Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend (12 page)

“What do you think my father would say?”

Lily paused. “He would understand. I would explain the circumstances.”

“And what are those circumstances?” He waved the letters again, and Lily wanted to snatch them. She knew such an effort would be useless, but the urge was there nonetheless. “That the child of his intended is living a few miles from here?”

“You cannot ever reveal that!” she sputtered and immediately regretted saying anything. She should have said nothing, but words had broken free before she could contain them.

“And if I do?”

She wanted to beg. She wanted to throw herself at his feet and plead. Would it make any difference? Did she have any choice? Bile rose in her throat at the very thought. She had only ever begged once before, when her parents had found out she was breeding. For her pains, they’d thrown her transgressions in her face and mocked her efforts to ask for forgiveness. “He’s an innocent child,” she said. “If you reveal that I am his mother, it will change the whole course of his life. If you read that”—she pointed to the letter—“you know he does not know he is adopted. He does not know who his mother is. If he learns, it could ruin him.”

“Then tell me what I want to know. You hold the boy’s future in your hands.” His arms were crossed, his face stony. How could he be so harsh, so cruel? She had thought she knew him, but now she was not so certain.

“I cannot. No matter the consequences.”

“Fine.” He started away from her. “Then I go to my father.”

Lily swallowed the bile in her throat. “No.” She went after him, grasped his wrist. “Please. Andrew, please.” She was out of options, so she fell to her knees. Her son was worth this humiliation. She would do it for him. She had done worse.

Darlington tried to pull his hand away, but she held it tightly. “My lord, please. I beg you not to expose my son. If you must expose me, so be it, but spare him.”

“Stand up.” He shook his hand free and grasped her shoulders. “I do not want you to beg.”

“I have no other choice. What do you want from me? I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.” She reached for the fall of his trousers. Pleasuring him might not change his mind, but it would stall him. It would give her time to think.

He took her hands. “No. Do you think I would use you like that?”

She did not know what to think anymore. He pulled her to her feet. “You are blackmailing me,” she pointed out.

He sighed. “I cannot even do that. You obviously love this child, your son. He does not know you are his mother, and you would sacrifice for him. Do you not see I, too, am trying to protect those I love?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you won’t tell me what I ask. I must resort to blackmail.” He spat the word as though it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“There are some sacrifices not mine to make.”

He swore and crumpled the papers in his fist then turned away from her, resting a hand on the mantel. “How am I supposed to take a boy’s mother from him? How, when I know how that feels?”

“Andrew.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss. Please understand I would never think of taking your mother’s place.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

She looked away.

“Is this something to do with the Lucifer you mentioned? Is that what Fitzhugh and the Foreign Office are interested in?” He stared at the fire, and she could see his mind working. But did he have enough information to puzzle it out? She did not think so, but she dared not underestimate him. “You said my father may have something Lucifer wants, and this Lucifer is the man causing the recent mischief. In that case, I should alert the authorities. We cannot have Lucifer attempting to break in and steal my family’s property.”

“You can try to do so,” she said, “but if you tell your father, he will stop you.” At least, if her suppositions about the duke were correct, he would stop his son. He would not want the authorities involved.

“You think he would risk the safety of his home and family?”

She gazed at him directly, allowing him to come to his own conclusions.

He shook his head. “You have no intention of marrying him, do you?”

“Does that relieve you? I will not defile your home or presume to take your sainted mother’s place.” She turned away, trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

“I was wrong,” he said, catching her elbow. “I was wrong to say that about you. I… it was my grief speaking.” It was Darlington who turned away then, and though Lily knew this was the perfect opportunity to reclaim the letters—now when he was distracted—she could not do it.

“Andrew, why do you still grieve for your mother?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of contempt. “Because she was the only person who ever loved me.”

Lily stared at him, at the naked pain etched on his face.

“I loved you,” she whispered.

He gave a bitter laugh. “And look how I treated you. I never told her. I never thanked her.”

“I’m certain she knew you loved her.”

“I’ll never know.” He laid his forehead on his arm, and Lily’s eyes widened in surprise. She had never seen him like this and did not know what to say or do to make it better.

“I never told her,” he said, voice muted. “I never told her I loved her. I never told her how much I appreciated all she had done for me.”

“She knew.” Lily rubbed his back.

“When I was first at Eton,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper, “I hated it. I was small and scrawny, and I made an easy target. I was lonely, too. My mother used to write me a letter every day. Those letters saved me time and again when I felt I could not go on. I knew if I made it one more day, I would have another letter from my mother.” He looked up, his expression rueful. “You can see why the other lads beat up on me.”

“Not at all. You were a little boy. Of course you missed your mother.”

“She gave me the advice that helped me through it.”

“What was that?”

“Make them laugh. If they were laughing at me, they couldn’t hit me—at least, not as hard.”

“Is that how you became so charming?”

“I was always charming.”

Lily rolled her eyes.

“But that was when I learned to use it.” He straightened. “This has nothing to do with you—”

“But it does. I know what it is like to send a son away, although my circumstances are somewhat different.” Perhaps if she told him. Perhaps if she revealed something of her past, he would keep her secrets—at least long enough for her to complete her mission.

“Is that why you became a courtesan?” he asked.

“I was a fallen woman. I had no other options open to me.”

“You could have kept the child.”

She shook her head. “I was sixteen when he was born. My parents had disowned me, and I was living on the street in the worst part of London.”

“What about the father?”

“I don’t think he ever knew I was with child. We spent barely a summer together, and I was little more than a child myself. I hardly knew what I was doing.”

“Bastard.”

“Oh, he’s not completely to blame,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “I knew it was wrong. I knew that much. But I was so dazzled by him. He was handsome, and he dressed like one of the dandies I sometimes saw on the streets. I fancied myself in love. No one ever looked at me, you see, and he made me feel beautiful and special.”

Darlington huffed. “I can hardly believe that. You must have had admirers.”

“No. I was an incredibly shy child. I had to learn to overcome that to ma—to become a successful courtesan.” She had almost said
masquerade
. She could not allow herself to drop her guard around Darlington. She had to remember he was very much her enemy.

“But even if you were reticent, there is still the obvious.” He gestured to her as though his point should be clear.

“The obvious?”

“You are beautiful.”

She gaped at him. She almost argued. She had never been called beautiful—that was a term reserved for women like Juliette and Fallon. She was always
charming
, as if her personality somehow made up for what she lacked in appearance. But Darlington was absolutely serious. He was not attempting to flatter her. He called her
beautiful
as though it were fact. “You say things like that,” she said, her voice breaking, “and it makes it incredibly difficult to hate you.”

His brow rose. “And?”

“And I
need
to hate you, Darlington.”

“What if you didn’t?”

“Then… this.” She grabbed him about the shoulders and kissed him. She expected him to go rigid with surprise, but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. She was lost. She knew that now. She was completely in his power.

Andrew did not want to think about what he was doing. His was alone in the bedchamber of his father’s intended. He was kissing her, his thoughts and intentions far from brotherly toward the woman who might one day be his stepmother.

Except all of that was a lie. She was hiding something, hiding a lot, from him and from his father. Andrew was not certain of the details yet, but it was coming together in his mind. He would figure it out. And when he did… what? He could not reveal her secret to Society. It had been an empty threat. Not simply because she was right about the damage it would do to the boy, but because he couldn’t hurt her. Could she not see he wanted to protect her? Why would she not trust him? Did she think he could not see there was more to her than she allowed others to glimpse? The mystery surrounding her, the secrets, intrigued him.

No, he could not use her son against her, but he could use the boy to gain information about her. He could demand she include him in her… in whatever it was she was doing in Nottinghamshire. He pulled back, aware this might all be an attempt to seduce him, a form of bribery so he would not reveal her secrets. He wanted her, but not with that between them.

“I won’t reveal your secret,” he said. “I want your help.”

She looked up at him and blinked, seeming almost dazed. “I know.”

“What I mean is, you do not have to do this to persuade me to keep quiet.”

“I never would.” She moved to kiss him again, and with herculean willpower, he held her at bay.

“But I do want something, and I want you to agree before this goes any further.”

She frowned at him, and he understood her confusion. He was confused as well. At some point he had developed… not scruples, exactly, but something suspiciously resembling them. “What do you want?”

“I want to be part of whatever it is you are doing at Ravenscroft Castle.”

“No.” Her response was quick and definitive. She attempted to step away, but he had no intention of allowing her warm, supple body out of his arms. And he would secure her help. It was the only way he could save both of them.

“Yes,” he demanded. “You will include me.”

“You already said you would not reveal my secret.”

“But that does not mean I will make things here easy for you. I can reveal other things to my father, which may make him question his engagement to you.” He glanced at the mantel, where he had left her letters. He saw her look at them, knew she was thinking of her letter to Fitzhugh.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Good.”

“And what makes you think this”—she gestured to his arms wrapped around her—“will go any further?”

“This makes me think so.” He bent and took her mouth with his. The moment their lips met, he felt the frisson between them. Something akin to the flash of fire when it is first ignited. She fought the spark. He could feel her trying to pull away, trying to resist. He had given up resisting. He could no longer keep his desire for her at bay.

“We cannot do this,” she said, turning her head to deny him access to her mouth.

“Lily.” He touched her cheek and tilted her face to his again. “We were meant to do this. Do you think this—what we feel when we touch—is common? You must know it’s not.”

“You should go.” But she didn’t mean it. He could see in her eyes she wanted him to stay.

“Don’t make me beg,” he said.

“I thought I was the one who was begging.”

He gave her his most wicked grin. “Give me a few moments more.”

She hesitated when she should have fled, and he took advantage, kissing her again. His hand slid up her back to trace the bare skin of her neck and cup the back of her head. Her flaming hair was heavy in his hand, and his nimble fingers plucked pin after pin from it, allowing them to fall useless on the rug. Finally, her hair tumbled down, sweeping over his arm. It was longer than he’d imagined, and wavy but soft. He threaded his hands through it, kissing his way to her neck. He wrapped his hand in her hair and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled of apples and fresh cream, of all things, wholesome and sweet. He kissed the tender flesh of her neck again. His lips brushed that soft skin, pressing so lightly that he could feel her shiver.

“Cold?” he murmured.

“No. Warm. So very warm.”

He traced the lace at the bodice of the gold shimmery gown she wore, marveling at the accuracy of her statement. Her flesh was warm to his touch, flushed and slightly pink. Andrew had an encyclopedic knowledge of women’s clothing, and he quickly loosened the fastenings holding the bodice in place. The silk material fell aside, leaving her in skirts and stays over a thin, filmy chemise. He had tasted her before, kissed her here, taken her flesh in his mouth, but he found himself eager to do so again. Almost too eager. His hand shook as he pulled at the stay’s lacings. When he looked at her face, she was gazing up at him, her eyes large and liquid.

He wondered what she saw in his face. Desire? Certainly. Need? Definitely. Fear? God, he hoped not. He wanted this to be right. He had never wanted anything so much in his life. And he reminded himself he was a fool to worry. She was no virgin, and yet he felt as though there was something new for both of them in this coming together. He had always bedded women because his body craved the pleasure. But he had all but forgotten his own needs. It was her needs he thought of.

When her stays opened, he allowed the weight of his hand to rest over the cloudlike thinness of her chemise. He could feel her heart pounding under her fevered skin, and at his touch, she gave a little moan. That sound pleased him inordinately. He hooked a finger in the small loop with which she’d tied the neck of her chemise and tugged. The loop opened, and the material rippled down her shoulders, pooling at her elbows and exposing her exquisite breasts and the sapphires nestled between them.

Now she would see his hands shake, and he could not seem to control the tremors. She was perfect. He watched as her nipples hardened and puckered under his gaze, then lowered his mouth to take one dark, ripe bud between his lips. His hands remained fastened on her shoulders until he was certain he could control their shaking. As soon as his cool lips touched her warm flesh, she arched back and dug her nails into his upper arms. Her surrender was all but complete, and it made him want her that much more. He was hard for her now, eager to explore all of her body as he explored the fullness of first one breast and then the other.

He caught a glimpse of her flame-washed body in the light of the fire and wanted her naked before him. Bending, he swept her into his arms.

She laughed, and he looked down at her as he crossed to the bed. “I’ve amused you?”

“I’ve never been carried to bed before.”

“Good.” He laid her down and stripped off his coat, then loosened his cravat. He wanted to touch her, skin to skin.

“I had no idea all that romantic talk of yours was not simply for show.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to start spouting poetry.” He pulled his shirt over his head.

Her eyes widened appreciatively, and he had to admit he felt a certain sense of satisfaction in knowing she found him desirable. He had not spent all those hours in the boxing ring for naught. He reached for the fall of his trousers then thought better of it. Instead, he rolled her over. She laughed again, which pleased him for some reason.

“Now what are you doing?” she asked, looking at him from over her shoulder.

“Unhooking your skirt and then untying your petticoats.” He spoke as he performed the actions.

“I could stand.”

His hand stroked the curve of her bottom. “I like you like this.”

And then the garments were gone and the chemise with it, and she was left in her stockings and garters, the skin of her pale bottom painted with colors from the flickering fire. How he wanted to raise her hips and take her then and there. But he held off, instead lowering his mouth to her back and skating his wet tongue over her warm flesh.

She giggled and then moaned, her hips rising on their own so her bottom cupped him where he ached. He continued his descent down her spine, licking the indenture of her lower back then kissing it softly. One hand delved under her, lifting her pelvis so the other hand could slide between her legs. He found her fold warm and wet for him as he stroked her. She moved against him, pushing into his hand, and when he slipped two fingers inside her slick opening, she groaned. He slid in and out of her, readying her, surprised when he felt her muscles tighten so quickly. “You are ready for me,” he whispered into her cinnamon hair. “Let go. I want to feel you climax.”

“Andrew.” She was holding back, but her body would not be denied. She writhed against him, and it took but a small adjustment of his fingers until she went over the edge. She clenched around him and cried out, muffling the noise into the covers on the bed. Even in passion, she was no fool.

When she stilled beneath him, he began to kiss her back again, and she rolled over, looking up at him with eyes impossibly green. “Your turn,” she said.

He knew what she meant, but he wanted to be inside her. He wanted to pleasure her even as she gave herself to him. “And your turn again,” he said.

Gently, she pushed him back and loosed, awkwardly, the fall of his trousers. He sprang free, and she pushed the material off his hips and then took his hard length in her hand. He groaned at her gentle touch, knowing she must be teasing him. She stroked him then bent to touch him with her tongue. In one move, he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. “I want to be inside you.”

“No.”

He had been about to kiss her, and it took a moment before her refusal broke through the haze of his desire. “No?”

“I’ve made that mistake in the past, as you well know. I won’t risk it again.”

He thought to ask how she managed with other men, but he did not want to speak of other men at the moment. And then she was pushing him back again and lowering her mouth to him, and he could not really think at all. He would allow this. For the moment.

She kissed him, then licked, her pink tongue tentative and sweet. He had to clutch the bedclothes when she put her lips around him, but just when he was gritting his teeth in anticipation of exerting extreme self-control, she withdrew and… kissed him again.

What the devil was she doing? It was not unpleasant, but neither was it what he was expecting from a renowned courtesan. She took him again, so clumsily he all but gaped at her. He could have sworn he felt teeth. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish shrug. And then she went back to kissing him—quick little pecking kisses that were more suitable for a grandmother’s cheek than for… Now what the devil was she doing? She had him in some kind of vise grip. He supposed there was a first time for everything, because at this point, he just wanted her to stop.

“You’ve never done this before,” he said, the words out before he could prevent them.

She glanced up at him, guilt in her eyes before she hid it. “Yes, I have.”

“With whom?”

She straightened indignantly. He wasn’t chastised. He enjoyed the view. “How dare you ask me to reveal such a thing!”

“I only want to know if the man survived.”

She looked rather disheartened at that statement. “Was it that awful?”

He contemplated his answer. He did not want her trying again, but he did not want her to order him out either.

“Your hesitation is all the answer I need,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose you might as well know the truth. You won’t believe it.” She paused and considered. “Or perhaps you will.”

Instinct told him this conversation led in the wrong direction. He made a point never to converse with women in bed. It led to emotional outbursts he wanted to avoid. But he could not imagine Lily making such an outburst. Of course, he would have said the particular French trick she had been performing—even when it was done badly—was still good. But the world was obviously off its axis. “The truth about what?”

She pulled the covers over her shoulders, wrapping them protectively around her body. “I’m not really a courtesan.”

Whom did she think she was speaking to? He knew her. He had been to more social events with her than he could count. She was one of The Three Diamonds. She was
the
Fashionable Impure.

She was watching him, noting his response. “I knew you would not believe me.”

“Are you telling me you are not one of The Three Diamonds?”

“No. I am telling you The Three Diamonds was a fabrication we created in order to survive in London. I had birthed a child out of wedlock. I was a fallen woman. The Countess of Sinclair suggested I embrace my status, rather than attempt to hide it.”

“The Countess of Sinclair?” Now this was too much altogether. Angry, he stood, yanked his trousers back up and rounded on her. “The wife of your protector, The Earl of Sin, told you to join the demimonde?”

“Yes. She told all of us.”

The woman did not look mad, but she was sitting there making no sense and expecting him to believe it. “Was this before or after she found you and your fellow Diamonds in bed with her husband?”

“I’ve never been in bed with Lord Sinclair. I’ve never seen his bedchamber. He’s like a benevolent uncle to me. Society began to whisper that we were engaging in all manner of lewd acts with the earl, and the countess realized that everyone would believe whatever they wanted, regardless of what the truth was. And so she let them believe it.”

He shook his head. What she’d said, what Lily told him, was impossible to fathom. “She’s the pity of every woman and half the men of the
ton
,” he said. “Why would she allow that?”

“Because she’s kind and selfless and loving.”

Andrew had never met the Countess of Sinclair. He’d never wanted to. But he knew who she was. He had been to functions where she was present. He would have described her as a dragon—and that was being kind—but Lily seemed to think the woman a lap dog.

“All of Society thought we were under the protection of Sinclair. That elevated our status and gave us instant notoriety. We became desirable in every way. I never even had to take a man to my bed to maintain the illusion. It was enough that everyone thought I was bedding everyone else.”