Love According To Lily (16 page)

The pain, however, turned instantly to pleasure— the most intense physical experience of her life, and with it came joy and pride. He was hers, she was his, and he
wanted
her. She would give him a child. She hoped she conceived tonight.

He made love to her gently at first, then he leaned up on one arm and looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and smiled. “Oh, yes.”

“I’m not hurting you?”

“No. It feels good.”

He propped himself up with both hands flat on the bed on either side of her, looking down at where they were joined.

“How does this feel?” he asked, changing the way he moved, using his length to stroke the place that was the most sensitive of all, the place that made her whole body burn.

“I’ve never felt anything like it.”

He was still looking down at what he was doing, though he had to move her skirt out of the way to see. He whispered, “What about this? Is this better?”

“Yes.” She was beginning to feel almost delirious from the sensation.

When he seemed to have the position and movement mastered, he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her. He continued to pleasure her with his length, keeping a steady pace.

Before long, Lily’s bones and muscles seemed to gel, and she felt like she was flying. Sensations of all kinds shot and trembled through her, and she arched her back and gasped for air, crying out into the quiet bedchamber.

Her body relaxed and she was overcome by a love so grand, it brought tears to her eyes. Whitby continued to make love to her, moving faster toward the end until he pushed one last time, with deep, pounding force.

“God!” he uttered, through gritted teeth.

Lily hugged him tightly until he relaxed his full weight upon her. He was so heavy, she could barely breathe.

“Am I too heavy?” he asked, and she wondered if he could read her mind.

“No. Yes.”

He laughed and withdrew, then slowly rolled onto his back beside her. He stared up at the canopy. “Lily, you
are
a woman, and a very delightful one at that.”

She reached for his hand and held it. “I thought you’d never notice.”

He turned his head on the pillow. “Well, you certainly got my attention tonight.”

She smiled. They gazed at each other for an easy moment, then their smiles faded and they both, at the same time, turned their eyes toward the canopy again.

They lay quiet and motionless for a long time, while their bodies returned to their normal ebb and flow, and reality settled in. Lily felt the cool air upon her bare legs. She shivered. She felt very exposed.

“That was madness,” she said with a hint of humor, needing to fill the silence and the awkwardness with something—anything—as she pulled her skirts down with one hand.

He squeezed her other hand. “Indeed, it was.”

They continued to lie beside each other, saying nothing.

Lily wet her lips. She breathed deeply, feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to say. What
did
a lady say to a gentleman after something like this?

Was Whitby feeling uncomfortable, too, or was he regretting what they’d done?

“You don’t have to marry me,” she blurted out, without really thinking. “That wasn’t why I did this.”

He turned his head on the pillow again, but she kept her gaze directed upward.

“I want to Lily. I must.”

She closed her eyes. She yearned to believe that he truly wanted to marry her—the way she’d believed it in the seconds just before he’d taken her virginity. He had made her believe it because he
had
genuinely wanted her. He
had
.

Or was it just sex that he’d wanted? And had he lost his head because of it? She had certainly lost hers.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said. “I didn’t want to
force
you into anything. Or trap you.”

“You didn’t force me. I asked
you
, remember? And you kept saying no.”

“But we weren’t thinking sensibly.”

He let go of her hand and sat up on the edge of the bed, bowing his head. Lily looked at his broad, sweat-covered back, so smooth and muscular, and wanted to run her hand across it and massage the tension out of his shoulders. But she remained where she was, for she did not wish to influence him in any way. She’d already done quite enough of that.

“This is an unusual situation,” he said. “I’ve never proposed to anyone before. I’ve considered it many times because I’ve always known I had to marry, but I’ve never actually gone ahead and done it. Something always stopped me—a sense of panic, I suppose, like I was suffocating.” He turned to look at her. “But I didn’t feel that way tonight, Lily. I felt no fear, and I’m still baffled by that. I think this illness has done something to me.”

She finally did sit up on her knees and laid her hand on his warm, damp back. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “You’re going to get better,” she told him.

“You think so?”

“Yes.” It was clear, however, that
he
didn’t.

He stood and crossed to the window, standing naked before the closed drapes, his back to Lily. “I
will
marry you, and I won’t let you convince me otherwise. I care for you, Lily, I always have, and I do possess some honor. You have given yourself to me, and for all we know, as of tonight, you could be carrying my child.”

“I didn’t mean to trap you,” she said again.

He turned to face her. “You didn’t. Or maybe you did, but only because I wanted to be trapped. I’ve been alone my whole life, and I’ve been feeling a rather powerful need lately to be… Well,
not
alone.” He was quiet for a long moment. “I’ve often heard that people say they don’t want to die alone.”

Realizing there was more to this than she could begin to understand, Lily quickly pulled on her drawers and tied the ribbon. She crawled off the bed and went to him. “You’re
not
going to die.”

“Everyone dies eventually.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

Still wearing her skirt and bodice, though it was open in front, she put her hands on his smooth, bare chest and slid them up to the tops of his shoulders.

“You’re not alone now. I’m here, and I hope I am carrying your child. Let me love you, Whitby. Let me share your bed every night. It’s not important if you marry me. Nothing seems to matter right now, but you can if you want to. It would probably be best, especially if there is a child.”

He put his hands around her waist. “I
will
marry you.”

She smiled. “So you’ve said.”

He gazed down at her face, then kissed her gently on the lips. “But if we’re going to be husband and wife, I think we need to know each other better.”

“Oh really,” she said. “And where would you like to start?”

He considered it a moment. “I believe I would like to start with your hair.” He reached up and began to pull out her hairpins. “I would like to know what you look like with it down.”

He loosened the bun and it fell in a single twist down onto her back. He ran his fingers through it, fluffing it into a wavy mess.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“It’s exquisite.”

“What next would you like to know?”

His eyes glimmered in the firelight. “You’re still wearing your clothes, and I must apologize for that. I was too impatient. But now that the waters have calmed, I would like to know what you look like and feel like without them.”

He took her hand and led her back to the bed and helped her remove her bodice, then he pulled the chemise off over her head. A few seconds later, her skirts were dropping to the floor in a billowing heap and she was stepping out of her drawers.

“That’s better,” he whispered in her ear, before he eased her onto her back on the soft mattress. Their bodies were delightfully hot and sticky as they came together, nude upon the sheets. “Perhaps we can talk about hobbies and interests later…”

Chapter 18

Though he was still extremely fatigued the next morning, Whitby managed to rise and dress in the appropriate attire for a meeting with a duke—a duke who was surely about to oppose the marriage of his beloved younger sister. For what gentleman would knowingly marry a family member off to a dying man who was also a notorious rake? And no one knew better than James the extent of Whitby’s rakishness, for James had taken part in most of it, for many, many years before he’d been reformed by Sophia.

Whitby fastened the last button on his jacket and sighed heavily. This was not going to be pleasant.

He handed the letter to his valet, who saw to its delivery, then feeling almost faint, he sat down in the wing chair by the window. He wiped perspiration from his brow.

Whitby tried to decide upon an appropriate manner of expressing himself, tried to decide upon the right words, the right way to break the news to his friend that he had deflowered his sister and intended to be married to her briefly, before most likely making a widow out of her before the year was out.

He shook his head. Indeed. It was most assuredly not going to be pleasant.

Wearing her blue and white striped morning dress—because it was her mother’s favorite—Lily ventured apprehensively down to the breakfast room to convey her news. Yes, she was going to marry a man her mother despised, a man widely known as an irresponsible, disreputable rake, who also happened to be on his deathbed.

She laid a hand on her belly to try and quash the nervous knots, while holding firm to her resolve. She had to be strong, no matter how bad it got. She could not back down.

When she entered the room, Annabelle and Sophia were sitting at the white-clothed table, sipping coffee across from Marion.

“Good morning, Lily,” Sophia said. “Did you sleep well?”

Heart suddenly pounding, Lily served herself breakfast from the sideboard and took a seat next to her sister-in-law. “Yes, thank you. And you?”

“Like a baby.”

Marion lowered the paper and glanced up. Lily met her mother’s daunting gaze and experienced a raw pang of dread, but quickly suppressed it. She could not let her mother intimidate her. Not today.

She set down her fork.

“I would like to speak to all of you,” she said shakily, “about something very important to me. I must prepare you for something.”

Annabelle’s gaze shot to her, and Lily suspected that she knew what was coming. Sophia was sitting patiently, looking curious, while her mother’s brow had furrowed with concern.

“I know this may come as a shock,” Lily said, “but I am ready to be married.”

Her mother leaned forward. “That is not shocking, Lily. Of course you are ready.”

Feeling her cheeks flush with anxiety, Lily shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “No, I mean, I have fallen in love.”

Everyone fell silent, except for the footman standing behind them against the wall, who cleared his throat.

Annabelle’s face warmed with a smile. Sophia’s face brightened with hope. She was probably guessing what was afoot.

Lily knew they would both be supportive. Her mother, on the other hand, was beginning to exude her ominous cloud of disapproval. Lily could feel it like a thick fog descending upon the room.

“With whom?” Marion asked, her voice deep and demanding.

Lily sat up straighter. “It’s someone I have loved for a very long time.”

Her mother’s eyes widened with shock.

Sophia interrupted with a joyful note of congratulations. “Oh, Lily,” she said as she embraced her.

Marion watched the exchange with worried eyes. “Will someone tell me what’s going on? It seems I’m the last to know.”

Sophia and Lily sat apart. Lily gazed apprehensively at Annabelle, then faced her mother. “I am in love with Lord Whitby,” she said flatly, “and he has proposed.”

Both Sophia and Annabelle covered their mouths with their hands and shouted with joy. Then another heavy silence descended upon the room as they all stared worriedly at Marion, whose narrow lips had parted slightly.

Annabelle quickly moved to fill the silence. “How wonderful.”

“I beg your pardon?” Marion said. “You think it’s wonderful?”

Here we go…

“If they’re in love…” Annabelle said hesitantly.

Marion turned her eyes toward Lily. “He has proposed to you?”

“Yes.”

“When? When did he do this?”

“Last night.”

The lines in her face grew even deeper and darker. She was in shock. “Last night? What in the name of heaven occurred last night? You had no cause to be in his room. His fever had broken.”

“I just wanted to be with him.”

Marion stood. “Just wanted to be with him! A man like Whitby? Tell me it isn’t true, Lily. You could not believe yourself in love with that man.”

“I am, and he’s a good man, Mother.”

Marion turned to Annabelle. “Forgive me, my dear, I mean no offense to
you
. But even you must acknowledge that your brother is less than an ideal husband. He is not respectable. He drinks excessively, he gambles, his estate is in disarray because he is irresponsible and neglectful of his duties as a landlord, and I daresay his reputation with women can hardly be ignored. Not to mention the fact that he is ill, and could be dead in a month!”

“Mother!” Lily burst out, rising also on the other side of the table. “Stop it. I love him and I’m going to marry him, with or without your consent.”

Lily’s whole body was shaking with the intensity of her emotions, her heart beating so fast, she was certain it was going to explode. She had defied her mother many times before, but never as ardently as this, nor over anything so significant. She supposed she had always known this day would come, when they would collide head on with no compromise possible.

Lily feared suddenly the result was going to be a complete dissolution of their relationship, frail as it was to begin with.

A cold despair knotted in her stomach, and she put a hand upon it, wishing she could be undisturbed by this and not let it break her heart. Why should it matter
what
her callous, unfeeling mother thought? Lily should just tell her to bugger off!

Yet she could not. She wished she could, but she couldn’t. Even now, with all her anger blasting out of her like dynamite—
still
, all she wanted from her mother was her love. Her support, at the very least. It was a lifelong wish for the impossible, a wish she had never been able to overcome. It was her weakness, her Achilles heel.

She clenched her hands into fists.

“He’ll make you miserable,” Marion said, her voice quivering with fury. “One way or another.”

Whitby did indeed have that power, and Lily knew it, but she could not give in to that fear. Not now.

“He’s what I want.”

Her mother was breathing hard. She looked almost desperate. “Have you
no
respect for my wishes?”

“Have you no respect for
mine
?” Lily answered back, shouting now.

The two of them glared at each other like cats.

“Have you told James about this?” Marion asked.

“Not yet,” Lily replied. “I suspect Whitby is telling him at this very moment.”

Sophia stood, too. “Right now? That’s what the note was about?”

“Yes.”

“Good gracious,” she said. “Poor Whitby.”

“Poor Whitby?” Marion said. “I hope he gets what he deserves! I hope James thrashes him. No offense, Annabelle.”

Sophia gazed worriedly at Lily. “He might very well do that. I can only hope Whitby has gained some of his strength back this morning.”

“Well, he obviously has,” Marion said bitterly, “if he was energetic enough to seduce a young girl.”

“He did not seduce me!” Lily said, her head now spinning with fury. “If anything, I seduced him!”

Her mother shot her a look. “Lily!”

Lily stood firm, fighting the urge to cry. “I am in love with him, Mother. There is no one else in the world for me. I would rather die alone than marry another man. I only wish you could accept that.
Please
.”

Lily could see the censure and displeasure in her mother’s expression. For a long time, she stood staring at Lily, as if she were trying to figure out a way to change her mind, but in the end, she appeared to be accepting that
nothing
would change Lily’s mind. Not even her own intimidating force of will. Lily was no longer a child. She was a woman, and she would make her own decisions, whether they were right or wrong. And Marion had finally given up. She was giving up all hope that Lily would ever make her proud.

“You will not have my blessing,” Marion said. “Ever.”

“Mother, please… If you could just try to be happy for me.”

“Happy?” A breath puffed out of her chest, something resembling a bitter laugh.

A long, tense moment ensued until Marion stepped away from the table. “I
refuse to argue about this,” she said. “Go ahead and marry him, Lily.
I
don’t care what you do
.”

Lily felt the denunciation like a knife in her heart.

Marion glanced at Annabelle and Sophia with one last silent reproach. “I’m going to London. Don’t expect me back until Lily and Whitby are gone.”

She walked out, leaving Lily to fight stinging tears, wishing that for just one moment in her life, her mother could have understood her heart, even if it meant she had to watch Lily make a mistake.

And though Lily had finally stood up to her mother, her mother had nevertheless won, for Lily was stricken with grief. Today of all days—when all she wanted was to be happy.

* * *

Marion entered her room in the dowager wing and shut the door behind her. She walked to the window and drew the curtains so it was dark, then sank into the chair in front of the fireplace.

Her fingernails dug into the armrests as she squeezed them over and over. Why would her daughter not listen to reason? Why did she insist on being so insolent, and ignoring the advice of someone older and wiser than she?