Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend (7 page)

She had the sudden realization she could take him to bed. She could take his hand and lead him to her room. He would go with her. He was barely fighting his need for her now. It might take a bit of coaxing, more kissing, but she could have him. She had loved him for so long…

And if she bedded him, then what? Then his desire for her would be slaked, and he would go back to pining for Juliette and attempting to thwart her mission here. She would feel worse than she did right now. And she would be a prostitute in truth, because he would only be using her. Lily stepped back, letting her hands drop from Darlington’s neck. This was not what she wanted. Not like this. She wanted him to care for her. She wanted him to pine for her, as he pined for Juliette.

That, she knew, would never happen, but she did not have to accept what he was offering now—a frantic coupling in the dark followed by his scorn in the morning.

She’d already taken that road. She’d been young, only sixteen, but she had learned from her mistake. She would not make it again.

“I’m returning to my room,” she said. “Alone.”

He stared at her, his eyes dark with longing that made her belly flutter and her legs weak. “Do not follow me.” She forced her legs backward, forced herself to retreat, to leave him, though he was staring at her with undisguised need. She could almost feel his desire for her, and as soon as she was out of his sight, she began to run. Her slippers shushed loudly on the rug until she was certain he did not follow. Then she pressed herself against the wall, put a hand to her heart, and tried to catch her breath.

She was lost now. She had no idea if this was the way to her room, but she would worry about that in a moment. Running away from Darlington had been harder than she could have anticipated. She felt an ache now that she was away from him. She wanted him so badly, and yet she hated him as much as he hated her. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t want to. She had a mission to complete. Men’s lives were at stake. She could not let them down. Something had to be done about Darlington’s interference.

Perhaps if she found a way to keep him busy. The duke certainly had outings and entertainments planned. Perhaps she could make certain Darlington was involved in those. But even as she thought it, she shook her head. Darlington would never be occupied for long with picnics and archery. He had grown up on those pursuits. They would not keep his attention when he was so intent on keeping her away from his father.

A woman, then. That was the only way. Perhaps she could interest him in the opera singer. Everyone knew that, aside from Juliette, opera singers were his weakness. Lily did not relish seeing him with another woman, but she needed him out of the way. And she needed him out of the way immediately. With a sigh, she started back for the drawing room. It was early, and she had no doubt Ravenscroft’s guests were still drinking and debauching.

When she reached the drawing room, it was unusually quiet. Perhaps she had misjudged the time. Could everyone already be abed? She knew country hours were earlier than those she kept in Town. Cautiously, Lily reached for the door’s handle and pushed it open. Lord Kwirley sat in a chair by the fire, sipping what looked like port. He glanced up at her and raised a brow. “Back so soon?” he said with a sneer. “Did you find so little to entertain you?” He placed his thumb and forefinger close together. “So
very
little?”

“Where are the others, Lord Kwirley?” Lily asked. Why did
he
have to be the one left behind? Her luck of late was atrocious. Fallon had once warned her to stay out of Kwirley’s path, and a warning like that from Fallon was not to be taken lightly.

He rose. “Outside.” He walked to the serving tray, lifted a clean glass, and filled it with sherry. “Here you are.”

“No, thank you. Why have they gone outside?”

“Not even thirsty after your exertions?” Kwirley shook his head. “You are wasted on a buffoon like Ravenscroft.”

Lily frowned and peered over her shoulder. She did not want to go outside and look for the others, but it appeared she had little other choice. Obviously Kwirley was not going to help her by offering information. She’d have to see for herself.

“You are the determined one, aren’t you?” He’d sidled closer while she’d been looking away. “They’ve gone swimming.”

Lily blinked as much from surprise as the sharp scent of alcohol on Kwirley’s breath. “Swimming?”

“Yes.” He offered her the sherry again, and this time she took it. “The duke mentioned a pond at dinner, and they all seemed keen to try it out. Sans clothing, of course.” He leaned close, so close she could see the stubble on his cheeks. He was a handsome man. He knew it, too, and thought his appearance gave him leave to act the perfect scoundrel. She was not impressed. “Will you join them?” he asked.

Lily wanted to curse. Even if she found the opera singer—what
was
her name?—she would undoubtedly be involved in some sort of groping and rolling about. This was hardly the time to persuade the singer to seduce Darlington. Lily’s errand would have to wait until breakfast. “I do not think so,” she told Kwirley.

“Too bad.” He lifted a finger and stroked her cheek. “For you, I would have ventured out myself.”

“Good night, my lord.”

He grabbed her arm before she could take the first step. “Why in such a hurry? Is the duke awaiting your return?”

“Yes.” She looked down at his hand. “Release me.”

“What a little liar,” Kwirley said, pulling her closer. “I am certain the duke is snoring loudly enough to wake the dead by now. That means you and I have plenty of time to become better acquainted.”

“I do not wish to become better acquainted, my lord. I wish to retire.” She pulled her arm, but he didn’t release it. Instead, he set his empty glass on a table and took her by both arms.

“What did that little harlot tell you? That little bitch!” He shook Lily, causing her to spill the sherry over her gown and onto the rug.

“Stop!” she said out of annoyance.

He shook her again, and she dropped the glass. It made a muted
thud
on the carpet. “Tell me what she said.”

“Fallon told me to stay out of your path.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Now unhand me before I scream and wake the house.” She was not afraid, but she would have rather ended this expediently and quietly. The other methods she could employ would only anger Kwirley, and she did not need an enemy in the house.

“You didn’t heed her advice very well, did you?” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “You are most definitely in my path, sweet Lily. What shall I do with you?” He walked his fingers over her shoulder and up to her chin, tapping her lips.

“My lord, do not make me scream.”

“You won’t scream,” he said, caressing her exposed neck. “You do not want the whole staff alerted to your activities. They might tell your lover.”

He was no fool. She did not want to have to explain what she had been doing in the drawing room with Kwirley rather than in Ravenscroft’s bed in the morning. She wanted him to think she had been in his bed for most of the night. If Kwirley would not cooperate, she had only one more option. “My lord, do not make me hurt you.”

“Oh, fair Lily. It is I who am going to hurt you.” He smiled. “I like it that way.” And then he crushed his mouth over hers in a painful kiss. His teeth sank into her lip, and she cried out in pain and tried to push him away.

He didn’t move. He was almost twice her weight and easily a full head taller than she. He would not be moved unless it was his choice.

She would have to persuade him to make that choice.

He stuck his tongue down her throat, all but gagging her, but she clenched her hands resolutely and bit him. Hard.

“What the devil!” Kwirley yelled, jumping back.

“I told you not to make me hurt you.” Lily tried to turn and run, but he came for her. As she knew he would. He made a grab, catching her arm. She pivoted and brought her elbow up and into his abdomen. She didn’t connect as directly or forcefully as she would have liked, but it was enough to surprise him. Kwirley released her, and Lily ran. She had to skirt around a set of chairs someone had moved close together, and that cost her precious time. Kwirley caught her by the back of her gown, and she went down, landing hard on her face. Thankfully the rug was soft. She supposed that was one advantage to being attacked in a duke’s residence.

Kwirley rolled her over. She knew how to fight him from this position. She’d been trained, though she hadn’t used this training in a very long time—ever, actually. She would have kneed him, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The fall had been harder than she thought. She tried to breathe, even as Kwirley covered her mouth with his hand and sputtered something vile and awful at her. She couldn’t hear him for the rushing sound in her ears, but she could imagine what he was saying.

His intentions were clear. He grabbed her wrists with one hand and began to ruche up her skirts with the other. He was smiling, his eyes glittering with desire. The man liked to cause fear and pain. Lily would give him neither. She struggled again for breath and shifted into position.

And then, suddenly, Kwirley was yanked back, and she was free.

Bloody hell,
Lily cursed.
Darlington.

Darlington did not believe what he saw. Kwirley was attacking Lily. That much he could believe. The man was the worst sort of rake. The fact that such a bouncer had been invited into his home illustrated, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the lows to which his father had sunk.

Andrew absolutely could believe Kwirley was after Lily. What he could not believe was the manner in which she fought back. Her defense appeared coordinated. In fact, it even seemed somewhat effective. He had started into the drawing room as soon as he realized what was happening, and he kept thinking how fortunate for Lily that he had followed her down here. He had wondered why she did not return directly to her room. She was up to something, and he wanted to know what it was. He saw her conversing with Kwirley and speculated the two of them might be plotting something together.

And then Kwirley had gone for her, and she had fought back. He’d actually felt his jaw drop when she pivoted and elbowed the viscount. Where the hell had she learned that? And then he recovered himself and rushed in to save her. And not a moment too soon. She was on the floor, and Kwirley was going to rape her. With a roar, Andrew had run into the room, grabbing Kwirley by the shoulders and hauling him off Lily.

Kwirley had not surrendered easily or willingly, and that was fine with Andrew. He was sporting for a fight. He had wanted to hit someone or something since he’d first seen Lily walk into Ravenscroft Castle. Kwirley was a convenient target. The two men spun around, and Andrew landed the first blow. His fist hit Kwirley in the chin, knocking his head sideways. Kwirley bent over, but he came up with fists raised and in a fighting crouch.

Andrew recognized Gentleman Jackson’s instruction when he saw it. But he’d spent his own fair share of time in the ring with the boxing master. He waited for Kwirley to strike. When it came, it was good—an uppercut to his jaw. It was so good, Andrew hadn’t been able to sidestep it, but he was able to rebound. He pummeled Kwirley’s belly until the other man was hunched over and vulnerable. And then Andrew gave the viscount a taste of his own medicine, striking him across the cheek and glancing his fist across the other man’s nose.

Blood spurted everywhere, but Kwirley didn’t give in easily. Andrew was grudgingly impressed. In fact, he’d been impressed enough that he missed the warning signs, and Kwirley’s fist hit his jaw, sending him reeling backward. Andrew fell against a low table, causing the wood to smash under his weight. Kwirley jumped on him, and Andrew rolled. Table legs and pieces of splintered wood cut through his wool coat and into his back and arms, but he was on top of Kwirley. He wrapped his hands around the man’s neck, banged the back of the man’s head against the floor, and then began to squeeze. Kwirley’s face turned red then purple, and still Andrew squeezed. He could feel the blood thrumming in his veins, his heart racing, his anger fueling his strength as he squeezed and squeezed…

“That purple color is generally a bad sign,” he heard a voice behind him say in a dry tone.

Andrew looked and saw Lily, standing with one hand on the back of a settee. She looked completely composed and unruffled. Her hair was still perfect, her gloves in place, her expression one of ennui—as though she witnessed one man strangling another every day.

She nodded to Andrew’s hands, and he looked down at Kwirley’s face.

“You can let go now,” she said. “Unless, that is, you want to spend time in a gaol or in exile.”

He was killing Kwirley. The man was no longer moving. Andrew released him and jumped back, horror dawning. Lily was instantly beside him. “Move aside.” She bent, put a finger to Kwirley’s neck, and knelt, still and silent.

“What are you doing?” Andrew asked. He’d killed the vile viscount, and she was kneeling beside the man as though a prayer would save him.

“Shh.”

Andrew peered closer. Was the man still breathing? For a moment, he wondered if fleeing to France or Italy would be better.

“He’s still alive,” she said finally, rising with an easy gracefulness.

“How do you know?”

“His heart is still beating. He’s only lost consciousness.” She smiled. “You won’t have to flee to Italy after all.”

“Italy? Not France?”

She gave him a look as though her reasoning should be self-explanatory. “He is unconscious, but there’s no way to tell how long it will last. I suggest we not be present when he wakes.”

“Very well. Follow me.” There were any number of places he could take her, but for some reason he thought of the tapestry room. It was just to the right of the nearby staircase, and no one was likely to stumble into it. The library was closer, but the butler kept it locked. Books were valuable, after all.

She indicated he should precede her, and she followed him, closing the drawing-room door behind her. She didn’t ask where he was taking her, which was to her credit. For all she knew, he could be taking her to his bedroom. Obviously, she trusted him. She was probably going to bow at his feet and express her undying gratitude for his efforts at saving her.

Perhaps the bowing was a bit much, but the gratitude was a given.

He ushered her into the tapestry room, leaving the door open a sliver. He watched as she peered around the room, and saw her eyes rove over the various tapestries. “These are exquisite,” she said. “That unicorn one, in particular.”

It was the oldest and most valuable, and she had picked it out immediately.

“You have good taste.”

She turned to him, raising a brow. “So I’ve been told.” The window curtains behind her were still open. Some maid had forgotten to close them or had come by when he and Emma were talking and had not wanted to interrupt. The moon was full tonight, and the light spilled inside, casting a soft glow about her. Her hair, always so fiery in the sunlight, looked like banked coals in the velvet darkness. Hints of fire weaved their way through the upswept tresses, but they were quick and teasing, disappearing when his gaze caught one.

“Would you like to tell me exactly what you were doing in the drawing room?” she asked suddenly. His gaze returned to her face, and he realized she was angry.

“What
I
was doing?”

“Yes.” There went her hands to her hips. “Did you follow me?”

Andrew frowned. What was this about? This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Why wasn’t she overcome with gratitude? “You should be thankful I did.”

“Oh, yes, I am ever so thankful to be treated as some sort of prey for your stalking pleasure. How many times must I tell you to leave me alone?”

He stared at her. Did she not understand he was her hero? He had
saved
her! Again! “If I’d left you alone, Kwirley would have… defiled you.” There. Now she could not fail to see her debt to him.

“I had everything well in hand,” she said. “You interfered.”

Andrew shook his head. The woman was mad. “You were about to be raped,” he said bluntly. “It did not look as though you had everything under control.” But the image of her pivoting smoothly and elbowing Kwirley in the abdomen flashed in his mind. Perhaps that hadn’t been simple luck?

“I know what the viscount’s intentions were, and I know how to deal with them. I was momentarily out of breath. I would have incapacitated him, given a few more seconds.”

“Oh, really?”

“Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes.” The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. “Yes. Show me exactly how you were going to evade Kwirley when he had you trapped beneath him.”

“Very well.” She pointed to a couch in the center of a rug. “Move that aside.”

He didn’t take orders well, but he moved the item for the sake of efficiency. And then he watched in amazement as she knelt on the carpet, smoothed her skirts, and lay on her back. “I think I was in this position.”

Andrew stared at her, and he wasn’t thinking about proving anything to her any longer. He was imagining what she’d look like in his bed, with her hair unbound and swirling like molten fire about her face.

“My lord?” she said, shaking him out of his fantasies, which were beginning to stray back to her kneeling beside him…

“Ah… your hands were above you.” He crouched beside her. Did she really want him to straddle her? How was he going to accomplish that without illustrating just how much he liked seeing her in this position?

She raised her hands. “Like this?”

The movement caused her back to arch, thrusting her breasts out. Andrew took a deep breath. “Yes, like that.”

She frowned at him. “Are you afraid I’ll best you? Is that why you’re hesitating?”

He laughed. “Hardly.” If she wanted him to play the part of Kwirley, then he’d do it. He straddled her, grasped her wrists in one hand, and reached back with the other, resting that hand on her thigh. “I believe this was the position.”

Her eyes were locked on his face now, soft green and impossibly large. She’d been fighting Kwirley, but she was not fighting him. He had her under him now. He hadn’t even known he wanted her in this position, but leaning over her, his face close to hers, his hands holding hers, felt right. He could so easily kiss her.

He saw her swallow. “Proceed,” she whispered.

He slid the hand on her thigh down and down, feeling the curves of her legs through the silk, until he reached the hem of her gown. And then his hand caressed the thinnest, sleekest silk of her stocking. He could feel her warm flesh underneath as he cupped her calf and moved upward.

Lily let out a breath and a low moan. He wanted to groan himself when his fingers brushed bare flesh. Her skin was so soft. Once he’d been forced to hold his three-month-old nephew for several minutes, and Andrew had been amazed at the boy’s downy hair and the tender skin on his cheeks. That was how Lily’s legs felt—that soft, plump, untouched baby skin. And she was warm beneath him. She was looking up at him with those green eyes that always bewitched him. Why had he ever thought he wanted Juliette? He touched the skin of her thigh, pressed his hands between her legs and moved slowly higher. He already knew she would be hot and wet for him. He inched closer, watching her eyes darken further as he extended one finger…

And then she acted. He never saw it coming. Her eyes betrayed nothing. But her legs came up, and with a flexibility that shocked him, she connected a foot with the back of his head. He reared up, and she bent her leg, her knee just missing his most vital organ.

“Bloody hell, woman!” he yelled, releasing her. He jumped off her, and she sat gracefully. “You almost maimed me.”

She smiled. “I told you I didn’t need your help.” She rose.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Andrew kept his distance from her, putting a chair between them.

“Oh, here and there.”

It looked a hell of a lot more practiced than that.

“My point is that I can handle Kwirley.”

“Good. You may need to.”

“Yes, thanks to you, he will now want revenge.” A section of her hair had come loose from her coiffure, and he was surprised at how curly it was and how long. It reached almost to her waist.

“Kwirley shouldn’t even be here,” Andrew said. “What kind of man leaves his wife at home for a week to attend a house party populated with courtesans”—he nodded at her—“and opera singers?”

“So you have noticed the opera singer.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” She seated herself on the couch, smoothing her skirts. “I had no idea you were such a great believer in marital fidelity, Lord Darlington.”

His nerves were settling now, and he pried his fingers loose from the chair back, still keeping it between them. He would be more vigilant in her presence from now on. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid I see very little marital fidelity in my circle,” she answered. “But I don’t believe it’s an impossibility. My own parents were quite faithful, at least from my perspective.”

Andrew raised his brows. “Your parents?”

She gave him an annoyed look. “I do have them, even if they no longer acknowledge me.”

He had never thought of Lily—any of The Three Diamonds—as having parents. But the women hadn’t materialized out of thin air. Even courtesans must hail from somewhere. It did not surprise him that her parents had disowned her. If they were respectable people, they would have no other choice.

“My father was a hero to me,” she said. He looked up and saw she was watching him closely. “I thought he was the strongest, bravest man who ever lived. My mother was loving and kind. I was the youngest of five, and I’m sure I was very spoiled.”

Andrew sat on the chair opposite her, intrigued enough to forgo the protection of his chair barrier for a moment. “Where did you grow up?”

She smiled. “The truth? London.”

“What do you tell everyone?”

“York. I’ve often had people tell me I have a northern accent.” She shook her head. “But I was born in London. My father had a position in the government. We were not rich, but we had a cozy house. My room was in the attic, probably because for a long time I was the shortest and the only one who didn’t hit my head on the sloped ceiling.”

“Do your brothers and sisters have your coloring?”

Her green eyes seemed to see right through him. “My red hair, you mean? It’s natural. Was that what you were wondering?”

He was too smart to answer.

“Would you like me to prove it?”

Andrew reached for his drink and realized he didn’t have one. He needed one badly. “I only meant that it is unusual.”

“Yes, we must have an Irish ancestor somewhere. My sister Charlotte also has auburn hair, but she has brown eyes. My brother Robert has green eyes like mine, though. But we were discussing marital fidelity. Why are you such a firm believer?”

He considered. “Perhaps I’m not. Six months ago I would have said my parents had a perfect marriage, but now I have my doubts.”

“If the duke kept mistresses in London, I never heard about it,” she said. “That should restore some of your faith.”

“Yes, but he has certainly made up for any lack since my mother’s death. And there were the war years.”

She made a slight movement, leaning closer, and he almost decided against speaking any further. But what could it hurt? She was not going to be as easy to dissuade as he had first thought. “He traveled extensively during the war, dragged my poor mother with him. They were gone for months at a time.”