Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend (17 page)

“You are thinking long and hard,” Andrew murmured.

“Impatient?” she said, arching a brow.

“For you?” His hand trailed up her back then down again, making her shiver with pleasure. “Always. I respect your wishes. Only, if I must wait, put me out of my misery and tell me. I grow more nervous the longer we stand here.”

She gaped at him. “What have you to be nervous about? You’ve bedded a hundred women!”

“If that were true, I’d be the worst sort of lecher and probably suffering from the pox. It’s barely a tenth of that, but, Lily, how can you think you are like any of those others? You are Lily. My Lily.” He bent and kissed her temple, dragging his lips over her eyebrow and back again, down her cheek until his breath teased her ear. “Put me out of my misery one way or another.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to control the way her body trembled with fear and shivered with delight. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Thank God.” His mouth moved to her neck, and he pulled her hard against his chest. She could feel the solid strength of him under his shirt, the heat of him burning her up, while his lips tempted and teased her sensitive flesh just behind her earlobe.

“Andrew?” she whispered.

“I love how you say my name. Say it again and promise never to call me Darlington again as long as you live.”

She almost laughed. “Andrew, I have a confession to make.”

His forehead fell to her shoulder. “Right now? I am dying for you, Lily.”

“But that’s just the thing. I’m terrified. I haven’t allowed a man to touch me like this since—”

He pulled back. “I have been a dolt, as usual. I didn’t even think of what you must be feeling. Stop me at any time. You can trust me, Lily.”

All the icy fear in her chest began to melt, and the heat slid low in her belly. This was desire, the desire she had always felt for him, though it had seemed so much safer when he’d been enamored of Juliette.

“No more delays.” He scooped her into his arms, which made her laugh, until he carried her to his bed and set her gently on the soft velvet coverlet. The fabric was sapphire blue and so plush she could not stop herself from running her fingers over it. She expected him to come down on top of her, but instead he lowered himself beside her, propping his chin on his hand.

“I’ve dreamed of having you here,” he said. He reached for her hair, tugging at the pins holding it in place and then spreading it out. His fingers were sure and skilled against her scalp, easing away the tension. And it felt good to have the heavy mass out of its confines. It was not quite dry from the bath she’d had earlier, which made it even heavier when pinned up.

When the pins were gone, his fingers moved to her gown. He slipped one finger under the puff of a sleeve and notched it down to reveal her shoulder. Then he bent and kissed it softly before he tugged on the sleeve of the opposite shoulder. She watched him as he undressed her, watched the play of light from the candles on his face, the curve of his lips when another sliver of flesh was revealed. He was so beautiful to her. She had never thought she would be in his bed, never thought he would look at her like this, touch her like this. She wanted to remember everything about the experience. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the beeswax candles, the coal in the fire, and the unforgettable scent of him. It was leather and spice and something uniquely Andrew. She could smell it on her fingers after she’d touched him, in his hair when he bent to kiss her, and in the bedclothes where she lay.

The fire crackled, and despite its welcome heat, she felt the coolness of the air on her bare flesh. She opened her eyes and looked at the mural painted on his ceiling. It was done in the ancient Greek style, with musicians and soldiers and revelers all in a line, passing a jug of wine. It suited him. Finally, she was aware that he had not moved, and her gaze met his.

“There you are,” he said quietly.

“I was trying to see everything, smell it, hear it. I want to remember this.”

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “You slay me, Lily. How will I resist falling in love with you?”

Before she could answer, even silently, he said, “Stay with me. Don’t allow your thoughts to wander someplace safe. I’m safe. I want you, all of you.”

She nodded and followed his gaze to where he’d loosened the bodice of her gown and her stays. Now his hands shook slightly as he parted the material, revealing her breasts. One hand brushed across the flesh, and she sucked in a breath at the contact. What he did not understand was that she went away in her mind to keep her longings under control. She ached for his touch. She wanted him with a frenzied abandon that would no doubt shock and appall him. He bent and kissed her flesh, the stubble on his cheeks chafing the sensitive skin. She could not stop a small moan, and she arched to press more firmly against him. His hands slid under her back, and he lifted her then stripped off her gown and her stays. She pulled his shirt over his head while he untied her chemise. It slid down her arms as she kicked off her slippers and reached for the fall of his trousers.

His hands locked on hers. She looked down at the chemise pooling where she knelt on his bed. “That is hardly fair. I’m completely undressed.”

“Yes, but you are not going to ravish me.”

“Don’t be so certain.” She pushed him, and he, not expecting the gesture, fell onto his back. She held him down with one hand and removed her chemise then straddled him. His hands locked on her bare hips as she bent to take his mouth. She kissed him with all the pent-up longing she’d felt for him for so many years. She took his mouth over and over, twining her tongue with his, exploring every inch of him. He tasted like sweet wine, and she could not taste enough of him, was drunk on the feel of his warm chest beneath her bare breasts, the way his hands held onto her as though he was afraid he would fall if he released her, the way his tongue met hers thrust for thrust.

Finally, he pulled away. “Are you trying to drive me mad?”

“I told you I want you,” she said, voice breathless.

“We’re supposed to go slow this first time.”

She laughed. “I never was very good at following anyone else’s plans.” She kissed him again, nipping at his lips playfully until his hands slid up her waist and cupped her breasts. The feel of his thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples made her gasp in surprised pleasure.

Andrew took advantage of her distraction to flip her over. She protested loudly until his mouth silenced hers. And really, she did not mind. He was warm and solid on top of her, his fingers caressing her tenderly, moving from her shoulder down to her waist and then… She groaned.

“You were serious, then,” he murmured against her collarbone. “You are ready for me.”

“Yes,” was all she could say as his fingers delved between her legs and parted her. Her legs seemed to fall open of their own accord. She had no control over her body at this point. She was entirely at Andrew’s mercy. He seemed to know what she needed, what she craved. His fingers played her body, stroking and plucking and gliding. And then his fingers were inside her, slick with the evidence of her desire. He pressed up, and the sensation heightened until she all but cried out from pleasure. Then he withdrew, and she wanted to scream.

“Shh.” He soothed her with kisses. “I want to go with you this time.”

She saw him reach down and open the fall on his trousers. He stood and peeled them off, and she stared at the evidence of his arousal. He was large and rigid and surprisingly beautiful. And yet she still felt a stab of panic at the thought of what was coming next. What if she could not breathe; what if he would not stop; what if he hurt her?

He must have seen something in her eyes, because he held up both hands. “Lily, it’s still me, Andrew. I’ll stop whenever you wish. We’ll go no further now, if that is what you want.”

She nodded. Disappointment flooded through her. She had thought she might be able to go through with it. She wanted him so badly, but all desire was quickly being eroded by her fear.

“I also have another idea,” he said. He lay down beside her, leaving plenty of room between their bodies. “I’m at your disposal.” He linked his fingers and put his hands behind his head. “You are in control.”

She sat and frowned down at him. He did look much less intimidating this way. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“Why not begin again? As I recall, you were threatening to ravish me?”

She shook her head at him. How could he speak so lightly at a time like this? How could he be so patient with her? She could see quite clearly he wanted her. Wasn’t he annoyed at having to wait? Wasn’t he angry that she, who was supposed to be a notorious courtesan, knew very little about the act for which she was famous? Her past experiences had been exercises in fear and submission and pain. She’d had virtually no control over what happened. And now he was offering her complete control. She had to admit, she was intrigued. She leaned down and kissed him, and though he kissed her back, he allowed her to lead. He did not unlink his hands or urge her to do what he desired. He seemed quite content to do whatever she wanted. She kissed his mouth, his neck, his chest. It was muscled and smooth, and gooseflesh appeared when she stroked him. She kissed him all the way to his navel, then reached to touch his hard member. He inhaled sharply but made no move to stop or encourage her.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. This is a pleasant torture.”

She laughed, because she knew what he meant. His own touch often seemed a most pleasant form of torture. Despite the fire in the hearth, she was cold, and she climbed on top of him, remembering the luscious feel of skin against skin. She saw his hands unlink, claw into the bedclothes, then link again behind his head. “You’re struggling for control,” she noted.

“Suffice it to say you do not realize the power of your allure. And this position…” He looked up at her, admiration in his gaze. “I do not think I have ever fully appreciated its merits before.”

“Touch me,” she said. “I want your hands on me.”

Slowly, as though he didn’t trust himself, he unlinked his fingers and held his hands out to her. She moved them to her waist and then guided them slowly upward so they caught the heaviness of her breasts. He teased her until she was all but breathless, and then his hands slid down, cupping her bottom. He lifted her slightly, and she felt him heavy and hard between her legs. He was showing her what to do, if she so chose. Her heart pounded, and she leaned down to kiss him, feeling safe in that act. His hands moved up and down her back, and she began to move with them, his hard length beneath her arousing her. Heat pooled between them as her need increased. She moved more quickly, trying to sate that need, and finally reared up and took him in her hands. She rose on her knees, which trembled with apprehension, but the need overwhelmed the fear this time, and she guided him inside her.

His hands left her back and gripped the bedclothes. His knuckles were white as she moved over him, taking him inch by inch. She tensed, expecting pain, but there was none, only the pleasant fullness of him. But now what was she to do? She had thought this would ease the yearning.

“Rock back and forth,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Find the rhythm you like.”

“Is this hurting you?” she asked.

“No!” His voice was emphatic.

She tried his suggestion, rocking slowly. Andrew groaned. “Are you certain you are not hurt?”

“You are killing me. Incredibly slowly,” he said, eyes closed and jaw muscles straining. “But it’s the kind of death I prefer.”

She moved again, slowly, watching as he visibly held himself back from whatever it was he wanted. And then she felt her own desire pierce through her, and she could no longer hold herself back. She rode him, quickening her movements until they reflected the frenzied passion she had known would be between them. His hands were on her hips now, holding her as she took him. And then suddenly everything broke free, and she reared back and succumbed to pleasure. The sensation came upon her in waves, each stronger than the last, until she was all but weeping. She collapsed on top of him, out of breath and damp with perspiration.

He held her for a moment, his hand caressing her back, and then he gently flipped her over. He was still inside her, and she realized he was still quite hard and quite large. “I thought that went away when…”

“That was for you,” he said. “With your permission, this is for me, though I might be able to last long enough to please you again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you trust me?”

How could she not? She nodded.

“Good.” He bent and kissed her again, moving inside her with the same slowness she had used on him. The sensation was not unpleasant, and when she looked up, his gaze was locked on hers. She could not look away from his eyes. They were windows to his feelings—desire, need, tenderness… love?

She must have mistaken that last one.

His fingers moved between their bodies, stroking her where she was most sensitive. She gasped. “Andrew!”

“Let it happen,” he told her. “I have you.”

She arched up to meet him, and white-hot pleasure exploded around her, inside her. This time the feeling was sharp and fast and verged on ecstasy. He thrust deep, and she cried out again, wanting more and more of him. But just as quickly, he pulled away, and she felt warm, sticky liquid on her belly.

He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily. And then he grasped his shirt and wiped her off. She watched him, and burst into tears.

Andrew stared at her. He was no Don Juan, but surely his performance did not merit tears. He tamped down the feeling of panic rising in his chest. “Lily, are you hurt? What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing!” She swiped at her wet eyes. “You did everything right.” And then she gave him her back and burst into more sobs.

Andrew lay back and tried to catch his breath and think what he was supposed to do now. If he had done everything right, did that mean she was crying because she was happy? Why the devil did women do such things? It made a man’s head spin.

And his head had already been spinning. Lily wasn’t the only one affected by what they’d just shared. Andrew had never felt anything like that before. The physical aspects had been more than he could have hoped for or expected, but it was the warmth he felt in his chest—about where his heart might be—that concerned him. He was not the kind of man to spend hours in bed with a woman. He did not sleep in anyone’s bed but his own.

It was full dark now. He should have been encouraging her to dress and make ready to go to the chapel. But he did not. Instead, he found he wanted to hold her. Just hold her.

Devil take it! There was something wrong with him. Next he’d be quoting Byron or some such nonsense.

And still Lily sobbed beside him. He was going to have to do something about that, and he did not think jumping up and dressing would help the matter.

“Lily.” He touched her shoulder. Damn it. She was cold. He lifted the coverlet and wrapped it around her, covering himself as well. This was cozy. He did not want to like it. “Lily, don’t cry. Tell me why you’re crying.”

She turned to him, and her nose was red and her cheeks tear-stained. And still he thought she looked beautiful.

She
walks
in
beauty, like the night…
his mind taunted him.

He was doomed.
Doomed
.

“You care about me,” she sobbed.

He should have thought it obvious by this point, but he thought it might be wise to keep quiet.

“You knew I did not want to beget a child, and you took precautions.”

Was that all? She’d probably cry for a week if he told her he was quoting poetry about her in his mind.

“And I really do believe you would have stopped if I’d asked.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have been pleased, though,” he added. He did not want to sound too saintly.

She laughed, which was better than the crying. “I wouldn’t have been pleased, either.” She cupped his cheek. “You were wonderful. I’ll never forget it.”

“I had hoped to repeat it.”

She smiled at him and tucked her head under his chin. He found he liked her there, curled up against him, and he enfolded her in his arms, pulling her closer. He did note she failed to reply when he’d mentioned their future together. If she’d been another woman, he would have attributed it to modesty; but though she might not be as experienced as she claimed, she’d lived the life of a courtesan. She was neither modest nor easily shocked.

Perhaps she saw no future for them.

And perhaps he was behaving like a ninny. These thoughts were better suited to his fifteen-year-old sister.

And so he held her and marveled at how much he enjoyed the simple act. How her hair smelled faintly of lemon, and how her breathing grew regular as she fell into a light sleep.

And then his thoughts turned to his father. He did not want to believe the duke was capable of all Lily claimed. What reason would the duke have for wanting the King’s men dead? The duke might be a glutton for wine and women, but he was not a fool. Killing spies would not bring back the money he had lost in the war. And it was not as though the rubies Lily spoke of were a secret. They were not the sort of thing anyone in the family talked about, and the gems were not paraded about. The stones were whole, not broken into pieces and fashioned into jewels. The family had possessed the rubies for centuries, and their association to the duchy was well documented.

Which meant if the duke hoped to pay assassins using the rubies, he did not care about being caught. That made no sense. No peer of the realm could possibly want to sully his name or that of his family by going to prison as any common criminal might.

And yet, if Lily’s claims were correct, a prison was his father’s future residence. Once she had the evidence she sought, her superiors would act. There was no reason Andrew could not act now. He knew where the rubies were hidden. His mother had hidden them there and told him where they were because he was the heir. Might any other documents his father wished to hide be in the same location? There was no place safer or more secret. No one knew about it. Come to think of it, not even his father knew of it. In which case, the documents would not be there. And yet he had to see for himself. His sister’s words came back quite suddenly.

You
did
not
see
what
she
was
really
like, Andrew. She could be cold and, well, frightening.

Andrew felt a chill. He shook his head, but he could not shake his unease.

Carefully, so as not to wake Lily, he climbed out of bed and began to dress. The lamp had gone out, and the fire had burned down, but he knew his way about the room in the dark. The shirt he’d been wearing was soiled, and he had to open his clothes press to search for another. He pulled on a fresh one and then donned his coat. No sense in running about in the night in a white shirt. He’d be a beacon for anyone who happened to look out the window.

“You are not planning to go without me, I hope,” a voice said in the darkness.

He sighed as she sat up.

“I see that was your plan.” Her tone was accusatory, and he could hardly fault her.

“I did not want you to put yourself at risk. I will go alone and bring back anything of importance.”

“It is my duty to put myself at risk,” she said, sliding off the bed and stumbling about in the dark. She did not know his room as well as he. “I should have never involved you.”

He found his tinderbox and lit a taper. “You did not have much of a choice. Go ahead and dress. I’ll wait for you.”

“How accommodating.”

He had to assist her with her purple gown. He could have acted like an insufferable ass and refused, but the truth was he rather liked dressing her. He liked any excuse to touch her. He gave her a black cape he’d bought one year when he particularly admired the dandies. It was a bit long for her, but it would conceal the pale skin of her neck and shoulders in the darkness. He led her out of the house through the servants’ stairs. He did not want to meet his father or one of the other guests and have to answer questions. No doubt his father was already questioning the whereabouts of his fiancée. He was not a man to suffer inattention.

Finally, they stepped outside. The rains had passed, but the ground was soggy and muddy. They had picked their way carefully across the lawn, especially as it was a cloudy night and the moon was intermittently visible. At one point, Lily’s boots tangled with her cape, and she had to pause and straighten her garments. Andrew waited for her, looking back toward the great house. He thought he saw the flash of a light in one of the windows, but he might have imagined it. Still, he felt a sense of urgency. Lucifer would strike soon. Possibly even tonight. Andrew wanted Lily back inside, where she was safe. Or at least safer.

When they reached the small family chapel, Andrew pushed the door open. In the daylight, the building was flooded with sunshine. Stained glass windows abounded, as did many of the regular sort, and they lit the floors with color and light. In the dark, it was a place of shadows. There was a central aisle with a single wooden pew, worn and shiny from centuries of use, on either side. At the front of the chapel stood a large white marble altar on a raised dais. Three steps led to the altar on which stood a gold cross and several candles. Pedestals dominated the corners of the chapel with their large candles poised on top. He’d slipped his tinder box into his pocket, and he drew it out now and lifted a lantern placed beside the entrance. When it was lit, he walked to the altar and lit a brace of candles. A warm light suffused the place, and he lifted the lantern, shining the light about.

In the lantern’s light, he noticed the thin layer of dust all around. When his mother had been alive, there had never been any dust. She would not have allowed it. He felt his gaze pulled toward the stained glass window of Saint Peter, depicting the man with a halo and a key. That has been his mother’s favorite window. She had liked to come here and look at the window and enjoy the solitude. Sometimes she invited him to come with her. They’d sit together, her arm around his small shoulders, and she’d whisper prayers, all of her hopes and dreams for him. Once he’d asked her about the key the apostle held, and she’d told him it was the key to heaven.

“It must be heavy,” he’d said, thinking of the jingle their housekeeper made when she walked with all of the keys to Ravenscroft Castle in her hand.

“Or very light. It all depends on your heart.” She’d squeezed his shoulders and left him to ponder those words. She was always making remarks he did not understand. But when he looked at Lily now, her red hair burnished by the candlelight, he thought he knew what his mother meant. His whole being felt light when he was with her, as though he could do anything, carry any burden as long as she was beside him.

“I feel as though I should pray,” Lily said, meeting his gaze. They were the first words she’d uttered since they’d left his room. “I haven’t been inside a church in years.”

“Now you’re just gloating.”

She gave him a ghost of a smile. “Not at all. Courtesans and fallen women are not welcome in the house of God.”

“That’s strange. I would think your sort would need it all the more.”

Her smile widened. “No one wants
my
sort
tainting anyone else. Just the sight of me might spur a virtuous woman to take up a life of dissolution.”

“One could only hope.” He held out a hand. “Care to join me, my little Jezebel?”

“Where are we going?”

“I know a secret alcove. I suppose it was meant to be a crypt, but there aren’t any remains inside. If there is something my family wished to hide, this alcove is the perfect place.”

She nodded. “But if what I seek is not there, I will not stop looking. Too many lives are at stake.”

“Which is as good a reason as any to let my father be and pursue the real culprit. Come, let’s put this to rest.”

She climbed the steps to the altar, and he offered his hand. She took it, her fingers cold in his. He led her to a room, a closet really, where vestments might be stored and where a visiting man of God might retreat to dress for a service. The room was barely large enough for two, and Andrew had to duck when he went through the arched wooden door. Inside it was dark and musty, and he held his lantern high. The gold chalice and plate set aside for communion glinted back at him, but he was more interested in the table upon which these items were laid. He moved toward the rectangular wooden furnishing and moved it aside. Behind it was a wall, but if he looked closely, he saw one of the large square stones in the wall could be removed.

“Is that it?” Lily asked. She’d seen it immediately.

“Yes. I think it was designed to hold remains—ashes, I suppose—or possibly to safeguard a valuable item.” He set the lantern on the floor, knelt, and struggled to fit his fingers into the grooves on either side of the block. This had been easier when he was a boy with small hands. And, he thought, if he had been a woman with small, dainty hands, the chore would not have been difficult.

“And yet here sit gold communion pieces.” She gestured to the chalice and tray.

“We’ve never had a problem with vandals or thieves,” Andrew said, struggling with the weight of the stone. “Until recently.”

“Lucifer is not after your gold and silver plate. What he seeks is far more valuable to him.”

Andrew grunted and finally slid the stone out. He pushed it aside and shone the light into the small alcove. First he reached for a large black velvet bag. He loosed the drawstring and pulled out a smaller bag. “Hold out your hand.”

Lily cupped both hands together, and he toppled the ruby into her palm. It was half the size of her palm and shone darkly in the weak light. “A ruby as big as your hand,” she murmured.

“Not quite. That was a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Close enough. Are the other rubies inside?” She shrugged off his cape and laid it on the floor, placing the ruby from her hand reverently on top. He poured the other two from their respective bags, but there was another velvet bag inside.

“Hmm. I don’t know what this is.” The bag was cinched tightly, but he managed to work a finger in and open the mouth. He shook it, and a handful of smaller gems fell onto the cape.

“Sapphires,” Lily breathed.

“I’ve never seen these. Are you certain they’re sapphires?” He lifted one. “This one is pink. This one is yellow.”

“I’m not an expert, but I believe they come in different colors. Do you know when your father acquired these?”

“No.” And it was troubling. He had never seen them before. And this was where his mother had hidden the jewels.

“This in itself does not damn your father. The rubies were mentioned by several men involved in the assassination attempts. I can’t think who else would possess such large rubies, but if the Crown is to accuse a duke of such loathsome behavior, more evidence is required.” She was looking at the alcove, and Andrew knew that to put the matter at rest, he would have to ensure nothing else was inside.

A sense of dread filled his chest as he reached back inside.

And felt the papers.

No. Please, no.

He pulled them out and stared at them. They might be anything: baptism records, old documents pertaining to marriages, dowries, jointures. But they were not. The paper was not old or worn. He handed the stack to Lily. With practiced efficiency, she opened the first document and sighed. She turned it so he could see. On the paper were the names of five men, his friend Warrick Fitzhugh’s among them.