Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (25 page)

“Thank you, Nick. Thank you.” She hugged him close. “I don’t know what I would ever have done without you.”

L
illian rolled over, reaching for him, but Nick was not there. She tried to clear the sleepy cobwebs from her mind. Sudden fear gripped her. She sat up. “Nick?”

“Oh, you’re awake.” He stepped out of the dressing room, wearing only an ivory linen shirt and smalls.

Pressing her hand to her heart, she willed it to slow.

“Are you all right?” he asked, worry knitting his brow.

She nodded. “I couldn’t find you.”

His handsome face softened, and he sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, I’m right here.”

Scooting over on the mattress, she laid her cheek on his wide, muscled thigh. He grazed his hand over her hair, brushing it gently.

“Can we stay in bed today?” she implored, trying to keep her voice from sounding too desperate. “Let the world go on without us just for a few hours.”

His hand lowered to her back, swirling in gentle circles. “I cannot do that, Lillian. I still have much work to do with Dagwood on the prosecutions against Kane and Mayburn. Greayston might be horrified by his younger son’s actions, but he is still paying for some pretty forceful counsel for Mayburn’s defense. The man is making noises, trying to blame it all on Kane.”

“Greayston only sees what he wants to. If Kane is the villain, then Russell is not to blame.”

“Well, the barrister he retained is fighting the prosecution tooth and nail.”

“But Russell confessed.”

He glowered. “There’s a lawyer for you.”

“What difference would it make to the prosecutions if you stayed here with me one afternoon?” she argued, trying not to sound too forlorn. “You have been working almost nonstop since Russell’s arrest seven days ago. You deserve a break.”

“There is still the business at Andersen Hall.”

“What is so important that it cannot wait?”

His hand stilled, resting flat on her back. “The Board of Trustees meets today, and I cannot miss it.”

“Will Marcus be there?”

“Unless he’s a complete wastrel, he will show at the meeting.”

“I do not like him,” she murmured, sifting her fingers through the coarse hairs around his knee.

“You have not even met the man.”

“But you do not like him.”

“I did not like him as a child.” She felt him shrug. “I expect that I have to see how he has managed to
turn out. The lad I knew was not one to become a war hero, but Marcus has done just that.”

“So you will give him the opportunity to prove himself?”

“If he manages to stay around. The Marcus Dunn I knew was quick to take off at the first sign of trouble.”

Rolling over, she stared up at this man who was so dear. “Then the query is: Can leopards actually change their spots?”

He moved his hand to her neck, grasping it in a gentle hold. Her pulse pounded against his palm. “I, obviously, changed mine.”

“Don’t sound so desolate,” she chided. “We have done nothing wrong.”

“I broke my pledge.”

“Do you regret it?” she asked, knowing the answer. They were too well suited for him to truly regret it.

“I can’t,” he murmured, leaning over and pressing his lips to hers in a delicate kiss. “But I know that I should.”

Opening her mouth to him, she pushed away the flurry of worry. She had been seeing signs that Nick was not wholly content with their arrangement. She had been trying to ignore it, but her nightmares would not let her hide her head in the sand.

In her dreams she was looking for Nick, calling out to him, reaching for him, but he was not there. Where could he be? Fear washed over her like a tide of longing. Often he came, only to disappear like a ghost misting into a cloud. Once in a dream, he appeared before her as a king, adorned in blazing armor to the hilt, a ghost, just like Hamlet’s dead father. Again, he faded away into the haze of the
dawn at the ramparts, before ever telling her that he loved her.

Closing her eyes, she pushed away all morbid thoughts, living for the moment, living for his kiss on her lips. Raking her hands through his hair, her tongue met his, and the familiar thrills shimmered through her. She groaned. Intensifying the passionate play, she showed him with her body that she wanted to evolve the kiss from sweet to more fiery.

His tongue glided over hers and tingles raced up her naked skin, igniting the flames that had scorched her in the darkened shadows of her bedroom. Now, in the light of day, she longed for him still, yearned for him to be inside of her, a part of her, never to leave.

She pressed her hands to his manhood, feeling the stretch of thin fabric cloaking him. Stroking him, she felt him harden. Stiff, he throbbed in her hand. A satisfied sigh escaped from her mouth.

“Lillian,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I can’t. I have things to take care of. I don’t want to be late.”

“The carriage got stuck in a rut.” She kneaded his shaft with eager fingers, feeling it jolt. “The road was congested.” Leaning forward, she pressed an open kiss to its head, tasting a gratifying dampness beneath her lips. “I had a headache and needed—”

“You never have a headache,” he groaned, running his hand through her tresses. “And I thank the heavens for it.”

Setting her mouth to his shaft, she gently bit it, teasing the length of his member with delicate nibbles. It jumped under her ministrations, straining against the fine cloth.

Reaching up, she pressed him down onto the bed,
rising up before him on her knees. “I never would have thought that sleeping without nightclothes could feel so good,” she breathed, running her hands down her sides.

His eyes roved over her with predatory satisfaction. He grazed her nipples with the backs of his hands, down her flank, caressing her thighs. “You’re so beautiful.”

A thrill of pleasure shot through her at the hunger she heard in his rumbling voice. “So are you.” He was. He was the most magnificent man she had ever laid eyes on.

His hands fanned out, bracing her thighs and squeezing. “You are too much of a temptation. I cannot keep my hands off you.”

“Then don’t,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

His fingers tickled at the fine hairs between her thighs, edging toward that warm and magical place. Spreading her inner lips with nimble fingers, he slowly stoked the fires of her passion.

She threw her head back, rocking her hips in rhythm to his strokes. “Oh, Nick,” she moaned.

He grasped her hips, lifting her up and shifting her off of him. Disappointment flushed through her. “Don’t stop now.”

“I want to try something new,” he murmured, rotating her and pressing her gently into the soft mattress.

She lay flat on her stomach, waiting for him. Excitement pooled in her belly.

He tossed his smalls to the floor, leaving on the linen shirt. He rocked over her, laying a hot, wet kiss between her shoulder blades. The tails of his shirt raked across her buttocks. She shivered. His velvety
lips traveled, teasing, licking, sucking his way down to her waist. His breath trailed across her derriere, raising the fine hairs in that most private crevice.

His tongue slid across her buttock. Nervous, she pulled up onto her elbow. “Nick?” she asked, unable to hide the jumpiness from her voice.

“Trust me, Lillian. I will not do anything that you will not thoroughly enjoy.”

She lay flat on her belly, waiting, tingles quivering in her middle, wondering what he was going to do. She trusted him with her life and knew that his only agenda was pleasure.

He slowly parted her legs and kissed her inner thigh. Her pelvis bucked and she groaned. Warm breath slid across her heated core, making it throb with wanting.

His hand slid beneath her, finding that hard nub that begged to be touched. Lightning flashed from that amazing juncture to every extremity and back again.

Slowly he stroked her, bringing her back to that peak of pleasure. Her body flamed. She was panting, groaning, needing him to fill her, to make her whole.

Sliding a pillow beneath her abdomen, he raised her onto her knees, lifting her buttocks into the air. He grasped her hips, spreading her thighs with his knees. His manhood pressed at her core, thick and wanting.

She felt open, like a flower waiting to be plucked. Her breath was heavy, her body shimmering with a need only he could satisfy.

Planting one last kiss on her shoulder, he reared back and plunged into her womanhood, filling her.

“Oh, God!” she cried out as her inner muscles
clutched him in welcome. He hammered so deep inside of her that she felt besieged by his body. Conquered in heated passion.

He rode her, and carried her, taking her with him on a wild rampage. The world honed into one perfect rhythm as his thrusts drew her closer and closer to that divine place that they shared….

Her womanhood convulsed, her senses shattered, and she was lost. He thrust once, twice more, warmth gushing as he poured his seed inside. He fell on top of her with a shuddering groan.

She lay beneath him, blanketed by his weighty warmth. Her heartbeat slowed, her breath returned to normal and her senses awakened once more.

Panting, he slipped out, rolling onto his back beside her. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder.

Leaning over, she rubbed her nose in his raven hair, marveling at the softness. He smelled of sex and the familiar scent of almonds. She was grinning, so very content. She kissed his bold, dark brow, those piercing cocoa eyes, his aristocratic nose. Lips soft as heaven. And that angular chin with just the hint of a cleft.

“You shaved,” she whispered, nibbling on his smooth jaw.

“Um hum.”

“Wait.” She stopped. “How do you smell of almonds?”

“Yesterday was the first Tuesday of the month.”

Hope filled her. “And you had your soap sent here?”

“Only for this month. Don’t worry.”

Her heart sank, and the familiar fear shuddered through her. This time she did not bother to hide her
distress. “You do not expect to be here in a month’s time?”

“I never said that.” He lifted up onto his elbow. “I just did not want to presume anything.”

She shifted to the edge of the bed, sitting up, upset, confused and angry with herself for being so stupid. Sex was not a way to keep him. It was not what Nick was about. He had told her from the start that he did not believe in long-term commitment. That it was likely to fail in the end. What did she expect from him?

“What do you want from me, Lillian?” He sat beside her and grasped her limp hand.

“I don’t know,” she lied, lifting a shoulder. She wanted him with her, simple as that. But Nicholas Redford was not the type to be a kept man. Though he would be anything but, it might appear so to the world. His pride would come into play, and moreover, she could not bear to sully his name. He was too good a man to be tainted with London’s most notorious mistress. How would it impact his business? She did not know. How long would he stay with her? She knew that he still feared abandonment. That he was set against marriage and children for that very reason.

Children. Nick’s children. Small, raven-haired minxes…But they would be less serious, less scared. She would protect them, never let them feel the pains that their father had.

“Lillian, you’re crying,” Nick murmured as he traced a finger down her cheek. “What is wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffed, turning her head to him. He wrapped his steely arms around her and hugged her close. She bawled into his chest, a hud
dling jumbled mess of feelings thicker than a quagmire. She was so very confused.

He rubbed her back with smooth, round strokes. “Tell me what is bothering you, Lillian. I will try to fix it.”

How could he, when he was the problem?

“I’m ruining your shirt,” she muttered through the haze of her distress. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I am, Lillian. I know the last few weeks have been difficult and it’s still hard.”

She nodded mutely, not knowing what else to do. She hated being such a puddle of tears, hated the mishmash of feelings conflicting inside her.

“Things can’t go on like this,” Nick said.

She stiffened.
Oh dear Lord in heaven. What did he mean by that?
But she was too much of a coward to ask, letting him speak instead.

“I have to take care of some things today. There’s this board meeting, but when I come home, we will talk. All right?”

Swallowing, she nodded, wiping the final tear from her eye.

“Good.” His lips brushed across hers. “All right, then.”

Standing, he headed back toward the dressing room.

She fell back onto the soft feathered mattress, curling up into a ball. She dragged the sheet over her. She felt chilled, alone and very afraid.

“L
illian! Lillian!” Dillon called, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “That’s the third time in half an hour that we’ve completely lost you.”

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, burying her nose in her cup and sipping the lukewarm tea.

“It’s hard to have a decent scandal-broth when one of the guests of honor is mentally absent,” he chided.

“Oh, is there some gossip?” she asked, trying to feign interest.

“Only that Dagwood’s political ambitions have mired for the moment. He’s still smarting from trying to hang an innocent man.” He clapped his hands. “I wonder if his career might not be over.”

“Wishful thinking.” Fanny snorted. “The public might have a short memory, but for politicians it’s the length of a nose.”

“You should be happy to see Dagwood so humiliated, Lillian,” Dillon remarked, ostensibly surprised by her lack of reaction. “You hate the man.”

She shrugged. “Yes, he is overambitious, but in the end, he was simply doing his job.”

“What ails you?” Dillon cried. “If I had given you this intelligence last week, you would have been dancing a jig.”

Fanny slid a fruit tart into her mouth. “She’s in love.”

“Redford is quite the handsome bloke,” Dillon remarked. “And I do owe him my life, well, along with Lillian. Too bad he carries himself like a peasant. Otherwise, he might just manage to get along in Society.”

Fury rose in Lillian so overwhelming that she screeched, “Why, you self-centered prig! You try growing up in an orphanage and—”

Dillon laughed. “You
are
in love!”

Lillian’s mouth closed and she eyed her friends, sinking back in the settee, deflated. “I suppose I am.”

“Why so glum?” Dillon asked. “Father has agreed to continue paying your expenses for as long as you need it, even if we are no longer an item. And he lets you reside here indefinitely, he is so grateful to you for exposing Kane’s villainy.”

“Dillon is right,” Fanny added. “It’s not such a terrible fix. Redford really is a wonderful man. And between saving the queen’s dog and Beaumont’s arse, his enquiry agency will be in the bull.” She grinned wickedly. “Besides, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer girl.”

Lillian wagged her finger. “You knew this would happen! You set me up for a fall!”

“Flat as a pancake.” Fanny’s shoulders lifted proudly.

Dillon sighed, sipping his tea. “I suppose it was only a matter of time until you left me.”

“That’s the problem,” she moaned. “I don’t know where I’m going.”

“You mean Italy is out?” Fanny flipped open her fan and waved it languidly. “Just take him with you. Love in Venice is supposed to be divine.”

“I’m not going to Italy, there’s a war on. Besides—” Lillian studied her teacup, embarrassed. “I’ve found a better use for my money.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “I’m giving it away to charity.”

“What?” Fanny screeched, flicking her fan closed with a snap. “After all of our hard work?”

“Not all of it!” Dillon cried.

“No, not all of it. I still have to live. But a whole lot of it. It’s more money than I will ever need. I just wish that I could give it to Andersen Hall now and not have to wait until I turn twenty-four.”

“Nick was telling me about the mess at the orphanage,” Fanny added. “He worries that the trustees will vote to dissolve the foundling home if there’s not enough confidence in the new headmaster.”

Lillian nodded. “Nick is working with Headmaster Dunn’s son, Marcus, to ensure that the orphanage remains open and functioning in the spirit that Dunn would have wanted.” The plight of the orphanage and its charges had been taking up a lot of Nick’s time recently. Between the prosecution against Russell and Kane and the troubles at Andersen Hall, Lillian felt that she hardly saw Nick these
days. And now he wanted to
speak with her
this afternoon.

“You can pick your face up off the floor now, Lillian,” Fanny chided. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Dillon scooted forward on his seat. “So if you’re not going to Italy, what are your plans now, darling?”

She realized that the endearment Dillon used so easily had never crossed Nick’s lips, nor had he ever uttered a word about his feelings for her. Today was going to be bad.

“I don’t know,” she stated glumly. She feared that the only thing she knew for certain was that she was going to shrivel up into an old crone and die a lonely woman.

“Oh, stop it, Lillian. The man loves you madly.”

“He has not said so. And,” she swallowed, “I worry that he is going to end it.”

“Why would he do a stupid thing like that?” Dillon asked. “You’re probably the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“Thank you, Dillon.” She was not about to expose Nick’s insecurities. That he avoided intimacy because he feared being abandoned. “Nick, well…he does not believe in marriage.”

“So? Neither do you.”

“But he has this blasted code of honor. Oh, I don’t know. All I do know is that I fear he is not being fully honest with me. I’m afraid that today he’s going to tell me that he is no longer happy with me.”

Fanny grimaced. “That is not good.” She and Dillon exchanged a meaningful glance.

“What?” Lillian asked.

“Well, Nick asked us to be around this afternoon. He thought you might be needing us.”

Heaven help her.
Wilting into the settee, she groaned.

“What if he is going to propose marriage?” Fanny asked, watching her carefully.

“I doubt that,” she muttered.

“And if he did? What would be your answer?”

“No, of course,” Dillon supplied. “Lillian’s sworn against the marital state for as long as I’ve known her. And let us just recognize that despite Redford’s obvious charms, he is the dominant kind. Used to giving orders. Lillian would never sit for that.”

“Just because he gives orders does not mean that Lillian has to take them,” Fanny shot back. She turned to Lillian. “So what would your answer be?”

“I, I…”

“Dr. Michael Winner to see you, my lady,” Hicks announced from the threshold.

“Oh, please send him in.”

Lillian stood nervously. Dr. Winner was one of Nick’s oldest and dearest friends. She wondered why he was calling.

“Good day, Lady Janus.” He entered and bowed. He looked better than when she had last seen him, covered in soot, coughing and sad. He was tall, if a bit portly. He had a kind face that crinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth, as if he easily slipped into a smile.

“Dr. Winner, may I introduce Lord Beaumont and Miss Figbottom.” Lillian motioned to the tea service laid out before them. “Please join us.”

She waited for an answer, but the man seemed struck dumb.

“Dr. Winner?”

He shook himself as if startled from a daydream.
Carefully, he removed his hat and stepped forward. “It is an honor and a pleasure to meet such a fine actress as yourself, Miss Figbottom.” His pale cheeks and balding head had flushed to a high cherry, enunciating the tuft of brown hair ringing his receding hairline.

Fanny sashayed over, extending her hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

“I used to go to the theater just to see your shoulders.” His eyes drifted to the swell of pale curves rising up out of her bottle green gown, taking in her shoulders, as well. He blinked toffee eyes. “Did that come out as stupidly as it sounded to my own ears?”

“Not at all,” Fanny cooed, obviously thrilled with the attention. “Come sit by me, Doctor.”

Shooting Dillon a glare to move off, Fanny led him to the divan. “Some tea?”

He nodded, his loose lips lifting into a smile. “Miss Figbottom, I feel so very honored.”

“You already said that,” Dillon muttered under his breath.

Lillian waved at him to behave.

“I had asked Nick for an introduction,” Winner went on, oblivious, “but I expect he’s been too busy these days….” His eyes shifted to Lillian, and she tried not to blush.

“He had not mentioned it,” Fanny replied, obviously irritated that Nick had not spoken of the good doctor. As if Nick could have known that Fanny was on the prowl and the doctor was just her type.

Fanny poured him tea, and even Lillian had to admire her grace and form. It was like watching water spilled over glass, fluid and seamless. Fanny was an artist. And she had a captive audience.

“Thank you, Miss Figbottom.” Winner accepted the china cup and sipped.

“Call me Fanny.”

He just barely stopped himself from sputtering into his tea.

Lillian almost felt sorry for him. Once Fanny turned on the charm, it was easier to get out of the way of a runaway carriage.

“Nick had not told me how nice you are.”

Rolling his eyes at Lillian so that Fanny could not see, Dillon helped himself to another fruit tart and sat down in the armchair. “So how do you know Redford, Doctor?”

“I’ve known Nick, well, since he was a drip-nosed, fist-ready lad.”

“You worked at Andersen Hall a long time?” Lillian asked, almost jealous that he had known Nick for so long and she only a short time.

“I was still fresh from Edinburgh. Had barely been out of the Royal College of Physicians and newly married to my dear Eleanor.” His cheeks tinged, and he turned to Fanny, explaining, “My wife.”

“Oh, you are married?”

“Widowed.”

Fanny practically preened. “Go on, my good man, please.”

“Dunn had come calling on behalf of the orphanage. I told him that I didn’t have blunt enough to be giving it away, and he somehow convinced me to donate my time and ‘handiwork’ instead.”

“Very charitable of you.” Fanny bustled her skirts sideways, exposing just a hint of ankle.

“And?” Dillon urged.

Eyeing Fanny, Winner tugged at his cravat. “Nick
had had the fever and was segregated from the other children in the dormitory. He was a mere slip of a thing, really—”

“I find that hard to believe,” Dillon declared.

“He was not always the mighty Nick he is today. No.” Dr. Winner sighed, looking wistful. “He’s grown up, our boy.” He smiled. “I can’t really take the credit, but I’m proud of him just the same.” He turned to Fanny. “He’s the enquiry agent to the queen, you know.”

Fanny nodded sagely, tracing a finger across the line of her jaw. “I had heard something of that. But I would love to know more.”

“He saved her beloved pug, Lancelot.” His brow furrowed, and he turned to Lillian. “But you were there, Lady Janus. You can certainly tell it better than me.”

“Nick was magnificent.” Lillian shook her head, still impressed with Nick’s abilities. “He could see what we could not. The wretched Master of the Hounds, Mr. Glen, was a foul character of the worst sort. But I had no idea. I was completely fooled. But not Nick.”

“He knew straight off that the scoundrel was behind the kidnapping?” Dillon scratched his ear. “Or is it dog-napping?”

“Nick came to it by piecing together all of the facts and seeing which did not fit. It was all very logical….” Lillian’s thoughts drifted off. The spark of an idea flickered like the wick on a candle. Gradually, it intensified. Nick was a creature of logic. She just had to find a way to let him know that it went beyond all logic for her to abandon him. So that she would never do so. But how to elucidate that point?

“And?” Dillon urged. “Then what happened?”

“Oh,” Lillian blinked. “What did you say?”

“You were telling us about the Master of the Hounds…Mr. Glen…”

“You tell it, Dr. Winner, I feel the sudden inclination to stretch my legs a bit. I’ll be in the back garden.” She rose. There was too much thinking to be done for lazing over a chitchat. She needed a plan. And a good one. She headed for the door.

“Oh, I was so distracted, I forgot to ask,” Winner declared, drawing her from her reverie. “Is Nick around?”

She stopped midstep. “Isn’t he at the meeting of the Board of Trustees?” Then it struck her.
“With you?”

Winner’s mouth worked. “That’s not until tomorrow.”

Lillian felt as if a bucket of icy seawater had been dumped over her head, drenching her to the bone. And it stank.

“Oh, dear,” Fanny muttered, rising.

“Lillian, you’re as pale as plaster,” Dillon declared. He rose. “What’s wrong?”

Lillian suddenly found it a trifle hard to breathe. He had lied. Nick, her upright, noble savior, had lied. And he wanted to talk with her this afternoon. It was the end.
Her end.

“Are you ill, Lady Janus?” Winner stood, setting down his china cup with a clatter. “Can I help?”

“Her affliction is most severe.” Fanny wrapped a thick arm over Lillian’s shoulders and squeezed. “And, I hate to say, untreatable.”