The Debutante Is Mine (18 page)

Vale frowned. “I only wanted you to send her flowers. In fact, I distinctly asked you
not
to make contact.”

“What you did was forbid me,” Jack reminded, and even Wolford chuckled beside him, as if understanding the likely results. “You had to have known that would have incurred my interest, which led directly to my taking up the banner of her cause . . . as matter of honor, because we struck a bargain.”

“Inciting your interest by forbidding you did not occur to me until this instant.” Vale shook his head in puzzlement. “Surely you are aware that she must marry a titled nobleman.”

“Yes.” Automatically, his gaze drifted over to where Lilah, Juliet, and Ivy stood. But they were no longer there.

Jack’s gaze darted around, searching for the three of them. Then, as his heart raced, he found them by the fountain. Lilah appeared to be shaking her head, her hand covering her lips. Jack knew in an instant that something was wrong.

“We must leave here at once. Order the carriage,” he said to his friends as he broke from them and started toward her, just as the footmen began to douse the torches.

Dozens of people crowded closer to the edge of the terrace, inadvertently blocking his path. Then, with the first of the fireworks, Jack caught another glimpse of Lilah. Unfortunately, he also spotted Haggerty bow to her in greeting.

“I
t is true. I heard it from Markham’s own lips that he believes you are betrothed already,” Juliet said, disbelief in her voice. “He’d heard the news from Miss Ashbury and in the presence of her father.”

Lilah shook her head and shivered to the soles of her feet. “No. It cannot be. I thought the rumors had faded.”

“Oh, it is true, dear Cousin,” Winthrop said, appearing unexpectedly before them, just as a flash of light and deafening boom shook the air. “I see no reason to wait any longer. You are at your prime and never more of a feather for my cap. I sent a letter to the vicar this very morning to read the banns, Sunday next.”

“The banns? No,” Lilah whispered.
This has to be a nightmare. Or my imagination conjuring a truly horrifying catastrophe. This cannot be real.

Ivy stood between them. “You have no right, Winthrop. She has been given until the end of the Season before the codicil finalizes.”

Juliet stepped forward too. “I’ve had my own solicitor looking into this matter as well.”

“Then you must know that it has always been within my power to exercise my rights,” Winthrop said with a frothy, serpentine smile, before turning back to Lilah.

When Juliet lowered her head, Lilah knew he was speaking the truth.

“I wanted you to have a taste of true society so that you would know what I expect from a wife. Surprisingly, you have not disappointed thus far. And now, I eagerly await our nuptials.” Winthrop sketched a courtly bow before turning on his heel and leaving Lilah in a state of shock.

More than anything, she needed Jack by her side. She turned away from the horror that was Winthrop and saw Jack’s broad shoulders push through a line of guests, his expression hard, his hands fisted at his side. She nearly collapsed with relief. Instead, she staggered a bit, leaning against Ivy for support.

Jack had murder in his eyes as he glanced at Winthrop’s retreating form. When his gaze settled on Lilah, it abruptly changed to something so intense that there was no way to describe it.

He stopped directly in front of her, his hands open and ready, as if he were tempted to pull her into his arms right here. And she would have let him. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Although it was good of him to know that there was no need to give the gossips anything more to feed upon.

“Miss Appleton, how may I be of assistance?”

Another boom shook the ground at her feet. Lilah felt herself sway toward him, but it was Ivy who caught her by the waist.

“Mr. Marlowe, I fear the night air has given me a headache,” Ivy said, sounding very duchess-like. “Would you be so kind as to escort me and my friend to a ready carriage? And Juliet, would you please inform my husband?”

“Thank you, Jack,” Lilah whispered as she took his arm.

Beside her, Ivy went still. In the instant that passed, she looked from Lilah to Jack and then back to Lilah again. She lifted her brows as if to ask if this was the man she’d mentioned earlier.

Lilah nodded at this unspoken question. Yes. Jack was indeed the man she loved.

L
ilah did not go to church the following morning with Aunt Zinnia and Juliet. In fact, she did not even sit up in bed when Nellie brought her a tea tray before she left for her day off, along with the other servants.

It wasn’t until Lilah heard the final click of a door closing, the hush of rain pattering against her windowpanes, and the house descending into silence that she decided to rise.

Pacing the floor, she felt the weight of the clock and calendar in every step. The outcome she’d been trying to avoid all this time was now upon her. Winthrop had exercised the rights given to him in Father’s will. The banns would be read—
her stomach turned
—in one week.

If only he’d waited.

In a day or two, the Season’s
Original
would be announced.

In a day or two, Ellery would return.

But it was too late. She had failed. And now, Juliet could lose her house and be forced from town. And the life Lilah had begun to hope for was over. In the deepest yearnings of her heart, she acknowledged that Ellery was not part of it. When she allowed herself to dream, she only saw Jack’s face.

A broken sigh left her. Lilah knew only one thing could possibly cheer her after last night. She needed to see her flowers.

Grabbing her wrapper, she slipped into the voluminous sleeves on her way down the servants’ stairs. Soon, she found herself in the garden.

Icy sprinkles rained down on her as she gazed at her azaleas. Glossy, dark green leaves splayed out like earthbound stars. In the centers, buds swollen with color were nearly ready to bloom. In a day or two, they would be ready.

A day or two
. . .

Gradually, the sprinkling rain grew heavier, soaking through her plaited hair to her scalp, sluicing down her parted fringe to her temples and into her eyes. Making her way beneath the arbor, she paused to blot her face with the ruffled cuff of her night rail, only to find it wet and dripping. She was soaked through and chilled but felt no urgency to remedy the situation.

Instead, she took a moment to peer down at the silver web between the bench and the arbor post. Small pearls of dew clung to the lovely spiral design. Yet something was different today. There was no movement. No flurry of activity. There was, however, a fat insect caught on one of the outer threads. Surely with such a sizable visitor, the spider would come directly and begin cocooning it in silk, wrapping for later.

Crouching down, Lilah peered closer. She touched the web gently, hoping to alert the spider from wherever she was hiding. That was when she realized what was different.

It wasn’t a fat insect caught in the web after all. It was the spider. Only she looked smaller now, her body half its size, her legs shriveled and clawlike beneath her.

Lilah sank to her knees in disbelief. She shook her head. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The spider had tended her web every day. Why did she not have visitors? Why had she been left alone to suffer this fate?

A strange, keening moan filled the arbor. As hot tears trailed down her cheeks, Lilah realized that the sound was coming from her. She was sobbing, mourning the loss of a spider. The idiocy was not lost on her.

“Lilah, darling, what is the matter?”

She didn’t even jump at the sound of Jack’s voice or his sudden appearance, crouching beside her, his hand at her back. He must have slipped through the garden door as before. Somehow, she knew he would be here, right when she needed him.

She turned into his embrace and buried her face in the damp folds of his greatcoat. “She’s dead, Jack. No one came to her web.”

“Shh . . . ” he crooned, lifting her to her feet and tucking her into the warmth of his coat. His body was a solid wall of support against her. “It was too early for most insects. It just wasn’t her time.”

Lilah shook her head, her hands fisting over his chest. “But it had to be her time. She worked too hard to end up like this.”

He took her face in his hands and tilted it up to gaze down at her. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

The determination in his countenance caused a flutter of hope beneath her breast. The fact that he understood her crazy ramblings caused her heart to swell with longing. “Why have you come to the garden this morning?”

“Am I too early for calling hours?” He offered a tender smile as he brushed her dripping hair from her face.

For someone who remembered everything she said, this was an odd thing to have missed. “We do not have calling hours on Sundays. The servants have the—”

“The day off,” he finished for her, pressing his lips against her forehead. “The truth is, I was worried about you when I saw your aunt and cousin walk into the chapel without you.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. “Worried? That does not sound like you.”

“No. It does not,” he said, not elaborating. Instead, he slid an arm around her waist and bent to scoop her into his arms.

She gasped at the suddenness of the motion as he strode up the path toward the house. “Jack! I have strength enough to walk on my own.”

“Come. Your feet are bare. You are wet through and need the warmth of a fire before you catch cold.”

Left on the latch, the door took only the nudge of his boot before springing open. And he closed it behind him just as easily. She shivered, leaning into him, wanting closer to his warmth, close enough to banish his worry. It did him no good, after all. In fact, worrying served no purpose for her any longer either. The time had come when imagining a catastrophe would no longer save her from reality.

It had been foolish to linger in bed this morning, feeling sorry for herself, hating that she had so few choices and none of them what she wanted. Because if she were allowed to make her own choices, then she would choose a life with Jack.

When he hesitated and looked around without lowering her to the floor, she placed a hand to his chest in reassurance. “As I said, there is no one here. And my aunt and cousin are dining at Mrs. Harwick’s after church as well, so they will be gone for hours.”

Essentially, this fact left the townhouse under her care. He was her guest. And they would be alone . . . for hours.

“I wish you had not told me that,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper, hoarse. He closed his eyes briefly. Then, after drawing in a deep breath, he started to walk again. “Where is your kitchen? Through here?”

She didn’t have time to answer before he’d turned the corner and was already inside the room he sought. Without a word, he lowered her to sit at the edge of the worktable. The moment he stepped apart from her, another shiver sliced through her, making her teeth chatter.

Her hair was dripping through her wrapper, the frigid water making her colder still. She tried wringing out the plait but only saturated her sleeves as the water sluiced down her arms. To her, it seemed the wet outer garment was the culprit. As she untied the strings, she watched as Jack moved around the room, searching cupboards with efficiency, until he closed the last one.

“Where are the drying cloths?” he asked, returning to her just as she slid the wrapper off her shoulders.

“All the clean linens are upstairs. My aunt prefers to keep them in a single closet.”

His gaze dipped. “Upstairs.”

“Yes. Directly outside my bedchamber.” It wasn’t until she let the wrapper fall to the table that she followed his gaze downward. Her night rail was damp and nearly transparent. The ruffles down the center did not hide the dark rose color of her nipples or the fact that they were taut and pebbling beneath the fine cotton. In fact, the ruffles weighted the garment so that it conformed to every curve of her flesh. The fabric clung to the swells of her breasts, the tapering of her waist, the flair of her hips, and the dark shadowy triangle between her thighs.

For an instant, whispers of decorum instructed her to cover herself. And she nearly did. Her hands lifted from the table and then hovered in the air on either side of her breasts. But then she looked at Jack again. His eyes were dark, heated, and devouring her. He licked his lips.

“Lilah, order me to leave this instant,” he said, his voice more raw than rough, more beseeching than commanding.

“I have few choices that are my own, Mr. Marlowe,” she said, feigning vexation, even though it was hard to catch her breath. To ensure he waited until she finished, she leaned forward and splayed her hand over his waistcoat. “I am more inclined to ask you to . . . stay.”

He covered her hand with his and met her gaze. “If I stayed, there would be irreversible consequences. Your choices would diminish even more.”

“Then let me have the one that matters most.” Determined, she slid off the edge of the table. Lifting her face up to his, she stood in front of him, her feet between his boots. “I don’t care about anything else. Whatever happens tomorrow will happen. But today, I am still free. I belong to no one other than myself, and if I want to give myself to the man I love, then I—”

She halted the moment her declaration passed her lips. His gaze never faltered, though his breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling beneath her hands.

“At least, I believe that’s what to call it. How do you know, beyond any doubt, when you are in love?”

He lifted his hand to her face, softly tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips. “It will consume you. Terrify you. Rob you of rational thought. And make you dream of the impossible.”

“I thought so.” Lilah swayed toward him.

His gaze returned to her body in a blatant statement, like the one he’d made in the Serenity Room.
You are mine
. She felt like his, every part of her humming just for him.

She waited for him to decide. The kitchen fell silent. Only the sound of their breathing and the occasional crackle from the wood pieces beneath the curfew stirred the air.

Then, he lifted her against him. She thought he was going to set her back down on the edge of the worktable, but instead, he turned, heading up the narrow servants’ stairs, two at a time. Without a break in stride, he made his way to her open doorway and kicked it shut behind him.

He seemed to know exactly where her bedroom was. “How did you . . . ” and then she remembered their conversation in the garden. “Ah, yes. My window.”

Holding her with one hand, he reached behind him and turned the key in the lock. “In case someone returns early.”

“To protect my honor?” she teased, remembering her decision to close the door to the Serenity Room.

“There’s that and”—he lowered her feet to the floor, his hands flexing on her hips—“I don’t want us to be interrupted.”

Us
. Whenever he said that word, it made her warm, and weak in the knees.

She took a step apart from him and lifted up her night rail—over her body, her arms, her head—until she was stripped bare before him. He growled as he looked at her, shrugging out of his greatcoat. And then, those ready hands hauled her against him.

His mouth descended on hers. There was no moment of hesitation for either of them. He kissed her as he had that first time, devouring her lips, her tongue, as if this kiss was the only thing worth living for. She whimpered, knowing the same was true for her.

Reaching for her hands, he settled them at his waistcoat buttons without breaking contact. She took the hint and began slipping the cloth-covered discs free while he yanked at his cravat and whipped it to the floor. When his waistcoat parted, he removed it, along with his shirt, casting them both to the floor. She only had a glimpse of his body—hard, sculpted perfection—before he pulled her against him again, flesh-to-flesh, the swells of her breasts yielding to the firmness of his broad chest.

He lifted her, kissing her, and crossed the room to the hearth. Yet he didn’t stop in front the low fire burning in the grate. Instead, he took her to her window seat and lowered her down. Her plait had come loose, her damp hair falling against her back and causing another shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asked against her lips, his hands gliding over her back, fingers splayed to touch every inch.

She shook her head, arching against his body. “You’re very warm.”

“Just wait.” He grinned, his eyes a gleaming dark gold in the hazy light filtering in through the lattice window. His mouth skimmed down her throat, pausing at the pulse he’d tasted the other night. Then he nudged her back, where he had arranged the pillows behind her.

Gripping her hips, he pulled her to the edge of the seat, her knees on either side of him. Trusting him, she reclined, leaving herself exposed to him.

His gaze simmered over her breasts, her stomach, her sex. He grunted, a primitive sound, one of both possession and approval. She held her breath. His hands followed the same path, beginning at her shoulders, covering her breasts, trailing down her ribs, to her stomach, her hips, her sex, her legs, and all the way to the tips of her toes.

A rush of air left her lungs. She felt claimed. Everything he saw, everything he touched, was his.

Then he ran the same path back up again. After the shock of the first pass, her body was already eager for his touch, responding with quivers and tremors over her flesh and deep inside.

He repeated the sweep, only this time much slower, pausing to linger, kneading her breasts, grazing the taut peaks with the pads of his thumbs. Her nipples responded more and more to each slide until she gasped, her head falling back against the pillows. He leaned over her, closing his hot mouth over the crest. She cried out from the shock and pleasure of it. Clinging to him, her fingers pushed through the thick, damp tendrils of his hair, holding him to her, arching into his mouth.

If she was his, then he was hers as well.

Releasing her, he murmured something that she could not decipher, but the deep, carnal sound flooded her with a warm honey sensation that pooled low inside. He took her other breast, tutoring her flesh in the ways of ecstasy.

His hand coasted down her ribs, her stomach, her hips, and found her sex once more. This time, he did not tease her with a mere touch but cupped her fully, the heat of his hand radiating into her, the rhythmic press of his palm spreading the slick wetness coating her. Then he turned his wrist and caressed her with his fingertips.