The Accidental Mistress (19 page)

"That should help him rest, which is the best thing for him right now," the physician said, turning back to Lily. "I'll put a poultice on the stings to take down the inflammation. Remove the remedy after an hour."

"Of course."

Lily crossed to the room's only chair and sank down upon it while the doctor completed his ministrations. By the time he was ready to depart, Ethan had fallen into a heavy slumber. The older man remained long enough to help her remove the marquis's boots and maneuver his large body under the blanket, and then he was gone.

Pulling the chair forward, Lily resumed her seat at Ethan's bedside. Visually, she traced the contours of his face, finding him even more handsome, boyish almost, with his features relaxed and utterly unguarded.

Curling her hand into a fist, she resisted the urge to touch him, to thread her fingers into his silky hair and stroke the length of his refined cheeks.

Once an hour had passed, she removed the poultice, grateful to see that the remedy had eased the worst of the discoloration and reduced the size of the welt so that it was hardly noticeable.

When darkness began to fall and Ethan slept on, she realized there would be no returning to London that evening.

Even as a "widow" propriety demanded she seek her own room, but she wasn't about to leave his side. He might need her in the night. Besides, the staff would most definitely question her and the marquis's relationship if she suddenly requested a separate accommodation.

Not long after, a gentle tap came at the door, a maidservant come to light candles in the room and ask if she would care for a bite of dinner. Until that moment, she hadn't realized she might be hungry, but at the mention of food, her stomach decided to convince her otherwise.

Clearly, Ethan would not be joining her, but he might wake and crave something to fill his belly. She chose a bowl of hearty beef-and-vegetable soup for herself, plus enough bread, fruit, and cheese to satisfy them both should he wish to eat later.

Once the meal arrived, she ate. Later, after using the commode she discovered behind a privacy screen, she washed her face and hands, then brushed her teeth with a toothbrush and tooth powder the maid had procured for her use. Her ablutions done, she returned to Ethan's bedside to resume her vigil. Laying a palm against his forehead, she smiled to find his skin flushed with normal, healthy warmth.

He really is going to be fine,
she cheered, coiled tension releasing like a great exhalation from her shoulders and back. Aware of the profound depth of her concern, she assured herself she would have felt the same for any injured person. But deep inside, she knew better.

As the minutes slipped past, the hands of a small mantel clock pointing toward midnight, she began to grow weary, the chair in which she'd sat for hours no longer comfortable.

She gazed at the empty half of the bed.

Should I?

No,
she argued to herself,
I cannot share a bed with the marquis!

Still, as the minutes ticked by and her eyelids began to droop, her resolve started to waver.
What would it hurt if I stretched out on top of the covers? He's sick and asleep. Chances are good he will sleep through the night.

At one o'clock, weary beyond measure, she gave up the fight and crept over to the vacant side of the bed. Taking off her shoes, she climbed into bed and curled up with her back to him. Instantly, Lily fell asleep.

Ethan opened his eyes to darkness.

A faint sliver of moonlight shone into the room through windows that were in the wrong position.

Not in my bedroom,
he realized,
nor in my own bed,
the mattress under his back a bit lumpy. Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face and struggled to orient himself. Memories stole slowly over him, the pieces falling into place one by one.

The inn. I'm at an inn somewhere on the road between Richmond and London.

He sensed the hour was well past midnight and wondered how long he had been asleep. His last distinct memory was of drinking some foul-tasting brew the doctor had pressed upon him. At the time he'd hoped the potion contained only herbs and water, but the damn quack had added laudanum to the mix. He was sure of the addition, since his tongue was sticky with the sweet residue of the drug, his head muzzy as if his brain had been swaddled in cotton gauze.

At least the pain was gone from his neck, and the swelling as well, he discovered as he ran a palm over his flesh. He shifted, then stilled when his hip bumped against a soft shape huddled next to him.

Lily.

Despite the darkness and his less-than-peak physical condition, he had no difficulty recognizing the person sleeping at his side. In fact, he suspected he would have known Lily even if he were blind and deaf.

Angling his head, he caught a hint of the sweet vanilla fragrance of her skin, keenly aware of her womanly figure and the exquisite feminine curves that lay so tantalizingly near. If only there weren't covers separating them, he would have slid closer so they could be touching. But Lily had chosen to lie on top of the blankets and leave him tucked safely and virtuously underneath.

How ironic,
he mused,
to finally be in bed with her and feel too worn to do anything about it!

He huffed out an inaudible sigh and lay unmoving for long moments. In that time he became aware of three things. He was hungry, thirsty, and needed to empty his bladder.

Deciding to take care of the most urgent matter first, he climbed from the bed and searched through the shadows for the commode. Once that bodily necessity was accomplished, he emerged from behind the privacy screen, taking care not to wake Lily.

When he found the food on the table, he sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Lily for her thoughtfulness. Tearing off a piece of bread, he added a wedge of cheese and made a small but satisfying meal. He ate a handful of fresh strawberries as well, then quenched his thirst with a glass of room-temperature lemonade. The repast had the added benefit of clearing a large measure of the lingering fog from his brain.

Now, if I could only get this awful aftertaste of laudanum out of my mouth.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd remembered seeing a toothbrush lying on the small dressing stand next to the commode. Returning there, he found the item, along with a tin of toothpowder that he hoped Lily wouldn't mind sharing.

Feeling noticeably refreshed after scrubbing his teeth and tongue and washing his hands and face, he padded back to the bed. He hesitated only a moment before stripping off his shirt and waistcoat, deciding he would refrain from taking off his trousers, since such an act might leave Lily scandalized come morning.

Turning, he set a knee on the mattress with every intention of lowering himself into the bed and going back to sleep. That's when he noticed the way Lily was huddled on her side, her arms wrapped close around herself as if she were cold.

I can't leave her like that. Besides, it is ridiculous for us not to both share the covers.

With only her comfort in mind, he began the tenuous process of tugging the blanket and sheet out from under her recumbent form. He was certain she would rouse at any moment, but she slept through the entire process, sighing aloud in pleasure when he draped the covers over her body.

He was stretching out on his side of the bed when a fresh thought occurred.
Is she sleeping in her stays?
She was still wearing her gown, so chances were good she had left her corset in place too, especially without her lady's maid to assist her as usual. He knew, from the remarks a few of his former bed partners had made over the years, that women tended to find the undergarment tolerable at best, always relieved to be rid of the stiff cloth-and-whalebone contraption at the end of a day.

With her back to him, finding the buttons on her dress proved a simple matter, even in the dark. In a thrice, he had them unfastened. With easy skill, he began to unlace the ties. Once those came loose, he slipped a hand around her front to pull the undergarment free. As he did, his hand brushed over one soft, pliant breast covered in nothing more than her thin lawn shift. Her nipple hardened instantly, the tight peak reaching out through the cloth as if begging for his touch.

His shaft sprang to attention with the quickness of a private saluting a general, snuggling its eager head against the graceful curve of her lower back.
So much for my maladies impeding my sexual appetites,
he thought. His head might not be crystal-clear yet and his body might still be in need of sleep, but his lower half was certainly alert and aware of what it wanted—aware of what it had been wanting all these long days and weeks.

He groaned quietly under his breath, telling himself to ease away and let her go. She was asleep and in no condition to make rational choices.

But even as he fought to end his ill-conceived embrace, his hand curled around her breast, cradling the supple roundness as his thumb began to stroke her of its own accord.

Her nipple tightened further, beading into a taut point while at her back his shaft began to throb with an almost unbearable ache.

Oh, good God,
he cursed,
how am I going to stop?

Caught in the grip of intense desire, he continued fondling her, slipping open the tie on her bodice so he could feel her warm, silky flesh against his palm.

Touching her bare breast only made matters worse, his fingers plucking gently at her nipple for a long moment before somehow he found the fortitude to break his contact with her.

His hands shook as he rolled away and flopped onto his back. Flinging an arm across his face, he lay in agony, his whole body on fire with a hunger to reach out and take her. But touching her that way would not be right, no matter how much misery he might currently be enduring.

Go to sleep
, he ordered himself.
Hah, as if that is going to happen,
he countered,
not with Lily lying here beside me.

A minute later she stirred, rolling onto her back and then over once more so she lay facing him. Not close enough apparently, she snuggled against him, curving an arm across the naked skin of his chest.

His entire frame tightened, and then he shuddered.

He must have made some sort of noise as well, since she stirred this time, raising her head slightly.

"Ethan?" she murmured.

His erection jerked and pulsed at the low, sleepy timber of her voice. "Yes, it's me."

"Are you all right?"

Lord, what a question.
He wanted to tell her that he would be dandy if only she'd throw a leg over his hips.

"I'm fine," he said instead, his answer coming out through clenched teeth.

She roused a little more. "You do not sound all right. You sound distressed. Here, let me see." Lifting a hand, she stroked her palm over his cheek.

He trembled, wanting to explode.

"You are a little warm."

Hot. I am hot. Very, very hot
.

"Does your head hurt?"

No, my shaft does,
he thought, a rude part of him wishing he would tell her to move her hand and wrap it around the portion of his flesh that really needed her touch.

"No," he grated out instead.

"Hmm, that's good," she murmured. "I was worried about you. So very worried."

"Were you?"

"Yes." She lowered her head to his shoulder and fell quiet, leaving him to wonder after a minute if she'd gone back to sleep. Then she spoke again, her fingers playing lightly over his collarbone. "Am I dreaming?"

He did his best to regulate his breathing, his blood thrumming beneath her touch. "No."

"Hmm. Because this seems like one of my dreams."

He stilled, intrigued. "Really?"

"Hmm hmm," she murmured. "Though usually you're kissing me."

He smiled. "Am I?"

"And touching me … like you did that night in the garden." She paused. "I liked that night in the garden."

"Did you?" he affirmed, his words sounding throaty and low-pitched, even to his own ears. "I liked it too. What about this? Do you like this?"

Curving an arm around her back, he slipped his hand inside her loosened dress. In a seductive glide, he traced the skin along the length of her backbone.

She arched, a kind of purring mewl coming from her lips.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Angling her closer, he bent his head and captured her lips in a fervent, yet unhurried kiss, her mouth tasting sweeter than wild raspberries and more decadent than brandied whipped cream.

Deciding to make another attempt at removing her stays, he lifted her upward ever so slightly, and never breaking their kiss, slowly eased the undergarment free. Victorious, he tossed the corset toward what he hoped was the foot of the bed. The garment hit and slid to the wood-planked floor with a muffled thud, instantly forgotten.

Threading his fingers into her hair, he began plucking out pins, her tresses tumbling downward in a silky cascade that framed their faces like a curtain, the coppery shade so vibrant he thought he could detect hints of color even in the moonlight. Closing his eyes, he deepened their kiss, tangling their tongues together in a riotous joining that left each of them gasping for breath.

She moaned as he stroked her back under her shift in long, leisurely circles, his other hand roving lower in search of more bare skin. Catching the edge of her gown between his fingers, he inched the cloth upward until he found what he sought, his palm tingling as he curved it over the warm, satiny back of her knee just above her garter. Skimming upward, he roved over the sweet length of her thigh, then onward to settle across the lush curve of her delectable little buttocks.

Unable to restrain himself, he gave a gentle squeeze to one bare cheek.

She broke their kiss, a small cry falling from her lips. "Oh. You never did that in my dreams."

"Did I not?" he growled, squeezing her lightly again before caressing that portion of her flesh with another set of lazy circles. "How remiss of me. Shall we attempt it again?"