t exactly finished it yet.”

He leaned toward her, only slightly, a small movement she would not have noticed had it been anyone else sitting beside her. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Whitby—Whitby!—and all her senses were alert to even the slightest move on his part or the slightest change in his expression. She was even aware of his delectably masculine scent.

He lowered his voice. “You haven’t finished it because you fall asleep at the bottom of each page. Am I right?”

She smiled again and nodded, releasing some of her pent-up tension with a laugh. “All right, I confess. I can’t seem to remember what I’ve read from one moment to the next, because I find my mind wandering to more interesting things. Like the coal dust in the fireplace.”

Whitby chuckled. So did Lily. Then she realized with no small measure of amazement that she was actually sitting on a sofa with him and they were having a conversation. A real conversation. He was looking into her eyes and she was looking into his.

“Every time I’ve ever seen you reading,” he said, “you’ve always had the very latest novel in your hands. Or something gothic. I remember once seeing you reading
Melmoth the Wanderer
. I read it, too, shortly after that.”

Lily recalled reading that book about four years ago. It was a frightening story of a man who had made a pact with the devil to prolong his life.

She was surprised Whitby remembered what she’d been reading. Or had even noticed, for that matter.

“That book terrified me,” she said. “I used to read it at night in the library, and once I had to dash up the stairs to get to my room because the wind had been howling and my heart was in my throat.”

Whitby tipped his head back. “Ah, yes, that was a compelling book. I couldn’t put down. I had to sleep with the lamp on one particular night, if I recall.”

He rubbed a finger behind his ear and stared at Lily for a moment. He blinked slowly, and she thought he looked tired. She wondered if he’d been ill recently.

“I hear Lord Richard has been paying you particular attention since he arrived,” Whitby said. “You appear to have made an impression.”

She lowered her gaze. “Yes. Mother invited him. She thinks he would be a good match for me.”

Whitby glanced over at Lord Richard. “And what do
you
think?”

She considered the question very carefully. If she were being honest, she would tell Whitby that she wasn’t keen on the idea because she was in love with
him
, and had been in love with him all her life.

But she remembered what Sophia had told her about attracting gentlemen—that she mustn’t make herself too available. And knowing Whitby, if she told him that, he would leap off the sofa and dash for the door.

Instead, she said pensively, “I am certainly considering him. He’s quite handsome.”

Lily watched Whitby’s hooded eyes as he peered at Lord Richard, and wanted desperately to know what he was thinking. Was there any trace of jealousy in his mind? Was he finally grasping the concept that she was a woman now, ready to be loved by a man?

When he returned his attention to her, she resolved to put some of Sophia’s advice into practice. She could do this. She could.

Lily smiled teasingly at him and decided to say something daring, like Lady Stanton would say. “I suppose what I really want, Whitby, is to be seduced. What woman doesn’t want that?”

Good God. She had never said anything so scandalous in her entire life, and she had to swallow clumsily over her own shock.

Whitby said nothing for a few seconds, then the corner of his mouth curled up. He was surprised. Lily had surprised him, just like Sophia had told her to do. And he appeared to be…

Dare she say impressed?

He tilted his head to the side. “And do you think Richard has what it takes?”

She raised an eyebrow. Coquettishly. It was all a great act, yet it was exciting and thrilling and made all the hairs on her arms stand up and tingle.

She found herself getting caught up in this charade, actually believing that she could be flirtatious and interesting, and maybe even witty if she made the right effort. She struggled to keep her mind sharp.

“That remains to be seen,” she said with a playful lilt to her voice. “What do you think? Seeing as you are a man of experience.”

They both looked at Lord Richard. Lily was still poundingly aware of Whitby’s arm along the back of the sofa, his hand relaxed and bent at the wrist, almost touching her shoulder. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with him. Did he find it strange, too? Did he find it as invigorating as she did?

“I agree,” Whitby said, “that it remains to be seen. He is certainly very polite. Almost too polite to be daring.”

“Can a polite man not be daring?” she asked. “Are
you
not polite, Whitby? You seem very well mannered at this moment. Perhaps there is another side of
you
that remains to be seen.”

A sensuous current of electricity passed between them. “Perhaps there is.”

They stared knowingly at each other. Lily’s heart thundered within her breast. Her palms were growing clammy, her head spinning. She wanted to jump up and down and squeal!

She resisted the urge, of course. After a few heated seconds, she grinned at him with an intentional confidence and looked away.

“Perhaps I will go and talk to Lord Richard now,” she said. “I suddenly feel very curious.” She gracefully stood.

“You’re leaving?” Whitby asked.

Triumph sang in her veins. He didn’t want her to go. All the more reason that she should. She would leave him wanting more.

“Not leaving,” she replied. “I’m only crossing the room.” But she was leaving their
tête-à-tête
. “Perhaps later we can find each other on the dance floor and I’ll tell you whether or not Lord Richard was…
polite
.”

He smiled at her, as if they were secret allies. “I’ll look forward to it.”

With that, Lily turned and walked away from him, feeling exuberant and excited and full of glee, having finally tasted the sweet flavor of success.

She had done it. She had attracted Whitby’s attention and kept it fixed on her. There had even been a sexual energy between them—a teasing allure that promised something more. There had been temptation. Desire. He was intrigued now. She knew he was. She wanted to laugh out loud.

She also knew that he was still watching her as she walked across the room. She did not look back.

Good God, had he just flirted with Lily
? Whitby asked himself with stupefying shock and more than a little unease.

Jesus
, he had! And he’d bloody well enjoyed it, too.

Whitby watched her walk off and noticed for the first time the slender length of her neck and the delicate curve of her shoulders. And those hips…

She looked exquisite tonight, by God. He’d never seen her look that way before. The red gown was stunning on her, and her bosom was…

Well, he had certainly never noticed that before. He’d known for a long time that she was growing into a woman, but he’d thought nothing of it. She simply wasn’t the type to catch his eye, and she was of course James’s baby sister, the little girl in braids.

But tonight she was different, and not just in the way she was dressed. Everything about her was different. What in God’s name had she done to herself?

Whitby watched her casually approach Lord Richard, who was standing with a group of guests, including Sophia and James. She joined in the conversation, while Whitby continued to watch her. Lord Richard said something to her and she laughed.

Whitby wondered if he was talking about that dreadfully dull book again. No, he couldn’t be. It wouldn’t have made Lily laugh.

He was suddenly unnerved by the fact that he had to fight the urge to go over there and charm circles around that pup, Richard. He could if he wanted to. Maybe if he had more energy and didn’t need to sit here and rest, he would do it. He could easily put a spell on Lily and be the victor in winning her attention tonight.

But that was his competitive nature talking, he told himself. If there was a beautiful woman in the room, he couldn’t help but flirt with her, which is what had just happened with Lily. He had merely gotten swept up in the game and had forgotten who she was.

He supposed he didn’t really know who Lily was any more. He had known once, of course. He’d played with her for years when she was a girl. He’d enjoyed those games. But when she grew too old for pony rides on his back, there wasn’t much left between them. What did a twenty-six-year-old man say to a fourteen-year-old girl, after all? They’d simply stopped talking to each other, and except for the brief day he’d spent in her company when they took her away from Pierre, this present shooting party was the first time they’d actually had a conversation.