Love According To Lily (6 page)

So Lily did the only thing she could. She put one foot in front of the other and started off to join him and find out why he was sitting there alone, looking so very low.

Chapter 6

Whitby sat on the cold bench and swallowed over his sore throat while he watched Lily approach. The wind was blowing her cloak open and her dark green skirts were hugging her legs. She raised a hand to hold on to her hat.

As she came closer, he marveled at how petite she was. He could easily wrap his hands around her tiny waist. Last night, he’d noticed how tiny her wrists were, too. They were slender and delicate and he was sure he could easily wrap his thumb and forefinger around one of them if he tried.

She was most assuredly a small woman, which is probably why he’d failed to realize she had become one.

She came to a slow, hesitant stop before him. He should have stood up to greet her properly, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength. Instead, he met her gaze and smiled rather sheepishly, and rested his elbows on his knees again.

“Good morning,” she said. “Or rather, good afternoon.”

He simply smiled again and nodded at her, for he didn’t really need to say anything. She knew something was wrong with him. He could tell by the look in her eyes.

She sat down beside him. “You’re not out with the guns. Are you all right?”

He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. “I’m fine. I just didn’t feel like getting out of bed this morning.”

She gazed toward the pond. “I don’t believe you. I don’t think you’re fine. You don’t
look
fine.”

When he didn’t reply, she turned on the bench to face him more squarely. “You must know what people are saying about you, Whitby—that your wild manner of living is catching up with you.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “You too, Lily? Yesterday, James gave me a lecture on this very subject. He seems to think I’m trying to drink myself to death.”

“Are you?” she asked, sounding quite decidedly horrified.

He looked her in the eye. “Of course not. I’ve had a sore throat, that’s all. The doctor suggested brandy.”

There it was again—the lie about having seen a doctor when he had not seen one. He’d only seen his solicitor. About his sister, Annabelle.

And Magnus, of course.

“Surely not bottles and bottles of it.”

He gazed out at the pond again. He didn’t particularly want to talk about this.

“Perhaps James could call on our family physician,” Lily said. “He’s very good.”

But Whitby did not want to see a doctor. Not yet. He would have to in time, of course, but for now, there was no need, because he already knew what was wrong with him. It was what his father had had.

And he was not ready to hear it confirmed.

“This will pass,” Whitby said. “It’s nothing.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment or two, then Whitby inclined his head at Lily and deliberately changed the subject. “So tell me, was Lord Richard polite last night? I saw you dancing with him.”

The concern in her eyes softened, and he was glad—glad that she was not going to ask more questions about his health.

He was also perceptive of the fact that she seemed pleased he had asked her about Richard. He could tell she wanted to talk about her flirtations, and he found it endearing. Perhaps a little intriguing as well.

“You would have been surprised if you could have heard him,” she said. “He was—as you put it so eloquently last night—quite shockingly
daring
. He said he hoped we were kindred spirits.”

Whitby shifted on the bench. “You don’t say.”

“I do indeed.”

“And are you?”

“Are we what?”

“Kindred spirits?”

She pondered that for a few seconds, then replied with a teasing smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Ah Lily, still playing games. Aside from last night, he hadn’t seen her play games like this in many years.

He felt a sudden longing for something vague and elusive. He wasn’t quite sure what it was specifically, because he’d been overwhelmed by an avalanche of different emotions lately, but whatever it was, longing for it hurt somewhere deep inside of him.

“Was Richard charming?” he asked, hoping to distract himself.

Oddly, Whitby was hoping to hear that Richard had been a buffoon. Again he chocked it up to his competitive nature and nothing else. This was
Lily
, he reminded himself. He and she should not be flirting.

“He was charming for some of the time,” she said, then she turned her blue eyes toward him and licked her lips as a cool breeze blew into her face. Her dark lashes fluttered, as if she were taking pleasure in the caress of the fresh air on her skin.

He stared wordlessly at her for a moment, feeling awestruck, a little weak in the knees. Aroused.

No…

Dread poured through him.

He didn’t want to acknowledge the arousal, but he had to, because Lily—yes, Lily—was a lush and fetching young maid, fresh as spring rain, sitting here beside him smelling like roses and delighting in physical sensation. She was bewitching, and dammit, even in his current state of health, his body was responding on cue with a fervor he wished had not awakened.

“But not quite as charming as certain
other
gentlemen of my acquaintance,” she added seductively.

He sat still, immobile, completely arrested by the shock of her effect on him, and the impossible temptation she presented.

His finely tuned male instincts sparked and flared into flame, and the natural urge to reply in a most unbrotherly manner came upon him. God help him, he had discovered Lily’s sexuality.

He steeled himself physically and looked away from her, when he would have instead liked to smile at her—in a way that told her he was game if she was. It was a smile he’d given many women over the years, a smile he was very good at and very comfortable with at moments like these—sexually charged moments in the country with secluded garden houses nearby…

But no, not today. Not now. It was not a smile he could give Lily.

“You left early last night,” she said, as if she’d recognized his unease. “Were you not enjoying yourself?”

He spoke without looking at her, with a forced coolness in his tone. “This cold got the better of me. I just wanted to go to bed.”

Everything felt very awkward all of a sudden.

Lily sat beside him for a moment, saying nothing. He could feel her grow tense and ill at ease. He did not strive to fill the silence. He wanted her to understand that he did not wish to cultivate this kind of thing between them. He did not want to be attracted to her, and she should not be attracted to him.

Another awkward moment passed in silence, then she stood.

He was relieved.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that it’s just a cold you have,” she said. “I was a little worried.”

He squinted up at her.

Lily ran her gloved hands uncomfortably over the front of her skirt. “I suppose I should get back to the house. I have a bit of a headache myself.”

She started to leave, but stopped and turned back. “But I really think you should ask James to send for his doctor. He might be able to help.”

Whitby continued to squint up at her against the gray sky, the clouds passing swiftly overhead. The wind blew, and she reached up to hold on to her hat again.

“If I don’t feel better by tomorrow, I’ll see someone,” he promised, wanting only to appease her.

Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “All right. But let it be known, I will check on you tomorrow to hold you to it.”

“Ah, Lily, you sound just like my own sister, Annabelle. You are as dear to me as she is.”

The color drained from Lily’s face.

Whitby felt the color drain from his own face as well.
Jesus
. That was cruel. He had just openly rejected her. She looked humiliated.

But no, it was more than that. She looked hurt. Heartbroken.

His gut wrenched. Good God, was there more to this than he realized? Was this more than a light flirtation on her part? Did she actually fancy herself in love with him?

“Well, I should go,” she said.

Whitby merely nodded.

She lowered her gaze and walked off. As soon as she was out of sight, he squeezed his eyes shut and cupped his forehead in a hand. Bloody hell.

What in God’s name had caused this foolishness in her head? He hadn’t done anything to inspire it, had he? He wracked his brain. No, he couldn’t recall anything. Not before last night.

Had she lost her mind?

He ran a hand through his hair, wondering how in the world he was going to treat Lily gently and tactfully over the next few days. She was not like other women he could simply avoid if he needed to. She was Lily, and this was a problem because he cared for her. But not
that
way.

Well… He watched her in the distance, reaching the house. Maybe he did feel something, but that was only because he was a man with a heightened awareness of feminine sexuality. He picked up on it like a wolf on a scent, and his libido sometimes responded quicker than his brain. He would not let himself think it was more than that.

Either way, he did not want to flirt with Lily or lead her on in any way, and he hated the fact that he might have to hurt her or humiliate her if she did not come to understand that he was not interested. Because he was not. Nor would he ever be.

He glanced to make sure she was not going to come back, and when he saw her disappear into the house, he sighed deeply with relief, then reached into his pocket for his flask. While he unscrewed the cap, he recalled that he had promised himself he wouldn’t touch it until teatime.

He paused for a moment, staring at it, then he brought it to his lips and tipped it up until it was gone.

Chapter 7

That evening, Lily sat in the green saloon with the other guests, waiting for the theatricals to begin. Lady Stanton and Sir Hatley had prepared a short play. Whitby was seated on the other side of the room, avoiding Lily again, but tonight it didn’t just seem like he was. She knew he was. He had made it abundantly clear today, and had told her indirectly—yet directly—that he did not welcome her attentions.

She had cried when she’d returned to her room, and there was a lump in her throat still, as she looked at him sitting back in his chair, laughing with the other men as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Are you all right, Lily?” Sophia asked, taking the empty seat beside her. Lily had not even noticed her approach.

“Not really.”

Sophia glanced around at the others and lowered her voice. “What happened today? We lost you on the way to the lake.”

Lily supposed she had to tell Sophia, even though she didn’t really want to talk about it. She wanted to put it behind her.

But this was not a new desire. She had felt this way and wanted the same thing many times over the years following many similar types of encounters with Whitby—most of them revolving around his not seeing her or flirting with other women in front of her.

Today, it was ten times worse, for he had openly rejected her.

“I spoke to Whitby,” she said.

“I thought you might have. I saw him sitting on the bench. What happened?”

“Well, we talked for a few minutes about Richard, and I tried to be flirtatious in the same way I was last night, but today he cooled instantly. It was mortifying. He wouldn’t look at me, and when I mentioned I thought it would be a good idea if he saw James’s physician—because he has a sore throat—he told me I was just like Annabelle, his sister. He was very clearly trying to tell me to stop behaving otherwise.”

Sophia touched her hand. “Oh, Lily.”

Lily sat up straighter in her chair, fighting to crush the urge to cry again. She could not keep doing this.

“I felt like a fool. It was dreadful. I have been devastated and embarrassed all day, and I wouldn’t have come tonight except for the fact that I couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing I was crying in my room like a child. I was determined to come and hold my head high and ignore him, hoping only that he might think he was mistaken about his suspicions, and I in fact have no interest in him whatsoever. Otherwise, I will never be able to face him again without feeling completely humiliated.”

“At least now you know,” Sophia said gently. “I’m sorry, Lily. I’m sorry I encouraged you. I should have minded my own business.”

Lily shook her head. “It’s not your fault. In fact, I should thank you. You’re right. At least now I know, and I can get over him once and for all.”

Sophia glanced over her shoulder at Whitby. “I was so sure the two of you were meant to be together. I can’t explain it, except to say that you have similar souls. I still feel it. I just wish he could see it.”

“I don’t feel it,” Lily said. “Not after today.”

Just then, Lady Stanton walked to the far end of the room where they had cleared the floor and set up a small stage with an amber curtain as a backdrop.

“Attention, attention, everyone!” she said. “We are about to begin. Sir Hatley and I are going to perform the death scene from Romeo and Juliet.”

Lily sighed. “Wonderful. They couldn’t have chosen a comedy tonight?”

Sophia squeezed her hand.

The two began the performance, which turned out to be a comedy after all. They exaggerated the lovers’ deaths, groaning with their tongues hanging out, while the guests cheered and whistled, finally rising to their feet, clapping and shouting “Bravo!” when Juliet gasped her last farcical, wheezing breath.

Lily forced herself to smile and clap, too, though inside she was still fighting tears.

When the applause died down and everyone was congratulating the actors, who were laughing hysterically, Lily stood and excused herself.

“You’re sure you’re all right, Lily?” Sophia asked, whispering.

“Yes. I’m fine.” She just needed to be alone. She turned and left the room.

A short time later, she met Lord Richard in the long, carpeted gallery. He stepped out from behind a bust, startling her.

“I was hoping you weren’t gone for the night,” he said, glancing down at the neckline of her cream-colored, French silk gown. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” she asked, looking around the gallery to see if there was anyone else present. There was not. They were alone.

He gave her a sidelong glance, as if to tell her she should know. When she said nothing, he shook his head at her. “Surely you’re aware of the fact that we are being paired up this week.”

Lily was feeling increasingly uneasy. “I suppose.”

“I wasn’t keen on coming to this party at first, because I knew the kinds of girls my father had selected for me in the past, and quite frankly, they’ve all been about as pretty as piglets.”

Lily was disappointed. She had truly wanted to like Lord Richard. Life would have been so easy if she could have. But that comment did nothing to recommend him. In fact, she was liking him less and less with every word he spoke.

“But you,” he said, lifting an eyebrow, “are no piglet. I almost think my father was disappointed when he saw you. Disappointed that his undeserving son was going to get such a prize for a wife.”

Lily stepped back. “I have not consented to become your wife, Lord Richard.”

He followed her with a forward step of his own. “Not yet. But I suspect you will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because you’ve had no other offers. Probably because of the whispers about you.”

“What whispers?” she asked, caught off guard.

“The rumors. Some people seem to think you might be used goods. Though no one knows for sure. But I have to wonder why you’ve avoided society for the past few years, and why someone as lovely as you with such a large dowry isn’t already spoken for.”

He was standing very close now, but Lily would not back away. “That is all utter nonsense,” she said. “And you have just severed any chance whatsoever that I might ever consider becoming your wife. You are disrespectful, sir.”

She moved past him to return to the saloon, but he took hold of her arm. “Where are you going?” He looked surprised.

“Back to the party,” she said tersely. “Sophia is waiting for me.”

“Don’t go yet.”

Did he not understand she was not attracted to him in even the most minuscule way? “Let go, Richard.”

“I said not yet.”

Just then, someone else spoke. Whitby. Lily knew his voice like she knew her own.

“Everything all right, Lily?”

She glanced toward the door. There he was, leaning at his ease against the jamb. Richard let go of her arm.

“Yes, Lord Whitby,” she replied shakily. “Thank you.”

He stayed where he was for a moment—just watching them until they both began to walk toward him to return to the party. He backed up against the doorjamb to let them pass.

He said nothing. Lily glanced up at him briefly as she brushed by. The three of them walked in awkward silence back to the saloon, where they each went to different sides of the room.