Persuasion (23 page)

and cupped her head. Pressing it gently against his shoulder, he winced as

her sharp little teeth dug into the flesh of his throat and then sighed as she

began to suckle at the flesh. He couldn't help but feel pleased at the thought

that he would be marked by her for the next few days.

Dorian began to wiggle his hips from side to side. “Touch the nubbin, Lily,”

he whispered.

He felt the hand that lay awkwardly between them move to touch the mound

where her pleasure was centered and she stiffened against him as sensation

from that slight touch rushed through her.

Their loving was slow but sure and at the same time as being exciting,

unbearably frustrating. His cock was deeply embedded in her belly,

surrounded by warm pulsating walls of honey that had him shuddering with

relief at being so lovingly held, and yet, while it needed the fast and hard

thrusts to climax, he didn't want that. He enjoyed the slowness, the

prolonged torture of her womanhood as she shuddered and jerked around

him, for she needed his thrusts as much as he, but this way, he knew that

her orgasm would be intense. That she would never, in all of her life forget

it. That it would mark her indelibly as his until the end of her days.

The thought pleased him yet, at the same time, confused him terribly. He

pushed away all thoughts and simply pressed his hand even harder against

her hips, which nudged her even further against him. That action combined

with her own touch had her keening and suddenly, she bucked against him.

Her eyes were closed and her face was contorted with a pleasure that

seemed almost impossible. Her hips rocked spasmodically against his own

and his cock began to spurt his seed as it reacted to the quivering and

quaking walls of hot quim that trembled around him like a tremor from the

Earth!

How long they stayed like that, he did not know. His cock spurting his

essence as her walls and womb heartily welcomed it with shivering shakes.

All he did know was that it was the most intense experience of his life and

one that he would never be able to forget.

When Lily awoke an hour or so later, her body trembled as she realized

where she was and how she was. Her body was sore and aching, yet filled

with an exhilaration that was so deeply tormenting, it literally resonated

through her limbs until she felt as though she were a large plate of

gelatinous aspic.

Her skin felt as though it were glued to that of Dorian's, their combined

perspiration having forged them together with the intense heat of their

joining. As she awoke and realized her position, the sound of the clock

chiming from somewhere had her freezing in his hold.

He reacted with a grumble that had her further stiffening and she gently

began to extricate herself out of his arms. His clasp was tight and his arms

held her so closely that she wished to God that she didn't have to leave him.

Unfortunately, that wasn't possible. She had to leave, as quickly and as

quietly as possible.

With a slight sigh, she edged gently away from him, hoping all the while that

she would not disturb him overly. His breathing was deep, as was his sleep.

It was only then that she realized how tired he had looked earlier, when she

had first seen him and she knew that he would not awaken for his fatigue

was too great.

There was nothing more that she longed to do than rest with him and watch

him sleep the sleep of the innocent, but her carriage awaited her and she

had only a few more hours before her aunt's house would start to waken.

She had left it far too long as it was - any longer would be sheer

foolhardiness.

Within minutes, she had managed to free herself from his hold and had

jumped to her feet. Lily wished that she could stoke the fires, but to do so

could prod him from sleep. Instead, she looked about the study and noticed

that a blanket hung from the back of an armchair. Naked, she strode across

the room and grabbed it, before laying it atop him. He instantly curled into it

and turned on to his side to face the fire.

Lily quickly dressed herself and hurried out of the study. With her key in

hand, she unlocked then locked the door before running out on to the

lightening streets. The carriage was still there and she leapt into it. Settling

herself in for the journey, she sank back against the cushion and shrieked to

high hell as a hand leapt out of nowhere and grabbed her knee.

“Damn it!” she shrieked and tugged the hand from her knee. “If you have to

blackmail me, is it necessary to frighten the life out of me as well?” As she

spoke, she turned her head blindly about the darkened confines of the cabin

to seek her blackmailer's position.

Slight vibrations suddenly filled the compartment and then came the sounds

of hooves beating against the cobbled floor. Within seconds the carriage

began to move.

“How was it tonight?” the man asked, completely ignoring her complaint.

She huffed under her breath. “It was different.”

“Different?” There was a note of inquiry in his voice. “How?”

“He was inclined to talk,” she said as she turned her head away from the

beast who seemed determined to destroy her life.

“What did you discuss?”

“Why do you want to know?” she retorted angrily.

He tutted. “You would think, would you not, Lady Mercer, that when a

woman's life is in danger, her daughter would at least be amenable to the

man who could be her mother's murderer!”

Lily flinched. “Very well.” She hastily thought back to their conversation and

sought the least personal aspects. These were moments she would forever

remember and hold dear. Had he not said that he no longer loved his wife?

That part of their discussion had been music to her ears! “He wished to know

my name. He wished to know why I was there.”

“And what did you say?”

“I-I, when he saw me, he knew who I was, so I did not have to reply to the

first question. The latter, I told him that I never intended to wed but that did

not mean that I did not long to understand what happened between man

and wife.”

“Touching!” the man replied with a snort. He sighed. “He will ask again. It is

not in the Earl's nature to seduce a debutante . . . .”

She wanted to say that she did not have to be told this! That Lily had easily

surmised that by herself, but she kept quiet, wondering all the while how the

blackmailer knew Dorian and what he really wanted from him.

“When he does, you will tell him that you love him and that you expect no

marriage proposal for the pleasure you share. Tell him that you want him

and will do anything to have him . . . any way you can.”

Lily frowned in the dark. “If he asks again, I shall reply verbatim,” she

whispered.

“Good. I shall send you another missive when I next require you. It could be

earlier than next week. Be prepared.”

A tap sounded and the coach came to a halt. The carriage door suddenly

opened and the man jumped out.

She saw a faint glimpse of long hair in the lightened sky of dawn but little

else.

The door was closed and then the carriage was started once again.

Within moments, she was delivered to her front door, and, somehow, only

God knew how, she managed to re-enter via the window in the staff quarters

in the basement of the house without a single noise. Five minutes passed

since her arrival and she was back in her bedroom.

For the first time that night, she breathed a sigh of relief. Stalking over to

the banked fire, she stoked it and watched as the embers caught and a

slight fire was raised from the dying coals. She tumbled more on to the pile

and wiped her blackened hand against the white linen of her chemise, before

retreating to her bed and climbing into it with a weary yawn.

It seemed incredible that only thirty minutes ago she had been with Dorian

and despite herself, she wished she were still there.

Love was a strange thing, she thought quietly. Something that one could

easily dismiss as unimportant when it had never touched one, but then, as

soon as it entered one's life, it became all-encompassing. And that was how

she felt, all-encompassed by Dorian.

How she could love him and so swiftly was beyond her. A coup de foudre,

the French called it. To be struck by lightning . . . and how apt a description

that was for love at first sight.

That her love was bound to die a painful death, she did not doubt. It wasn't

that she would cease to love him, it was that once her blackmailer had what

he wanted, Lily would more than likely never see Dorian again. And even if

she did, what could occur between them?

He had already been tarnished by his wife. At first, she had believed him to

be still in love with his Camille, but from what she had been able to discern,

Camille had not been as pure as snow. And Lily's behavior had hardly been

innocent. Why should he not tar her with the same brush as his dead wife's?

Everything pointed to him eventually despising her. And especially were the

blackmailer to ever disclose why Lily had even come to his house!

At this moment, Dorian believed her to be enamored and desirous of him.

But were he to discover there were motives behind every single touch, then

he would hate her all the more.

And despite all that, despite the fact that she was bound to a lifetime of

lonely misery, what concerned her the most was why she had been

blackmailed and how it would affect Dorian.

She had come to believe that she had been chosen as the seductress for one

reason and one reason only, that her appearance was not dissimilar to

Dorian's deceased wife. Camille. It was the only explanation. Why choose an

inexperienced deb over an experienced Cyprian unless there was an ulterior

motive . . . ? And what could be more salient than a similarity in appearance

to a woman that Dorian seemed to still love?

Indeed, had she not herself believed him to still love Camille?

Why should the blackmailer not be as in the dark as she herself had been?

Only when she had heard the truth from his own lips had she realized that

he was filled with an embittered disappointment.

Perhaps the blackmailer did not know this. It seemed highly likely, for half

the ton believed it!

Perhaps he believed that Dorian would fall in love with Lily simply because of

her similarities with Camille - almost like a transference of love . . . . And

thus, through her, Dorian could be further hurt . . . ?

She sighed roughly and wished she understood the deeper threads of this so

complicated situation.

What did her blackmailer want from the man she loved?

Was he in danger?

Was his very life on the line?

Indeed, was she herself in danger? If the man wanted to harm Dorian

through her, what better way to do so than by hurting Lily?

She bit her lip, knowing that if the blackmailer could intend to harm an

innocent and grief-stricken woman such as her mother, then what would

prevent him from killing a man in his prime?

Very little.

Flinching, Lily turned on to her side and cuddled into her blankets. With her

thoughts so filled with torment, she knew that it would be a long while until

she slept and also knew that were Dorian here, it would take but a moment.

When he was there, he seemed to absorb every one of her thoughts. There

was no room for anything else.

She pictured herself as she had been but an hour ago. Wrapped in his arms,

every part of her touching every part of him and Lily sighed dreamily. Her

eyes fluttered shut and for the third time that day, she fell into a light doze.

For the moment, managing to put aside the tangled mess her life had

become, to rest peacefully for a few vital hours.

****

had just shoved under her nose. So close was the bowl that she could see

the hand-painted roses and tulips circle its rim before her eyes crossed from

the proximity and she had to close them lest she induce further bouts of this

damned nausea!

Her fingers were white as they clutched at the bowl and her body was

tensed as her system expelled whatever it was that had caused this intense

and violent sickness to assail her.

Sensations of weakness rolled over her body in discomforting waves and

even as her stomach purged itself, she wanted nothing more than to curl

into a ball and hide from this shocking illness that had taken her overnight

and by such surprise.

When there was naught left in her stomach to expel, yet her system

continued to react as though it were full, heaving sobs escaped her. Perhaps

it was self-pity, but every part of her seemed to hurt. And even worse, every

part of her was so tired, so fatigued that each wave of nausea had her

shuddering with reaction as it absorbed almost every ounce of her energy,

energy that she did not have.

When finally her stomach calmed, she shoved the bowl away and rolled

backwards against the mattress, clutching her belly as she did. Sweat

seeped from every pore and tears of pain rolled over her cheeks, as she